Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The first thing Clarke noticed was the taste of blood.

Metallic and stale, it coated the inside of her mouth like rust on a spoon. She blinked, once, twice, trying to piece together why her tongue felt heavy, why her throat was raw, dry as paper.

The second thing was the cold.

It crept in slowly, not sharp but dense, the kind of chill that settled beneath the skin like fog. Her body was curled sideways on a bed that didn't belong to her. The sheets were rough, unfamiliar. Too clean. Her cheek stuck slightly to the pillowcase, and when she shifted, a low groan escaped her before she could stop it.

Pain radiated from the base of her skull, not sharp but throbbing, a dull, insistent ache like something had been pressing on her temples for hours. Her limbs felt too heavy, her stomach too light. Everything about her body was wrong. Not wounded, but... used. Her skin was flushed, hot in patches. Her inner thighs ached in a way that made her chest tighten.

She sat up too fast. The room tilted. A sharp wave of nausea overtook her. She gagged, folded over the edge of the bed, and forced herself up, barefoot and trembling, navigating a room she couldn't recognize.

The hallway was too dark, the floor too cold. She stumbled into what must have been a bathroom, some minimalist, high-end thing with stone tile and warm lights under the mirror. She caught sight of herself and nearly recoiled.

Her hair was a disaster, tangled in matted waves like she'd been dragged backward through a wind tunnel. Her face was blotchy, her mascara smeared across one cheek like a bruise. Her lips were red, swollen, chapped at the corners. She wore someone else's oversized t-shirt, soft cotton clinging to one shoulder, and her own ripped tights beneath it. No bra. No underwear. Just the aching stretch of her own skin and the hard pulse of something unspoken beneath it.

Water. Toothbrush. Oxygen. Time machine. In that order. Or any order.

She dropped to her knees just in time. The contents of her stomach emptied violently into the sink, twice, her body convulsing. When it was over, she rinsed her mouth and gripped the edges of the counter, forcing herself to look in the mirror again.

A bite mark bloomed faintly on her collarbone, she stared at it. Mouth open. Her fingers hovered over the bruised skin but didn't touch, a flicker behind her eyes. Not memory, not exactly. More like a flash of something felt, not seen.

Teeth. The press of a body against hers. Fingers digging into her waist. A thigh between hers. Warm skin. A moan she didn't recognize, but felt in her own throat.

Her stomach pitched. She stumbled back from the mirror like it had lunged at her. "Nope," she breathed, shaking her head. "Absolutely not."

The apartment, whoever's it was, had already gone silent. There was no note on the kitchen counter. No glass of water by the bed. No number saved in her phone. No condom wrapper in the trash. No name. No certainty. Just silence and a body that didn't feel like hers anymore.

She dressed as fast as she could, yanking her coat over the t-shirt, clutching her boots by the laces. Her chest burned. Her hands shook. The door shut behind her with a soft click that felt like the final line of something she didn't remember agreeing to.

She didn't tell Raven at first. She could already hear the tone, the raised brow, the sarcasm laced with concern. You? One-night stand blackout with a mystery hottie? Wow. Did hell freeze over too? But a week passed. Then another.

And her body didn't go back to normal. Her chest felt tight in ways it hadn't before. Smells she used to ignore made her gag. She cried over a thirty-second commercial about lost kittens and a little boy who missed his goldfish. Her stomach twisted every morning. Her skin felt too thin.

Raven dragged her to the pharmacy.

"Just to rule it out," she said, tossing a pregnancy test into the basket like it was toothpaste. Clarke laughed, weak and high-pitched, and tried not to imagine it.

But the second pink line appeared before she even finished washing her hands. Not possible, not unless.

The next morning.

No.

She would've remembered. If it had been a woman. Wouldn't she? 

She didn't have time to fall apart, not now. Not with a second-round interview looming at Woodson Enterprises, one of those companies people wrote LinkedIn posts about like they'd won the lottery. She had prepped, she had practiced. She wore the blazer that didn't quite feel like her and the shoes that made her walk like she was confident.

She walked into the boardroom and froze. The woman standing at the head of the table was carved from marble. Tall. Elegant. Wearing a slate-gray suit that looked like it cost more than Clarke's rent. Her dark hair was pulled into a severe bun, cheekbones sharp, posture controlled.

But it was the eyes that undid her. Green. Unblinking. Intense. Hungry.

Lexa Woodson didn't smile. She didn't nod, she didn't offer her hand. She just stared. And Clarke felt it, a tremor through the spine. Not recognition, but something deeper. Primal. A flicker of heat beneath her ribs. She sat down, her knees barely holding.

The press of hands. That scent: sharp, clean, citrusy. A groan in her ear.

No. No. It wasn't her. That's impossible. You're spiraling. It was a guy. You're pregnant. It had to be a guy.

But then Lexa licked her bottom lip. Slow and deliberate. And Clarke forgot how to breathe.

By Tuesday, Clarke had convinced herself she was hallucinating. The stare, the heat, the slow, predatory stillness of that woman. It had to be projection. Just nerves. Power does that to people. Except Lexa didn't look at anyone else like that. She sat at her new desk, tea untouched, inbox overwhelming, when Raven peeked over the wall.

"You good?"

Clarke blinked. "Yeah."

"You look like you saw God... or got electrocuted by the sight of her cheekbones."

"First-day jitters."

Raven smirked. "Right. Has nothing to do with our emotionally repressed CEO and her hot, sexy stare."

"She wasn't—"

"Babe. She looked at you like you were dessert. I thought she was going to bite."

Clarke flushed so deeply it made her nauseous all over again.

"She didn't."

"Sure. Tell that to the baby growing inside you."

Clarke shut her laptop and didn't say anything because she didn't have to. 

Lexa didn't appear again until Thursday. Clarke almost relaxed until the message arrived.

From: Executive Admin

Subject: 10-Minute Check-In – 4:30PM, 14th Floor.

She stared at it. The cursor blinked back at her, judgmental.

"I'm dead," she whispered.

"What now?" Raven asked.

Clarke turned the screen.

Raven let out a low whistle. "Wow. Fast track to the boss's lair."

"It's probably routine."

"Routine? With lip licking? I missed that step in orientation."

Clarke threw a pen at her. It hit a plant instead. The 14th floor was made of glass and stone. Expensive quiet. The kind that made you feel like your shoes were too loud. The air smelled like money and cologne.

Lexa's office door was open. Clarke knocked, even though she was visible. Lexa looked up. That stare and stillness was even hotter, somehow. Focused like a blade.

Clarke entered, heartbeat in her throat.

"You're settling in," Lexa said.

"Trying to."

"Is the team meeting expectations?"

"Mostly. It's... structured."

Lexa arched a brow. "Structure prevents chaos."

"Sometimes chaos is where the good stuff is."

Lexa's mouth twitched.

"Unexpected," she murmured. "Right."

Silence envloped them and Clarke could smell her perfume. Something rare. Cedar and something smoky beneath it. It made her knees want to bend.

Lexa leaned back, folding her arms.

"You could've gone anywhere. Why here?"

"Because I got the job."

"And if someone else had called first?"

"I wouldn't be in this room."

Lexa's eyes dropped to her lips.

Clarke's breath hitched.

Lexa stood, fast. Too fast.

"You can go," she said, voice sharp.

Clarke turned to leave, her hand on the door.

She glanced back.

Lexa hadn't moved. But her reflection in the window said everything her face didn't. Eyes closed. Jaw clenched like letting Clarke walk away was the hardest decision she'd made all day.

Chapter Text

The mug was still warm in Clarke's hands, though she'd forgotten to drink from it in the past five minutes. She sat curled into the corner of her couch, blanket tugged over her knees, the muted hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen the only sound in the apartment. The tea, chamomile with a touch of honey, had been meant to settle the restless queasiness that had come and gone since sunrise, but her stomach still rolled gently, that constant background reminder that she was carrying someone now.

She let her gaze drift to the rain-polished window. Outside, the city blurred into muted greys and warm lamplight, a watercolor in motion. And yet, it wasn't the view that held her, it was that scent again. She wasn't even sure where it came from. Not her apartment; she knew every note of its familiar mix of laundry detergent and faint citrus cleaner. This was different. Warmer.

It had a kind of pull to it, faint citrus, but deeper, richer, with something softer beneath it, like the scent of skin after heat. The kind of smell that lived in fabric long after someone left. The kind that made you close your eyes without thinking, lean into it, try to catch more. It was here now, faint but persistent, curling at the edges of her senses.

Clarke blinked hard and shifted on the couch, like moving might shake it free from her head. It wasn't the first time. She'd caught it before, at work, once in the hallway as she passed her coat rack. It made no sense, and yet it kept happening, a phantom fragrance in a home she hadn't shared with anyone for months.

Her fingers tightened around the mug. It's nothing, she told herself. Probably just pregnancy heightening everything. Her OB had said it was normal to smell things more sharply now, even things that weren't there. But still...

When she closed her eyes, the scent seemed to open a door in her mind. The air shifted, heavy with night warmth, and suddenly there was the press of someone's breath against her neck. The brush of a mouth. Heat curling down her spine. She didn't see a face, not fully, but the shape of the moment was there: closeness, the weight of another body, the slow slide of a voice in her ear.

Her breath caught.

The dreams had been like that, too fragments, flashes. Sometimes she woke with her skin still tingling, heartbeat quick, certain she'd just been touched. She had told herself they were just dreams. That the night she got pregnant had been a blur, that the edges of it were supposed to be fuzzy. But this... this didn't feel like a man's presence.

She tried to shake it off, to focus on the soft clink of the spoon in the mug as she stirred the tea again. But her mind didn't want to let it go.

The scent was still there.

And with it, the unsettling pull of a memory she didn't remember choosing to keep.

The first real chill of autumn had settled into the city by nightfall, threading through the cracks in Clarke's windows. She'd given up on the tea hours ago, let the blanket slide off as she tried to do a little work at her kitchen table. The faint scratch of pencil on paper, the gentle rustle of a page, it was almost enough to drown out her own thoughts.

Almost.

She was halfway through sketching the curve of a light fixture when it hit her. No warning this time.

The scent was suddenly there, and it was not faint, not lingering, but immediate. Like someone had just walked past her chair. It was sharper now, the citrus brighter, the warmth beneath it richer, more human.

Her hand froze mid-line.

She turned in her chair, her pulse spiking in that stupid way it did when your brain tried to convince you the dark corner of the room might hold something. The apartment was quiet. Still. Only the small lamp over the table lit the space, throwing a soft halo across her work.

But her skin had started to prickle.

It was the same feeling she got in her dreams, a sudden shift in the air, that awareness that didn't come from sound or sight, but from something older. Something instinctive.

Clarke pushed back from the table and stood, her bare feet silent against the hardwood. She moved slowly toward the living room, telling herself she wasn't really checking, she just... needed water. The scent followed her. Not overpowering, but enough to make her breathing slow, to keep her shoulders tight.

And then —

It was as if her body remembered before her mind did. The faintest whisper of warmth ghosted over the side of her neck, exactly where she'd felt it in those half-formed dreams. Her breath stuttered. It was so real she almost turned, almost expected to see someone there.

Her fingers went to the spot, pressing lightly, as if she could catch the last trace of it before it disappeared.

It was disappearing, fading back into nothing, leaving her standing in the middle of her own living room with her heart hammering in her throat.

She told herself she was tired. That this was hormones, stress, maybe even loneliness trying to fill the empty spaces of her memory.

But deep down, somewhere beneath all the logic, she felt the truth she couldn't name yet.

This wasn't just her mind playing tricks.

Something, or someone, was starting to come back.

Lexa had kissed plenty of lips, but she'd never ached for one afterward.

She hadn't even taken her home that night. They'd gone to a rented apartment, anonymous, clean and safe. No pressure, just heat and hunger and the unspoken ache of two women who didn't want to be alone.

Except she'd told Clarke her name, on impulse. She had expected a reaction, but know came. Clarke seemed normal, as though she had no idea who Lexa was. She had said her name. Right there at the edge, voice cracked and trembling. And Lexa had said it back.

Over and over.

"Clarke. Fuck!”
"Clarke."
"God, Clarke—"

She was ruined.

Now all the more so since Clarke was her employee. And God perhaps, even pregnant?

Lexa had seen it. That slight curve, barely there. She had been surronded by many teenage girls trying to hide their pregnancies during her college and highschool years, to recognize the signs. But something primal inside her had stirred. Her pulse had spiked, her throat had gone dry.

She looked away and pretended not to care.

But she started walking past Clarke's desk too often.
Started scheduling meetings she didn't need.
Started dreaming again: wet, aching dreams that left her restless and angry.

Angry at herself. At fate. At Clarke, for forgetting.

That night, Lexa sat in her office with the lights off and a glass of untouched scotch on the desk. Her jacket still smelled like Clarke. She'd brushed against her earlier, barely, and the scent clung like sin. She pressed the collar to her face, Inhaled. And hated how her knees went weak.

You can't want her, she told herself. You already had her, and it's already too late.

The next day, the hallway outside the conference room was narrow and hushed, the last echoes of Clarke's presentation fading into the quiet. The stack of papers in her hand felt heavy, her stomach still a tight knot of nervous energy. Turning the corner, she stopped short.

Lexa was there, waiting by the elevators. Her arms were folded loosely across her chest, a silent statue in the empty corridor. Her expression was a perfectly smooth mask, but the stillness of her posture felt like a held breath.

Their eyes met across the space. Lexa didn't move. Clarke's steps faltered, her heart jumping into a frantic rhythm against her ribs. Each step she took toward the elevator felt impossibly loud, the sound amplified in the charged silence. She pressed the button without looking at Lexa, but she felt her presence, a pull in the air, a hum against her skin.

Lexa finally turned her head, a slow, deliberate movement. "That color looks good on you."

Clarke blinked, caught off guard. "What?"

"The sweater."

She glanced down, a jolt of surprise as she recognized the blue and blue knit she'd grabbed without a thought that morning. Lexa's gaze was dark and focused, a kind of intensity that didn't need a smile to be felt.

"Thanks," Clarke managed, her voice a little too tight.

The elevator chimed, the doors sliding open with a soft sigh. She stepped inside, and Lexa followed, the space between them shrinking to nothing. The air inside the small box changed instantly, thickening, growing heavy. The silence was no longer empty; it had a shape now, a pulse. Lexa stood behind her, hands clasped behind her back as if she were holding them still, perfectly composed. Clarke let out a slow, careful breath. She could feel Lexa's presence like a wave of heat along her spine, a current that made every nerve ending prickle.

The elevator jolted, a sudden, rough shudder that made her stumble. Before she could catch herself, Lexa's hand shot out, her fingers closing around Clarke's wrist in a quick, instinctive grip.

Clarke froze. So did Lexa.

The contact was a small, searing flame, and their eyes met in the reflection of the polished metal doors. Lexa's fingers remained on her wrist, her thumb brushing a fraction of an inch over the frantic flutter of Clarke's pulse. It wasn't a deliberate touch, but it felt like a silent memorizing of the space between them.

"You okay?" Lexa's voice was a low murmur, professional but stripped of its usual clipped edge. It was just... soft.

Clarke nodded, but she didn't pull away. Lexa's eyes dropped to her lips, and her jaw tightened almost imperceptibly before she abruptly let go.

"Sorry," Lexa muttered, turning her head to face the doors.

"It's fine," Clarke replied, her voice breathy, as if she had just run a marathon.

The elevator doors opened on the ground floor. Lexa walked out first, a woman on a mission. Clarke followed, her steps still unsteady, the ghost of a touch still burning on her wrist.

Later that night, Clarke paced her kitchen floor, the cold tile a stark contrast to the heat still thrumming through her. She pressed one hand to her stomach, the other gripping her phone.

"Raven," she said into the receiver. "I don't think it was a man."

A beat of silence stretched between them.

"Wait. What are you talking about?" Raven's voice was a confused whisper.

"That night," Clarke clarified, her voice barely audible. "The one I can't remember."

Chapter Text

The city was almost quiet by the time Raven Reyes pushed through the glass doors of Woodson Enterprises, her leather jacket still carrying the cool night air. Most of the floor was dark, only the low emergency lights glowing in narrow strips along the hallways. But up ahead, past the hushed lobby and the empty elevators, the glass-walled corner office still held its glow.

Lexa was still here.

Raven didn't bother knocking, she never had to. Years of late-night project emergencies, mechanical crises, and coffee-fueled brainstorming had earned her that much. Still, she eased the door open like she was stepping into a space that could bite if she moved too loudly.

Lexa was at her desk, head bent over a thick folder, one hand absently spinning a fountain pen. The lamplight caught in her hair, throwing threads of bronze through the deep brunette. She didn't look up right away.

"You know," Raven said, leaning against the doorframe, "for someone who preaches about work-life balance, you really suck at it."

Lexa's mouth curved slightly, but her eyes stayed on the page. "For someone whose shift ended three hours ago, you're still here too."

"Touché." Raven stepped inside, letting the door swing shut behind her. "The R&D wing's printer decided to eat my prototype diagrams. Figured I'd fight the beast and win before heading home." She hesitated, watching Lexa's pen still in her fingers. "But I thought I'd check in on you first."

Lexa finally looked up, the green in her eyes catching even in the dim light. There was a kind of measured stillness about her that Raven had always noticed, the way she could make you feel seen and assessed all at once.

"I'm fine," Lexa said, but the tone was too automatic. Too practiced.

Raven moved closer, dropping into one of the leather chairs across from the desk. She didn't press yet. They'd been through enough in the final years of college, those long nights in the campus engineering lab, the parties Lexa never stayed long at, the whispers about her tastes, her guarded edges, that Raven knew when to circle before striking.

"You've been quieter lately," Raven said casually, tracing a finger over the armrest. "And I'm not talking about your usual mysterious CEO vibe. I mean... quieter."

Lexa's gaze held hers for a moment before dropping to the folder again. "Just a busy quarter."

"Mm." Raven let the silence stretch, just enough to make the air thicken. "And nothing to do with... certain personal developments?"

That earned her a flicker, barely there, but Raven saw the way Lexa's fingers tightened slightly on the pen.

Lexa leaned back in her chair. "You've been talking to someone."

Raven tilted her head, smirking just enough to make it unclear whether she'd admit anything. "Let's just say, people cross my path. Sometimes they're... interesting."

Lexa studied her, that CEO stillness wrapping around her again. "Careful, Reyes."

"I'm always careful." Raven's grin softened into something more genuine. "Look, I know you. Probably better than anyone who works here. And I also know when something's in your head enough to keep you in this office past midnight." She paused. "Just... remember you don't have to keep the walls up all the time."

Lexa didn't answer, but her jaw shifted slightly, the only sign Raven would get tonight that she'd landed a hit.

As Raven stood to leave, she caught Lexa's eye again. "By the way," she said lightly, "I ran into someone recently who... well, let's just say she reminded me of you in some weird ways."

Lexa's brow lifted, but she didn't speak.

Raven only smirked, tucking her hands into her jacket pockets as she headed for the door. "I'll tell you about her sometime."

The door clicked shut behind her, leaving Lexa alone with the faint echo of the name Raven hadn't spoken, and the quiet, unsettled curiosity it stirred.

The next morning, the elevator doors slid open with a low chime, spilling Clarke into the softly lit corridor of the executive floor. She smoothed a hand over her blouse, the one Raven had insisted made her look "both approachable and like she could sue someone into the ground", and tried not to think about how queasy the elevator ride had made her.
Early pregnancy nausea was a cruel beast, coming in unpredictable waves no matter how steady she tried to keep her breathing.

Ahead, the glass double doors to Lexa Woodson's office gleamed under the warm ceiling lights. Through the panes, Clarke could see her boss at her desk, head bent over her laptop, posture as precise as a photograph. That same stillness that had unnerved Clarke from the first interview, though now, there was something else in it. Something sharper.

"Don't overthink it," Raven's voice murmured behind her. Clarke turned to see her friend sauntering toward her, coffee in hand, wearing her signature smirk.

"Easy for you to say," Clarke whispered back. "You're not about to ask the CEO for sign-off on a budget proposal that's twenty percent over last year's."

Raven shrugged, the motion loose and unbothered. "Yeah, but I've known her long enough to know she appreciates blunt over groveling."

Clarke blinked. "You've... known her long enough?"

There was a micro-pause. Raven's smirk didn't slip, but something flickered in her eyes, quickly buried under casual shrug. "You know. Work stuff. She's been running this place a while."

Before Clarke could press, Lexa's head lifted. Those green eyes caught hers instantly, locking her in place. It was ridiculous, the way heat could spike in her cheeks from just that look. Clarke cleared her throat and pushed the door open, Raven falling into step beside her.

"Morning," Clarke said, aiming for professional but hearing the slight softness in her own voice.

Lexa's gaze flicked to Raven. "Reyes."

The tone was level, polite, but Raven caught the fraction-of-a-second delay before Lexa spoke. Her engineer's brain catalogued the micro-tells automatically: the slight tightening at the jaw, the way Lexa's pen stilled in her fingers when Clarke stepped closer, the faint shift in her breathing.

Interesting.

"Morning, boss," Raven replied easily, dropping into one of the visitor chairs without asking. She took a sip of her coffee, watching the silent exchange between the two women. Clarke set her folder on the desk, leaning just close enough that Lexa's eyes darted briefly toward her before pulling back into their usual cool reserve.

Raven's mind ticked over possibilities. She knew Lexa's tells, the ones most people never even noticed. The way she reined in her focus when something threatened to slip past her control. The subtle stillness that came when she didn't trust herself to move.

Clarke was triggering every one of them.

"Budget proposal," Clarke said, sliding the folder across. "I know it's over last year's numbers, but with the expansion—"

Lexa took it, their fingers not quite brushing. Raven caught the smallest hitch in her boss's inhale.

And just like that, the picture started forming in her head.

No way.

Raven kept her expression neutral, even as her thoughts spun. She knew Clarke's one-night stand had been a month ago, the night everything had shifted for her friend. She knew Clarke hadn't seen the guy since. And she knew, with the kind of gut certainty that came from years of watching Lexa, that her friend had just walked into the same gravitational pull that had kept Lexa at arm's length from almost everyone.

She didn't say a word, not yet. But she filed it away, watching the subtle dance of glances and pauses between them like a puzzle she was halfway through solving.

By the time Clarke wrapped up her pitch and the three of them stood to leave, Raven's suspicions were no longer just a hunch. They were a hypothesis waiting for proof.

And something told her she wouldn't have to wait long.

R&D lab.

Later, Raven leaned back in her chair, spinning her pen between her fingers as she watched Clarke scroll through the engineering team's prototype specs on her laptop.

"So," she began casually, "we've got that joint meeting with the R&D heads and execs tomorrow. You should come with me."

Clarke didn't look up. "That's not my department."

"Sure," Raven agreed, smirking, "but you're working on the marketing campaign for the launch. Wouldn't hurt to see the product in person. Plus, Lexa's going to be there. Good chance to, you know, impress her."

Clarke's head snapped up, cheeks coloring faintly. "I'm not trying to impress her."

Raven raised both brows. "Mmhmm."

In truth, Raven wasn't trying to get Clarke in with Lexa, she was trying to see if the static in the air when those two stood in the same room was as strong when they weren't sitting across from a desk. She knew Lexa's poker face better than anyone, and yet... Clarke made cracks appear.

The next morning, Raven timed their arrival perfectly. They slipped into the conference room just before the meeting began, snagging seats opposite Lexa's. Clarke opened her notepad, pen poised, eyes down. Raven watched Lexa walk in, and watched her notice Clarke first. It was subtle, a pause that probably read as nothing to everyone else, but Raven caught it. The shift in Lexa's shoulders. The split-second narrowing of her gaze before she smoothed it over.

The meeting unfolded in the usual dance of technical jargon and strategic bullet points. Clarke listened intently, jotting the occasional note, but Raven noticed she didn't speak unless asked. Lexa, on the other hand, spoke less than usual, directing her questions to other team members, avoiding the kind of direct exchange with Clarke that would linger too long.

Avoidance, Raven thought, filing it away. That's new.

When the meeting broke for a product demo, the group moved to the R&D floor. Clarke drifted toward one of the displays, fingers brushing the sleek prototype casing. Raven lingered back, close enough to watch Lexa approach.

"Griffin," Lexa said, voice low, and Clarke turned, startled at the proximity.

"Oh—sorry," Clarke murmured, stepping aside like she'd been caught somewhere she shouldn't be.

Lexa's gaze lingered on her for half a beat too long before shifting to the prototype. "Your perspective on the campaign will matter more if you understand the product's function."

It was perfectly reasonable. It was also the kind of thing Lexa could've had anyone say for her.

Clarke smiled faintly. "Then I'll make sure to learn."

Raven saw it, the almost imperceptible softening around Lexa's eyes before she stepped back, putting distance between them.

By the end of the tour, Raven's suspicion wasn't just confirmed, it was practically screaming in her ear. Lexa was holding herself like someone standing on the edge of a cliff, and Clarke didn't even know she was near one.

That night, Raven lay in bed, staring at her ceiling. She thought about Lexa back in their college days, before the CEO polish, when she'd still let herself get wrecked by someone she wanted. And she thought about Clarke, curled on her couch last month, hand on her barely-there bump, confessing she hadn't stopped thinking about the man from that night.

She didn't have proof yet. But she was starting to think she didn't need it.

Lexa's office was dim when Raven slipped inside, closing the door behind her. It wasn't unusual, Lexa preferred her workspace in warm, filtered light, the kind that muted the skyline beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. She was at her desk, sleeves rolled neatly to her elbows, pen gliding across a contract like the world outside could wait.

Raven leaned against the closed door, watching.

"Most people knock." Lexa said.

"I'm not most people,"

"I figured you'd show up eventually."

"You've gotten quieter."

Lexa didn't look up. "That's not true."

"Mm. It is." Raven pushed off the door, strolling toward the desk. "Especially around one person in particular."

Lexa's pen stilled, mid-signature. Slowly, she placed it down and sat back, expression carved in granite. "If you have a point, Raven, make it."

"Oh, I've got a point," Raven said, a knowing smile on her face. "But I'm curious how far I can get before you tell me to go to hell."

One brow lifted, Lexa's version of warning fire.

"You remember my freshman year?" Raven asked. "When I was still figuring out who I wanted to work for? And you... already had that look in your eye. Like you'd already decided what you wanted, and God help anyone who got in your way."

Lexa lifted her gaze, but didn't answer. Which was fine. Raven wasn't fishing for nostalgia. Lexa's expression remained unreadable, sharp, still, but there was something in her eyes. Something Raven recognized.

Guilt, maybe. Or dread.

"Well," Raven went on, leaning back, "you've still got that look most of the time. Except, funny thing, it goes missing every time Clarke walks into a room. You go... careful."

Lexa's gaze sharpened, a flicker of something that could have been amusement, or could have been danger. "Careful isn't a crime."

"No," Raven agreed. "But I know you. Careful means control. And control means you're afraid of losing it."

The silence that followed was weighty, not defensive, but measured, like Lexa was deciding exactly how much to give away. She didn't fidget, didn't break eye contact. Just... waited.

Raven studied her for a moment longer, then grinned faintly. "You don't have to say it. I already know."

Lexa's mouth curved in the smallest of smirks. "Do you?"

"Yep, but correct me if I'm wrong," Raven started. "You sleep with someone during one of your mysterious and emotionally avoidant nights out. No last names. No strings. Just your usual ritual of control. Then you show up to work and she's sitting at your damn boardroom table."

Lexa's jaw tightened. "Raven—"

"And you say nothing?"

"She didn't remember," Lexa said sharply. "She didn't recognize me."

Raven's brow furrowed. "But you did."

Lexa sat back in her chair, fingers steepled under her chin. "Not until she walked into that meeting."

"And now that you do?" Raven asked, dropping into the opposite chair.

Lexa stood then, slowly, tension rolling off her like a storm front. She didn't pace, didn't shout. She never had. Lexa's Frustration came quiet and cold and deeply internal like water wearing stone down over time.

"I've been trying to pretend I don't." Her voice was quieter now, edged with a frustration she rarely allowed others to hear. "For both our sakes."

"She's not just some random girl, Lexa."

"I know."

"You slept with her."

"I know. I remember everything even though we were totally wasted," she said. "Every detail. Every way she—" Her voice faltered. She looked away, jaw clenching. "Of course I remember."

Raven swallowed hard. Lexa hadn't changed much since college. A little colder, a little sharper. But Raven still knew the signs when her friend was being eaten alive from the inside.

"She's pregnant," Raven said gently.

Lexa's eyes closed for a second. Just one second as if the confirmation still hurt. The room filled with a heavy silence, the kind that hovered between old friends who had already said too much to lie. Especially the ones built on loyalty, frustration, and years of knowing exactly where someone hid the bones they refused to bury.

"I know."

"Why haven't you told her?" Raven said carefully.

"I can't."

Raven scrubbed a hand through her hair. "Shit."

Another silence fell. This one throbbed, heavier than the last.

Lexa suddenly opened her eyes, her voice came out low and brittle: "Wait, how do you know her?"

"I met her two years ago," Raven said carefully. "Through a friend at Columbia's arts program. She was... going through it. I don't know. We clicked. We've stayed in touch ever since."

"You are... friends? You told her to apply here, didn't you?"

"She needed a job." Raven shrugged.

Lexa's voice dipped to a dangerous hush. "You didn't think to mention she was that Clarke?"

"Hey, don't blame me. I had no idea. I was as clueless as Clarke is, just thought it was a mere coincidence you happened to sleep with someone that has the same name as her."

Lexa fell silent.

"I asked you, remember?" Raven went on, quieter now. "That morning you came back in a daze like you'd seen God and survived it. You wouldn't even look at me, said it was one night. Said she was unforgettable, then refused to speak about her again. So no, I didn't know it was the same Clarke."

Lexa sat back down, slowly. "She never mentioned you."

Raven's smile was bitter. "She doesn't know we know each other. Clarke's got gaps, Lex. And not just from that night. Trauma screws with timelines. And you... you're in the middle of hers now."

Lexa looked haunted.

Raven softened, just slightly. "What are you going to do now?"

"I don't know." The words were quick, firm and true. "I mean, we used protection, but—" She shook her head. "I never expected to see her again. That's how these nights are supposed to work."

"But Clarke isn't like the others."

Lexa looked at her then. And Raven saw it, real, unguarded devastation.

"No," Lexa whispered. "She isn't."

Raven leaned against the edge of the desk now, closer. Her voice gentled. "So what are you doing, Lex?"

Lexa didn't answer, her silence was something else.

Not confusion.

Not anger.

Fear.

"You think staying quiet's noble?" Raven asked. "You think watching her walk around confused and aching, while you pretend it never happened is some kind of mercy?"

"No." Lexa's voice was raw now. "I saw it in her eyes. The uncertainty. The shame. I couldn't—" She cut herself off, exhaling hard. "I don't want to cause more harm."

Raven nodded slowly, chewing on the inside of her cheek. "That's why I'm here."

Lexa looked up.

"She trusts me," Raven said. "But you and I, we've known each other a long time. You're not just my boss. But Lexa, Clarke is not fragile, and you are not a monster. Which is why I need to say this clearly."

"Your secret's safe with me, for now." Raven leaned forward, elbows on the desk.

That earned her the barest tilt of Lexa's head, the kind of acknowledgment that said you've gotten as far as I'll let you.

"But if you hurt her, if this thing with you two blows up because you're too scared to face it, she'll think she was disposable. Like she never mattered. And Lexa... she's not the only one who'd lose sleep over that."

Lexa's throat worked. Her hands flexed at her sides like she wanted to punch something but wouldn't dare.

"I can't—" Lexa started, then cut herself off. "If I tell her, it changes everything. It might break her."

Raven tilted her head. "And if you don't?"

Lexa's silence was an answer.

Raven pushed off the desk. She didn't go to the door yet. She just sat there, looking at the woman she'd once studied with until 3 a.m. in freezing libraries, the woman who used to draw mathematical proofs like poetry and never let anyone get close enough to know why.

"She's not a secret you can fold back into the dark. If it's your baby, Lexa, and Clarke figures it out—" she stopped herself, then continued. "Look, just know I wont tell her anything. But She deserves the truth, Lexa."

"I know," Lexa whispered.

"Then stop hiding."

A long silence settled between them.

"I know," Lexa said finally.

Raven's gaze softened, barely. "Clarke and I weren't the same people in college. From the way she puts it, she was figuring herself out and had a very traumatic childhood. So did you. I didn't connect the dots until I saw the way you looked at her."

"And now?"

Raven walked to the door. Paused. "Now? I think fate's playing one hell of a game."

She turned back, gaze steady. "But if you want to win her for real, you're gonna have to stop playing defense. And Just remember, boss, secrets have a way of showing up whether we want them to or not."

Outside the office, the elevator chimed on the top floor, spilling Clarke into the quiet hallway outside Lexa's other office. She balanced a folder against her hip, scanning through her notes one last time before the meeting. The air up here always felt different, calmer, sharper somehow, and it made her pulse quicken in a way she told herself was entirely professional.

Lexa's door was closed, but muffled voices drifted through the wood. Clarke slowed instinctively. One of them was Lexa's, low, smooth, measured. The other... Raven.

"...just saying, you don't get like this about anyone," Raven's voice teased, threaded with that light, needling tone she reserved for when she already knew the answer.

Clarke frowned faintly. She couldn't make out Lexa's reply, but she caught the rhythm. It was shorter, firmer, like someone setting a boundary.

"You're wound up," Raven said after a pause. "You keep this up and someone's gonna notice."

Something in Clarke's chest tightened, though she didn't know why. She told herself it was nothing, they could be talking about anything. Work stress, some deal going sideways, a client pushing too hard. But the sound of Raven laughing, low and knowing, made Clarke's fingers still on the folder.

Lexa's reply was quieter this time, but there was an edge there. "That won't happen."

Clarke glanced at the clock on her phone. She should knock. She should announce herself. Instead, she stood for one more heartbeat, feeling like she'd opened a door to a conversation she was never meant to hear.

When she finally rapped her knuckles on the glass inset, the voices cut off. Raven was the one to open the door, her smile bright and easy. "Hey, sunshine. You're early."

Lexa was behind the desk, posture perfect, expression unreadable, except for the faintest flicker of her eyes when Clarke stepped in.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt," Clarke said, glancing between them.

"You didn't," Lexa said smoothly, gesturing to the chair opposite her desk. "Raven was just leaving."

"Right," Raven said, brushing past Clarke with a grin. "See you later."

Clarke sat, setting her folder down, but she could still feel the weight of whatever she'd walked in on. Lexa was already flipping through the first page of the report, all business.

Still, Clarke found herself wondering, what did Raven mean by 'someone's gonna notice'?

Chapter Text

The engineering floor was quieter than usual when Clarke stopped by later that afternoon. Most of the team was off-site, leaving only the hum of servers and the faint click of Raven's keyboard. Clarke leaned against the edge of her desk, holding out the coffee she'd picked up on her way back from lunch.

"Bless you," Raven said, taking the cup with both hands like it was a rare treasure. "You're a saint, Griffin."

Clarke smirked. "I'll remember you said that."

Raven sipped, watching her over the rim. "So... how's it going upstairs? You surviving?"

Clarke gave a little shrug, not entirely sure how to answer. "It's... fine. Lexa's intense, but she's fair. I think I'm figuring out her rhythm."

"That right?" Raven's voice was casual, but there was a flicker of something behind her eyes, curiosity, maybe even amusement.

Clarke narrowed her gaze slightly. "What?"

"Nothing," Raven said too quickly, spinning her chair side to side. "Just, she's not exactly an open book. You've already gotten further than most."

Clarke arched an eyebrow. "Meaning?"

Raven grinned, all teeth. "Meaning you're doing something right. She's not always easy to read, but she doesn't... look at everyone the way she looks at you."

Clarke felt a faint heat creep into her cheeks before she could stop it. "Raven."

"What? I'm just saying."

Clarke shook her head, trying to smother a smile. "You're ridiculous." But her mind betrayed her, flicking back to the way Lexa's eyes had lingered earlier in the meeting, just for a moment, like she was studying Clarke rather than the numbers on the page.

Raven leaned back in her chair, watching Clarke carefully, almost too carefully. She didn't push further, didn't hint that she and Lexa's history went far beyond the polite exchanges Clarke had seen. But she filed the reaction away, the flush in Clarke's cheeks, the way her gaze had dropped.

The pieces weren't in place yet, but they were moving.

The next evening.

The office felt too warm. Lexa stayed seated for a moment, elbows braced on the edge of her desk, hands pressed together like she could pin her thoughts into something neat and manageable. She couldn't.

Raven's words had been light, teasing, but the subtext had sunk sharp. She doesn't look at everyone the way she looks at you.

The truth was, Lexa had been looking at Clarke since the day she walked into her office, not as her new hire, but as the woman from that night. The one she couldn't forget, whose laugh still caught her off guard in memory, whose touch still lived somewhere in her skin. Clarke didn't know. Clarke had no idea. And Lexa was caught in the thin space between wanting to protect her and wanting to close the distance entirely.

She stood, restless, pushing away from the desk and crossing to the wide window behind it. The city sprawled out in sharp lines and autumn light, but she barely saw it. What she saw instead was Clarke's hair catching the glow of the boardroom, the curve of her lips when she was holding back a smile. She'd been good today, too good, holding her gaze a fraction longer than necessary, letting the silence between them stretch just enough for Clarke to notice.

It was dangerous. But then, wanting her has always been dangerous.

When she heard footsteps in the hall, she turned before she could think better of it. Clarke appeared in the doorway, a file in her hands. "Hey, I have the updated contracts for your signature."

Lexa nodded, gesturing her in. "Leave them here." She waited until Clarke was close enough that their shoulders almost brushed as the papers slid onto the desk. The scent of her shampoo, something faintly floral, clean, curled into Lexa's lungs. She didn't step back.

"Thanks," Clarke said, meeting her eyes.

Lexa let herself smile, small, deliberate. "You've been doing good work, Clarke." Her voice was lower than it needed to be, the compliment edged with something heavier.

Clarke blinked, then smiled back, a touch uncertain. "Thank you."

Lexa's hand hovered over the papers, but she didn't pick up the pen. "You should get some rest tonight. You've been staying late."

Clarke tilted her head, curious. "Is that an order?"

Her mouth quirked before she could stop it. "More... a suggestion."

It was nothing. It was everything. Clarke left with that half-smile still on her face, and Lexa stood there in the quiet afterward, her pulse a little unsteady. She could keep pretending. She could keep this secret tucked between her ribs. But every day made it harder to remember why she should.

The elevator ride to the top floor was silent except for the faint hum of machinery and the low click of Lexa's heels on marble. She kept her gaze fixed on the illuminated numbers above the door, jaw tight, hands buried in the pockets of her coat. It was the kind of stillness that amplified every thought she'd been holding back all day, and every one of them led back to Clarke.

The elevator doors parted into her private foyer. The familiar scent of her penthouse, warm cedar from the shelves, faint traces of her own perfume, usually grounded her. But tonight, it only made the absence sharper. She hung her coat with precise movements, as if keeping her hands busy might keep her mind in check.

She walked into the open expanse of her home. The Manhattan skyline glittered beyond the glass, scattered gold and white across a velvet-dark canvas. The space was elegant, curated, cream-toned sofas, dark walnut floors, art she'd collected over years. But tonight, every inch of it felt too pristine, too quiet.

In the kitchen, she poured herself a glass of water, the clink of ice against crystal unnaturally loud. Her phone lay on the island. She stared at it for too long, picking it up, setting it down, picking it up again.

She could send Clarke something casual, Did you get home safe?, and pretend it was nothing. Or she could be reckless, say what she was actually thinking.

She typed: You looked beautiful today.

Her pulse thudded.

Delete.

She typed: Don't forget to rest tonight.

Delete.

The silence pressed in around her, making her restless. She pushed away from the counter and wandered toward the living room, and then she saw it.

Her jacket. The one she'd let Clarke borrow earlier in the week when the evening air had turned unexpectedly cold after a late meeting. She'd hung it on the back of the sofa without thinking.

Lexa's steps slowed. She told herself she wasn't going to do it. But her hand was already lifting the jacket, bringing the fabric to her face.

The faint, impossible scent of Clarke hit her instantly, warm skin, subtle shampoo, and that soft, barely-there sweetness she could never name but could pick out anywhere. It was intoxicating. It was grounding and unmooring all at once.

Her fingers tightened on the fabric. She inhaled again, deeper this time, and something in her unraveled. That night, the weight of Clarke's body beneath hers, the sound of her breath hitching, the way she'd said her name, surged back with brutal clarity.

Lexa's jaw clenched. She lowered the jacket slowly, fingers lingering in the fabric like she could wring one more trace of Clarke out of it. Her body felt keyed up, every nerve tuned to an ache she had no outlet for.

She dropped the jacket on the sofa like it might burn her if she kept holding it. Crossed to the window. Tried to focus on the glittering city below. But the scent was still in her lungs, curling low and hot in her stomach.

She could keep her distance. Keep the secret. Protect Clarke from the mess of what they'd been. But standing here alone, in a penthouse that suddenly felt like a cage, Lexa wasn't sure she wanted to keep protecting her from the truth, or from herself.

Lexa barely slept. She'd tossed beneath her sheets, her mind pulling her back to Clarke over and over until it felt like she was chasing heat she couldn't catch. Every time she closed her eyes, Clarke's face was there, that open, unguarded expression she wore when she laughed. And every time she inhaled, she swore she could still smell her on the jacket.

By the time she stepped out of her car in front of Woodson Enterprises the next morning, her body was running on sharp edges and coffee. The lobby's hum of quiet voices and soft jazz felt too slow, too civil, for the restless current under her skin.

Her private elevator opened on the top floor, and the moment she stepped into the hall, she saw her. Clarke, bent slightly over the reception desk, talking with the receptionist, one hand pushing a loose curl behind her ear. She was wearing pale cream today, the fabric brushing softly against her curves.

Lexa's chest tightened instantly.

"Good morning, Ms. Woodson," the receptionist tionist greeted.

Clarke turned, and it hit her all over again, the way those blue eyes met hers without knowing they'd been this close before.

"Morning," Lexa said, but the word came out lower, rougher than she meant. She caught Clarke's faint smile in response, the way it flickered just a little at the sound of her voice.

She didn't look away as she passed, her eyes lingering on Clarke's mouth for a beat too long before she pushed open her office door.

Lexa didn't even bother sitting before calling over her shoulder, "Clarke, bring in the report from yesterday's meeting. The one you left on your desk."

There was a pause. "Yes, Ms. Woodson."

It took less than a minute before Clarke was stepping into her office, the file in hand. Lexa took it without looking, her fingers brushing Clarke's in a way that was far too intentional.

Clarke froze for a fraction of a second. Lexa's gaze was on her face now, steady, unblinking.

"You smell different today," Lexa murmured, the words almost careless. Almost.

Clarke's brows knit. "Different?"

"Mm." Lexa flipped the file open, pretending to read, even as her body leaned back in her chair in that slow, deliberate way that let her eyes drag over Clarke from head to toe. "I notice things."

The tension stretched between them, invisible but impossible to ignore. Clarke shifted her weight, her cheeks tinged with faint color.

"Anything else you... notice?" Clarke asked, her voice lighter but betraying just a hint of curiosity.

Lexa's mouth curved, not quite a smile, more of a sharpened edge of one. "Plenty."

Clarke looked like she might ask more, but the phone on Lexa's desk rang, and the moment fractured. Clarke stepped back toward the door, that faint blush still lingering.

When the door shut behind her, Lexa sat back, the file untouched in her lap. She'd promised herself she'd keep her distance. But with Clarke in her orbit, in her building, breathing the same air... she wasn't sure she could hold that promise much longer.

By noon, Lexa had convinced herself she'd been composed enough all morning. She'd kept the flirting minimal, subtle touches, glances that lingered a little too long, but she'd also stayed in her office, buried in numbers and contracts, keeping her impulses in check.

But Raven was watching. She'd caught every flicker of Lexa's gaze when Clarke walked by, every shift in her body language. She already knew the truth, and now she was starting to enjoy herself far too much.

When Clarke mentioned she was heading to the company café for lunch, Raven fell into step beside her like it was nothing.

"You know," Raven said casually, "you've been working so hard lately, you should really get to know more people around here. It's a crime you don't."

Clarke chuckled. "I know you, isn't that enough?"

"Oh, I'm not enough for anyone," Raven said with a wink. "But I might know someone who'd like to change that."

Before Clarke could answer, they walked into the café, all warm light, muted chatter, the faint scent of fresh bread and espresso. Raven spotted her target immediately: Matt, one of the engineers, tall, easygoing, and very good at turning on the charm. Perfect bait.

"Matt!" Raven called, already steering Clarke toward him. "Come meet Clarke from admin, she's newish, but she's already killing it."

Matt stood, smiling, and offered his hand. "Nice to meet you, Clarke."

Clarke shook it politely. "You too."

Raven slid into a chair at the next table, just close enough to eavesdrop without joining in. She didn't have to wait long, Matt was smooth, leaning in a little, asking Clarke about her work, laughing at her answers.

And then she saw the shift.

Lexa.

The CEO stepped into the café, scanning the room like she'd been looking for someone and the moment her gaze landed on Clarke, sitting across from Matt, something in her expression went razor-sharp.

Her stride was controlled, but Raven knew her well enough to see the storm underneath. Lexa's eyes didn't leave Clarke's face as she approached, and Raven caught the way Matt's voice faltered when he noticed who had joined them.

"Clarke," Lexa said, low, almost warm, but with a thread of steel running through it. "I thought we had documents to review before the afternoon meeting."

Clarke blinked. "I— I didn't realize it was that urgent."

"It is," Lexa said simply, holding her gaze. "Now."

Matt leaned back, clearing his throat. "Of course, Ms. Woodson."

Clarke stood, murmuring a goodbye, but Lexa's hand brushed the small of her back as they walked out. It wasn't necessary. It wasn't professional. But it was possessive enough that Clarke's cheeks warmed.

Raven watched them leave, a slow grin spreading across her face. Oh, this was going to be fun.

The elevator ride up to the executive floor was silent, but not empty. Clarke could feel it, the quiet tension that filled the small space like static before a storm. Lexa didn't look at her, but her hand was in her pocket, and Clarke swore she saw her knuckles flex as though resisting the urge to reach out again.

When the doors opened, Lexa walked ahead, the subtle authority in her stride making Clarke follow without thinking. The door to her office shut behind them with a muted click, and only then did Lexa turn.

"Sit," she said softly. Not an order exactly, but it left little room for argument.

Clarke set her bag down and took the chair opposite Lexa's desk, her pulse skipping. "Did I... do something wrong?"

Lexa tilted her head, studying her in a way that made Clarke's breath catch. "Wrong?" she echoed, moving to the side of the desk instead of behind it. "Not... wrong. But I do expect my employees to remain focused during the workday."

Clarke's brow furrowed. "We were just having lunch."

Lexa leaned one hand on the desk, the other resting lightly on the back of Clarke's chair, close enough for her perfume to wash over Clarke in a dizzy wave. That scent, sharp cedar, faint citrus, something uniquely Lexa, made Clarke's skin warm.

"Lunch with Matt," Lexa said, her voice a fraction lower. "Do you... know him well?"

Clarke blinked at her, caught off guard by the question. "No. Raven introduced us. He seemed nice."

Lexa's jaw tightened. Her gaze lingered, not on Clarke's eyes, but on her lips, before she stepped closer, closing the last bit of distance. "Nice," she repeated, like the word tasted wrong on her tongue.

Clarke's breath hitched. "Is that... a problem?"

Lexa's lips curved, not quite a smile, more a sharp little tilt that felt dangerous. "Only if you think you need someone else's attention."

The words lodged somewhere deep in Clarke's chest, but before she could find a reply, Lexa straightened, all cool CEO composure again. "We have twenty minutes before the meeting. Let's review those documents."

But as Clarke pulled out her notebook, she caught the faintest trace of a smirk on Lexa's face, and realized that whatever had just happened wasn't over. Not even close.

The skyline sprawled outside her floor-to-ceiling windows, Manhattan glittering like a field of stars scattered at her feet. But Lexa barely saw it.

She was still standing where she'd dropped her briefcase, jacket half-slipped from her shoulders, her mind running that same reel over and over, Clarke's smile over lunch, her laugh at something that idiot Matt said, the way she'd leaned forward with her hair tumbling like liquid gold over her shoulder.

Lexa pressed the heel of her hand to her jaw, trying to shake it off, but the image stuck. The sound of her laugh. The faint heat that clung to Lexa's palm from where she'd brushed past her in the hallway. The scent that had hit her when she'd leaned in, sweet shampoo, warm skin, something faintly floral beneath it all.

God. She'd had to bite her tongue. Literally:)

She shrugged out of her jacket and tossed it on the sofa, pacing toward the kitchen. Even here, high above the city in her perfectly curated space, Lexa felt off-balance. She poured herself a glass of water, drank half, and then set it down untouched.

The worst part was the way her body responded without permission. Her pulse sped up just remembering the way Clarke's lips had parted in surprise in her office, the faint flush climbing her neck under Lexa's gaze.

Lexa braced her hands on the countertop, head bowed. This wasn't just attraction. It was want, raw and immediate, the kind that clawed at the edges of her control.

Her phone buzzed, a text from Raven:

So... jealous, huh?

Lexa rolled her eyes but didn't reply. Raven had orchestrated that ridiculous lunch on purpose, she was sure. And it had worked. Too well.

Lexa moved toward the window again, city lights throwing her reflection back at her. This wasn't sustainable, seeing Clarke every day, knowing what she didn't, keeping that night locked between her own ribs like a secret too dangerous to speak aloud.

She dragged a hand through her hair, almost laughing at herself. She had built her career on making impossible decisions quickly, and yet here she was, stalled, aching, and unwilling to let go of either the secret or the woman it revolved around.

The thought of telling her played out in her mind, Clarke's expression, the possibility of her pulling away. But then another scene intruded: Clarke close enough that Lexa could catch her scent again, could hear the catch of her breath when Lexa leaned in just a fraction too much.

Lexa shut her eyes, exhaling slowly.
Tomorrow. She'd see her tomorrow.

And God help anyone who tried to put their hands on her again.

Chapter Text

Clarke didn't suspect a thing.

That much, Lexa could tell. She'd seen her that morning in the elevator, pale blue blouse, hair down in loose curls, the faintest shine of gloss on her lips, and Clarke had smiled, warm and easy, like she always did.

Lexa had managed a polite "good morning," keeping her voice steady even as the scent hit her again. Sweet and floral, like something from another life. It made her chest ache, and it set off that sharp, restless heat low in her belly that no board meeting or late-night run could shake.

She'd made it through the morning buried in contracts and calls, safe behind her office door. But around noon, Raven appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame with that knowing smirk.

"You eating in?"

Lexa glanced up. "I have work."

"Mm-hm," Raven said, in a tone that promised trouble. "Because it's definitely not about avoiding a certain blonde in the break room."

Lexa's pen paused mid-signature. "Raven..."

But Raven was already gone, her boots clicking down the hall.

Lexa tried to ignore it. She really did. She managed ten whole minutes before she heard it, Clarke's laugh, soft and surprised, from somewhere just outside. It was followed by a male voice. Too close. Too casual.

Lexa's chair scraped back before she'd even registered standing.

The sight that greeted her in the break room was small and simple, Clarke at one of the high tables, lunch tray in front of her, and Matt was leaning just a little too far into her space. His hand brushed her forearm in some feigned gesture, and Clarke smiled politely, but there was a flicker of discomfort there.

Lexa felt it like a physical thing, that rush of heat, the tightening in her jaw. Her pulse was loud in her ears.

"Matt," Lexa said evenly from the doorway. Her voice carried, low and controlled, but with an edge that made the room glance over.

He straightened like a guilty teenager. "Uh— hey, boss."

"Don't you have a campaign meeting in five?"

"Right, yeah, I was just—"

"Now."

Matt went. Quickly.

Lexa stepped further in, letting the door swing shut behind her. Clarke was looking at her, eyebrows raised, a half-smile tugging at her lips.

"You didn't have to—"

"Didn't I?" Lexa countered, moving closer. Close enough that the scent hit her again, curling through her like smoke.

Clarke blinked, the faintest pink coloring her cheeks. "You're... intense sometimes."

Lexa's mouth curved, the kind of smile that could pass as polite to anyone watching, but underneath it was the pure, feral satisfaction of having cleared the space between Clarke and anyone else.

She reached past Clarke for the sugar packet on the table, fingers brushing hers just lightly enough to feel the spark jump. "Only when necessary."

Clarke's breath caught, so subtle most wouldn't notice. But Lexa did. She noticed everything.

And she left the room without another word, before she did something she couldn't take back.

Later, Lexa drove the whole way back to Manhattan with her hands clenched too tight on the wheel. She'd told herself she was just going to work late, lose herself in spreadsheets and acquisition reports until the heat in her chest cooled.

But she'd caught her own reflection in the mirrored elevator doors, the slight flush at her throat, the restless way she kept shifting her weight, and she'd known. No amount of quarterly data was going to fix this.

By the time she pulled into the garage beneath her building, the city air had taken on that damp, late-evening heaviness, and she was already imagining the solitude of her penthouse: lights low, the skyline spread out beyond the glass, the quiet hum of the refrigerator in the background.

She didn't notice the motorcycle until the elevator doors opened and Raven strolled in behind her, helmet tucked under her arm like she owned the place.

"You following me now?" Lexa asked, deadpan.
Raven grinned. "Please. I just happen to know your car, your schedule, and the fact that you're a total coward."

Lexa shot her a look. "I'm not—"

"Uh-huh," Raven said, drawing out the syllables as she stepped into Lexa's apartment when the door opened. She dropped her helmet on the console table like she'd been here a thousand times, which, technically, she had, back in the college days.

The penthouse was all clean lines and deep shadows, the glass wall spilling city lights across the hardwood floor. Lexa toed off her shoes, already regretting letting Raven in.

"You could just tell her, you know," Raven said, heading straight for the kitchen. She pulled a beer from the fridge without asking. "Instead of growling at guys like some kind of... Wall Street wolf."

Lexa leaned against the counter, arms folded. "You set that up."

"Me?" Raven widened her eyes in mock innocence. "Matt was just... feeling sociable."

Lexa's laugh was sharp and humorless. "You wanted to see what I'd do."

"Bingo." Raven twisted the bottle cap off and took a swig. "And for the record? You were seconds away from picking him up by the collar. I've seen you in negotiations, Lex. That was feral."

Lexa said nothing, but the silence was telling. She could still smell Clarke on her hands, faint from where their fingers had brushed over that sugar packet. It was absurd. It was maddening.

Raven leaned her hip against the counter. "You know what your problem is? You're acting like this is some chess game you have to win. Meanwhile, she's sitting there blushing at you like a teenager with a crush."

Lexa's jaw tightened. "She doesn't know."

"Yeah, but you do. And it's eating you alive."

Lexa's gaze slid away, out to the city lights. She didn't answer. Couldn't. Because Raven wasn't wrong and that scared her more than she wanted to admit.

The next morning, the hum of Woodson Enterprises felt sharper, almost electric. Clarke had come in early, soft curls spilling over her shoulder as she unpacked her laptop at her desk. She was in that pale blue blouse that made her eyes look brighter, fresher, and Lexa noticed immediately.

She noticed everything.

By the time the first meeting wrapped, Lexa had already found two excuses to stop by Clarke's floor. She didn't linger long, just enough for Clarke to look up, startled, lips parting like she'd forgotten what she was going to say. Enough for Lexa to stand a little too close as she reached for the edge of Clarke's desk, her hand brushing Clarke's knuckles in a casual, deliberate way.

The effect was instant, Clarke's breath caught, a faint pink rising in her cheeks. Lexa didn't comment. She just let the silence sit between them like a match waiting for a spark.

At lunch, the game changed. Raven was leaning against the break room counter when Lexa walked in, chatting with Clarke about nothing in particular. Matt, Raven's "helpful" co-conspirator from the day, before strolled in with a coffee and a smile.

"Hey, Clarke," he said, in that smooth, too-friendly tone. "You got a minute?"

Clarke looked up, surprised, and before she could answer, Lexa was there.

"I need Clarke for a quick review," Lexa said, her voice even but edged with something that made Raven choke on her coffee to hide a laugh.

Clarke blinked. "Oh, um—"

"Now," Lexa added, already moving toward the door like it wasn't a request.

In her office, the door clicked shut behind them. Lexa didn't sit at her desk. She stood at the window, hands in her pockets, forcing herself to breathe evenly. Clarke was watching her, frowning slightly in confusion.

"You needed me for...?" Clarke began.

Lexa turned, just enough for the city light to catch the green in her eyes. "Nothing urgent," she admitted. "I just... didn't feel like sharing your time."

It was reckless, far too close to the truth, but she watched Clarke's lips part again, watched the flush deepen along her neck. She saw the way Clarke's hand hovered over her stomach, a subconscious touch, protective and soft.

Lexa's throat felt tight. She wanted, God, she wanted, but she had to pace herself.

She moved closer, slowly, until there was only the desk between them. "You should eat," she said quietly. "I'll walk you down."

Clarke hesitated, then nodded, eyes still searching her face like she was trying to solve something.

From the hallway, Raven saw them leave Lexa's office together and smirked. Oh yeah, she thought, the wolf's losing her patience.

The afternoon dragged in the way time only does when you're desperate for it to pass. Lexa buried herself in emails, meetings, anything that kept her from pacing her office like a caged animal. But Clarke was just... there. A floor below. Close enough that Lexa swore she could feel her presence.

By three, she gave up pretending she was busy. She left her office with no excuse lined up, walking down the hall with the deliberate pace of someone who didn't want to admit how badly they needed to move.

Clarke was at her desk, leaning over a spreadsheet with her lower lip caught between her teeth. She looked up at the sound of footsteps, and Lexa's chest tightened. That soft blouse again. The faintest trace of her perfume, something Lexa had only smelled pressed against skin, drifted toward her.

Lexa came closer. Too close. Close enough that the paper in Clarke's hand brushed Lexa's sleeve.

"Everything on track?" Lexa asked, though she barely heard her own words. She was inhaling, slow and deep, the way you do when you've been starving and someone slides your favorite dish in front of you. It wasn't just perfume, it was her. The faint salt of her skin, the sweetness that lived at the base of her throat.

Clarke blinked. "Uh... yes. I'm just finishing up the new report."

"Good," Lexa murmured, still standing there. Her hand rested on the back of Clarke's chair for a fraction too long. She didn't move when Clarke shifted slightly, like she was trying to figure out if this was normal behavior for her CEO.

From across the floor, Raven caught sight of them and grinned to herself. Lexa was untamed in slow motion, leaning in just enough, voice lower than necessary, watching Clarke like she was memorizing the exact shape of her mouth.

When Clarke finally turned back to her screen, Lexa forced herself to step away. She didn't retreat to her own office though. No, she went to the conference room across the hall, where she could still see Clarke through the glass, where she could still breathe her in every time someone opened the door.

An hour later, Raven appeared in Lexa's doorway with her arms crossed. "You know," she said, "predators usually pounce when the prey is close enough. You're gonna lose your damn mind if you keep circling her like this."

Lexa didn't look up from her laptop. "Go away, Raven."

But her jaw was tight, and her hands wouldn't stop curling into fists.

Raven didn't go away. She leaned against the glass wall, watching Lexa pretend to type. "You know what I think?" she said casually, loud enough that her voice carried through the half-open door. "I think you're scared. You've got the self-control of a monk, but the second she walks by—"

Lexa's eyes snapped up. "Raven." Her tone was a warning, sharp enough to cut.

"—you go all wide-eyed and hungry like someone dangled a steak in front of you," Raven finished, smirking.

That was the moment Clarke appeared in the doorway. "Hey, Lexa, did you still want those reports before I—" She stopped mid-sentence, glancing between them. "Am I interrupting?"

Raven's smirk deepened. "Nope. Just talking about how our fearless leader here loses all sense of chill around—"

"Enough," Lexa said quickly, standing so abruptly her chair rolled back and hit the wall. The flush along her cheekbones wasn't the usual polished CEO composure, it was sharp, reactive, and entirely unguarded.

Clarke frowned slightly, holding out the file. "Here's the report. Everything's on track for next week's deadline."

Lexa stepped forward to take it, fingers brushing hers for the briefest second. A jolt shot straight through her, that same goddamn scent filling her lungs, that same warm pulse just beneath Clarke's skin. She swallowed, trying to recover before the silence stretched too long.

"Good," she said, but it came out softer than she intended. Almost... intimate. "Thank you, Clarke."

Raven's eyebrows shot up like she'd just witnessed a confession in code. Clarke's brows knit, but she nodded and stepped back.

As Clarke turned to leave, Raven muttered under her breath, just loud enough for Lexa to hear. "Smooth, Woods. Real subtle."

Lexa didn't look at her. She was too busy watching Clarke walk away, too aware of the fact that every cell in her body wanted to follow.

The buzz of end-of-day chatter floated across the open floor. Most of the staff were shutting down computers, slipping on coats, and heading for the elevators. Clarke powered off her laptop, rubbing at her temple, and slung her bag over her shoulder.

Raven was leaning against her desk, all casual confidence. "C'mon, Griff, I'm starving. You owe me dinner after that meeting I had to sit through."

"I didn't make you sit through it," Clarke teased, but she looped her scarf around her neck and followed Raven toward the exit anyway.

They'd barely stepped into the main hall when Matt appeared, walking toward them with a grin that made Clarke slow her pace.

"Hey, Clarke," he said, falling into step beside her.

Clarke returned his smile, curious. "Hi, Matt."

He hesitated, like he was trying to find the right tone. "I was wondering... how do you feel about Friday nights in SoHo? There's this wine bar I've been dying to check out. Just you and me?"

Raven's head swiveled just enough to catch Clarke's reaction, but she stayed quiet.

Clarke blinked, caught off guard. "I... don't know. I'll think about it?"

Matt's smile widened. "I'll take that as a maybe."

They reached the lobby just as the polished doors to the executive wing swung open. Lexa stepped out, coat over her arm, her hair loose for once. The sight might have been casual to anyone else, but to Clarke it made the air around her shift.

Lexa slowed when she saw them, eyes moving from Clarke to Matt with the precision of someone assessing a problem. "Everything alright?"

Matt, oblivious, said, "Just asking Clarke out for Friday."

Lexa's posture tightened. It wasn't obvious to most, her shoulders didn't hunch, her voice didn't sharpen, but Raven caught the subtle stillness that meant she was annoyed.

"I see," Lexa said evenly, her eyes locking on Clarke for half a second too long.

Clarke felt oddly... caught. "We were actually just heading out to dinner. Raven's dragging me to that new Italian place on Fulton."

Raven, with the faintest smirk, turned toward Lexa. "You should come with us."

Lexa hesitated, not because she didn't want to, but because she was suddenly hyperaware of Matt standing there. "Italian?" she asked, as if she needed confirmation.

"Yeah," Raven said, eyes glinting. "Good food, small booths."

Lexa gave Clarke another lingering look, one that seemed to carry both hesitation and something quietly possessive. "I'll join you," she said finally.

Matt glanced between them, faintly puzzled. "Alright... see you Friday, Clarke."

Lexa's tone was polite but flat. "We'll see."

Fulton

The Italian place on Fulton was tucked between a small bookstore and a wine shop, its warm yellow lights spilling onto the sidewalk. The air inside was rich with the scent of garlic and baked bread, the low hum of conversation a soft backdrop.

Raven led the way to a corner booth, sliding in first. Clarke followed, shrugging off her coat and laughing at something Raven muttered about the crowded subway. Lexa took the opposite seat, her long frame folding in with deliberate composure, though her eyes kept tracking Clarke's movements like she couldn't quite help it.

They ordered wine for Raven, sparkling water for Lexa and regular water for Clarke. The moment the server left, Raven leaned an elbow on the table. "So... Clarke got asked out tonight."

Clarke rolled her eyes. "Raven."

"What? I'm just making conversation." Raven smirked, and Lexa's jaw shifted ever so slightly, though her expression stayed neutral.

Lexa's fingers traced the edge of her water glass. "Matt," she said, not quite a question.

Clarke gave a small shrug, her cheeks warm. "Yeah. I said I'd think about it."

The way Lexa's gaze settled on her was steady but unreadable, like she was cataloging every word. "And will you?"

"I... don't know yet," Clarke admitted, tucking a curl behind her ear. "I haven't really been thinking about dating."

Raven shot her a look, a sly one. "Haven't you?"

Clarke gave her friend a pointed glare, but Lexa's attention hadn't wavered. She was sitting straighter now, one hand resting on the table, the other loosely holding the stem of her glass. It wasn't aggression, but there was a quiet insistence in the way she kept her focus on Clarke, like she was waiting for an answer that mattered more than it should.

Their food arrived, breaking the tension for a moment. Plates of pasta steamed between them, and the warm scent of basil drifted up from Clarke's dish. Conversation turned to safer topics, a new project Raven was handling, a charity gala the company was sponsoring, but every time Clarke laughed at something Raven said, Lexa's eyes flicked toward her with that same pull, as if she were caught between wanting to be part of the moment and guarding something too close to touch.

When Clarke leaned forward to sip her water, Lexa's gaze dipped briefly, catching the curve of her smile, before she forced herself to look away and reach for her fork.

"So," Raven said, far too casually, "if you don't go out with Matt, what would you do Friday night?"

Clarke considered it. "I don't know. Probably stay home."

Lexa's voice was quiet but certain. "Sometimes that's better."

Clarke glanced at her, sensing something under the words but not quite placing it. "Sometimes," she agreed.

Raven hid her grin in a bite of pasta, clearly enjoying the subtle push and pull between them.

Two hours later: Williamburg.

Williamsburg's quiet streets stretched ahead, punctuated by the occasional hum of traffic from the main road. Raven peeled off at the corner to catch her subway, leaving Lexa and Clarke walking side by side.

Clarke's breath puffed faintly in the chill, her hands tucked into her coat pockets. "Thanks for coming tonight," she said after a few blocks, glancing up at Lexa. "I wasn't sure you'd say yes."

Lexa gave a small, almost self-conscious smile. "Neither was I."

They fell into an easy rhythm, their steps matching. The quiet wasn't uncomfortable, it had weight, like something unspoken was moving between them. Every so often, Lexa's gaze drifted toward Clarke, catching the way the streetlight caught in her curls, the faint colour still on her cheeks.

But behind her composed exterior, Lexa's thoughts kept circling back to Matt. The way he'd looked at Clarke, the confident ease with which he'd asked. The fact Clarke hadn't said no. It pressed against her in a way she didn't want to examine too closely, stirring that restless tension in her chest.

"You were quiet at dinner," Clarke said softly.

Lexa's hands were deep in the pockets of her coat. "I was listening."

"To what?"

Lexa hesitated, then shrugged. "You. Raven. The way you laugh."

The admission hung between them, gentle but deliberate. Clarke's lips curved into a small, surprised smile, and something in Lexa's chest eased just a fraction.

They reached Clarke's building, a modest brick walk-up with warm light spilling from a fifth-floor window. Clarke turned to face her, keys in hand. "Do you want to come up?" she asked lightly. "I made extra cake last night."

Lexa shook her head, though it was clear she lingered on the thought longer than she should have. "Another time." Her eyes swept over Clarke's face, steady and lingering. "Goodnight, Clarke."

"Goodnight," Clarke said, still holding her gaze as she stepped inside.

Lexa waited until the door shut before she turned to leave, her stride slower than before. The warmth of Clarke's voice, the scent of her perfume, faint but persistent in the air. stayed with her all the way back to Manhattan, weaving itself into the corners of her thoughts no matter how hard she tried to push it aside.

Lexa's penthouse was quiet when she stepped inside, the only sound the faint hum of the city below through the floor-to-ceiling windows. She loosened her coat but didn't bother turning on the main lights, moving instead through the dim glow cast by the streetlamps outside.

The drive from Williamsburg hadn't cleared her head. If anything, the time alone had only sharpened the edges of her thoughts. Matt's voice, casual and confident as he'd asked Clarke out, kept replaying in her mind, followed by Clarke's soft, I'll think about it.

She'd smiled politely at the time, but the truth was it had landed like a punch she hadn't seen coming. And then there was the other truth, the one sitting heavier than all the rest: Clarke's pregnancy.

Her child.

She could still see the faint glow in Clarke's expression when she'd rested her hand unconsciously on her stomach during lunch earlier that week. The gesture had been so small, so natural, but Lexa had felt it like a current running straight through her.

She moved toward the kitchen, needing something, water, a distraction, but stopped short, bracing her hands against the marble countertop. Her mind betrayed her, unspooling the memory of that night. The way Clarke had tasted, the sound she'd made against Lexa's mouth. The warmth of her, the scent of her skin. And now, knowing that night had begun a life that Clarke carried without realizing Lexa already knew... it pulled at her in ways she couldn't fully name.

She'd promised herself she would let Clarke come to her, that she wouldn't force the truth before Clarke was ready. But the more time they spent together, the harder it became to keep her distance. Tonight, standing next to Clarke on that quiet Williamsburg street, smelling the faint trace of her perfume in the cold air, she'd almost leaned in. Almost crossed that line.

Her phone buzzed on the counter, dragging her back. A text from Raven.

Raven:

Matt's not her type. Don't lose sleep.

Lexa's lips twitched despite herself. Raven knew exactly which buttons to press, and exactly what Lexa wasn't saying.

Lexa:

I'm not losing sleep.

The dots appeared.

Raven:

Sure. And I don't own a torque wrench.

Lexa set the phone down, shaking her head, but the corner of her mouth softened. Still, she couldn't shake the restlessness in her chest. Tomorrow, she decided, she'd keep Clarke close. No more leaving room for Matt to make his moves.

She poured herself a glass of water, leaned against the counter, and let her gaze drift toward the skyline. Somewhere out there, Clarke was probably getting ready for bed, maybe humming to herself in that absent way she did when she was deep in thought. Maybe she was thinking about him.

Lexa hated that she didn't know.

And she hated even more how much she wanted to change that.

Chapter Text

The morning at Woodson Enterprises had the slow, steady hum of midweek work, the murmur of conversations in glass-walled conference rooms, the rhythmic clicking of keyboards, the faint scent of roasted coffee drifting from the break area.

Clarke had been in early, her desk already organized with neat stacks of files and her tablet balanced on its stand. She was halfway through answering an email when she noticed Matt heading her way, his stride casual but intentional.

Raven, leaning on the edge of Clarke's desk with a mug in hand, followed his approach with an arched brow. "Incoming," she murmured, her voice pitched low enough that Clarke almost didn't catch it.

Matt stopped just beside them, his easy grin in place. "Morning, Clarke. You have a minute?"

Clarke set her pen down. "Sure."

He glanced at Raven, who gave him a mock salute before retreating a few steps, though she didn't go far enough to miss anything.

"I wanted to ask," Matt began, slipping his hands into his pockets, "about what we talked about yesterday. Dinner. Any chance you've thought about it?"

Raven's gaze flicked between them like she was watching a chess match. Clarke's fingers tapped lightly against her desk before she let out a small breath. "Yeah, I did."

For a moment, she looked like she might hedge again, give him another maybe. But instead, she smiled, soft but certain. "Alright. Dinner sounds nice."

Raven's head snapped toward her, eyes narrowing in disbelief. "Wait, you're actually saying yes?"

Matt's smile widened. "Great. I'll text you the details?"

Clarke nodded, brushing a strand of hair back from her face. "Sure."

What none of them noticed, at least not at first, was the tall figure who had paused just a few steps behind, a folder in hand. Lexa had been heading toward the corner office, but Clarke's voice had reached her in the middle of the hall. The moment the words Dinner sounds nice registered, she stopped.

Her grip on the folder tightened, the sharp edges pressing into her palm. She didn't move for a few seconds, her gaze fixed on Clarke and Matt in that way that made people feel like they'd just stepped into the wrong meeting.

When Clarke finally glanced up, catching sight of her boss, Lexa's expression was unreadable, all polished professionalism on the surface, but her eyes were sharper, cooler than Clarke was used to.

"Morning," Clarke greeted, though her voice faltered slightly.

"Morning," Lexa returned evenly. She shifted her attention to Raven. "Can I speak with you?"

Raven, already sensing the undercurrent, shot Clarke a look that was equal parts good luck with that and you're in trouble, then followed Lexa toward the glass-walled office.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Lexa set the folder down with deliberate care. "Dinner with Matt?"

Raven's mouth curved into a slow smirk. "So you were listening."

Lexa gave her a flat look. "That's not an answer."

Raven crossed her arms. "What do you want me to say? She said yes. I didn't see that coming either."

Lexa didn't respond right away. She moved to the window, staring out at the skyline, but her jaw was tight. "It's... unwise."

"Unwise?" Raven echoed. "Or inconvenient... for you?"

Lexa's silence said enough.

The morning rolled on in a haze of meetings and scattered focus. Clarke kept busy, tapping at her tablet and jotting notes in her neat, looping handwriting. But every so often, her eyes drifted to the clock. Raven noticed. Raven noticed everything.

By the time noon neared, Raven appeared at Clarke's desk again, leaning one hip against it and swirling the coffee that had long gone cold in her mug. "So, what do you think? Lunch at Tadka?"

Clarke glanced up. "That little indian place on the corner?"

"That's the one. They've got those garlic knots you like. Plus—" Raven's eyes glinted with mischief "—it's close enough Lexa can't use 'too far' as an excuse not to join."

Clarke blinked. "You're inviting Lexa?"

"Of course," Raven replied, tone casual but lips twitching. "Bosses need to eat too."

She didn't wait for Clarke to protest. Instead, she straightened, turned toward Lexa's office, and rapped lightly on the door before slipping in.

Lexa was behind her desk, pen poised over a document, but she set it down as Raven stepped in. "What is it?"

"Lunch. Tadka's. Clarke and I are heading over."

Lexa gave her a measured look. "I have work—"

"Not buying it," Raven cut in. "You've got time. Unless..." She let her voice trail off, the implication hanging in the air.

Lexa exhaled slowly, giving her a look that would've made most employees backpedal. But Raven wasn't most employees. "Fine," Lexa said at last, standing and reaching for her jacket.

When they returned to Clarke's desk, Clarke was slipping her phone into her bag. "Tadka's sounds good," she said.

And then, as if fate itself was conspiring against Lexa, Matt rounded the corner with that same easy grin. "Heading to lunch?"

"Yeah, we are done for the day." Clarke said, almost without thinking. Then her voice lifted, warm and open in a way that made Lexa's stomach twist. "Want to join us?"

Matt's grin widened. "Sure. Sounds great."

Raven's head snapped toward Lexa so quickly it was a miracle she didn't give herself whiplash. Lexa, to her credit, didn't flinch, but her knuckles whitened where her fingers wrapped around the strap of her bag.

The four of them left together, weaving through the lobby and stepping out into the brisk air. Tadka's was only a short walk, but the path felt longer than usual. Clarke and Matt fell into easy conversation at the front, their voices low and punctuated by occasional laughter. Raven drifted just behind them, deliberately keeping pace with Lexa, whose expression was composed but whose eyes were fixed ahead with surgical precision, anywhere but on Clarke's hand brushing lightly against Matt's arm as she laughed.

Raven leaned closer, voice pitched so only Lexa could hear. "You're loving this, huh?"

Lexa's mouth tightened. "Careful, Raven."

Raven smirked. "Oh, I am."

Inside Tadka's, the warm scent of baking bread and chicken tikka curled around them. The hostess led them to a booth near the window, and somehow, whether by innocent arrangement or cruel coincidence, Clarke and Matt ended up sliding in beside each other, leaving Lexa and Raven opposite them.

Clarke's smile was bright, easy, and Lexa found herself hating how natural it looked. Every time Matt leaned closer to speak, Lexa's fingers flexed against her knee under the table. She told herself she wasn't glaring, though Raven's barely-suppressed laugh across from her suggested otherwise.

The hostess had barely handed them menus before Matt was leaning in again, forearm brushing along the back of the booth behind Clarke.

"So, Clarke," he said, his voice casual but with that unmistakable edge of interest, "You are single, right?"

Clarke's brows lifted. "Excuse?"

"I'm just making sure," Matt said with a smirk that made Raven's boot gently nudge Lexa's shin under the table.

Lexa didn't move. She just stared at the menu like it contained the blueprint to world peace, though her grip on the laminated edge had gone from casual to structurally compromising.

"Oh, right." Clarke smiled faintly, tilting her head. "I am single... and yeah, I'd still like to go."

Raven's head whipped toward her so fast her curls bounced. "You would?"

Matt's grin widened. "Great."

"Then it's settled," Clarke said, like it was the easiest thing in the world. She didn't notice the way Lexa's jaw flexed or the way Raven's lips were pressed together in a smile that was pure trouble.

"Can't wait," Matt said, and the way his hand brushed hers as he reached for his water was so small it could have been nothing, but Lexa saw. Lexa felt it, right in the tight coil of her chest.

The waitress came by, all friendly chatter and pen poised. Raven ordered first, then Matt, then Clarke.

When it was Lexa's turn, her voice was steady, but each word was precise enough to cut glass. "Chicken tikka with rice. And a bottle of the Montepulciano."

The waitress scribbled, nodded, and drifted off.

"So," Matt continued once they were alone again, "Raven tells me you're new to the company?"

Clarke nodded, tucking a curl behind her ear. "Yeah, a couple of weeks now."

"How's it been? Settling in okay?"

"I am," Clarke said with a small smile. "Everyone's been really welcoming."

Lexa's gaze slid to Raven, who was leaning her chin on her hand, watching the exchange like it was prime entertainment.

"You know," Matt said, "I could give you a tour sometime. There's a few parts of the building most people never see unless they've been there for years."

"That sounds nice," Clarke said.

Lexa's voice was smooth, calm, and cut directly into the space between them. "Clarke already has more than enough to manage in her current role."

Matt blinked at her tone, but Clarke didn't seem to catch it. She just smiled faintly and took a sip of water.

The food arrived, mercifully interrupting, but the conversation kept winding back to Clarke and Matt, travel stories, favorite coffee shops, even the books they were reading. Lexa's answers to any question directed at her were short, efficient, and carried just enough finality to discourage further probing.

By the time they finished, Clarke was laughing at something Matt had said, sliding out of the booth with him so they could pay together at the register. Raven lingered just long enough to lean toward Lexa and murmur, low and wicked, "You are so jealous right now."

Lexa's eyes stayed locked on Clarke, but her voice dropped into something that made Raven's grin grow wider. "Careful, Raven. I'm still your boss."

Outside, the air was crisp, the kind of New York night where streetlights seemed to hum against the backdrop of distant traffic. Clarke stepped onto the sidewalk with Matt beside her, laughing at something he'd said as they fell a few paces ahead.

Raven hung back just enough to match Lexa's slower stride. She didn't say anything at first, letting Lexa's gaze track the pair in front of them like a hawk following prey.

Finally, Raven smirked. "You keep staring like that, Woods, and you're gonna set the man on fire."

Lexa didn't look at her. "He's... forward."

"That's one word for it," Raven said. "But she said yes. You gonna sit there and brood, or...?"

Lexa's jaw worked. "She doesn't know what she's saying yes to."

Raven gave her a sideways glance. "Pretty sure she knows it's a date."

Lexa's eyes flicked to her, sharp and fleeting, before returning to Clarke. "It's not a good idea."

"Why?" Raven asked, feigning innocence. "Because you don't like him?"

Lexa didn't answer. She just shoved her hands into the pockets of her coat, the collar turned up like it could hide the intensity in her eyes.

Up ahead, Matt slowed his pace and glanced back. "Clarke, you want me to walk you home?"

Clarke hesitated, looking between him and Raven. "Oh uh, I live in Williamsburg, so it's a bit out of your way."

"I don't mind," Matt said. "It'd be nice to keep talking."

Raven's eyes flicked to Lexa at that, like she was watching for the precise moment the CEO's composure cracked.

"Actually," Raven cut in, her grin razor-sharp, "Lexa lives closer to you. You two could split a ride."

Lexa's gaze snapped to her, but Clarke seemed oblivious to the undercurrent. "Oh — that's true."

Matt looked between them, sensing something he couldn't quite name. "Well, maybe I'll just take the train with you, Clarke. I don't mind a little detour."

Lexa's voice was calm, polite and left absolutely no room for argument. "That won't be necessary. I'll see her home."

Clarke blinked at her, a little surprised at the decisiveness. "Oh. Okay."

Matt smiled faintly. "Guess I'll see you tomorrow, then."

He gave a parting nod to Lexa and Raven, then headed toward the nearest subway entrance.

Raven waited until he was out of earshot before leaning close to Lexa, her words a low tease. "You are so territorial right now."

Lexa didn't respond, just stepped forward to fall into pace with Clarke, the city lights catching in her green eyes as if they were reflecting something deeper.

The drive should have gone straight back to Williamsburg, but as the city's evening hum softened into the warm glow of streetlamps, Lexa's hand flicked the turn signal almost without thought.

"Uh—this isn't the way home," Clarke said, half-turning in the passenger seat.

"I know." Lexa's voice was smooth, calm, as if she'd planned it all along. "There's a park not far from here. Thought you could use some air before heading in."

Clarke blinked, then smiled faintly. "That's... actually nice. Okay."

From the back seat, Raven glanced between them with a knowing curve to her mouth. She didn't say anything, but Lexa could feel the weight of her amusement like a heat lamp on the side of her face.

They parked along a quiet side street, where leafy branches arched overhead, sheltering them from the city noise. The path into the park was lit with low, golden lamps, casting shadows that swayed with the wind.

Lexa slowed her pace to match Clarke's, hands in her coat pockets, posture loose, but her eyes flicked to Clarke's every so often, cataloguing the way her cheeks flushed in the evening air. And when Clarke laughed at something Matt had texted her a moment earlier, Lexa's jaw tightened.

"You two seem to get along well," Lexa said lightly. Too lightly.

Clarke looked over at her, brows lifting. "Matt? He's nice."

"Nice." Lexa repeated the word as if it didn't quite fit in her mouth. "I'm sure he is."

There was a pause, filled with the sound of wind moving through dry leaves. Raven walked a step ahead, pretending to be distracted by her phone.

Clarke tilted her head, watching Lexa's expression. "What?"

"Nothing," Lexa said. But her gaze lingered, a shade too intense. "Just... you should be careful. You don't really know him."

The comment was sharp enough to catch Clarke off guard. "I can take care of myself, Lexa."

Lexa's lips curved, half-smile, half something else. "I know you can. I just—" She stopped herself, eyes sweeping over Clarke's face, then flicking away. "Never mind."

They reached a bench tucked under a canopy of trees. Lexa motioned for Clarke to sit, then remained standing for a moment, looking out at the dark stretch of grass. When she finally joined her, she sat close enough that their shoulders brushed. Not quite an accident.

Clarke exhaled slowly. "You're acting weird."

"Am I?" Lexa asked, tone even, though the corner of her mouth betrayed her.

Clarke turned to face her fully, searching her eyes. "Yes. And I'm guessing it's about Matt."

Lexa's gaze locked with hers, unwavering. "Maybe I don't like the idea of you going out with someone who doesn't see you the way you should be seen."

Clarke's brows furrowed, but her cheeks warmed. "And how should I be seen?"

Lexa's reply came quiet, almost lost under the whisper of the wind. "Like you're already the most important thing in the room."

For a long moment, Clarke couldn't find words. Raven, sensing the shift in the air, cleared her throat loudly and announced she was going to "check out the fountain," leaving them alone.

Lexa leaned back, but her eyes stayed on Clarke, their green catching in the lamplight. She didn't say more, she didn't need to. The weight of what she hadn't said was already between them.

Clarke didn't look away, even as the quiet between them stretched. There was something in Lexa's voice, soft but edged, that made her pulse beat a little too fast.

"You really don't like him, do you?" Clarke asked finally, tilting her head as though she could read the truth off Lexa's face.

Lexa's lips pressed into a thin line. "I don't know him," she said, voice measured. "But I don't like the way he looks at you."

Clarke huffed a small laugh. "The way he looks at me?"

"Yes." Lexa's gaze cut to her then, sharp and unflinching. "Like you're... something to chase. Not something to protect."

The words settled heavy between them. Clarke shifted on the bench, pulling her coat tighter. "Lexa... you're being intense."

"I'm always intense," Lexa said, the ghost of a smirk playing on her mouth. "You just don't usually notice it."

Clarke's breath caught, not at the words, but at the way Lexa leaned slightly toward her when she said them, the faint scent of cedar and something warmer wrapping around her. The closeness made the air feel heavier.

From a few yards away, Raven sat on the edge of a low wall near the fountain, clearly pretending to scroll her phone while watching them out of the corner of her eye.

Lexa caught the movement and straightened, putting a fraction more distance between herself and Clarke. But her voice stayed low, meant only for her. "You're... different lately."

Clarke blinked. "Different how?"

Lexa hesitated, just long enough to make it noticeable. "You seem softer," she said at last, eyes dipping to Clarke's hands resting in her lap. "More... guarded. I don't know if that's because of him, or..."

"Or what?"

Lexa looked back up, and the hunger in her eyes was quick, unguarded, before she pulled it back under control. "Or something else entirely."

Clarke's cheeks warmed, though she wasn't sure why.

Before she could answer, Raven's voice carried over. "Alright, lovebirds, can we move it along? Some of us are tired."

Clarke rolled her eyes. "We're not—" She cut herself off, standing from the bench.

Lexa rose more slowly, her gaze sliding briefly to Clarke's profile as she fell into step beside her. On the walk back toward the car, Matt's name popped up again on Clarke's phone, the glow of the screen lighting her face in the dark.

Lexa didn't ask what he said. She didn't have to, her jaw had already set in that careful, restrained way that told Raven everything she needed to know.

Raven smirked to herself.

Clarke blamed the dizziness on the cold air.

That was easier than admitting she'd been feeling this way for weeks now, nausea in the mornings, a bone-deep tiredness that hit her in waves, the subtle but undeniable awareness of the changes happening in her body. She could already feel herself instinctively protecting her stomach, her hand brushing there when she thought no one was looking.

Except Lexa looked. Lexa noticed everything.

The worst part wasn't the exhaustion or the queasiness, it was the way her body seemed more alive in Lexa's presence. She told herself it was ridiculous, hormonal maybe, the early stages of pregnancy heightening her senses. But it didn't explain why she could pick Lexa's cologne out of a crowd, or why she sometimes caught herself holding her breath when Lexa leaned close enough for the heat of her body to reach her.

She'd gotten good at masking it. A shift of her weight when her pulse jumped, a joke to cover a moment that stretched too long, keeping her gaze fixed on safe points, Lexa's hands, the set of her jaw, anything but those green eyes that could unspool her completely.

At the park, she'd been sure Lexa could hear her heartbeat. Sitting there on the bench, close enough to feel the subtle brush of Lexa's coat against hers, the air thick with whatever unspoken thing hummed between them, it was almost too much.

Her fingers had twitched against her lap, wanting to do something reckless, like reach over and trace the line of Lexa's wrist just to see if her skin was as warm as it looked. She bit the inside of her cheek instead, forcing her attention toward Raven's distant voice, toward the safe and ordinary.

But when they started walking again, Lexa's hand brushed hers accidentally, Clarke told herself, firmly, and her stomach tightened in a way that had nothing to do with the pregnancy.

She needed to get a grip.

At the same time, there was a traitorous part of her that didn't want to.

By the time they left the park, Clarke's head was buzzing.

It wasn't just the crisp evening air or the lingering nausea; it was Lexa. Always Lexa. The quiet intensity, the way her attention felt like sunlight, warm, focused, dangerous if you stayed in it too long. Clarke found herself stealing glances, then cursing herself for it, like she was balancing on a tightrope between wanting and self-preservation.

They parted ways at the curb outside her apartment building.

"You walk fast for someone who's been dragging all day," Raven called, jogging up the steps.

Clarke turned, startled. "You... Didn't you say you were going home?"

Raven grinned like she'd been caught doing exactly what she meant to. "You were zoning out the whole time at lunch. Thought I'd make sure you got home without face-planting on the sidewalk. You're welcome."

Clarke rolled her eyes but pushed the door open, letting Raven trail in behind her. The warmth of the apartment hit them, and Raven leaned casually against the counter, studying her with the kind of expression Clarke had learned to distrust.

"What?" Clarke asked, kicking off her boots.

"Nothing," Raven said, then smirked. "Except... you've been acting weird around a certain tall, broody CEO lately."

Clarke froze mid-motion. "What? No, I haven't."

Raven's eyebrow went up, the way it always did when she knew she'd struck gold. "Uh-huh. Sure. Totally explains why you turn into a deer in headlights every time she talks to you."

Clarke crossed her arms, forcing a laugh. "You're imagining things."

"Am I?" Raven asked, pushing off the counter and moving closer, her voice dropping to something more pointed. "Because from where I was sitting tonight, Lexa was looking at you like she wanted to—"

"Raven." Clarke's tone was warning, but her cheeks betrayed her, heating.

Raven grinned, satisfied. "Mm-hm. Thought so. Guess I'll just have to keep an eye on you two."

Clarke shook her head, but her heart was still beating too fast as Raven finally backed off and started talking about work instead.

The thing was... Raven wasn't wrong.

Raven had kicked back on Clarke's couch like she owned the place, one ankle hooked over her knee, sipping the tea Clarke had shoved into her hands. She was in no rush to leave, and Clarke suspected that was on purpose.

"So," Raven started, casual in that deliberate way of hers, "are you actually going to go out with Matt?"

Clarke blinked at her, then made the mistake of holding eye contact for a beat too long. "I'm not so sure anymore."

Raven snorted. "Which is girl-code for 'I'm either saying yes to be polite or hoping the universe takes this decision out of my hands.'"

Clarke sighed, sinking into the armchair opposite her. "He's nice. I just..." She trailed off, fumbling for words.

Raven leaned forward, elbows on her knees. "You just... what?"

Clarke's gaze flicked to the window, the faint glow of the city outside easier to focus on than Raven's sharp stare. "I don't think I'm—God, this sounds ridiculous, I don't think I'm really interested in him like that."

Raven tilted her head, reading her like an open book. "So who are you interested in?"

Clarke hesitated, chewing her lip. "It's... complicated."

Raven's smirk was immediate, almost predatory. "Tall. Brunette. Green eyes. Runs a company like she's leading a military operation?"

Clarke's head snapped toward her, heat rushing to her cheeks. "Raven—"

"Called it," Raven said, leaning back with a triumphant grin. "You're into Lexa."

Clarke buried her face in her hands, half-laughing, half-mortified. "I'm not, okay, maybe I am. But it's stupid, right? She's my boss, she's—" She stopped herself before adding intimidating as hell or impossible to ignore.

Raven's expression softened just slightly. "Not stupid. Just... risky. But Clarke, you should've seen her during lunch. If looks could burn holes through people, Matt would be ash."

Clarke groaned, curling her legs up on the chair. "Exactly why I shouldn't be thinking about her like that."

Raven gave her a pointed look over the rim of her mug. "Yeah, good luck with that."

Clarke dragged the throw blanket tighter around her shoulders, like it could muffle the embarrassing truth threatening to spill out.

"It's not just that she's..." She hesitated, and Raven's smirk told her she wasn't getting out of this one without finishing the sentence. "God, it's everything. The way she looks at me like she's peeling me apart without even touching me. The way she moves, like she's got all the time in the world but still owns the room."

Raven hummed in mock sympathy. "Sounds awful."

Clarke shot her a glare, but the heat in her cheeks wouldn't fade. "And she smells—" She stopped, eyes widening, realizing too late she'd said it out loud.

"Ohhh," Raven drawled, sitting forward. "Go on."

Clarke shook her head, pressing a hand to her mouth. "Nope. Not happening."

"Too late. You opened the door. What does Lexa smell like?"

Clarke groaned, sinking deeper into the chair. "Like... rain, but warm? And something clean, like cedar. Every time she gets close it's... distracting. I can't think straight." She gave a humorless laugh. "Which is ridiculous because half the time she's just passing me a file or leaning over my desk, and I'm sitting there trying not to breathe too much like some weirdo."

Raven looked far too entertained. "Oh, you're gone. Absolutely gone."

Clarke ran her hands over her face. "And it's not just her smell. It's her voice. That low, calm thing she does when she's asking me a question. It's like she knows I'll give her any answer she wants."

"Damn," Raven said, grinning like she'd just solved a puzzle. "Matt doesn't stand a chance."

Clarke gave her a flat look, but the tiniest smile tugged at her lips. "You're impossible."

Raven tipped her mug toward her. "I'm just saying, if this were a chess game, Lexa's already in checkmate territory. You just haven't admitted it yet."

Raven left Clarke's apartment with her hood pulled up against the wind, the streets of Williamsburg humming faintly in the distance. She didn't head straight for the subway, she took the long way, letting her mind work through what she'd just heard.

Clarke's voice, that mix of fluster and longing, was still fresh in her ears. The way she'd described Lexa... God, it was too specific. Too knowing. And it lined up too perfectly with the way Lexa had reacted that first week Clarke joined Woodson, tense, too attentive, like she was trying not to stare.

Raven had known Lexa in her final years of college, and she'd seen her interested in people before, controlled, measured, polite interest. But with Clarke? It was almost... personal. Dangerous.

By the time she ducked into the empty corner of the subway platform, she'd made up her mind. This was a game now. And Raven hated games where people dragged their feet. If Lexa was going to tell Clarke the truth, she'd just... help move things along.

She pulled out her phone and scrolled to Lexa's contact.

Raven:

Matt's making his move. Pretty sure Clarke's still thinking about going.
He's not subtle, said he's aiming to take her home.
He even showed up after you left. You and I have an idea of what's going to happen.

Her finger hovered over send, her lips curling slightly. It wasn't entirely a lie, Matt had been obvious at lunch, and Clarke had agreed to go out with him. Still, Raven knew exactly how Lexa's mind worked. If anything could shove her out of her carefully built restraint, it was the idea of someone else having Clarke before she'd even told her the truth.

The message sent with a satisfying ping.

Raven slipped her phone back into her jacket pocket and leaned against the cold tile wall, her smirk settling into something more calculated. She knew Lexa well enough to picture the reaction, green eyes narrowing, jaw ticking, maybe that slow, quiet fury she got when someone underestimated her.

If Raven had her way, this wouldn't drag on much longer. One way or another, Lexa was going to break.

Lexa's Apartment.

Lexa had been standing at the kitchen island of her penthouse, a half-finished glass of red wine untouched beside a spread of documents she'd been pretending to read. The city spread out beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, Manhattan glittering under a cold, black sky, but her attention was nowhere near it.

Her phone vibrated once. Raven.

She didn't think much of it until she saw the words.

Matt's making his move. Pretty sure Clarke's still thinking about going.
He's not subtle, said he's aiming to take her home.
He even showed up after you left. You and I both have an idea of what's going to happen.

Lexa read it twice. Slowly.

The wine glass went still in her hand. Her pulse, usually so steady it could have been clockwork, gave a sharp, unmissable jolt. She set the glass down with controlled precision, but her jaw tightened enough to ache.

Matt. Touching Clarke. Kissing her. Thinking he could take her home.

Her hand dragged through her hair, the tension in her shoulders coiling tighter and tighter. She'd told herself, ordered herself, to wait. To keep her distance until the moment was right. But now all she could see in her mind was Clarke's soft, unguarded smile when she was comfortable, the way she smelled when she leaned too close in the elevator, warm skin, shampoo, and something faintly sweet that made Lexa's control fray at the edges.

And the thought of someone else having that, of Clarke offering it to someone who didn't know her, didn't deserve her, hit like a punch to the chest.

No.

Lexa was already moving before the decision had fully formed, grabbing her coat from the back of the sofa. The motion was fast, but not frantic, her body always moved with purpose, even now, when heat was running like wildfire through her veins.

By the time she stepped into the private elevator, her phone was in her hand again. She stared at Raven's message once more, jaw flexing.

If Clarke was going to hear the truth, it wasn't going to be from anyone else. Not from a slip. Not from an accident. And certainly not after someone else had touched what was hers before she had even claimed it.

She was going to tell her tonight.

And Matt? Matt could rot.

The elevator doors slid closed, cutting her off from the glittering skyline as the car descended.

35 minutes later.

Clarke's apartment in Williamsburg was quiet, just the low hum of her old radiator filling the space when she opened the door. She blinked at Lexa standing there, hair wind-tossed from the cold, a coat she hadn't bothered to button hanging open.

"Lexa?" Clarke's brows drew together, voice laced with confusion. "What are you—? It's late."

"I needed to see you," Lexa said, and there was no space in her tone for refusal. She stepped inside before Clarke could think to move aside, it was gentle, but firm, and her presence filled the small entryway.

Clarke shut the door slowly, watching her like she was trying to decode a language she didn't know she spoke. "Is something wrong?"

Lexa almost laughed, but it was bitter in her chest. "Yes. No. I—" She exhaled sharply, pacing a step before turning back to her. The words felt huge in her mouth, years of self-control fighting to keep them in, but Raven's text burned in her mind, and the thought of Clarke in Matt's orbit made it impossible to stay silent.

"That night," she started, voice low. "The one you don't remember... I was there. It was me, Clarke."

The silence that followed was heavy.

Clarke's lips parted, confusion tightening her expression. "What?"

Lexa stepped closer, green eyes fixed on hers. "It was me. At the bar. You were... beautiful. I didn't plan for it, and I know you don't remember much, but I do. Every detail." Her voice softened, almost reverent. "And the child you're carrying... is mine."

Clarke's breath caught, her knuckles tightening around the edge of the kitchen counter.

"I've wanted to tell you," Lexa continued, searching her face for something: acceptance, understanding, anything. "Every day since you started working at Woodson. But I didn't want to overwhelm you, not when you were already going through so much." She swallowed, the truth still hot in her chest. "Tonight, I couldn't—"

But then Clarke's voice cut through. "Why tonight?"

Lexa stilled.

And suddenly, the image of Raven's smirk flashed in her mind, the way she'd worded her text, the little calculated jab about Matt. Something cold slid beneath the heat in her chest.

Her eyes narrowed slightly, not at Clarke, but at the realization taking shape. "Raven..." she murmured, half to herself.

Clarke's head tilted, confusion deepening. "What about her?"

Lexa's jaw worked, and she looked away for a moment, piecing it together. Raven had baited her. She'd wanted Lexa to say it, and she'd known exactly how to get her to break her own rules.

When Lexa looked back at Clarke, the truth was still there between them, but now there was a different kind of tension, a raw vulnerability she couldn't take back.

Chapter Text

Clarke stood frozen in the quiet of her kitchen, Lexa's words still suspended in the air like they might shatter if either of them moved.

It was me. That night. The baby is mine.

The breath she tried to take caught halfway. Images flickered in her mind, soft, blurry memories from that hazy night. Hands at her waist. A voice low against her ear. Heat blooming everywhere at once. She'd never attached a face to the feeling. Until now.

Her eyes searched Lexa's, trying to reconcile the polished, controlled CEO with the stranger who had left her with nothing but a hangover and a secret heartbeat growing inside her.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Clarke's voice came out sharper than intended, a brittle edge covering the shake underneath.

Lexa's jaw tightened, but her tone stayed calm. "Because I didn't want you to feel trapped. I wanted you to choose to be in my life because you wanted to. Not because of what happened that night... or because of our baby."

The words our baby hit harder than she expected, settling low in her chest with a weight that made her feel dizzy.

She looked away, trying to steady herself, and that's when a thought wormed its way in. "Wait..."

She thought back to earlier, Raven's knowing smirk when Clarke said "yes"  to Matt's invitation. The way she'd tossed little remarks all week, almost nudging Clarke toward moments that somehow ended up involving Lexa.

Her gaze snapped back to Lexa. "Did Raven say something to you?"

Lexa didn't answer right away, and that hesitation told Clarke everything she needed.

Her stomach sank. "She did. She told you something."

"I didn't ask her to—" Lexa began, but Clarke shook her head.

"So she lied to me. She pushed me toward you without me even knowing it." Clarke's voice wasn't loud, but there was a steel edge in it.

"I'm not sorry I told you," Lexa said softly, stepping closer until the faint scent of her slipped into Clarke's lungs. "But I wish you'd heard it because I chose the moment, not because someone forced it."

Clarke wanted to push her away, to regain the ground she felt herself losing. But the nearness, the gravity between them, was destructive. She could feel it drawing her in despite everything.

And under the shock, under the faint flicker of betrayal toward Raven, there was something else pulsing through her, warm and sharp and terrifying to admit.

When the door finally shut behind Lexa, the quiet pressed in around Clarke like a second skin.
She stood in the middle of her kitchen, still clutching the untouched glass of water she'd poured when Lexa first arrived.

She tried to drink, but the coolness hit her lips without registering; her mind was somewhere else entirely, back in that office weeks ago when Lexa first brushed past her, back in that conference room when their eyes had locked, back in a dimly lit apartment months ago when she hadn't known a name but had felt that same magnetic pull.

Her stomach gave a slow roll, part nausea, part adrenaline, part the dull hum that had settled low between her hips. Our baby. She set the glass down before her fingers betrayed her and started shaking.

She pressed her palms to the counter, bowing her head.

Raven's voice replayed in her mind.
Matt's cute. Maybe you should give him a chance.
That sly smirk. That suspiciously casual tone.

Clarke wasn't naïve, Raven had been trying to push her toward something. But now, realizing Lexa's confession had been nudged out of her instead of given freely, made Clarke's chest ache in a strange, unsettled way.

Still... she couldn't unhear it. Couldn't unsee the way Lexa's green eyes softened when she said I didn't want you to feel trapped.

Clarke ran a hand over her face, groaning softly.
It wasn't just the pregnancy hormones. It wasn't just loneliness. There was something about Lexa, something dangerous and alive that made her body remember before her mind could catch up. She hated that she could still feel the ghost of Lexa's nearness, that faint, intoxicating scent clinging to her clothes.

She glanced at her phone on the counter. No new messages.

Her thumb hovered over Raven's name, but she dropped the phone back down. Not tonight.
She needed space away from Lexa's voice, away from Raven's meddling, away from the sudden heat curling in her belly when she thought of green eyes and the quiet certainty in them.

And yet, as she went to bed, the last thing she remembered before sleep pulled her under was the warmth of Lexa's hand when it brushed hers. The spark it left behind didn't fade.

Lexa's Pov.

The elevator doors slid shut, and Lexa exhaled for the first time since she'd walked out of Clarke's apartment.

Her reflection stared back at her in the polished brass, jaw tight, shoulders squared, but her eyes gave her away. They still held the storm she'd been holding back all night. She leaned against the wall, dragging a hand through her hair.

She'd gone there to keep things simple, to talk like two adults about the reality they now shared. But the moment she'd stepped inside, the air had shifted. Clarke's scent, warm, faintly floral, like something that clung to her skin rather than her clothes, hit her in the chest, and the carefully rehearsed words had unraveled.

She'd told her the truth. Or enough of it.
The rest, that night, the way you came apart under my hands, the fact that you've haunted me since, still sat lodged in her throat like a blade she couldn't pull free.

The elevator dinged at the lobby, and she stepped out into the cool night. Her driver was already waiting at the curb, but she didn't get in right away.

She needed air.

She needed to think.

Because Raven had pushed her hand. She knew it the second Clarke's expression shifted from shock to suspicion, the second she realized there was no way Clarke had been accidentally primed for that conversation. Raven had meddled.

Again.

Lexa's mouth pressed into a thin line.
She respected Raven's brilliance, even liked her when she wasn't trying to orchestrate Lexa's personal life like some chessboard. But this? This was reckless. It wasn't Raven's place to decide when Clarke should know.

And now...Now Clarke was in her apartment, probably replaying every second of what Lexa had just said, wondering whether to run from her or toward her.

Lexa finally slid into the backseat of the car, the leather cold against her palms.

Through the tinted glass, she watched the lights of Brooklyn fade into the dark stretch of the bridge, her mind still back in that kitchen. The way Clarke's pupils had dilated when their eyes met. The way her lips had parted just slightly like she might say something that could change everything.

Lexa's fingers curled into fists. She wanted her. She'd wanted her from the first moment in that bar. She wanted to tell her everything, to tear away the months of half-truths and let Clarke see the whole picture.

But wanting and having were not the same. And the risk of losing her completely, of losing the chance to be there for their child, was a blade just as sharp as the truth.

"Home, Ms. Woodson?" her driver asked.

Lexa hesitated, eyes lingering on the skyline.
"Yes," she said finally, her voice low. "Home."

But she knew she wouldn't sleep tonight. Not with the ghost of Clarke's scent still clinging to her skin. Not with the memory of her so close, and still so far away.

The penthouse was quiet when she stepped inside, the kind of stillness that made her feel the size of the space. The city noise filtered faintly through the floor-to-ceiling windows, but even Manhattan felt muted tonight.

Lexa dropped her keys on the marble console and shrugged off her coat, tossing it carelessly over a chair, unusual for her, but her mind wasn't on order right now. She crossed to the living room, the soft glow of the city spilling over the edges of the glass. She didn't bother with lights.

Her phone was already in her hand before she sat down.

She unlocked it, thumb hesitating over Clarke's name in her messages. The last text there was from earlier that week, polite, short, all business. If she typed something now, if she let her walls slip, that tone would be gone.

Just say it, a voice in her head urged.
Tell her about that night. Tell her she's been in your head every damn day since. Tell her the truth about the baby growing inside her.

Her fingers moved before she could stop them.

I should have told you everything tonight.

She stared at the words. They looked stark against the screen, too revealing, too raw. She imagined Clarke reading them, imagined the questions, imagined the distance that could follow.

She erased them.

Tried again.

Couldn't stop thinking about you all day.

Her heart kicked harder, almost painfully, as she pictured sending it.

She pictured Clarke's brows lifting in surprise, her lips parting and then the flush of color across her cheeks. She could almost feel the way Clarke might tuck a loose curl behind her ear, trying to decide what to say back.

It would be dangerous. It would shift everything.
It would also be worth it.

She hovered over send. Her thumb trembled, and then she locked the phone instead, dropping it beside her on the couch.

Lexa leaned forward, elbows on her knees, pressing her hands over her face. The scent of Clarke was still there, clinging faintly to her skin, her shirt, the edges of her hair. It was maddening. It was addictive.

She sat like that for a long time, staring out over the glittering city.

Her phone stayed silent.
Her secrets stayed hers.
For tonight.

The office felt colder than usual that morning.

Clarke kept her head down as she walked in, coat folded over one arm, the other wrapped protectively around the warm paper cup of tea in her hand. She didn't glance toward the glass-walled corner office, even though she could feel its presence like a pull on a compass needle.

Inside that office, Lexa sat behind her desk, perfectly composed, green eyes tracking Clarke's arrival without a flicker of expression. The door stayed shut.

They didn't cross paths all morning. Emails replaced conversation, both of them sticking rigidly to the professional distance they'd built before last night shattered it. But the silence between them was heavy, thick enough to feel when they passed in the hall and didn't look at each other.

By lunch, Lexa's patience had worn thin. She found Raven in the engineering wing, hunched over a laptop with schematics pulled up.

"We need to talk," Lexa said, voice low but edged with steel.

Raven didn't even look up at first. "About how you finally told her?"

Lexa's jaw flexed. "About how you forced that conversation."

That got her attention. Raven leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. "I didn't force anything. I just... nudged the situation along. You've been dragging your feet for months, Lexa. She deserved to know."

"She deserved to hear it from me," Lexa snapped, keeping her voice down as a pair of engineers walked past. "Not because you played matchmaker with lies about Matt."

Raven tilted her head, studying her. "You're mad because you lost control of the timing. But you're not denying that it needed to happen."

Lexa's silence was its own answer.

Raven smirked faintly. "She's not running, is she?"

"No," Lexa admitted, though her tone was clipped. "But she's hurt. She doesn't know that you and I have known each other for years. She thinks you're just her friend, not... whatever this is between us."

Raven leaned forward, lowering her voice. "Then don't let her find out. Not yet. Give her time to process you before she has to process that I've been watching this slow burn the whole time."

Lexa hated that she was right. Hated more that the sting of Clarke's cool avoidance this morning hurt worse than she'd expected.

"I don't like being manipulated," Lexa said finally, her voice soft but dangerous.

"You're welcome," Raven replied, turning back to her laptop like the conversation was over. "Now stop sulking in your office and go win her over."

Lexa lingered for a beat, but there was no more to say.

Later, Lexa returned to her office, but the quiet felt oppressive now, like the glass walls were trapping her with every thought she couldn't shake.

She replayed the scene in Clarke's kitchen, the way Clarke's eyes had widened, the pulse flickering at her throat, the way her voice had cracked around why didn't you tell me. Lexa had built her entire strategy around giving Clarke time, space, control over the pace of things. Now, thanks to Raven, that control was gone.

But distance wasn't making things better.

Every time Clarke's laugh drifted faintly from the marketing floor, Lexa's shoulders tightened. Every time she caught a glimpse of blonde hair through the glass, her chest went hot. Even now, she could imagine Clarke's scent curling through her senses until her jaw ached from holding back.

By midafternoon, Lexa gave up pretending to work. Her hand hovered over her phone more than once, ready to type out something casual. A lunch invitation. A question about a project Clarke was working on. Anything to break the ice without making it obvious how badly she wanted to.

But she didn't type. She stood.

The walk to the marketing department felt longer than it should, the air in her lungs too tight. When she reached Clarke's desk, she didn't bother with the polite preamble.

"Can we talk?" Lexa asked quietly.

Clarke looked up from her screen, blinking like she'd been pulled out of another world. Her hand hovered over the mouse, not moving. "Now?"

Lexa's mouth twitched, half nerves, half determination. "If you have a moment."

Clarke hesitated, then pushed her chair back. She followed Lexa toward one of the smaller conference rooms, and Lexa felt every step, aware of the faint sound of Clarke's heels, the brush of her coat against her arm when they passed through the doorway.

Inside, the door clicked shut, and Lexa turned to face her.

"I don't want to keep avoiding you," Lexa began, her voice low but firm. "Last night, how it happened wasn't what I wanted. I should have told you sooner, yes, but not like that. Not because Raven decided to stir things up."

Clarke crossed her arms, eyes narrowing slightly. "You're not denying what she said to you."

"No," Lexa said honestly. "But I'm telling you that my feelings for you are not a product of her games."

Something flickered in Clarke's gaze, quick and unreadable. "Feelings," she repeated softly, as if tasting the word.

Lexa nodded once, not looking away. "Yes. And I'd like the chance to show you, if you'll let me."

The air between them felt charged again, the same magnetic pull that had been there since the start, but now stripped bare of pretense.

Clarke's throat tightened. It was ridiculous how two words, my feelings, could ripple through her like that. She wanted to scoff, to push back, to remind Lexa that her life had already been upended enough without adding whatever this was on top.

But the memory of last night clung to her skin like heat that wouldn't fade. Lexa's voice in her kitchen, low and steady, claiming the truth. The way her green eyes had softened when she said our baby. Clarke had spent half the night lying awake, replaying it over and over, until she could almost convince herself she still felt the warmth of Lexa's hand from that long-ago night.

She took a step back, not for space but to breathe. "Lexa..." She shook her head, her voice quieter now. "You dropped something huge on me last night. You can't just expect me to process it and—" she gestured vaguely between them "—jump into this."

Lexa didn't move closer, but her gaze stayed locked on her, steady and grounding. "I'm not expecting anything. I just... don't want you to think this is about responsibility. Or guilt. I want you to know it's because I want you."

The last three words hit with more force than Clarke was ready for. Her stomach flipped, part nerves, part something warmer, heavier.

She laughed softly, but there was no humor in it. "You have a way of making it really hard to avoid you, you know that?"

Lexa's mouth curved into the faintest smirk. "Good."

Clarke's lips parted like she might say more, but her phone buzzed in her pocket. She glanced down, Matt. Her stomach dropped. She'd told him she'd give him an answer soon after suddenly cancelling yesterday. And now, after this, the thought of saying yes felt... wrong. But saying no felt like giving Lexa more ground than she was ready to give.

She slipped the phone back without answering, eyes flicking back to Lexa. "I need time."

Lexa nodded once, accepting it, but Clarke could see in the way her jaw flexed that it wasn't easy for her. "Then I'll give you that."

But as Clarke left the room, she could still feel the weight of Lexa's gaze on her back, like a tether that, no matter how far she walked, wouldn't quite let go.

The next day.

The elevator doors slid open with a muted chime, and Lexa stepped into her office floor like she was walking into enemy territory. She'd managed to avoid Clarke all morning, something that felt more like an ache than a relief, but she hadn't been able to avoid the other person she least wanted to deal with right now.

Raven was already leaning against the edge of her desk, coffee in hand, like she'd been waiting.

"You've been dodging me," Raven said casually, but her eyes were sharp.

Lexa set her bag down with deliberate calm. "Busy."

"Uh-huh." Raven took a slow sip, watching her over the rim of the cup. "So... how'd it go?"

Lexa didn't answer right away. She walked around to her desk, sat, and began sifting through the stack of files in front of her. "I told her."

Raven's brows lifted. "And?"

Lexa finally looked up, her expression giving away nothing, but her eyes were tired, shadowed in a way Raven recognized. "And she didn't take it well."

"Shock of the century," Raven muttered. "You drop that bomb and expect her to just fall into your arms?"

"I expected her to react however she needed to," Lexa replied, her voice calm but tight.

Raven leaned forward, planting her hands on Lexa's desk. "Listen, Woods, I've known you long enough to know when you're stalling. And you're stalling. Meanwhile, Matt's out here sniffing around like he's got a shot. And Clarke, pregnant Clarke is actually considering it."

Something flickered across Lexa's face. Not the full-blown feral flash Raven had seen before, but enough to tell her the words had landed.

"Matt isn't her future," Lexa said flatly.

"No," Raven agreed, "but he could be her present if you don't stop dragging your ass. And once people start filling that space you're too afraid to step into... well, good luck getting it back."

Lexa leaned back in her chair, her fingers steepling. "I don't want to force her."

Raven smirked faintly. "Then don't. Just... be in her space. Make it so she can't not think about you. You're good at that, Lexa."

Lexa's gaze flicked briefly to the closed office door, like she could see through it, through the hall, all the way to Clarke's workstation. Her chest felt tight again, the same pull she'd been fighting since last night.

"I'll think about it," she said.

Raven's grin widened as she pushed off the desk. "Good. Just don't think too long, or Matt might end up at her apartment before you do."

Lexa didn't answer, but her pen stilled in her hand. She was already thinking about it and the thought of anyone else there made her pulse thrum with quiet, dangerous resolve.

Clarke was gathering her things for the lunch break, stacking files with a little more force than necessary. She still hadn't fully come down from that night, from the conversation in her kitchen that had tilted her whole world. And she hadn't seen Lexa today, not really. Just a brief glimpse across the lobby earlier, enough for her chest to tighten, enough to remind her of every unanswered question.

She was shrugging on her coat when Matt appeared beside her desk, leaning one hand on the edge like he belonged there.

"Heading out?" he asked, smile easy, voice pitched just enough to sound like it might be more than small talk.

"Yeah," Clarke said, tucking her phone into her bag.

"Mind if I join you?" His tone carried that same undercurrent from yesterday, interest, casual but deliberate.

Clarke hesitated. "I'm actually meeting a friend..."

Matt tilted his head, unfazed. "Another time, then."

It wasn't that she didn't notice the way his eyes lingered, or that she was oblivious to what he was offering. If anything, she noticed too much. She could feel the choice hanging there, like saying yes might be easier than admitting how tangled she already was over someone else. Someone she shouldn't be tangled over.

"I'll... think about it," she lied, her voice steady but her stomach unsettled.

"Fair enough." His grin was warm, confident. "I'll hold you to it."

Across the floor, Raven emerged from Lexa's office, chatting as she walked. Lexa followed a few seconds later, trying unsuccessfully to look like she wasn't paying attention. Clarke felt the heat of that green-eyed gaze even before she saw it, a prickle at the back of her neck that made her turn.

Lexa's expression was polite, distant to anyone who didn't know better. But Clarke caught it, the faint tightening of her jaw, the way her hands flexed against her sides like she was holding herself back.

"Ready?" Raven asked, pulling Clarke's attention away.

Clarke nodded, still feeling Lexa's eyes on her as she and Raven headed toward the elevator.

From her spot by the door, Lexa watched them go, every muscle taut with something she refused to name aloud. She told herself it was nothing, that Clarke could do what she wanted, see who she wanted. But the thought of Matt's hand brushing hers over dinner, of him leaning in close to that soft, distracted smile... it was enough to make her pulse hammer.

And it left her with only one conclusion: if she didn't want that to happen, she was going to have to stop pretending she had time to spare.

The little bistro was busy enough to make conversation feel private, but not so loud that Clarke couldn't hear Raven's latest round of teasing. They'd snagged a small table near the window, sunlight spilling over the mismatched plates and scattering in Clarke's hair like it had been put there on purpose.

Raven was halfway through a story about a disastrous prototype test when Clarke caught the faintest flicker of movement through the glass, a tall, familiar figure crossing the street. The sight jolted her in her seat before she could even name it.

Lexa.

She was dressed like she always was for the office, charcoal slacks, white shirt, jacket hanging from two fingers over one shoulder, but there was something about the way she moved today. Purposeful. Intentional. Like she wasn't walking so much as hunting.

By the time she stepped inside, Clarke had schooled her expression into polite surprise. Raven, however, only smirked into her drink.

"Well, this is a coincidence," Lexa said, her voice warm but threaded with something sharper as her gaze landed on Clarke first, then Raven.

"Total coincidence," Raven deadpanned, earning a narrow look that made her grin wider.

Clarke gestured to the empty chair across from her. "You can join us if you want. We just ordered."

Lexa hesitated, like she might decline then set her jacket neatly over the chair and sat down. "I'll stay for a bit."

Raven leaned back, enjoying herself far too much. "Matt was supposed to meet us, too," she said casually, taking an exaggerated sip.

Lexa's jaw flexed. "Was he?"

"Yeah," Clarke said, fiddling with her fork. "But he got caught up with something at work."

"Shame," Lexa murmured, but there was no actual regret in it. Her eyes lingered on Clarke, unblinking, in a way that made Clarke shift in her seat.

It should have been nothing, a simple lunch. But under the table, Lexa's foot tapped once against the floor before she stilled it, her posture deceptively relaxed. She asked about Clarke's morning, listened to her answers, even smiled at Raven's sarcastic jabs, but her attention never really left Clarke. Every time Clarke's gaze drifted away, Lexa's would follow the curve of her cheek, the way her lips curved around a sip of water, like she was memorizing details she had no right to know so well.

And though she didn't say a word about Matt, every careful movement, the way she leaned forward just enough to be in Clarke's space, the faint press of her knee brushing Clarke's under the table, made her feelings perfectly clear.

Raven caught it all, biting back a laugh as she stirred her coffee.

Lexa wasn't just reclaiming the space. She was quietly, deliberately warning off anyone who might think they belonged there.

The walk back to Woodson Enterprises should have been uneventful. Just three blocks of midday foot traffic, the hum of traffic, and Raven trailing a step behind while pretending to check her phone.

But with Lexa beside her, Clarke felt like the air had shifted, thicker somehow.

Lexa didn't keep her usual polite distance this time. Her stride matched Clarke's perfectly, close enough that the heat from her arm brushed Clarke's with every step. When they stopped at the crosswalk, Lexa leaned in, her voice pitched low enough that Raven wouldn't hear over the traffic.

"You look good when you're annoyed," she murmured, a flicker of a smirk playing on her lips.

Clarke shot her a sharp look. "Not funny."

"Who's laughing?" Lexa's green eyes caught the afternoon light, making them almost unreal. "I'm just... appreciating."

Clarke turned her gaze straight ahead, determined not to give her the satisfaction. But that didn't stop Lexa. She adjusted her jacket, her hand grazing the small of Clarke's back as they crossed the street, a touch so brief it could have been an accident, except Clarke knew better.

"Did you enjoy lunch?" Lexa asked, her tone casual but her eyes fixed on Clarke's lips when she spoke.

"Yes," Clarke said tightly. "Until you showed up and turned it into... whatever that was."

Lexa's smirk deepened. "That was me making sure you didn't get bored."

"You mean making sure Matt didn't get the chance to join us."

Lexa didn't deny it. "Maybe. I've never been good at... sharing." Her gaze swept over Clarke, lingering a fraction too long. "Especially when it comes to things I want."

The words hit harder than they should have. Clarke kept her eyes forward, but her pulse betrayed her, quickening under the weight of Lexa's attention.

"You're unbelievable," Clarke muttered.

"And yet," Lexa replied smoothly, "you're still walking next to me."

The last stretch to the building was a silent tug-of-war, Clarke clinging to her anger like a shield, Lexa testing the edges of it with quiet, deliberate provocations. A glance that lasted too long. A slight lean toward her when she spoke. Fingers brushing hers when she reached for the door.

By the time they stepped into the lobby, Clarke's frustration was tangled hopelessly with something else, something warmer, more dangerous.

Lexa held the door for her, eyes locking on hers for a beat too long. "You really want me to leave you alone?" she asked softly.

Clarke hesitated, then nodded once.

Lexa's answering smile was slow, knowing, like she'd just won something Clarke wasn't ready to admit she'd been playing for.

Chapter Text

The elevator doors slid open with a quiet chime, and Clarke stepped out first, hoping that putting some space between them might help her regain her composure.

It didn't work. Lexa was right behind her, her presence coiling around Clarke like static electricity.

"Clarke," Lexa's voice was low, almost tentative now, but still with that undercurrent of intent. "I meant what I said earlier. I should've told you sooner. I should've given you the truth right away."

Clarke kept walking toward her office, eyes fixed ahead. "Yeah, you should have."

Lexa caught up, matching her pace easily. "I was trying to protect you."

"From what? From knowing who the father of my child is?" Clarke's voice was sharp, but the heat in it came as much from the ache behind her ribs as from anger.

Lexa's jaw tightened, but she didn't flinch. "From feeling like you were backed into a corner. I didn't want you to feel like you had to choose me just because of what happened that night. I wanted you to... want me for me."

The words made Clarke's stomach twist. She didn't reply, but Lexa must have seen the flicker in her expression, because she moved closer, close enough that Clarke caught that faint, warm cedar scent she hated herself for missing.

"And I do want you to want me, Clarke," Lexa said, her voice soft but steady, "but I'm not going to pretend I don't already want you."

Clarke stopped short outside her office, turning to look at her fully for the first time since they left the restaurant. Lexa's eyes were bright with something she couldn't quite name, part apology, part hunger, part something that felt dangerously like longing.

Lexa's hand lifted, hesitating just shy of touching Clarke's arm, as if she was giving her a chance to move away. Clarke didn't.

"You're infuriating," Clarke muttered, though her voice had lost some of its edge.

Lexa's mouth curved in a faint smile. "You've told me that before."

"And arrogant."

"Also true." She finally let her fingers brush the sleeve of Clarke's blouse, the touch light but deliberate. "But I'm not going anywhere. Not now that you know."

Clarke should have stepped back. She should have said something that reminded Lexa exactly why she was still angry. Instead, she let the touch linger for just a breath longer than she should have before moving into her office.

Lexa stayed in the doorway, watching her with that same steady gaze, like she was trying to read every flicker of thought on her face.

"I'm going to make it up to you," Lexa said simply. "Even if it takes the rest of my life."

Clarke didn't answer, but the corner of her mouth twitched, not quite a smile, but no longer a frown. And Lexa saw it.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of half-finished emails and meetings Clarke could barely focus on. Every time she glanced up from her desk, it was as if Lexa was there, either in the glass reflection of her office door or walking past with a glance that lingered a fraction too long.

By the time the floor had quieted and most employees had left for the day, Clarke found herself still at her desk, staring at a spreadsheet she'd stopped processing ten minutes ago. The building's hum had softened, the usual chatter replaced by the distant whir of the air vents.

She jumped slightly when a low knock came at her open door.

Lexa stood there, her jacket gone, sleeves rolled up, leaning casually against the frame. "Still here?"

"Some of us have work to finish," Clarke replied, a touch sharper than she meant.

Lexa smiled faintly, stepping inside without asking. "And some of us wanted an excuse to check on you."

Clarke leaned back in her chair. "I don't need checking on."

"Maybe not," Lexa said, circling the desk slowly, "but I wanted to anyway."

When she reached the corner of the desk nearest Clarke, she didn't stop. Instead, she rested one hand on the wood, leaning in just enough that her shadow brushed across Clarke's papers.

"I meant what I said earlier," Lexa murmured. "I won't stop trying to win you over.  I will regret not doing that for a long time."

Clarke's pulse kicked, though she kept her expression neutral. "Regret doesn't change what you did."

"No," Lexa agreed softly, her gaze steady, "but what I do now might."

Her voice was lower now, the kind of tone that wrapped around Clarke's thoughts and refused to let go.

Clarke's eyes flicked to the doorway, empty, the office floor deserted, and then back to Lexa. "You're flirting."

Lexa's mouth curved into a slow smile. "Is it working?"

The air between them thickened. The proximity, the heat of her presence, was enough to make Clarke's breath shallow.

"You should go home," Clarke said finally, though it lacked conviction.

Lexa didn't move. "Maybe. Or maybe I'll stay until you decide you're ready to stop pretending you don't feel this too."

Clarke's cheeks warmed, and she hated the fact that Lexa was right, that a part of her did feel it, tangled up in the anger, the confusion, the history she was still trying to sort through.

Lexa straightened at last, her gaze still locked on Clarke's. "Think about it," she said, voice velvet-soft, before turning to leave.

Clarke sat frozen long after she was gone, the scent of her still clinging to the air like a ghost.

Clarke was still staring at the doorway when Raven's head popped around it.

"Wow," Raven said, stepping inside with a grin that was half mischief, half curiosity. "What was that? Looked intense from where I was standing."

Clarke forced herself to look back down at her papers. "It was nothing."

Raven crossed her arms. "Right. Because the CEO just wanders into your office after hours to talk about... nothing."

Clarke didn't answer, her cheeks still warm, and Raven's grin only widened. "You're blushing. Oh, this is so something."

"Drop it, Raven." Clarke's tone was flat, but her hands betrayed her, fidgeting with the edge of a file.

Raven studied her for a moment longer before holding up her hands. "Alright, alright. I'll leave you alone for now. But you owe me a story one of these days."

She turned to leave, pulling her phone from her pocket as she stepped into the hallway. The screen lit up with a new message, and Raven's brows lifted when she saw the sender.

Lexa:

Taking a sabbatical. Need to clear my head for a while. Don't tell Clarke yet.

Raven's mouth tightened as she read it a second time. She knew Lexa well enough to understand what wasn't being said, that this wasn't just about work. It was about Clarke. About distance.

Raven typed back quickly.

Raven:

You sure about this?

The reply came almost instantly.

Lexa:

It's for the best. She needs space, and I need to figure out how to be in her life without pushing her away.

Raven sighed, slipping her phone back into her pocket. She glanced over her shoulder at Clarke's office, where her best friend was still sitting in the dim glow of the desk lamp, looking like she was trying very hard not to think about something, or someone.

For once, Raven kept her mouth shut.

The next Morning.

The morning sun over Manhattan was sharp and cold, and Clarke clutched her coffee like it was the only thing keeping her upright. She had barely slept, every time she closed her eyes, fragments of the night Lexa told her everything replayed. Lexa's voice. Her nearness. The heat in those green eyes. And the weight of what she hadn't told her until now.

By the time she reached her desk, she'd convinced herself to keep her head down, dive into work, and avoid Lexa until she could think clearly. But the air in the office felt... different.

It wasn't until midmorning, when a department-wide memo pinged in her inbox, that she understood why.

From: Executive Assistant to the CEO
Subject: Temporary Management Structure

Effective immediately, Ms. Woodson will be on sabbatical for an undetermined period. Day-to-day operations will be overseen by the COO.

Clarke read it twice, her stomach tightening. No explanation. No warning. Just gone.

Her fingers hovered over her phone before she finally typed a quick message.

Clarke: So you're just leaving?

The three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again. And then, nothing. Message read. No reply.

Her chair creaked as she sat back, a hollow ache spreading in her chest. She told herself it didn't matter. That maybe space was good. But deep down, the quiet hurt in a way she didn't want to admit.

A shadow fell over her desk, and she looked up to see Raven leaning against the cubicle wall, holding her own coffee, a muffin, and eyeing her carefully.

"You look like you've been ghosted by a sad-eyed vampire," she said, sliding into the chair next to Clarke's desk and slapping a muffin on her keyboard. "Eat something. You're growing a human."

Clarke sighed, peeling back the wrapper. "She's gone, Or... backed off. Whatever you want to call it."

Raven took a sip, eyes unreadable. "Yeah. I heard. Maybe she's giving you space."

"Maybe she realised it was a mistake." Clarke frowned. "Did she say anything to you?"

Raven shrugged, playing it casual. "Not really. CEOs disappear sometimes. Comes with the job."

But Clarke wasn't convinced. There was a flicker in Raven's gaze, but it was enough to spark suspicion. She opened her mouth to press further, but Raven was already pushing off the wall.

"Did it feel like a mistake?"

Clarke didn't answer. Her hands stilled on the muffin. Her throat closed.

"Right," Raven continued gently. "So maybe don't assume the worst."

"I told her I didn't know what I wanted," Clarke murmured. "She probably panicked."

"She's allowed to panic," Raven said. "So are you. But you're not allowed to self-destruct over a woman who's clearly obsessed with you."

Clarke's eyes widened. "She's not—"

"Clarke."

Clarke swallowed hard. "Maybe I just need more time."

"Maybe she does too. But that doesn't mean she's gone."

"You're right. I'm probably overthinking this."

"C'mon," she said, forcing a grin. "Let's go grab lunch. My treat. You look like you need something greasy and bad for you."

Clarke hesitated, her phone still heavy in her hand, Lexa's read-but-unanswered message burning like a bruise. Finally, she nodded.

She'd give Lexa one more day to explain herself. After that... she wasn't sure what would happen.

Lexa hadn't planned on leaving. But couldn't breathe. Not in the office. Not in the elevator. Not in her own skin. So she packed a bag, sent a one-line email to the board, and disappeared into the quietest place she knew: a coastal house her mother had once called a "retreat."

It was empty now. Sun-bleached. Quiet.
Exactly what she needed. Or so she told herself.
On the second day, she stood in the shower far too long, the water burning hot against her shoulders, her forehead pressed to the tile. She wasn't crying, not exactly, but she couldn't stop shaking. Clarke remembered now. And she didn't run. But Lexa had.

Because she was scared, scared of something. Something she hadn't told anyone outside of sterile rooms and old, except Raven, whispered labels she never dared claim aloud.

Alexandria Woodson was intersex.

She was fourteen when the word was first said aloud in a room that smelled like bleach and lemon disinfectant. Her doctor had spoken gently, carefully: "You were born with a variation of sexual development. It doesn't mean anything is wrong, just that your chromosomes and anatomy don't fit typical definitions..."

Her mother hadn't said a word the entire ride home. Her father never looked her in the eye again. Lexa learned not to ask. Not to name it. Not to explain. She existed in a neat file of terms and tests. And she lived by rules:

Don't get too close.
Don't let anyone see your body fully.
Don't let them ask questions you can't safely answer.

It made her efficient. Cold. Untouchable. But it also made her lonely in ways she couldn't name.

Until Clarke. Until she met her that night. Until Clarke had leaned into her. Touched her like she wanted more. And Lexa had pulled away not because she didn't want her... but because she'd never let anyone get close enough to see everything.

If she allowed Clarke to stay, she'd ask. If Clarke loved her, she'd want the truth. And Lexa didn't know if she had the strength to watch her leave after that.

On the fourth day, Lexa stood at the mirror in her room, the one without harsh lighting or sterile reflections. Just her. Bare shoulders. A loose shirt. The body that was always almost someone's expectation, but never quite.

She exhaled. Picked up her phone. Wrote, then deleted, then wrote again:

Clarke,
If you want to talk, if you want answers, I'll give them. All of them. Just say when.

She didn't hit send. But she didn't delete it either.

On the fifth day of her sabbatical, Lexa woke up to the sound of the ocean, a steady, rhythmic breath against the shore. The house was cold. The air, crisp with salt. She was in a quiet world, a world she'd built for herself, but she was more alone than she had ever been.

She had been running for a lifetime. Running from the questions, from the close looks, from the inevitable hurt of being known. She had thought she was protecting herself. But as she sat there, watching the sun rise and paint the water a muted pink, she realized she was only isolating herself.

The phone was still on the bedside table, the un-sent message to Clarke a ghost in her notifications. She had written it in a moment of desperate honesty, a confession she couldn't bring herself to deliver. She was waiting for a sign. A cosmic push. Something to tell her it would be okay.

She wasn't getting one. Because the universe didn't give out signs. It simply presented choices.

Lexa picked up her phone. Her thumb hovered over the send button. She closed her eyes and took a breath. This wasn't about being strong or being brave. It was about being honest. With Clarke. With herself.

This was the hardest thing she'd ever done.
Then, she pressed send.

Clarke stared at her phone. The message was short, simple, and terrifying.

Clarke, I'm sorry. I need time to process this.

"She texted," Clarke whispered.

Raven, who had been half-heartedly reorganizing Clarke's spice rack, stopped and looked over. "What did she say?"

Clarke handed her the phone without a word. Raven read it, then looked at Clarke, her expression unreadable.

"Well," Raven said softly, "What do you want to do?"

Clarke looked down at her stomach, a hand instinctively going to the barely-there curve. The baby was still a secret, a silent passenger on this chaotic ride. But it was a secret that made everything more real, more urgent. It wasn't just Clarke's life anymore.

She looked at her phone again, at Lexa's name glowing on the screen. The fear was still there, but it was starting to feel different. Less like a cage and more like a challenge. The longing, that thick, restless thing, was winning.

"I need to talk to her," Clarke said, her voice firmer than she expected. "I need to know why she left without saying anything."

Chapter Text

Clarke was definitely showing now. Not a full curve, not yet, but her shirt clung tighter across her stomach, and the waistband of her slacks felt like a cruel joke. Even her posture had changed. She walked slower. Breathed shallower. Like her body already knew it was carrying more than she could handle.

Raven didn't say anything until Thursday.

"Okay," she said, too casual, sliding a coffee cup across the table. "You want to tell me what you're planning? Or do I just start knitting booties to force the conversation?"

Clarke blinked, exhausted. "You knit?"

"Deflection. Cute."

"Raven..."

"I'm not judging," Raven said, her voice softer now. "But you're hitting the point where hiding is going to look more like lying. HR's gonna catch on. And you really don't want them to find out from a rumor."

Clarke sank into her desk chair, pressing a hand to her lower abdomen through her sweater. "Lexa's gone."

"Lexa's avoiding you," Raven corrected. "There's a difference."

"She's vanished into corporate vapor."

"Yeah," Raven said. "But she didn't run before that, she waited until after you knew how she felt. And, she texted, which is a good sign. Think about that."

The rest of the day passed in slow, uneasy beats. She had a call with brand strategy, answered a few emails, half-reviewed a pitch deck. She tried not to glance toward the elevators, but every ding sent her heart racing like a reflex. By 5:30, most of the floor had cleared out. She sat alone in the break room, a mug of decaf tea cooling in her hands. The baby kicked, just once, faint, like a question.

What are we doing?

She didn't have an answer.

That night, she stood in front of her bathroom mirror again. Pulled up her shirt. Ran her hands along the slight swell of her belly.

"You're real," she whispered. "And she's not here."

A lump formed in her throat, thick and hot. She grabbed her phone, typed a message to Lexa.

I don't know if you meant to disappear. But I haven't stopped thinking about you. About that night. About what it meant. I don't know what I want from you. But I think... I want something.

She hovered her thumb over SEND. Paused. Deleted the whole thing. Set the phone down gently, as if it had teeth.

Clarke had five pairs of slacks that used to fit. Now she had two. And even those were on borrowed time. She stood in front of her closet on Tuesday morning, trying not to cry over elastic. Raven was waiting in the kitchen with a smoothie and a stare that said say it out loud or I will.

"Do you want me to call someone?" Raven asked. "Doctor? HR? Lexa?"

Clarke didn't flinch at the name. But she didn't answer either.

By noon, she knew something had shifted. Coworkers weren't saying anything. Not exactly. But there were glances. Lingering eyes when she reached for her water bottle. A sideways smile from Janice in accounting. The unmistakable hush when she walked into the kitchenette. They know. Or they think they do. And that was somehow worse.

She tried to power through the afternoon. Emails. A quarterly pitch deck. Notes on brand voice cohesion. Her stomach churned halfway through a sentence, and she had to step into the bathroom just to breathe. The stall was quiet. Too quiet. And for the first time in weeks, she let herself put both hands on the slight swell under her blouse and whisper, "I don't know what I'm doing."

The baby didn't answer, but it moved. A nudge. Not painful, but present. Her inbox pinged at 4:45 PM.

From: HR Coordination
Subject: Private Follow-Up – Clarke Griffin
Time: Tomorrow, 10:15 AM
Location: HR Conference 1A
She stared at the screen until it blurred.

That night, Clarke lay awake in bed and whispered aloud: "I think they know."

And then, even quieter: "And I wish she was here."

Meanwhile, a thousand miles away, Lexa stood on a sun-bleached porch. Her phone, which she'd been ignoring for days, buzzed in her hand. It was an email from the head of HR. A courtesy copy.

Subject: Private Follow-Up – Clarke Griffin

Lexa didn't need to open the email. The subject line was enough. Her blood ran cold. HR was getting involved. Clarke's pregnancy, her sudden physical changes, they hadn't gone unnoticed. And now, the company, the one she owned, was about to put her employee, her person, in a room and ask questions Lexa knew Clarke wasn't ready to answer.

Lexa slammed her palm against the porch railing. The sound was sharp, a crack in the quiet. This was her fault. She had run. She had left Clarke to face this alone. She had let her fear, her fear of being seen, of being known, win.

She wasn't just hiding from Clarke anymore. She was letting Clarke face a firing squad alone.

Lexa looked down at her hands. They weren't shaking. Not anymore. This was a choice. A direct, clear choice. And for the first time in her life, she knew exactly what she had to do. She walked back inside the empty house, her steps purposeful. She picked up her keys. It was a long drive back. She had a lot to say, and not a lot of time to say it.

The elevator ride to HR felt longer than it should have. Clarke kept one hand low on her stomach, fingers twitching over the fabric as if she could smooth it all away. The bump wasn't huge, not yet, but it was undeniable now. So was the way people had started looking at her, with curiosity, with pity, with something close to judgment.

They don't even know who the father is, she thought. They just know I didn't say anything. When the doors opened, she stepped into a hallway that smelled of lemon polish and impersonal decisions. Two women passed her, mid-conversation, but fell silent when they saw her. She didn't flinch. She didn't smile. She just walked.

The HR office was cold. Not literally, but the air-conditioning felt more surgical than comforting, and the woman who greeted her, Maria, had the expression of someone who had already written the report.

"Hi, Clarke. Thanks for coming in."

"Did I have a choice?"

Maria blinked, then offered a brittle smile. "We just want to make sure you're supported."
Clarke sat down slowly, her back straight, her hands folded. "Right."

"There's been... talk."

"Rumors."

"Observations," Maria corrected. "Concerns raised quietly by others. We've also noticed you've requested adjustments to your schedule."

"Because I'm pregnant."

"Yes," Maria said, finally. "And that's fine. We support that. But we do need to have a formal disclosure. And as a matter of protocol, we'll need to record any potential conflicts of interest, especially involving upper-level staff."

Clarke's stomach dropped. "Excuse me?"

Maria clicked something on her tablet. "If the parent is affiliated with an executive department, we're required to—"

"I didn't say it was anyone from the company."

"You didn't say anything at all."

Silence.

Clarke's throat burned. "Is this about protecting me," she asked, "or protecting the company?"

Maria didn't answer. That was an answer in itself.

They wrapped up after twenty excruciating minutes, a checklist of generic maternity benefits and thin reassurances. Clarke left the room feeling more exposed than she ever had, and somehow still invisible. She pressed the elevator button with a shaky hand. When the doors opened, she stepped in and froze.

It wasn't empty. It wasn't quiet. It was Lexa.

Lexa stood with her back to the door, staring at the flashing numbers. She was wearing a perfectly tailored suit, her hair pulled back in a severe, neat bun. She looked every bit the CEO who had vanished into thin air, and a part of Clarke wanted to be angry. Lexa turned slowly, her eyes scanning Clarke's face, her posture, the hand resting protectively on her stomach. Her gaze was intense, unreadable, and it was the first time Clarke had seen her in weeks.

"Clarke," Lexa said, her voice a low murmur that seemed to fill the small space.

Clarke couldn't speak. All the words she had rehearsed, the questions, the accusations, the confessions, caught in her throat.

"I'm sorry," Lexa said. The words were simple, but they carried the weight of a confession. "For leaving. For not calling. For... everything."

The elevator doors closed with a soft chime, sealing them in. Clarke watched Lexa's reflection in the polished metal, a mirror of the woman she had been thinking about for weeks.

"I had an HR meeting," Clarke said, the words tumbling out. "They were asking about you."

Lexa's face tightened. "I know. I saw the email. That's why I'm here."

Clarke's breath hitched. She finally found her voice. "You didn't have to come back."

"Yes," Lexa said, stepping closer. She reached out, her hand hovering, not quite touching Clarke's. "I did."

Chapter Text

The elevator ride was silent, the air thick with unspoken words. Clarke stared at Lexa, a whirlwind of emotions warring within her. She was angry, relieved, and terrified all at once.

"Why?" Clarke finally asked, her voice barely a whisper. "Why did you disappear?"

Lexa didn't look at her. She watched the floor numbers tick by, her expression unreadable. "I panicked."

"You panicked?" Clarke's voice rose, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. "I panicked. I'm the one who's pregnant. I'm the one who had to sit in that room and be grilled by HR."

Lexa finally met her gaze, her eyes full of a raw, vulnerable emotion Clarke had never seen before. "I know. And I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left."

The elevator doors opened, and they stepped out into the quiet, almost-deserted hallway. The air was cool, the silence broken only by the hum of the overhead lights.

"It's more complicated than that," Lexa said, running a hand through her hair, a gesture Clarke knew was a sign of her unease.

"What's more complicated?" Clarke demanded, her fear giving way to a rising frustration. "We had one night. It was your choice to tell me. I never asked you to stay. I just... I didn't expect you to vanish."

"I didn't vanish," Lexa said, her voice low. "I just... needed some time."

"For what?" Clarke asked. "To figure out how to avoid me? To decide if it was easier to just pretend it never happened?"

Lexa took a step closer, her hand reaching for Clarke's again, this time closing over it. Her touch was warm and steady, and it sent a jolt through Clarke's system.

"It wasn't that," Lexa said, her gaze intense. "It's not that at all. It's... there are things about me you don't know."

"Then tell me," Clarke whispered, her heart pounding. "Tell me everything."

Lexa's hand was still on Clarke's, a steady anchor in a sea of chaos. "I didn't run from you," she said, her voice low and strained. "I ran from myself."

"What does that even mean?" Clarke pulled her hand away, the sudden loss of contact leaving her feeling cold. "You told me you wanted me. You said 'I won't stop trying.' And then you disappeared. You can't just drop things like that and expect me to understand."

"I know," Lexa said, her shoulders slumping slightly. "And you have every right to be angry. I was... I was afraid."

"Of what?" Clarke's voice was sharp. "Of me? Of this?" She gestured vaguely between them, a sweeping motion that encompassed the baby and the shared history she was just starting to remember. "Was it the baby? Did you get spooked because I told you I needed to think about it?"

Lexa flinched. "No. That wasn't it. Not really."

"Then what was it?" Clarke demanded. "What's so complicated that you had to abandon me, knowing what I'm going through? What could possibly be more important than that?"

Lexa took a step back, her face a mask of conflict. "I can't tell you here. Not like this. I have to..." She trailed off, her gaze flicking down the empty hall as if looking for an escape. "I need to tell you everything. But it has to be somewhere private. Somewhere we can talk without interruptions."

"I don't know what to believe," Clarke said, shaking her head. The anger was fading, replaced by a deep, aching weariness. "You're asking me to trust you after you vanished for weeks. After you let me go into that room alone."

"I know," Lexa said, her voice full of a quiet desperation. "And I'm not asking you to forgive me. I'm just asking for a chance to explain."

Clarke looked at her, at the familiar face she had been replaying in her mind for weeks, and saw a stranger. A stranger with her hand on the elevator button, ready to escape again. The moment was slipping away. The anger and hurt were a tangible weight, and she didn't have the energy to carry them anymore.

"I have to go," Clarke said, turning and walking away without looking back.

The keys felt heavy in her hand as she unlocked Raven's apartment door. The scent of burnt toast and a familiar brand of air freshener greeted her.

"Hey," Raven said, looking up from the couch where she was scrolling through her phone. "You're early."

Clarke didn't respond. She just dropped her bag on the floor and sank onto the sofa, burying her face in her hands. "She was there," she mumbled into her palms.

Raven's phone clattered onto the cushions. "Who? Lexa?"

Clarke nodded, a fresh wave of frustration washing over her. "She was in the elevator. She said she was sorry. She said... she said she panicked. That it's 'complicated.'"

"Complicated," Raven repeated, a flat, non-committal tone in her voice.

"I just... I don't know what to do, Raven," Clarke said, looking up, her eyes bright with unshed tears. "I want to be angry. I want to tell her to go to hell. But I also... I want to know what's going on. I want her to stay."

Raven leaned back, her expression unreadable. She listened to Clarke vent, offering a few non-committal murmurs of support, but her usual quick-witted sarcasm was gone.

"What do you think I should do?" Clarke finally asked, looking to her friend for guidance.

"I think," Raven said slowly, "you should hear her out. Maybe there's a reason she ran."

Clarke stared at her. "What are you not telling me?" she asked. "You're being weird. You know something."

Raven sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Look, Clarke. I can't talk about it. It's not my place."

"Not your place? What is that supposed to mean?"

Raven's gaze was direct, her usual bravado replaced by a quiet seriousness. "It means I'm friends with her too. I have been for years. We met while she was still in college."

Clarke stared at her, the words a cold bucket of water. "What?"

"I know," Raven said, a weary look on her face. "I should have told you. But it was not my secret to tell."

"You've been friends with her? This whole time?" Clarke's voice was low, and it was the quiet that made it dangerous. "Since college? Raven, she's the woman I had a one-night stand with. She's... she's the reason I'm pregnant. And you didn't say anything?"

Raven flinched, the guilt on her face a raw, visible thing. "I didn't know about the one-night stand until after the fact. And when I found out, I pushed her. I told her she had to talk to you."

"But you're friends," Clarke repeated, the betrayal a bitter taste in her mouth. "You're her friend. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I told her I would not interfere," Raven said, her eyes pleading with Clarke to understand. "I knew she had a history with... things. But I had no idea what happened between you two. Not until recently, she's not exactly an open book."

Clarke stood up, her head swimming. "You chose her," she said, the words heavy with accusation.

"I didn't choose anyone," Raven said, getting up as well. "I was trying to be a good friend to both of you."

"Oh, so you were a good friend to her," Clarke spat, her eyes flashing. "But what about me? You're my best friend, Raven. I came to you every night, crying my eyes out, trying to figure out what was going on. I sat here and vented about how she disappeared, how she left me to deal with all of this alone. And you just... you just sat here and listened, knowing everything?"

"I know what I did was wrong, Clarke." Raven's voice cracked.

"Do you though?" Clarke retorted. "When I was in that HR meeting today, with them asking about 'executive affiliates,' where were you? You could have told me something. You could have warned me. But you didn't."

The tears finally spilled over, hot and angry, running down her cheeks. "I was terrified, Raven. And you knew it, and you let me be terrified all by myself."

Raven stood up, her face etched with regret. "Clarke, I am so sorry. I should have said something. I should have broken my promise to her. But she was so scared, and I just... I didn't want to betray her trust."

"But you betrayed mine," Clarke whispered, the words a knife in the quiet room. She grabbed her bag, her hands shaking. "I can't be here right now. I can't look at you."

She walked to the door, her movements stiff and jerky.

"Clarke, please," Raven said, her voice cracking. "Don't go. Let me explain."

But Clarke was already pulling the door open. She stepped out into the night, the cool air a sharp shock against her tear-streaked face. She didn't look back, leaving behind the one person she had trusted to help her through this, and stepping into a world that felt emptier and colder than before.

She didn't know where she was going, she just knew she had to get away from everything. Away from Raven, from Lexa, from the job, from the lies. She just needed to be alone.

Lexa arrived at her penthouse just before 10 PM. The drive had been a blur, a frantic race against time and her own fear. The building felt suffocating after the open expanse of the ocean. She unlocked the door, stepping into a silent, pristine apartment. Everything was exactly as she had left it. The cold, empty rooms felt like a tomb. It was a beautiful home, a testament to her success, but it was not a home.

It was just a place she lived.

She dropped her keys on the console table and walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows, staring out at the city lights. Each one a tiny, distant world, full of people and lives she couldn't touch.

The phone in her hand felt like a lead weight. She had a new message. From Raven.

Just so you know, I told her. Or, at least, I told her we're friends. She's mad. At me. At you. At the world. You need to talk to her, Lex. Now.

Lexa closed her eyes, a sharp pang of guilt twisting in her gut. She had made a mess of things. A colossal, painful, beautiful mess. She had run, and in her running, she had hurt the two people she cared about most.

She knew she couldn't fix it with a text. She couldn't fix it with an apology. She had to be honest. Completely and utterly honest. She had to tell Clarke everything.

She opened the message she had written weeks ago, the one she had never sent.

Clarke,
If you want to talk, if you want answers, I'll give them. All of them. Just say when.

She hit send. This time, there was no hesitation. No fear. Just a simple, desperate hope.

Clarke's phone buzzed on the coffee table. She was curled up on her couch, a blanket wrapped around her, the empty apartment a hollow shell. She saw the message, the familiar name, the simple words. And she finally broke.

The tears came in a torrent, a release of weeks of fear, anger, and loneliness. She didn't know what to do. The message was an olive branch, a path forward, but she was too exhausted to take it. She just wanted to be held. She just wanted to be told everything would be okay.

She didn't know if she could trust Lexa. She didn't know if she could trust Raven. She didn't know if she could trust herself.

The phone buzzed again. This time it was Raven.

Call me.

Clarke ignored it. She couldn't talk to Raven. Not yet. She looked at the message from Lexa, then at her own hand resting on her stomach. This wasn't about her anymore. This wasn't about Lexa. This wasn't about Raven. This was about the life growing inside her. A life that deserved a family. A life that deserved a chance.

Slowly, her fingers found the screen. She didn't respond to Lexa. She opened her browser and typed in a name she hadn't searched in years.

Anya Rife

Chapter Text

Clarke's phone was a dead weight in her purse, a constant, buzzing reminder of the people she was trying to escape. For an entire week, she ignored it. She didn't answer Raven's frantic calls or texts. She didn't return Lexa's single, hesitant message. She didn't even go to work, sending a brief, vague email about an "unforeseen family matter."

The days bled into each other, a hazy mix of walking through the city with no destination, staring at the ceiling, and replaying every conversation. She was a ghost in her own life, haunting the same streets, drinking too much tea, and feeling a profound, lonely ache. The baby was her only company, a silent, steady presence that she would press her hand against, a private reassurance.

Meanwhile, Raven was going out of her mind. She left message after message for Clarke, each one more desperate than the last. She tried calling Clarke's landline. She even showed up at Clarke's apartment, but no one answered. Her guilt festered, a hot, angry thing in her gut. She had screwed up, and now her best friend was gone, and it was all because of Lexa's secrets. One night, after a particularly silent dinner alone, a text an unknown number buzzed on her phone.

From: +1 (555) 789-1234
I need to talk to you.

Raven knew exactly who it was. She had been ignoring Lexa for the past week, she was the cause of this whole ordeal after all. Raven hesitated for a moment, then replied.

To: +1 (555) 789-1234
Where?

Lexa stood on the deserted pier, the cold wind whipping her hair around her face. Her house felt suffocating now, the quiet a mockery of what she had hoped to find. The car ride back had been a blur of desperation, fueled by the terrifying thought of Clarke facing everything alone.

She waited for Raven, watching the headlights of a car turn down the dirt road. Raven stepped out, her arms folded tightly against the cold, her expression a mixture of anger and exhaustion.

"So," Raven said, walking toward Lexa. "You're back."

"I am," Lexa replied, her voice barely audible over the wind. "Raven, I'm so sorry."

"Sorry for what?" Raven snapped, her bitterness finally boiling over. "For leaving? For putting Clarke in a situation where she had to lie to HR about why she's pregnant with your baby? Or are you sorry that your secrets got me into a fight with my best friend?"

Lexa flinched, the words hitting her like a physical blow. "All of it. I'm sorry for all of it. I never wanted this to happen. I never wanted to be the reason you and Clarke are fighting."

"Well, you are," Raven said, her voice shaking with emotion. "I couldn't tell her. I wanted to, but you made me promise. You told me you would talk to her, and I agreed because I actually believed you would. So I sat there and watched her suffer, feeling like a terrible friend, and I hated myself for it. And now... she won't even talk to me."

Lexa looked out at the churning gray ocean, her own guilt a heavy weight on her chest. "I know. And I'm a coward. I ran away because I was terrified. But I came back. I'm here now. And I need your help. I need to find Clarke."

Raven stared at Lexa for a long moment, the anger slowly draining out of her, replaced by a weary resignation. "You think I haven't tried? She won't answer her phone. She won't answer the door. She's completely gone."

"Then we'll find her together," Lexa said, her voice firm, a hint of the CEO Clarke had once known. "I won't stop until I talk to her. She deserves an explanation. And she deserves to have you back in her life. I'll do whatever it takes to fix this."

For three days, Lexa drove to Clarke's apartment complex, her heart pounding with a rhythm that had nothing to do with traffic and everything to do with fear. She would park a block away, flowers, a clumsy, vibrant bouquet of sunflowers and baby's breath, on the passenger seat. She would walk to the building, her shoes silent on the pavement, and stand in front of the door that led to Clarke's life.

Each time, she froze.

The first day, she could only stare at the intercom, her thumb hovering over Clarke's name. What would she say? "Hi, it's me, the CEO who ghosted you and left you to face HR alone"? The words felt like a weak joke. She turned and walked away, the unspoken apology a bitter taste in her mouth.

The second day, she made it to the landing outside Clarke's door. She raised her fist to knock, but her hand felt heavy, paralyzed. She couldn't do it. She imagined Clarke's face, etched with a week's worth of hurt and anger, and the thought of causing her any more pain was unbearable. She went back to her car, the flowers wilting slightly in the afternoon sun.

The third day, she sat on the bottom step of the stairwell, the bouquet resting in her lap. She had promised Raven she would fix this, but how could she when she couldn't even manage to knock on a door? The fear was a living thing in her chest, a physical wall between her and Clarke. She couldn't just walk in and say, "I'm sorry, I'm intersex." The words felt clinical, cold, and a poor substitute for a lifetime of fear.

On the fourth day, Lexa didn't even try to get to the door. She simply sat on the stone bench outside the building, the now-drooping sunflowers and baby's breath a silent testament to her failure. She didn't notice the elevator doors open behind her, didn't hear the soft footsteps approaching. She was lost in the quiet shame of her cowardice.

"Lexa?"

Clarke's voice was a shock to her system. Lexa's head snapped up. Clarke stood there, keys in hand, a bag of groceries at her feet. She looked tired, but her anger had been replaced by a weary disbelief. Her eyes fell to the flowers, then back to Lexa's face.

"What are you doing?" Clarke asked, her voice flat.

Lexa scrambled to her feet, the flowers a clumsy shield in her hands. "I—I was... I was trying to."

Clarke's gaze softened just a fraction. "You've been here before, haven't you?"

Lexa nodded, unable to meet her eyes.

"Why?"

"I was afraid," Lexa whispered, finally looking at her. "I was afraid of what you would say. What you would think. What you would do."

Clarke sighed, a long, tired exhale. "Well, I'm still angry. And I still don't know what to think. But it's cold out here. And those flowers look like they've had a rough week." She picked up her grocery bag and pushed the building door open. "Come inside."

The apartment was small, clean, and smelled faintly of lemon and old books. Clarke placed the groceries on the counter and turned to face Lexa, who stood awkwardly just inside the door, the bouquet clutched in her hands.

"I don't know what to say," Lexa said, her voice shaking. "I'm so sorry. For everything. For leaving you alone. For hurting you. I was a coward."

Clarke took the flowers from Lexa's hands, their cool stems a grounding force. She placed them in a vase on the table, their bright colors a stark contrast to the heavy atmosphere.

"You said it was complicated," Clarke said, her back still to Lexa. "You said there were things I didn't know. So tell me. Tell me everything."

Lexa swallowed hard, the moment of truth she had been running from for a lifetime finally here. She took a deep breath, her hands clenching at her sides.

"Clarke," she began, her voice barely a whisper. "The reason I left, the reason I panicked... it wasn't the baby. It was me. It was what I knew would happen if we got closer. Because... I'm intersex."

"I'm... intersex."

The words hung in the air, a fragile, new truth. Clarke's back was still to Lexa, her hands resting on the counter. She didn't move. The silence stretched, thick and heavy. Lexa watched the unreadable line of Clarke's shoulders, waiting for a reaction, for an explosion, for anything.

Finally, Clarke turned. Her face was not filled with disgust, or pity, or the judgment Lexa had prepared for her entire life. It was just... confused.

"I don't understand," Clarke said softly. "What does that mean? I have read a little about it, doctor said... variation of sexual development? What is that?"

Lexa felt the wall of fear she had built around herself begin to crumble. This wasn't an interrogation. This was Clarke, trying to understand.

"It means my body isn't... typical," Lexa explained, choosing her words carefully. "I was born with chromosomes and anatomy that don't fit the usual definitions of male or female. There were surgeries. Doctors. A lot of questions I learned not to ask, and a lot of rules I learned to live by."

She gestured vaguely at herself, a faint, self-conscious motion. "The rules were there to protect me. Don't get too close. Don't let anyone see your body. Don't let them ask questions you can't safely answer."

"So you just... lived with it?" Clarke asked, her voice still quiet, but with a new edge of disbelief.

"I existed with it," Lexa corrected, a flicker of her usual guardedness returning. "I built my life to be safe. Controlled. Everything had its place. My work. My friendships. My relationships." She paused, a raw admission hanging unspoken in the air. "Until you."

Clarke's eyes widened slightly as she put the pieces together. "That night... when we were together... you were so careful. I thought you were just... nervous."

"I was terrified," Lexa admitted, her gaze dropping to the floor. "I felt like I was drowning. It wasn't about the baby, Clarke. It was about you getting close enough to see everything."

She finally looked up, her eyes pleading for understanding. "I was terrified that if you saw all of me, the real me, you would leave. And I didn't think I could survive that."

Clarke walked toward her slowly, until she was standing just a few feet away. Lexa braced herself for rejection, for the final blow. But instead, Clarke reached out, her hand gently taking Lexa's.

"You ran because you were afraid I would run," Clarke said, a small, sad smile on her face. "And I ran because you did." She squeezed Lexa's hand softly. "But I'm not running anymore. And I want to know everything. Not just about... this. But about you."

The silence that followed Lexa's confession was different this time. It was not filled with fear or anger, but with the quiet weight of a truth finally spoken. Clarke kept her hand on Lexa's, her thumb stroking the back of her hand gently.

"You should have told me," Clarke said, her voice soft but firm. "I'm not going to leave you, Lexa. Not for this."

Lexa finally looked at Clarke, her eyes wet with unshed tears. "I know. But I've spent my entire life being afraid of what people would think. I just... I couldn't."

Clarke squeezed Lexa's hand. "I understand. But now, we have to talk about the baby. The HR meeting... they know. They're going to keep asking questions. We need to figure out what to do."

Lexa nodded, her face a mask of worry. "I know. And I'm so sorry I left you to deal with that alone. I should have been there."

"You should have," Clarke agreed, her voice still filled with a hint of hurt. "But you weren't. And now, we have to move forward. We have a baby to think about."

Lexa's gaze dropped to Clarke's stomach, and she swallowed hard. "I know. And I want to be here. I want to be a part of this. Whatever this is."

The air between them was thick with a new kind of tension, a mix of hope and uncertainty. They had so much to talk about, so many bridges to build. But for the first time in weeks, they were standing together, facing the future.

Clarke inhaled slowly. She wanted to say something like I'm not everyone else, but it caught in her throat, too heavy, too practiced. So instead, she leaned in just enough for Lexa to look up.

Their eyes met, and something unspoken settled between them. Electric. Fragile.

Clarke's fingers moved before her thoughts could catch up, tucking a loose strand of hair behind Lexa's ear with a reverence that felt like worship. Lexa didn't flinch. She didn't pull away. She tilted, just slightly into the touch, as if it surprised her, as if the gesture landed somewhere deeper than either of them expected.

Clarke's voice was barely above a whisper. "Can I kiss you?"

Lexa blinked, startled, not by the question, but by how much she wanted the answer to be yes.

Her breath hitched. "Please."

The kiss began soft. Tentative. The barest brush of lips, like a question held between them. Clarke's mouth moved slowly against hers, not rushing, not demanding, just there, trembling with quiet need. The kind of kiss that doesn't ask for anything but permission to stay.

Lexa's hand lifted, hesitant at first, then confident as her fingers cupped Clarke's jaw. Her thumb brushed along her cheekbone, grounding them both. And the kiss shifted, deeper, warmer. Not urgent, but intentional. A meeting point between ache and promise.

Clarke tilted her head, angling just right, letting Lexa pull her closer. Their mouths moved together like they were learning a new language, slow vowels, soft consonants, a conversation in breath and touch. The room seemed to fall away, replaced by the sound of their shared heartbeat and the heady, impossible closeness of finally being seen.

By the time they pulled apart, lips pink and breath shaky, Clarke's hand had slipped to Lexa's shoulder, fingers curling there like she didn't want to let go. Lexa's forehead rested against hers, not quite willing to open the space between them yet.

"Still scared?" she asked, voice barely audible.

Clarke nodded, her eyes still closed. "Yeah."

She exhaled slowly, then pressed her forehead more firmly to Lexa's.

"But I'm not going anywhere."

Chapter Text

Sunlight spilled through the sheer curtains, not with a burst of brightness, but with a gentle, pale gold. It painted stripes across the hardwood floor and dusted the cluttered bookshelves.

Clarke blinked awake slowly, the memory of her own restless sleep still clinging to her like a second skin. Her hand reached to the other side of the couch, not even consciously, just an instinctual search for warmth. And then she remembered.

Lexa was still there.

She was sitting at the edge of the couch, her long frame curled slightly over a ceramic mug. The rich, earthy scent of chamomile and something sweeter, honey maybe, drifted through the room. A kind of stillness had settled in the apartment, a quiet Clarke hadn't felt in weeks, maybe months. It was a stillness that felt like a held breath, waiting to see what would happen next.

Lexa looked over her shoulder, her dark hair a beautiful mess. She offered a small, tired smile, a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Hey," she said, her voice a low murmur.

Clarke sat up, a crick in her neck, but her body ached in a new way. Not the heavy, bone-deep fatigue of uncertainty, but a gentler soreness from finally, truly relaxing.

"You stayed," she murmured.

Lexa nodded, taking a slow sip of her tea. "I didn't want to leave again."

They moved slowly through the small kitchen, a choreography of two people learning to share a space. It wasn't awkward, just thoughtful. Lexa, a CEO who could command a boardroom, was struggling with a grapefruit, her brow furrowed in concentration. She picked up a butter knife, a useless tool for the task.

Clarke watched her from the other side of the counter, cracking eggs into a pan. A small smile played on her lips. She didn't offer help, enjoying the quiet moment of watching Lexa struggle. It was a private amusement, something just for her.

Every time their arms brushed as they moved around the small space, it didn't feel accidental. It felt like something new was settling between them, not pressure, but possibility.

They ate at Clarke's tiny dining table, their knees bumping gently underneath.

"I keep waiting for this to fall apart," Clarke admitted, her voice barely a whisper.

Lexa looked at her, then down at her mug, tracing the rim with her thumb. "It still might," she said honestly.

Clarke let out a huffed laugh. "That's encouraging."

"I just mean... I don't have a script for this," Lexa said, her voice dropping. "I don't know how to be someone's person. Or someone's parent."

Clarke reached across the table and touched Lexa's wrist, her fingers warm against the cool skin. "Neither do I."

A long breath passed between them.

"But I want to try," Lexa said, her voice soft but sure. "With you. If you'll let me."

Clarke's eyes stung suddenly, a hot prick of emotion. It wasn't fear, but relief, a feeling so immense it almost buckled her. She just nodded, unable to form words.

"Yeah," she finally whispered. "I do."

A comfortable silence fell between them.

"There's a lot we'll have to figure out," Clarke added, her voice still thick with emotion. "Work. HR. My bump becoming a company rumor."

Lexa smiled faintly. "Then let's figure it out together."

Laughter burst from Clarke, a deep, chest-shaking sound she couldn't contain. It wasn't polite or refined, but the kind that forces your head back and steals your breath. Lexa, a CEO accustomed to wielding power, had just tried to slice a grapefruit with a butter knife, and her expression, a perfect mix of utter seriousness and sincere indignation at the citrus's insolence, was too much to bear.

"That was a perfectly reasonable utensil choice," Lexa grumbled, though her narrowed eyes held no real fire.

"You attacked citrus with dull metal!" Clarke managed to gasp, a hand pressed to her side.

"You weren't offering alternatives."

"Where's the fun in that?" Clarke countered, her breath still catching. "Watching you struggle was cute. Besides, your child needed to eat."

Lexa's shoulders rose in a small shrug. "You're a terrible sous-chef."

"And you're a CEO who's afraid of sharp objects."

A genuine, unguarded smile finally broke across Lexa's face, and Clarke felt it like a warm current down her spine, a tingling rush that made her own heart quicken. They stood at the counter, the space between them shrinking naturally. The morning sun streamed through the window, catching the fine strands of Lexa's hair and illuminating her eyes, making them glint like green sea-glass.

"You're different when you smile," Clarke said, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

Lexa's smile softened further. "So are you."

A blush warmed Clarke's cheeks, and she looked away, suddenly feeling shy and awkward, like a teenager all over again.

"Do you want to sit for a second?" she asked, gesturing vaguely toward the living room. "My back is complaining. I just need to... not be vertical."

Lexa nodded, following her to the couch. Clarke curled sideways, tucking her feet beneath her, her body instinctively finding a comfortable shape. Lexa sat beside her, close but not touching, a quiet, reassuring presence. A few minutes passed in a comfortable hush. Then, a subtle flutter. A ripple, like a tiny butterfly wing brushing against the inside of Clarke's stomach. It wasn't a sharp kick, just a gentle, undeniable movement.

She froze.

Lexa noticed immediately. "What is it?" she asked, her voice dropping to a low, concerned tone.

Clarke blinked, her hand instinctively moving to her belly. "She's moving."

Lexa didn't breathe. Her gaze locked on Clarke's stomach, wide with a mix of wonder and uncertainty.

Clarke looked up at her, a question in her eyes. "Do you want to feel?"

The silence stretched, a single held breath between them. Lexa's nod was slow, careful, almost reverent. She reached out, her hand warm and solid, and gently placed her palm over Clarke's belly. Her fingers splayed slightly, as if afraid to miss a single thing.

Another flutter, this time stronger, more distinct.

A soft gasp escaped Lexa's lips. "Was that...?"

"Yeah," Clarke whispered, a single tear escaping and tracing a path down her cheek. "That was her."

Lexa's throat worked as her gaze remained fixed on the spot where her hand rested. "I didn't think I'd ever get this," she said, her voice so low it was almost a prayer. "Not like this. Not... real."

Clarke reached out, covering Lexa's hand with her own, their fingers lacing together. "It's real."

They stayed that way for a long time, held in the quiet morning, the soft sunlight, and the small, insistent movements of a new life beneath their joined hands. There was no need to name the emotion settling over them. It was already there, a tangible thing they could feel and share.

The sun shifted, a new block of warmth settling over them. Clarke felt the gentle pressure of Lexa's hand over her own, both of them resting on her stomach. The baby kicked again, a small but undeniable thump, and Lexa's breath hitched.

"I can't believe this is happening," Lexa said, her voice a raw whisper. "She's so... real."

Clarke smiled, her eyes still a little wet with emotion.

"I know." She watched the awe and wonder on Lexa's face and a quiet certainty settled over her. "She's going to be so loved."

The moment was perfect, a fragile bubble of peace. But the reality of the last few weeks began to creep in, a sliver of darkness threatening to burst it.

"I need to apologize," Clarke said, her voice dropping. "For everything I said. For being so angry."

Lexa shook her head, her gaze unwavering. "No. You have every right to be angry. I was a coward, Clarke. I ran." She paused, her grip on Clarke's hand tightening slightly. "I have no excuse. I was scared, and I let that fear make me hurt you. And... it wasn't fair to Raven, either."

At the mention of Raven, the soft moment cracked. Clarke's face hardened, and she pulled her hand away, sitting up straight. "Don't bring her into this. This isn't about her."

Lexa reached for Clarke's hand again, but Clarke pulled back. "It is, though," Lexa said gently, her voice firm. "I asked her to keep quiet. I was the one who put her in an impossible position."

"She chose to keep it," Clarke snapped, her voice tight with betrayal. "She could have told me. She's my best friend."

"And I've been her friend for years," Lexa countered, her voice calm and steady. "She was stuck between two people she loves, caught in a mess I created. It wasn't her fault, Clarke. Not one bit. I made her promise not to tell you until I was ready to talk to you myself." A flicker of something painful crossed Lexa's face as she looked away. "I'm the one who didn't keep my word."

Clarke didn't respond, her jaw tight. The truth in Lexa's words was undeniable, but the feeling of betrayal still sat heavy in her stomach.

Lexa took a deep breath. "I'm not asking you to forgive her right now. I'm just telling you not to blame her for my mistake. She was trying to do the right thing in a terrible situation." She met Clarke's eyes, her own full of sincerity. "I'll fix this. And I'll fix things with Raven, too. I promise."

The silence that followed was different from the one that had held them before. This one was full of unspoken words, of hurt and a slow, reluctant understanding. Clarke looked at Lexa, really looked at her, and saw not just the woman who had left, but the woman sitting beside her now, finally taking responsibility.

"Okay," Clarke said, the word a quiet surrender. "Okay."

Lexa's shoulders relaxed just slightly, as if a great weight had been lifted. She looked down at Clarke's stomach again, then back at Clarke's face, a soft smile returning. "Let's just be here for a minute," she said, her voice a gentle plea. "Just... us."

Clarke nodded, leaning her head against the back of the couch. She felt Lexa's warmth beside her and the new, fluttering life inside her. The mess was still there, but for this moment, it felt a little more manageable. She had someone to face it with.

Clarke reached for a throw blanket on the back of the couch, pulling it over her legs and Lexa's.

"Cold?" she murmured, her voice still a little hoarse with sleep.

Lexa shook her head, but didn't move her hand from where it rested. She was lost in thought, her thumb tracing small, absent circles on Clarke's skin. "About the sabbatical," she finally said, her voice quiet. "I only went to think. To... figure things out."

She looked up at Clarke. "I spent the days staring at the water and thinking about you. About how I couldn't face you. And about how I'd made a mess of everything."

"You don't have to explain, what matters is you came back," Clarke said. It wasn't a question, but a statement of fact, of gratitude.

"I remember I called my assistant and canceled every meeting for the next few weeks," Lexa confessed, a small, genuine smile gracing her lips. "I told her I had a personal crisis. I think she thought I'd had a mental breakdown. But she just said, 'Okay, I'll clear the schedule.' She's a good assistant."

Clarke let out a little laugh, a soft, warm sound that filled the room. "A crisis, huh? Sounds about right."

"You said something the night we met," Lexa began, her voice barely a whisper, the words barely audible above the quiet hum of the apartment. "Something about finding the right person. I've been thinking about that."

Lexa was not looking at her, but at the place where their hands were joined. "I don't even know what that means," she continued, her thumb tracing the faint lines on the back of Clarke's hand. "I'm a CEO. I'm a leader. I make hard decisions and I'm a good judge of character, and I know how to get things done." She paused, her gaze still fixed. "But I don't know how to be a person's... person. I don't know how to be vulnerable. Or soft. Or... I don't know how to do any of this."

Clarke's heart ached for her. "You are all of those things," she said, her voice firm. "You're all of those things, but you don't let people see it."

Lexa finally looked up, her sea-glass green eyes locking with Clarke's. "You do," she said simply. "You saw all of it. Even when I didn't want you to."

The truth of it hung in the air, a silent acknowledgment. Clarke had been able to see past Lexa's carefully constructed armor. She saw the CEO, yes, but she also saw the tired, gentle woman who curled up on the couch to drink tea.

"It's a lot," Clarke said, her voice thick with emotion. "And I'm scared, too. We have to learn this together. It's not going to be a perfect, fairytale thing. It's going to be messy and hard and we're going to screw up. But we can do it."

Lexa nodded, her hand sliding up from Clarke's stomach to rest on her chest, over her heart. "I want to be the kind of person who stays," she said, her voice filled with a quiet desperation. "I want to be the kind of person who shows up. For you. For her. For all of it."

"You already are," Clarke whispered, a single tear escaping and running down her cheek. "You're already here."

Lexa leaned in then, her forehead resting against Clarke's, their shared breath mingling in the space between them. "I have no idea what I'm doing," she admitted, her voice low. "But I want to do it right. I want to be a part of this. Both of you. But where do we even start?"

Clarke looked at her, at the raw vulnerability in her eyes, and felt a new kind of love blossom in her chest. "We start here," she said. "On this couch. With you being honest. With us talking. And with you learning to slice a grapefruit without a butter knife."

A real laugh escaped Lexa's lips, the sound ringing in the quiet room. "I think that's a fair starting point," she said.

The silence that followed was different now, it wasn't expectant or uncertain, but full of something solid and new.

"I should..." Lexa's voice was a little rough. She gestured vaguely toward the window, where the sun was now higher, bolder. "I have to get to the office. There's a meeting I can't miss. I'm sorry."

The spell was broken, and reality settled back in. Clarke felt a pang of disappointment, a part of her wanting this quiet bubble to last forever. "It's okay. I know you have to work."

"I don't want to leave," Lexa said, her voice sincere. Her hand hovered over Clarke's shoulder for a moment before she dropped it. "But I'll be back as soon as I can. Call me if you need anything. Anything at all."

"I will," Clarke promised, and for the first time, she really meant it.

Lexa stood up, stretching out a few kinks in her back. Clarke watched as she moved through the apartment, gathering her things. Lexa pulled on her suit jacket, the CEO armor Clarke had seen so many times, but today it didn't feel like a barrier. It felt like part of who she was, just like the tired smile and the gentle touch on Clarke's stomach.

Lexa didn't move toward the door right away, though. She just looked around the small living room, at the books piled on the coffee table, the blanket Clarke had been wrapped in, the two empty mugs on the floor. It was a space full of Clarke's life, and for a few hours, Lexa had been a part of it.

"Thank you," she said, her voice barely audible.

Clarke frowned, confused. "For what?"

"For... this. For letting me in." She finally met Clarke's eyes, her own a little vulnerable. "For letting me in."

Clarke's heart ached with affection. She stood and walked over to Lexa, stopping just a few feet away. She didn't know the rules of this yet, were they hugging? Kissing? She decided to follow her instinct. She reached out and took Lexa's hand.

"There's a lot more to see," Clarke said softly, a promise in her voice. "And you're welcome here, whenever you want."

A genuine, easy smile spread across Lexa's face, the kind that reached her eyes and made them shine. She squeezed Clarke's hand once before letting go. "I'll see you soon, Clarke. Call me."

Lexa gave a final, lingering look and then she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her. The apartment felt different. It was quieter now, yes, but not empty. The scent of chamomile still lingered in the air, a tangible reminder that she had been there.

Clarke sank back into the couch cushions, the warmth of the spot where Lexa had been still lingering. She had been so afraid of this new reality, of the mess and the uncertainty, but for the first time, it didn't feel like a burden. It felt like a possibility.

She grabbed her phone, her fingers hovering over the screen. She scrolled through her contacts, her gaze landing on Raven's name. A week ago, the thought of talking to her felt impossible, but Lexa's words about not blaming her echoed in her mind. She thought about all the years of friendship, the late nights, the shared secrets. She missed her.
After a moment's hesitation, Clarke opened the messaging app.

Clarke:

Hey. I know you're at work, but... do you want to come over after? I have tea. And a lot to talk about.

Clarke stared at her phone, the message to Raven glowing on the screen. The silence in the apartment felt even heavier now, charged with anticipation. She hadn't expected to send that text, but with Lexa's words about not blaming Raven still echoing in her mind, it felt like the only path forward.

Her phone buzzed in her hand. A reply.

Raven:

I'll be there as soon as I can. 7?

Clarke:

Perfect.

She set the phone down and let out a long, slow breath. The morning had been a whirlwind of emotions, a rollercoaster of fear, relief, and fragile hope. Now, with Lexa gone and Raven on her way, it was time to face the rest of the mess.

Clarke went to the kitchen and looked at the half-sliced grapefruit, a testament to Lexa's adorable incompetence. She picked up the butter knife and shook her head, a smile still playing on her lips. This wasn't a beginning, not really. It was a continuation. A promise to keep trying, even if they had to figure it all out one quiet morning at a time.

The hours passed slowly. Clarke cleaned the kitchen, the simple, repetitive movements a welcome distraction. She replayed the morning in her mind: the way Lexa's long frame had been curled on the couch, the sincerity in her tired smile, the sheer awe on her face when she felt the baby kick. She thought about Lexa's unwavering defense of Raven, and a small part of the wall she'd built around her best friend began to crumble.

At six-thirty, Clarke was standing by the window, watching the city lights flicker on as the sun began to set. A car pulled up outside, and Raven emerged, her face a mix of worry and uncertainty. Clarke opened the door before Raven could even knock.

"Hey," Raven said, her voice soft.

"Hey," Clarke replied, a thousand unspoken words hanging in the air between them.

Raven stepped inside, her eyes scanning the apartment, taking in the clean dishes and the single mug on the coffee table. She looked at Clarke, her gaze searching. "You okay?"

"I'm getting there," Clarke said. "I think."

They sat on the couch, the same one where Clarke and Lexa had shared their quiet morning. The air was thick with tension, a stark contrast to the easy familiarity they once shared.

"I'm sorry," Raven said, the words a quiet whisper. "I should have told you. I shouldn't have listened to Lexa. You're my best friend, and I chose to keep her secret. That was a shitty thing to do."

Clarke looked at her, at the raw remorse in her eyes. "She said it wasn't your fault," Clarke said quietly. "She said she was the one who asked you to keep quiet."

Raven let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. "She's always been good at taking the fall for other people's mistakes. But this one... this one was on me. I should have trusted you, trusted that you would have handled it. I was scared of what you'd do, and that's not fair to you."

"I was angry," Clarke admitted. "So angry. At both of you. At the situation. At everything."

"I know," Raven said, her voice thick with emotion. "And you had every right to be."

A heavy silence fell between them. Clarke felt a tear slip down her cheek. "I missed you," she whispered.

Raven's eyes welled up, and she reached across the couch, taking Clarke's hand in hers. "I missed you, too."

They sat there for a long time, hands intertwined, the unspoken apology and forgiveness passing between them. The apartment was no longer empty. It was filled with a new kind of quiet, one that was healing, and one that was finally whole again.

The tension finally broke, dissolving into a comfortable silence. Raven squeezed Clarke's hand and pulled away.

"Alright, enough with the sad stuff. I'm still Raven. And you're still Clarke. What have you been up to besides becoming a beautiful, glowing, pregnant mess?"

Clarke let out a genuine laugh, the first one in weeks that wasn't a nervous huff. "Hey! I am not a mess. I've been... nesting, I guess. I bought a new bookshelf and spent three hours arranging it by color."

"I told you not to do that," Raven said, shaking her head with a grin. "It's a gateway drug to making a spreadsheet of your pantry items."

"You would know," Clarke shot back, her smile widening. "How was work? Did you get that new coding project?"

They fell into their old rhythm, the easy back-and-forth they'd shared for years. Raven animatedly recounted a disastrous attempt at a company-wide update, complete with sound effects and dramatic gestures. Clarke listened, feeling a sense of normalcy she hadn't realized she'd been craving.

They talked about movies, about the annoying new coffee shop barista, and about the ridiculous amount of baby gear Clarke had already started to research.

After an hour of solid catching up, Raven's comedic energy finally wound down. She leaned back on the couch, a thoughtful expression on her face. The casualness in her voice was gone, replaced with a more serious tone.

"So," she began carefully, her eyes meeting Clarke's. "How did it go this morning? With Lexa?"

Clarke took a moment, a whirlwind of memories from the day flashing through her mind. She thought of the shared breakfast, the quiet understanding, and the raw vulnerability in Lexa's eyes. It was still so fresh, so fragile.

"It was... good," Clarke said, her voice soft. "She talked to me. She was... honest."

Raven's expression softened, a hint of relief washing over her face. "She's trying, Clarke. I know she screwed up, but she's not a bad person. She's just... terrified."

"I know," Clarke whispered, a wave of affection for both women washing over her. "She told me not to blame you."

Raven nodded, a bittersweet smile on her face. "Of course she did. That's Lexa. But it's not all on her. We're both to blame for how long it took to get here."

"Maybe," Clarke said, looking down at her hands. "But we're here now."

She looked at Raven, her best friend, who was finally back by her side. And then she looked down at her stomach, at the tiny kick that rippled beneath her skin. She wasn't alone. She had her best friend back, and the mother of her child was finally stepping up. The future was still uncertain, but for the first time, it didn't feel so scary. It felt like it was finally beginning.

Chapter Text

Raven and Clarke were still sitting on the couch, the remnants of their conversation hanging in the air like a comfortable perfume. A warm, easy silence had settled between them, a familiar space of shared understanding that had been missing for weeks. Clarke was just starting to feel the full weight of her day, the emotional whiplash of it all, when her phone buzzed with a new notification.

She picked it up, expecting it to be a work email or a calendar reminder. Instead, a soft smile spread across her face as she saw Lexa's name.

Lexa:

Hey. Just finished the meeting. Everything okay? How are you feeling? Did you get the grapefruit open? ;) Seriously though, let me know if you need anything. I can pick something up on my way back.

Raven, ever the hawk, glanced over and saw the screen. Her eyes widened, and a mischievous grin spread across her face.

"Oh, look at that," she said, her voice dripping with mock sweetness. "The CEO is sending cute texts. What's it say? 'Hope my butter knife skills didn't traumatize you too much?'"

Clarke tried to hide her phone, a blush rising on her cheeks. "Shut up," she said, but there was no real heat behind it.

"Aww, she's worried about you," Raven continued, leaning in closer. "She's worried about her little baby mama. How romantic."

Clarke playfully shoved her. "She's just being nice. And she's not my 'baby mama.'"

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, I guess," Raven teased, winking. "But she did just text you, unprompted, to see if you needed anything. That's a classic move. What'd you tell her?"

Clarke unlocked her phone, a small, genuine smile still on her face. "I told her I was fine, and that the grapefruit was a success."

"Mmm-hmm," Raven said, her grin widening. "And did you tell her you were with me?"

"I was about to."

"Good," Raven said, a more serious look on her face. "Because this is good, Clarke. This is a step. All of this. It's messy, but it's real."

Clarke looked at Raven, her best friend, who was finally back by her side. She looked at her phone, at Lexa's name, and at the messages that showed a future she was finally starting to believe in.

"Yeah," Clarke said, her voice quiet. "I think it is."

"Oh, come on," Raven said, snatching the phone from Clarke's hand before she could protest. "Let's give this girl a show."

Clarke's eyes widened in alarm. "Raven, don't you dare!"

But Raven was already typing. Her fingers flew across the screen, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "I'll let her know you're in excellent hands."

Clarke (via Raven):

Raven's says hi. And she's a terrible influence, so you should probably rescue me.

Clarke lunged for the phone, but Raven held it just out of reach. "Too late, it's sent. A little light teasing never hurt anyone."

Almost instantly, the phone buzzed again. Lexa's response was short and to the point.

Lexa:

Rescue is on its way. Don't let her convince you to build anything with questionable structural integrity. Or to get a tattoo.

Raven burst out laughing, handing the phone back to a mortified but secretly amused Clarke. "See? She gets me. That's a woman who knows what she's getting into."

"She knows you're a menace, is what she knows," Clarke retorted, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"I'm a lovable menace," Raven corrected, bumping her shoulder against Clarke's. "And seriously, a tattoo. We should totally get one. A tiny, matching, pregnant lady tattoo. Or a butterfly. Yeah, a butterfly."

Clarke shook her head, laughing again. "You're not getting a butterfly tattoo with me, Raven. That's not happening."

"Fine," Raven conceded with a theatrical sigh. "But you can't blame a girl for trying." She leaned back on the couch, a contented look on her face. "It's good to see you smile, Clarke. It's been a long time."

Clarke's smile softened, and she looked down at the phone in her hand, at the message from Lexa. "Yeah," she said quietly. "It has."

Just as Clarke and Raven had settled into a comfortable lull, the sound of the door opening made them both turn their heads. Lexa walked in, a large paper bag from a local Thai place in her hands. She stopped short, her eyes going from Clarke to Raven, a look of surprise on her face.

"Hey," Lexa said, her voice a little softer than usual.

"Hey," Raven said back, a playful smirk on her face. "Rescue is here, I see. And with food. Smart."

Lexa's lips twitched into a small smile. "I figured you two would need sustenance for your... reunion." She set the bag on the counter and began pulling out containers of Pad Thai and spring rolls. The kitchen filled with the delicious aroma of lemongrass and spice.

The three of them gathered around the small table, and the conversation flowed easily. Raven, in her usual fashion, did most of the talking, her humor and wit a bridge between the two women. She recounted the highlights of her work day, making a dramatic production out of a minor tech glitch. Lexa and Clarke listened, laughing at her antics, the lingering tension from earlier finally gone.

As they ate, Raven looked pointedly at Lexa. "So, let me get this straight," she said, spearing a spring roll. "You're a CEO, you have a gorgeous apartment with a full-time chef, a personal driver, and a state-of-the-art security system. And yet, you're slumming it on Clarke's couch with a bag of takeout."

Lexa didn't miss a beat. "The security system is more of a suggestion," she said dryly. "And besides, this couch is a lot more comfortable."

Raven just shook her head, a wide smile on her face. "Okay, fine. But I'm going to need you to admit that you're just making an excuse not to leave. I'm not stupid, you know."

A blush crept up Lexa's neck. She looked at Clarke, who just smiled back at her, a silent invitation to be honest. "Fine," Lexa said, her voice barely a whisper. "I'm not leaving."

Raven grinned triumphantly. "Knew it," she said. "I'm going to leave you two alone now, but I expect a full report tomorrow."

After they finished eating, Raven hugged Clarke fiercely. "It's good to have you back," Clarke whispered into her shoulder.

"It's good to be back," Raven replied. She gave Lexa a final, knowing look. "Be good to her, Heda."

And with that, Raven was gone, leaving Clarke and Lexa alone in the quiet apartment, the scent of Thai food and the promise of a new future lingering in the air.

Clarke's first day back at Woodson Enterprises was anything but quiet. The whispers started the moment she stepped through the door, not as a hiss but as a gentle wave of knowing glances.
First, there was Daniel from the communications team. He didn't just look at her; he offered a smile. It wasn't the usual curious or suspicious kind Clarke had become an expert at deflecting.

No, this was a warm, sympathetic, and utterly knowing smile, the kind people give pregnant women when they think they're being subtle and kind.

Shit.

Clarke's hand instinctively went to the hem of her blazer, adjusting it for no reason other than to give herself something to do. She quickened her pace down the hallway, a warm flush of embarrassment creeping up her neck. When she reached her desk, Raven was leaning against the cubicle divider, her expression a mix of amusement and 'don't shoot the messenger.'

"So," Raven said, her voice low. "You've officially made it to the office rumor stage. Congratulations."

Clarke dropped her bag with a thud. "Fantastic."

"HR called. Again. They want a... a joint follow-up meeting. Tomorrow."

"Of course they do," Clarke sighed, a wave of resignation washing over her.

Raven leaned closer. "And I may have overheard Martin from acquisitions congratulating Janice on becoming an aunt. She looked confused. Then horrified."

Clarke dropped her head onto her keyboard, a soft groan escaping her lips. "I'm going to die here."

"Probably. But at least you'll be professionally dressed," Raven offered, patting her shoulder.

Later that afternoon, a new email notification popped up in Clarke's inbox.

From: Executive Admin – Woodson Enterprises
Subject: Internal HR Review – Meeting Confirmation
Attendees: Clarke Griffin, Lexa Woodson
Date: Tomorrow
Time: 9:00 AM
Location: Executive Conf. B

Clarke stared at the screen, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs. The timing wasn't a coincidence. Lexa had clearly approved this, had said yes.

She's not hiding me.

The thought landed heavier than she expected. For the first time, this wasn't just about surviving the day; it was about a shared future. Lexa could have easily scheduled a separate meeting, maintained a professional distance, or tried to handle it herself. Instead, she had put her name right next to Clarke's. It was a public declaration, a quiet statement to the entire company. Lexa had chosen them.

That evening, a knock on Lexa's office door would have been too formal. Instead, Clarke simply walked in. Lexa looked up from her desk, her eyes sharp with focus, before softening the moment she saw Clarke.

Clarke closed the door behind her. "You saw the invite?"

Lexa nodded, her gaze steady. "I approved it."

Lexa stood, moving around the desk until she was standing in front of Clarke. The overhead lights hummed softly, and the city lights twinkled outside the large windows.

"Are you okay with that?" Lexa asked, her voice low. "With me doing that?"

Clarke's gaze met hers. "You could have kept me at arm's length," she said, her voice a little shaky. "You could have handled this yourself. You didn't have to put your name on that invite."

"It's not just my name," Lexa said, her hand reaching out to gently touch Clarke's arm. "It's ours. We're in this together. And I wanted them to know that."

A wave of emotion washed over Clarke, and she felt a tear slip down her cheek. "I was so scared, the first time" she whispered. "I thought you were going to hide from me again. From her."

Lexa's hand slid up Clarke's arm, her thumb stroking her skin. "Never," she said, her voice filled with a quiet intensity. "I'm not hiding anymore."

Clarke leaned into her, resting her head on Lexa's shoulder. The expensive fabric of Lexa's suit jacket was a stark contrast to the quiet intimacy of the moment. They stood there for a long time, the silence a comfortable blanket around them.

"I need you to know something," Lexa said, her voice a low murmur. "What I said last night... about not having a script for this... it's true. I have no idea what I'm doing. But I know that I want to be a part of this. And I want to be a part of your life. All of it."

Clarke looked up at her, her eyes searching Lexa's face. "I want that, too," she said.

Lexa's gaze dropped to Clarke's lips, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop. The unspoken question hung in the air between them, and Clarke's heart pounded in her chest.

"Can I?" Lexa whispered, her voice barely audible.

Clarke didn't answer with words. Instead, she leaned in, closing the small distance between them. Their lips met in a tentative, soft kiss, a promise, a beginning, and the quiet sound of two people finally finding their way home.

The next morning at precisely 9:00 AM, Clarke and Lexa walked into Conference Room B. The room was sterile and silent, with a long polished table and a single screen displaying the Woodson Enterprises logo. Waiting for them were two people: Marcus Kane, the head of HR, a man with a kind but serious face, and Diana Sydney, a senior HR representative who was known for her by-the-book approach.

Kane gestured for them to sit, his expression unreadable. Clarke sat down, and Lexa took the chair next to her, their shoulders almost touching. The silent solidarity was a comfort to Clarke, but it did little to quell the nervous flutter in her stomach.

Kane cleared his throat, and the meeting began. "Thank you both for coming in," he started. "We've requested this meeting to address some recent employee chatter and ensure all company policies are being followed." He looked directly at Lexa. "I'm sure you understand the need for discretion, especially given the public-facing nature of your role, Lexa."

"I do, Marcus," Lexa replied, her voice calm and firm. "And I'm here to address any concerns. Clarke and I are happy to answer any questions you have."

Diana Sydney spoke next, her tone professional and cool. "The rumors concern a potential relationship between an executive and a junior employee, and the implications of that, including the pregnancy. We need to confirm that there has been no violation of our non-fraternization policy or any misuse of company resources."

Clarke's heart pounded. She glanced at Lexa, who remained perfectly still, her face a mask of composure.

"I can assure you," Lexa stated, her voice dropping a little to command the room, "that there has been no violation of company policy. Clarke and I are in a relationship, but it began before she worked at Woodson Enterprises. The timing is purely coincidental. The pregnancy is a personal matter, but I can state unequivocally that it resulted from a private event, not from any workplace conduct."

Kane looked at Clarke, his expression softer. "Is this accurate, Clarke?"

"Yes," Clarke confirmed, her voice steady. "We had a brief encounter before I was hired. I had no idea Lexa was a part of Woodson Enterprises, and she wasn't involved in my hiring process in any way."

"And the pregnancy?" Diana pressed. "There are rumors it's affecting your work, Clarke."

"My work is not being affected," Clarke said, her voice filled with a newfound confidence. "My performance reviews are excellent, and I've met every deadline. If you have concerns, I'd be happy to show you my recent projects."

Lexa turned to face Diana, her gaze sharp. "Clarke is one of the most dedicated and talented employees at this company. Her work has been exemplary, and she's been a valued member of her team. Any insinuation to the contrary is baseless and unfounded. I expect her to be treated with the same respect as any other employee."

A tense silence filled the room. Kane finally broke it, his eyes on Lexa. "Lexa, we have a policy regarding a manager or executive being in a relationship with a subordinate. While your relationship predates Clarke's employment, it is still a significant power dynamic."

Lexa nodded. "I'm aware of the policy, which is why I've already put steps in place. As of today, Clarke will report directly to Raven, who will handle her performance reviews and team management. I've also recused myself from any decisions regarding her career trajectory or compensation. I will remain her mentor, but all professional decisions will be made by others."

Diana's expression shifted to one of grudging respect. "That's a very thorough plan, Lexa."

"It's a necessary one," Lexa replied, her voice firm. "I want to be clear: I will not tolerate any harassment, gossip, or discrimination against Clarke. My relationship with her is a personal matter, and any unprofessional behavior towards her will be dealt with severely." She looked pointedly at both Kane and Diana. "I expect my leadership team to be a role model in that regard."

Kane smiled, a genuine one this time. "I think that's a very clear message, Lexa. Thank you both for your honesty. We'll be in touch if any further issues arise, but for now, I believe we've addressed all the company's concerns."

As they stood to leave, Clarke squeezed Lexa's hand under the table, a silent thank you for her unwavering defense. Lexa squeezed back, a quiet promise of their shared future.

Following the HR meeting, a new kind of routine settled in at Woodson Enterprises. The rumors didn't disappear entirely, but they changed. No longer were they malicious whispers, but rather a quiet, observational buzz about the CEO and her attentive nature.

Later that day, Clarke was sitting with Raven and Janice from acquisitions in the breakroom, a small, unassuming space with a single table and a few chairs. The air was a mixture of coffee and stale air.

"Honestly, I'm shocked," Janice said, stirring her yogurt. "I thought this whole thing was a bad joke. But Lexa... I've never seen her like that."

"She was in full Heda mode," Raven agreed, spearing a piece of fruit. "But with a soft side. Like a marshmallow with a steel core."

Clarke smiled, feeling a warmth spread through her chest. "She was just trying to do the right thing."

"Yeah, but she's always smiling at you the whole time," Janice pointed out, her eyes wide. "And she actually listened to what you had to say. I've been here for five years, and I've never seen her give anyone that much of her attention."

Just then, the door to the breakroom opened, and Lexa walked in. She wasn't wearing her usual sharp suit jacket, just a simple blouse and slacks, looking a bit more relaxed than her typical boardroom persona. In her hands, she held a tray. On it was a small salad and a container of what looked like grilled chicken.

"Clarke," Lexa said, her voice soft but clear. "I brought you lunch. I know how you feel about the cafeteria food."

Clarke's mouth fell open in surprise. She hadn't mentioned anything about the cafeteria to Lexa, but she knew that Lexa remembered.

Lexa set the tray down in front of Clarke, her hand brushing Clarke's for a moment. "It's a salad from the place on the corner. They have a good vinaigrette," she explained, her eyes fixed on Clarke with a quiet intensity. "And I got the grilled chicken, not the fried. I remembered you saying something about that last night."

Raven and Janice exchanged a look, their eyes wide with disbelief. This wasn't the cold, calculating CEO they knew. This was a woman who was attentive, thoughtful, and... well, sweet.

Lexa looked up and noticed the two other women staring at her. A faint blush crept up her neck, and she cleared her throat. "Janice, Raven," she said, her voice a little more formal now. "I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all," Janice said quickly, her face a mask of shock. "It's... very thoughtful of you, Lexa."
"Yeah," Raven added, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. "Extremely thoughtful. And for the record, I also hate the cafeteria food. Just saying."

Lexa just offered a small, tired smile, her gaze returning to Clarke. "I'll see you later," she said, before turning and leaving the breakroom, the door swinging shut behind her.

The moment the door closed, Raven and Janice erupted.

"What was that?" Janice whispered, her voice full of awe. "She brought you lunch? And she remembered your specific food preferences? My boyfriend barely remembers my name."

"Heda is in love," Raven said, a dramatic sigh escaping her lips. "I told you she's a marshmallow."

Clarke, a small smile on her face, just shook her head and started to eat the salad. It was a delicious salad, and it was the best thing she had ever tasted.

After lunch, Clarke was at her desk, engrossed in a financial report when her phone buzzed. It was a text from Lexa.

Lexa:

Just checking in. How are you feeling? And the little one?

Clarke smiled, her fingers quickly tapping a reply.

Clarke:

We're both good. The spreadsheets are keeping us busy.

A few minutes later, the breakroom door swung open. Lexa exited, carrying two mugs. She walked directly to Clarke's desk and set one down in front of her. The scent of herbal tea filled the air.

"No more coffee," Lexa said softly, her eyes holding Clarke's. "Doctor's orders."

Several employees in the vicinity stopped what they were doing and watched, their expressions a mix of surprise and a little awe. They were used to seeing Lexa in high-stakes meetings and formal dinners, not delivering herbal tea to a junior employee's desk. Lexa lingered for a moment, her gaze dropping to Clarke's stomach, a small, knowing smile on her face before she walked back to her office.

A while later, another text came through.

Lexa:

Are you warm enough? The air conditioning seems a bit high today.

Clarke glanced around the office. She was perfectly fine, but the thoughtfulness made her heart flutter. She felt a warmth that had nothing to do with the temperature.

Suddenly, a delivery person appeared at Clarke's desk, holding a small package. "This just arrived for you," they said.

Clarke opened the package, her face a mixture of confusion and amusement. Inside was a small, plush blanket, soft and gray, along with a note: For future air conditioning emergencies.

Clarke looked up at Lexa's office, the glass wall giving her a clear view of the CEO's desk. Lexa was on a conference call, a serious expression on her face, completely unaware of the spectacle she had caused. Raven, who had been watching the entire scene unfold from her desk, let out a low whistle.

"She's really laying it on thick, isn't she?" she whispered, grinning.

The attention, while sweet, was starting to become a little much. Clarke sent a text back to Lexa.

Clarke:

Thank you for the blanket, but you need to tone it down a bit. The entire office is watching.

A few moments later, Lexa's phone buzzed. She read the message, and a faint blush crept up her neck. She quickly ended her call and stood, walking out of her office. She stopped at Clarke's desk, her expression a mix of apology and concern.

"Is everything okay?" she asked, her voice a low murmur.

Clarke looked up at her, a gentle smile on her face. "Everything is great. It's just a little overwhelming. I appreciate all of it, really. But for the sake of office decorum, maybe you can just... text me?"

Lexa nodded, a small, understanding smile on her face. "Right. I understand. Just... want to make sure you have everything you need."

"I do," Clarke said. "Thank you. And so does the baby." She placed her hand on her stomach, a small, private gesture.

Lexa's eyes softened, and she gave Clarke one last, lingering look before returning to her office. The employees went back to their work, but the change in the office atmosphere was undeniable.

Later that afternoon, a new kind of tension, one that had nothing to do with deadlines or spreadsheets, entered the office. Clarke was at her desk, reviewing some new design mockups with a team member, Ben, a charming graphic designer known for his easy smile and creative flair.

"These look great, Clarke," Ben said, leaning a little too close as he pointed to a detail on her screen. "You're really outdoing yourself. The new... glow looks good on you." His smile lingered a moment longer than it should have, and he made a point of brushing his hand against hers as he gestured.

Clarke, used to deflecting this kind of attention, offered a polite but firm smile. "Thanks, Ben. I think this layout is ready for final review."

Just then, Lexa's voice cut through the air, cool and sharp. "Raven, a word."

Clarke and Ben both looked up. Lexa was standing at the end of the aisle, her gaze fixed on Raven's desk. Her expression was neutral, but the tone of her voice was anything but. It was the kind of tone that executives use when they want to be obeyed without question.

Raven, who had been watching the whole interaction with a smirk, immediately stood up. "On my way, boss," she muttered under her breath, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

As Raven walked past Clarke's desk, she gave her a quick, knowing wink.

Lexa didn't wait for Raven to reach her office. She met her in the hallway, her posture ramrod straight. "I need to discuss the Q3 budget projections with you," she said, her voice low enough that it couldn't be heard by anyone else. But her eyes, cold and focused, were on Ben. She was making a point, a very public point.

Raven, ever the astute observer, just nodded, a smirk playing on her lips. "Sure thing, Lexa. We can go over the numbers in your office."

As Lexa turned to walk away, she gave Clarke one last, quick glance. There was a silent message in that look, a mixture of protectiveness and a quiet possessiveness.

Ben, suddenly very aware of the temperature of the room, cleared his throat awkwardly. "Well, I should... get back to it. Great work on these, Clarke." He quickly retreated to his own desk, his easy smile replaced with a more subdued expression.

Clarke sat at her desk, her heart racing a little. She knew that look. It was the look of a lioness protecting her territory. Lexa might be trying to "tone it down," but some instincts, Clarke knew, were impossible to suppress.

Chapter Text

Lexa was standing by the window, her back to the room, staring out at the city skyline.

"Ben's probably still recovering from your death glare," Raven said, her voice light, but her eyes were serious as she looked at her friend. "He thinks you're going to fire him for talking to Clarke."

Lexa turned around, her posture less rigid than it had been in the hallway. "I won't," she said, her voice quiet. "But I wanted him to know she's off-limits."

Raven leaned against the door, a small smile on her face. "Off-limits? She's pregnant with your kid, Lexa. The entire company knows. You've already put your name next to hers on an HR document. I think everyone got the message."

"It's different," Lexa insisted, a flicker of something raw in her eyes. "Seeing him... he was looking at her like... like he had a right to. Like she was just another conquest."

Raven's smile faded. She moved further into the office. "And you got jealous," she said simply. It wasn't a question, but a statement of fact.

Lexa ran a hand through her hair, a rare sign of frustration. "I don't know what it was," she admitted, her voice low. "I've never felt like that before. This... feeling. It's so intense. I'm used to being in control of everything, but with her... I don't know how to feel. Is this normal? Am I supposed to feel this way? I want to protect her from everything. From everyone."

Raven walked over to her, her expression soft. "It's normal, Lexa," she said. "You're feeling things you've never let yourself feel before. And yeah, you're going to get jealous. You're going to want to protect her. That's what happens when you care about someone. And you do. You care about her a lot."

Lexa looked at her, her eyes searching for a deeper truth. "What do I do?" she asked, the question laced with a vulnerability that Raven had rarely seen. "I don't want to mess this up."

Raven smiled, a genuine, comforting one. "You don't do anything different. You just keep being you. You're attentive, caring, and protective. Just... maybe dial down the death glares at the employees. You don't want to get a reputation for being a tyrant." She paused. "Besides," she added with a wink. "It's Clarke. She can handle you. And I think the death glare just made her swoon."

She paused, her smile turning a little more serious. "But listen, what you're feeling? It's good. It's real. Don't fight it, just... learn to navigate it. And maybe invest in a good pair of sunglasses for the future, for Ben's sake."

Lexa let out a small, tired sigh that was half exasperation, half relief. "Right. Sunglasses. And a less... territorial posture." She moved back to her desk, running a hand over the smooth, cool surface. "Thank you, Raven. For... all of it."

"Hey, what are friends for?" Raven said, pushing off the wall. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm pretty sure my 'boss' wants me to finish those Q3 budget projections. I'll see you later, Heda."

As Raven left the office, Lexa stood by her desk for a long moment, the quiet hum of the room filling the space. She picked up her phone, her thumb hovering over Clarke's name. She wanted to text her, to apologize for the scene, to say something, anything, but she didn't know what to say. Instead, she walked out of her office and over to Clarke's desk. Clarke looked up, her expression a mix of amusement and a little concern.

"Hey," Clarke said, her voice soft. "Are you okay?"

Lexa nodded, her gaze sweeping the area. Ben was at his desk, head down, completely focused on his computer screen. The other employees were back to their work, but the air still held a faint trace of the earlier tension.

Lexa leaned in close, her voice a low murmur meant only for Clarke. "I'm sorry about that," she said, her eyes filled with a quiet apology. "I... I'm still figuring this out."

Clarke's hand reached up and gently touched Lexa's arm. "I know," she whispered. "It's okay. We'll figure it out together."

Lexa's expression softened, and she gave Clarke a small, genuine smile. "I'll see you later," she said before turning and walking back to her office, a newfound sense of clarity in her step.

Lexa returned to her office, leaving a quiet, focused air in her wake. The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of spreadsheets and reports. As the day wound down, a collective sigh of relief seemed to sweep across the office floor. The tension from the morning's meeting and the afternoon's subtle drama had finally dissipated.

Raven came over to Clarke's desk, pulling a bag over her shoulder. "Well, that was a day," she said with a weary smile. "I'm pretty sure I saw smoke coming from Ben's ears after Lexa's 'budget' chat."

Clarke chuckled, gathering her things. "I think the whole office needs a spa day after that."

"Tell me about it," Raven said. She paused, her smile fading a little as she looked at Clarke with a more serious expression. "Hey, before I forget, don't forget you have your ultrasound appointment tomorrow morning. What time is it?"

Clarke's hand went to her stomach. "Nine. Why?"

Raven's gaze was direct. "I'm just asking because... you're not going alone, are you?"

Clarke's face softened. "No, I'm not. You're going with me, remember?"

"Yeah, of course," Raven said, her voice warm. "But... I meant someone else. Lexa."

Clarke's smile faltered. The thought hadn't even crossed her mind. The morning had been so surreal, and the idea of asking Lexa to join her for something so intimate and personal felt like a huge leap. "I don't know, Raven. It's... a big step. We've only just started to figure things out."

"I know," Raven said gently. "But this is a part of 'figuring things out.' This is her kid, too, Clarke. You saw how she was today. She's all in. Don't shut her out just because you're scared."

Clarke looked down at her hands, turning the words over in her mind. Raven was right. Lexa had been nothing but supportive and present. To not even offer her the chance to be there would be unfair.

"Just think about it," Raven said, giving her a quick hug. "I'll see you in the morning, either way."

That night, after a long, hot shower, Clarke was curled up on her couch, a cup of chamomile tea in her hands. She opened her phone and stared at Lexa's name, her thumb hovering over the 'new message' icon. The little green blanket Lexa had sent was draped over her legs, a soft reminder of the day's events. She thought about the look on Lexa's face when she felt the baby kick, the protective fire in her eyes when she saw Ben, the simple, kind gesture of bringing her tea and a blanket. She took a deep breath and began to type.

Clarke:

Hey. I have an ultrasound appointment tomorrow morning at 9. I was just wondering... if you wanted to come with us. It's totally okay if not, no pressure.

She read the message over and over, her heart pounding. It felt so vulnerable, so open-ended. She hit send before she could talk herself out of it.

Her phone buzzed almost immediately.

Lexa:

Yes. A thousand times, yes. I'll pick you up at 8:30.

The next morning, the soft, pale light of dawn crept through Clarke's bedroom window. She woke with a start, a familiar flutter in her stomach, both from the baby and from the nervous anticipation of the day ahead. She had tossed and turned all night, re-reading Lexa's text a dozen times, the simple "Yes" a beacon of hope in the darkness of her anxiety.

She moved through her morning routine in a haze, her mind replaying the day's potential scenarios. What would it be like, the two of them alone in a car, on their way to this deeply personal and vulnerable appointment? Would it be awkward? Would they talk about their kiss? She was halfway through her oatmeal when her phone buzzed with a text from Raven.

Raven:

Hey, I'm so, so sorry, but something came up at work and I have to go in. I won't be able to make it to the appointment.

Clarke stared at the message, a sinking feeling in her stomach. She knew Raven's work ethic, and she knew that a "something came up" was Raven-speak for "this is an emergency and I'm the only one who can fix it." Still, the timing felt suspiciously convenient.

Clarke:

Are you sure? It's really no big deal if you're a few minutes late.

Raven:

No, Clarke, I'm really sorry. You guys will have to go on without me. Call me after and let me know how it goes!

Clarke sighed, a reluctant smile playing on her lips. She had a feeling Raven's last-minute cancellation was a calculated move, a gentle nudge pushing her and Lexa further together. It was so Raven. Just then, her doorbell rang. She looked at the clock. 8:30 AM. Taking a deep breath, Clarke opened the door.

Lexa was standing on her doorstep, dressed in a simple, elegant blouse and slacks, a quiet look of anticipation on her face. Her eyes met Clarke's, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.

"Hey," Lexa said, her voice soft. "Are you ready?"

Clarke nodded, her nerves settling just a little at the sight of her. "Raven had to cancel," she said, her voice a little shaky. "Something came up."

Lexa's expression didn't change, but Clarke saw a flicker of something in her eyes, a silent understanding of Raven's subtle machinations. "Oh," Lexa said, her voice neutral. "Well, that's a shame. But I'm sure she'll be there in spirit."

Clarke managed a small smile. "Yeah," she said. "She will."

Lexa gestured toward the elevator. "Shall we?"

As they walked out into the cool morning air, a silence fell between them. It wasn't the heavy, awkward silence Clarke had feared, but a comfortable, thoughtful one. It was the silence of two people who were finally, truly, in this together.

The city of Williamsburg was just beginning to stir as Lexa's car pulled away from the curb. The streets were still quiet, and the morning sun cast long shadows from the brownstones lining the avenues. Clarke sat in the passenger seat, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her stomach a nest of fluttering nerves. The silence in the car was heavy, a stark contrast to the easy chatter she would have had with Raven.

Lexa, however, seemed to sense her unease. She kept her gaze on the road, but her voice was a quiet comfort. "Everything okay?" she asked, her tone gentle.

Clarke let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. "Yeah," she said, her voice a little shaky. "Just... nervous, I guess. I've never done this before."

Lexa glanced at her, a small smile on her lips. "Neither have I. But I have faith in you. In us."

The simple words were a balm to Clarke's frayed nerves. She looked out the window, watching the familiar streets of Williamsburg pass by. "It's just so surreal," she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "One day I'm just... living my life, and the next, I'm getting ready for an ultrasound. It's a lot to process."

Lexa nodded, her gaze focused on the road ahead. "I know. It's... a little terrifying. But also... good, right?"

Clarke looked at her, at the raw vulnerability in her eyes. "Yeah," she said, a genuine smile finally breaking through her anxiety. "It's good. I think."

"Good," Lexa said, the word a quiet reassurance. She reached over and placed her hand over Clarke's on her lap, a simple, comforting gesture. "We'll get through it together."

The rest of the drive was filled with a comfortable silence. The initial awkwardness had melted away, replaced by a quiet sense of shared purpose. They talked about small things, about the a new gallery that had opened in the neighborhood and the best place to get coffee. The conversation was light and easy, a welcome distraction from the weight of the day.

As they got closer to the clinic, Lexa spoke again, her voice softer this time. "I was thinking about the apartment," she said. "We should probably start looking for a bigger place. Something with more room. For the baby."

Clarke's heart skipped a beat. The idea of living with Lexa, of building a life together, was both terrifying and thrilling. "A new apartment?" she asked, her voice a little breathless.

"Yeah," Lexa said, a small smile on her face. "Something with a nursery. And maybe a better kitchen. So I can learn to cook more than just scrambled eggs."

Clarke laughed, a soft, warm sound that filled the car. "I think that's a good plan," she said. "A very good plan."

When they arrived at the clinic, Clarke felt a sense of calm she hadn't expected. She was still nervous, but now she wasn't alone. She had Lexa by her side, a quiet and steadfast presence. As they walked into the building, hand in hand, Clarke knew that everything was going to be okay.

Lexa and Clarke walked into the clinic, and a sense of calm settled over Clarke as they approached the reception desk. The waiting room was quiet, filled with soft light and hushed voices. They checked in, and a few minutes later, a nurse called Clarke's name. Lexa rose with her, following her down a clean, brightly lit hallway to an exam room. The nurse had Clarke change into a gown, then had her lie down on the exam table. Lexa stood by Clarke's side, a quiet and reassuring presence.

The doctor, a kind-faced woman with a warm smile, entered the room, explaining the process as she prepared the ultrasound machine. She squeezed a cool, clear gel onto Clarke's stomach, and Clarke flinched at the sensation. Lexa's hand, warm and solid, immediately covered hers.

The doctor pressed the transducer against Clarke's skin, and the screen in front of them flickered to life. At first, it was just a hazy swirl of gray and white, a confusing image of light and shadow. But then, as the doctor adjusted the view, a shape emerged. Lexa gasped, a quiet, sharp sound. Clarke's breath hitched, and she stared at the screen, her heart pounding in her chest.

Whoosh Whoosh Whoosh

There it was, a tiny, flickering heart, a perfect little form floating in a sea of gray.

"There's the heartbeat," the doctor said, her voice gentle. "Strong and steady. Everything looks perfect."

Lexa didn't say a word, her gaze fixed on the screen. A single tear escaped her eye and rolled down her cheek, but she didn't wipe it away. Her hand tightened on Clarke's, a silent testament to the raw emotion she was feeling.

Clarke, a small smile on her face, turned to look at Lexa. "You okay?" she whispered, her voice filled with a quiet sense of wonder.

Lexa just nodded, her throat working as she struggled to find her voice. "She's so... perfect," she finally managed to say, her voice thick with emotion.

The rest of the appointment was a blur of measurements and checks, but all Clarke could focus on was the image on the screen and the warmth of Lexa's hand in hers. When the doctor was finished, she wiped the gel from Clarke's stomach and handed them a few printed images.

As they walked out of the clinic, the city of Williamsburg seemed to have a new light to it. The streets were still the same, the brownstones just as familiar, but everything felt different. Lexa held the ultrasound photos, looking at them with a sense of awe.

"I didn't think it would feel like this," she said, her voice a low murmur. "I didn't think it would feel so... real."

Clarke smiled, her hand slipping into Lexa's as they walked back to the car. "It is," she said. "She's real."

They drove away from the clinic, the city of Williamsburg now bustling with the mid-morning rush. The ultrasound pictures sat in the cup holder between them, a tangible reminder of the tiny life they had just seen. A comfortable quiet filled the car, a new kind of silence that felt full and complete.

Lexa glanced at the clock on the dashboard. "It's past lunchtime," she said. "Have you eaten anything yet?"

Clarke realized with a jolt that she was starving. The nervous energy of the morning had completely suppressed her appetite, but now a deep hunger was setting in. "No, I haven't," she admitted, her stomach rumbling in agreement.

"I know a great place nearby," Lexa said. "We can stop there."

They pulled up to a small, unassuming café on a side street. Inside, the air was warm with the scent of roasted coffee and fresh pastries. They found a quiet corner table, and Clarke, without a second thought, ordered a large sandwich and a bowl of soup.

"I didn't realize how hungry I was," Clarke said with a laugh as she took a large bite of her sandwich.

Lexa smiled, a soft, genuine expression. "It's a good sign. It means you're not so nervous anymore."

As they ate, they talked about the ultrasound. Lexa was still in awe, her voice a low murmur as she described the tiny, flickering heartbeat. "It was the most incredible thing I've ever seen," she said. "I can't believe that's our baby."

"Our baby," Clarke repeated, the words feeling right and true. She picked up one of the ultrasound pictures and looked at it again. "Raven would have loved this. I'm still annoyed she bailed on us."

Lexa's smile turned a little mischievous. "She had a sudden and urgent need to clear her schedule for a 'work emergency.'" Lexa said, making air quotes around the last words. "I have a feeling she thought we needed a little push."

Clarke couldn't help but laugh. "That sounds exactly like her. She's a master manipulator."

"She's a good friend," Lexa corrected gently. "She wants us to be happy."

The conversation shifted to the future. They talked about the possibility of finding a new apartment, and Lexa listened attentively as Clarke described what she was looking for in a home. The thought of them building a life together, starting with a place to live, was both daunting and exciting.

As they finished eating, Clarke looked at Lexa, a sudden thought crossing her mind. "Hey," she said. "I know this is a little forward, but... could I see your place? You've been to my apartment, but I've never seen yours."

Lexa's expression softened, a hint of surprise in her eyes. "My place? Are you sure?"

"Yeah," Clarke said, her voice filled with a quiet sense of curiosity. "I'd like to see where you live. To see... your home."

Lexa nodded, a small, genuine smile on her face. "Okay," she said. "Let's go. My home is your home, too."

They finished their lunch, the small cafe now buzzing with the midday rush. As they walked back to the car, the ultrasound pictures were carefully tucked into Lexa's bag, a precious secret they now shared. The drive from the café to Lexa's apartment was short, and as they pulled up to the curb, Clarke's breath caught in her throat.

Lexa's home was a modern, glass-and-steel high-rise, a sleek tower that rose above the surrounding brownstones. A doorman in a crisp uniform greeted them, and they rode a private elevator that whisked them silently to the penthouse floor. When Lexa unlocked the door, a stunning view of the Manhattan skyline spilled out before them.

The apartment was everything Clarke would have expected from a CEO. Clean lines, minimalist furniture, and a cool, muted color palette of grays and whites. The space was enormous, with floor-to-ceiling windows that offered an unobstructed, breathtaking panorama of the city. A massive, abstract painting dominated one wall, and a low, white leather couch sat in the center of the living room, a perfectly placed testament to modern design.

"Wow," Clarke breathed, walking further into the apartment. The silence was palpable, a stark contrast to the cozy, lived-in feel of her own Williamburgs apartment. There were no messy stacks of books, no half-finished canvases, no warm throw blankets. It was beautiful, but it felt more like a museum than a home.

Lexa watched her, her expression unreadable. "It's... a lot," she said, her voice a little softer than usual. "I know."

Clarke turned to her, a small smile on her face. "It's incredible, Lexa. It's just... it's very you."

Lexa's lips twitched into a small, wry smile. "Yeah," she said. "It's the space I built to impress people." She gestured toward a sleek, minimalist kitchen, where a single, untouched espresso machine sat on the counter. "I'm not exactly a domestic goddess."

Clarke laughed, a soft, warm sound that filled the sterile space. "I figured as much. But I'm a good cook, and I'm a terrible domestic goddess. It works."

Lexa's smile became a little more genuine. "It works."

Clarke walked over to the windows, her gaze sweeping across the magnificent view. She saw the city, a sprawling, chaotic metropolis that Lexa had, in a way, conquered. She saw the quiet strength and determination that had built this life.

Lexa came up behind her, her presence a warm, grounding force. She wrapped her arms around Clarke's waist, resting her chin on Clarke's shoulder. "I'm glad you came," she whispered, her voice a low murmur, her grip on Clarke's waist tightening slightly.

Clarke leaned back into Lexa's embrace, a sense of peace washing over her. She saw the skyline, the endless possibilities of the city, and in Lexa's arms, she finally started to believe that a future there was possible. A future where two people, one a CEO and the other a painter, could turn a beautiful apartment into a home.

Lexa's arms were still around Clarke, the city a stunning, silent backdrop. After a few more quiet moments, Clarke turned in her embrace. "I'm still getting used to the view," she said, a playful tone in her voice. "It's a lot to take in."

"Yeah," Lexa murmured, a soft smile on her face. "It is." She reluctantly released Clarke. "How about we go for a walk? There's a park nearby."

The late afternoon sun was warm and golden as they walked through the bustling streets of Williamsburg toward a small, neighborhood park. The air was filled with the sounds of children playing and the distant hum of the city. As they entered the park, a little girl with bright red hair and a scraped knee ran up to Lexa, tears streaming down her face.

"My mommy says I can't have ice cream because I fell," she sobbed, holding up her knee.

Lexa, to Clarke's surprise, knelt down to the little girl's level, her corporate demeanor completely gone. "I think your mommy is being a little bit silly," she said gently, her voice soft and kind. "A fall is a good excuse for ice cream. A very good excuse."

The little girl's face lit up, and she pointed to a nearby ice cream cart. "Can we get ice cream?"

Lexa smiled, a beautiful, genuine smile that made Clarke's heart swell. "I think we can. What's your favorite flavour?"

As Lexa walked the little girl to the cart, holding her small hand in hers, Clarke watched her, a sense of quiet certainty settling over her. This was the Lexa she hadn't known, the one who wasn't a CEO or a leader, but a kind, gentle person who was good with children. She saw her bending down to speak to the child's mother, explaining the ice cream rule in a calm and reassuring manner.

When Lexa returned with two cones, one for herself and one for Clarke, Clarke just looked at her, a silent sense of awe in her eyes. "That was... incredibly sweet," Clarke said. "You're going to be a good mother."

Lexa's cheeks flushed a soft pink, and she looked down at her ice cream. "I hope so," she said, her voice a little shy. "I really hope so."

They walked in a comfortable silence, eating their ice cream, the afternoon sun casting long shadows behind them. The park was a sanctuary, a small pocket of peace in the middle of a chaotic world.

As the sun began to set, casting a warm orange glow over the city, Lexa drove Clarke back to her apartment. The air in the car was quiet, but it was a comfortable, easy quiet. Lexa pulled up to the curb outside Clarke's building, but she didn't turn off the engine.

She sat for a moment, her hands on the steering wheel, her gaze fixed on the apartment building. She took a deep breath, and Clarke could feel a nervous energy radiating from her.

"I know this is... a lot," Lexa began, her voice a little shaky. "And I know we're still figuring things out. But... I was wondering..." She paused, her gaze finally meeting Clarke's. "I was wondering if you would go on a date with me."

Clarke's heart skipped a beat. The question, so simple and yet so monumental, hung in the air between them. They had shared meals, an ultrasound, and a kiss, but a date was a different kind of promise. It was an official step, a quiet declaration that they were choosing this, choosing each other.

"A date?" Clarke whispered, a soft smile on her face.

Lexa nodded, her eyes full of a raw, beautiful vulnerability. "A proper date. Dinner. A movie. Whatever you want. Just... you and me. Not as co-workers. Not as future parents. Just... as us."

Clarke reached out and gently touched Lexa's hand, a reassuring gesture. "I'd love that," she said, her voice filled with a quiet sense of hope. "I'd love to go on a date with you, Lexa."

A relieved smile spread across Lexa's face, and she squeezed Clarke's hand, a silent promise of all that was to come.

Lexa's smile widened. "Great. How about... this Saturday? I could pick you up at seven?"
Clarke thought for a moment. Saturday was perfect. "Seven on Saturday sounds perfect," she confirmed.

"I'll see you Saturday," Lexa said, her voice soft. "Don't forget to eat dinner. I know you sometimes skip it."

Clarke smiled, her heart fluttering at the thoughtful reminder. "I won't," she promised. "I'll see you Saturday."

She got out of the car, a sense of giddiness washing over her. Lexa drove off, not without making sure to wave. Clarke walked to her apartment and immediately pulled out her phone, dialing Raven's number.

"I can't believe you," Clarke said as soon as Raven answered. "You totally ditched me."

Raven's laugh was a warm, familiar sound on the other end of the line. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry! Was it really so bad without me?"

"No," Clarke admitted, a soft smile on her face. "It was... really good, actually. The ultrasound went perfectly. Everything looks great."

"Oh my God, that's amazing!" Raven's voice was full of genuine excitement. "Did you see the heartbeat? The little flutter? I told you everything would be okay."

"We saw the heartbeat," Clarke confirmed, a sense of wonder in her voice. "And we got pictures. I'll show them to you tomorrow. But Raven... that's not the best part."

"Don't tell me," Raven said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "She asked you out on a date, didn't she?"

Clarke's breath hitched, a rush of emotion washing over her. "How did you know?"

"Please," Raven said, her voice full of knowing amusement. "I'm a genius. I knew that last-minute cancellation would do the trick. Lexa may not be an open book when it comes to other stuff, but this, the book practically opens itself. What did you say?"

"I said yes," Clarke replied, a quiet sense of happiness settling over her.

"Yes!" Raven cheered on the other end of the line. "I knew it! This is going to be so good, Clarke. I can't wait to hear all about it. What are you going to do? Where are you going to go?"

Clarke, a small, genuine smile on her face, was still trying to process the news herself. "I don't know," she admitted. "We didn't talk about it. She just said she'd pick me up at seven."

"Okay, so this is where I come in," Raven declared, her voice now full of purpose. "This is a first date, Clarke. It has to be perfect. No pressure or anything, but this could be the start of a family. The fate of your future depends on this!"

"Raven, you're being dramatic," Clarke said, laughing.

"Am I?" Raven retorted. "This isn't just any date. This is with Lexa Woodson, the woman who runs a company, and who just brought you a blanket because the office was 'too cold.' This is a big deal."

"Okay, okay," Clarke conceded. "So what should we do?"

"Well, you can't do anything too crazy," Raven said, a more serious tone in her voice. "No late-night clubbing or anything like that. You're pregnant."

"I'm aware," Clarke said with a roll of her eyes.

"Right," Raven said. "So, something quiet. Something intimate. Something that allows you to talk. Maybe dinner at that Italian place on the corner? Or a walk through Central Park?"

"Central Park is a good idea," Clarke said, her mind already picturing it. "It's romantic. But what about dinner?"

"Italian is always a good idea," Raven declared. "It's classic. And you can get a good pasta dish. Comfort food. It's a win-win."

"You're a genius," Clarke said, her voice filled with a genuine sense of gratitude.

"I know," Raven said. "Now go get some rest. You have a big date on Saturday. And don't forget to call me and tell me everything. I need a full report, with details."

Clarke laughed, a soft, happy sound. "I will," she promised. "I will."

Later that evening, Clarke was curled up on her couch, a new sense of peace washing over her. The ultrasound pictures were on the coffee table in front of her, a tangible reminder of the tiny life she was carrying. And on her phone, a simple message from Lexa.

Lexa:

Looking forward to Saturday.

Clarke smiled, a warm, happy feeling spreading through her chest. She wasn't just looking forward to Saturday. She was looking forward to everything.

Chapter Text

It was Friday, and the office was buzzing with the usual end-of-week energy. Clarke was engrossed in a complex report, her brow furrowed in concentration. She hadn't noticed Lexa come in, hadn't noticed the subtle shift in the office's atmosphere as the CEO walked to her office.

Raven, however, had noticed, a mischievous grin on her face. "You might want to put a sign on your forehead," she whispered, "to remind the boss you're still a professional."

Clarke looked up, confused. "What are you talking about?"

Raven just pointed with her thumb toward Lexa's glass-walled office. Lexa was sitting at her desk, but she wasn't looking at her computer. She was looking at Clarke, a soft, unguarded expression on her face. Her eyes, usually sharp and focused, were filled with a warm, almost starry look.

"She's giving you heart eyes, Griffin," Raven said, a giggle escaping her lips. "The woman is a goner."

Just then, Lexa's phone buzzed. She glanced at it, and a small smile touched her lips before she returned her gaze to Clarke.

Lexa (via text):

Raven says you have a report that needs a second pair of eyes. Be a good collegue and help her out.

Raven, seeing the text, rolled her eyes playfully. "Told you," she muttered. "The woman is a menace."

Raven stood up and walked into Lexa's office, a playful smile on her face. "So, Heda," she said, leaning against the door frame. "I hear you're taking Clarke on a date. You nervous?"

Lexa looked up, her expression a little flustered. "I'm not nervous. I'm... prepared."

"Prepared?" Raven repeated, her grin widening. "Prepared to what? To not spill wine on her? To not talk about work? To not give her 'the look'?"

Lexa just shook her head, a soft smile on her face. "I'm prepared to have a good time. And to make sure she has a good time."

Raven nodded, her expression turning more serious. "Good. Because she deserves it. She deserves all of it. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a report to finish."

Raven walked back to her desk, a small, triumphant smile on her face. A few minutes later, Lexa appeared at Clarke's desk, two bottles of water in her hand. She set one down in front of Clarke.

"Don't forget to stay hydrated," Lexa said, her voice a low murmur. "It's important. For both of you."

Clarke's cheeks flushed a soft pink. "Thanks, Lexa."

Lexa lingered for a moment, her gaze sweeping across Clarke's face. "And don't work too hard," she said, her voice a low whisper. "You're supposed to be relaxing and enjoying yourself." She winked, a playful, flirty gesture that made Clarke's heart flutter. With a small smile, Lexa walked back to her office, leaving Clarke a little breathless and completely flustered.

A little breathless and completely flustered, Clarke stared at the half-empty bottle of water on her desk. The simple gesture, combined with the playful wink, had completely undone her. She felt her cheeks heat up, and a small, goofy smile spread across her face.

Raven, of course, had noticed. She swiveled her chair around, her eyebrows raised in a knowing look. "Yep," she said, her voice a low murmur. "She's got you, Griffin. She's got you good."

"She's just being nice," Clarke mumbled, though her heart was thrumming a different tune.

"Nice?" Raven scoffed. "Nice is bringing a bottle of water. That was a full-on, office-appropriate flirt-fest. The woman literally winked at you. You're a goner."

Clarke didn't have a good comeback. She knew Raven was right. The careful, professional walls Lexa had built around herself at work were slowly crumbling, replaced by a quiet, protective tenderness that was all for Clarke.

The rest of the day was a blur of work and stolen glances. Every time Clarke looked up, she found Lexa's eyes on her, a soft, warm expression on her face. The tension and fear that had once defined their workplace interactions were gone, replaced by a new, exciting energy.

As the clock ticked toward five, the office began to empty. Clarke and Raven were packing up their things when Lexa emerged from her office, her suit jacket draped over her arm.

"Leaving for the day, Raven?" she asked, her voice even.

"Yep," Raven said, her grin wide. "Wouldn't want to get in the way of a date night in the making."

Lexa's lips twitched into a small, wry smile. "Don't you have a date of your own?"

"A date with my couch and a pizza," Raven said with a laugh. "It's a very serious, very long-term relationship." She gave Clarke a quick hug. "See you, Clarke. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

After Raven had left, the office was quiet, just the two of them. Lexa walked over to Clarke's desk, a small smile on her face.

"So," she said, her voice low. "I'll see you Saturday."

Clarke's heart fluttered. "Yeah," she said, her voice a little breathless. "Saturday."

Lexa leaned in close, her presence a warm, magnetic force. "Don't forget to eat dinner tonight," she whispered, a playful glint in her eyes. "It's a very important first step to our date." She kissed Clarke lightly on the cheek, a soft, fleeting touch that sent a jolt through her.

"I won't," Clarke promised, her voice a low whisper.

Lexa smiled, a beautiful, genuine smile that made Clarke's heart swell. "Good," she said. "I'll see you then."

Clarke watched Lexa walk away, the soft touch of her lips on her cheek a lingering warmth on her skin. She gathered her things, a small, genuine smile on her face. As she was about to leave, Lexa reappeared at her desk, her car keys dangling from her hand.

"Do you need a ride home?" she asked, her voice soft. "I'm heading in the same direction."

Clarke's heart fluttered. "Yeah, I'd love that," she said.

The drive back to Clarke's apartment was quiet, but it was a comfortable silence. The last traces of daylight painted the Williamsburg sky in shades of orange and pink. Clarke leaned her head against the window, a sense of peace washing over her. Just as she was about to doze off, her phone buzzed with an insistent rhythm, a series of pings that vibrated against her thigh. She pulled it out and saw it was a group chat with Raven and a few of their other friends.

Group chat: Bitches b4 Hoes

Raven: I'm telling you guys, she's a goner. Lexa gave her heart eyes all day.

Nylah: Heart eyes? The CEO? I need proof. Get me a picture.

Raven: She literally winked at her. And brought her a blanket because the office was "too cold."

Monty: Wait, Lexa Woodson is flirting with Clarke? Is this a joke?

Raven: Monty babe, are you slow? Of course this is no joke. And she just left with her(I may have lingered in the shadows) Probably to take her home. I'm telling you, it's a real-life rom-com.

Nylah: This is the most exciting thing that's ever come out that office. I was so tired of your shitty science talk.

Raven: Bitch, not everyone can reach great heights. I think it's time to stop chasing the impossible.

Monty: You guys, that's not very kind.

Nylah: Shut before I send Raven over to break your computer. God knows what's on that thing.

Monty is typing...

Miller: You heard the lady. Retreat brother.

Clarke's cheeks flushed crimson. She quickly muted the chat, a mortified but amused expression on her face. She looked over at Lexa, who was still focused on the road, oblivious to the chaos Raven was causing. The silence stretched between them, but it was a different kind of quiet now, filled with the warmth of the day and the playful chaos of their friends.

Lexa finally broke the silence, her voice a low murmur. "Everything okay?" she asked, a small, knowing smile on her face. "Raven isn't planning to start a riot in the office, is she?"

Clarke just laughed, a soft, happy sound. "No, nothing like that. Just... our friends being themselves." She paused, her gaze meeting Lexa's. "So... about our date. Have you decided what you want to do?"

Lexa's smile widened. "I was hoping you'd have some ideas. I'm a good planner, but I'm not very good at... romantic dates."

Clarke's heart fluttered. "I was thinking maybe dinner at that Italian place we talked about, then a walk through Central Park?"

Lexa's eyes lit up. "That sounds perfect. It sounds... just right."

Saturday finally arrived, a day that felt both long overdue and far too soon. Clarke spent the morning trying to distract herself, but her mind kept returning to the evening ahead. She found herself re-reading Lexa's texts, the simple, direct words a comfort in her nervous anticipation.

As the afternoon waned, Clarke began to get ready. She showered, letting the hot water soothe her frayed nerves, and took extra care with her hair and makeup. When she stood in front of her closet, she realized she had no idea what to wear. This wasn't a work dinner or a casual get-together with friends. It was a date. With Lexa.

She finally settled on a simple, elegant navy blue dress that hugged her curves in all the right places without being too revealing. It was comfortable, sophisticated, and, most importantly, made her feel confident. She looked at her reflection in the mirror, a nervous but excited smile on her face. The woman staring back at her was no longer the worried, uncertain person she had been just a few weeks ago. She was a woman in love, embarking on a new and exciting journey.

At precisely seven o'clock, the doorbell rang. Clarke's heart skipped a beat. She took a deep breath, walked to the door, and opened it.

Lexa was standing there, dressed in a simple but elegant black dress that hugged her frame in all the right places. Her hair was down, a soft wave of dark curls framing her face, and her eyes were filled with a nervous but hopeful excitement.

"Hi," Lexa said, her voice a little shaky. "You look beautiful."

"You don't look so bad yourself, Woodson," Clarke replied, a genuine smile on her face.

Lexa's lips twitched into a small smile. "I tried. I had Raven give me a quick crash course in 'date night attire.'"

Clarke laughed, a soft, warm sound that filled the small apartment. "I hope you got a good grade."

"I think I passed," Lexa said, her eyes sweeping over Clarke's dress. "But you... you're getting an A+."

Clarke's cheeks flushed, and she felt a giddy happiness bubbling up inside her. She grabbed her purse and her keys, and with one last look around her apartment, she walked out into the hallway, Lexa by her side.

The drive to the Italian restaurant was quiet, but it was a comfortable silence. The initial nervousness had melted away, replaced by a quiet sense of anticipation. They held hands in the car, a silent, comforting gesture that filled the space between them.

The restaurant was a small, intimate place with soft lighting and a quiet hum of conversation. They were seated at a small table in a corner. A server placed menus in front of them, but they barely looked at them, their attention focused on each other.

"This feels perfect for a first date," Clarke admitted, a shy smile on her lips.

Lexa's eyes twinkled. "It is. Our first one as... something new."

Their conversation flowed easily. They talked about their work, their hobbies, and even their favorite childhood memories.  Clarke shared stories of her rebellious teenage years. They laughed about their differences and found comfort in their similarities. They talked about the baby, and the future, and what they wanted their lives to look like.

The conversation eventually turned to the future, to the baby. "Have you thought of names?" Lexa asked, her voice soft.

"A few," Clarke said, her hand unconsciously moving to her belly. "I have a list. It's ridiculous, filled with like, five hundred names, and I have no idea which ones I actually like."

Lexa laughed, a warm, genuine sound. "I have no doubt you'll choose the perfect one." She reached across the table and covered Clarke's hand with her own. "I want to be here for everything, Clarke. All the doctor's appointments, the sleepless nights, the name-choosing. I want to be a part of it."

"I know," Clarke whispered, her heart swelling with emotion. "Me too. I want that, too."

After dinner, they walked through Central Park. The city lights twinkled in the distance, and the park was a quiet, peaceful oasis. They walked hand in hand, their conversation a low murmur, their future a bright, shining light.

As Lexa drove Clarke back to her apartment, a quiet sense of peace settled over them. Lexa pulled up to the curb, but she didn't turn off the engine.

"I had a really wonderful time tonight," Lexa said, her voice soft. "Thank you for saying yes."

"I had a wonderful time too," Clarke replied, her gaze meeting Lexa's. "Thank you for asking."

Lexa leaned in, and this time, the kiss was not a tentative one. It was a slow, deep kiss, filled with all the unspoken words of the last few weeks. It was a promise, a beginning, and the quiet sound of two people finally finding their way home.

As Lexa drove away, Clarke stood on her buildings doorstep, a dazed smile on her face. The kiss still lingered on her lips, a warm, thrilling memory. She walked to her apartment and immediately pulled out her phone, her thumb hovering over Raven's name. She knew her best friend was probably waiting for a full debrief.

"Okay, you have to tell me everything!" Raven's voice was a high-pitched squeal on the other end of the line. "Don't leave out a single detail!"

"It was... perfect, Raven," Clarke said, a dreamy quality to her voice. "We went to the Italian place, just like you said. We talked about everything. And then we walked in Central Park."

"And then?" Raven prompted, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. "Don't tell me that's all that happened."

"And then... she kissed me," Clarke said, her cheeks flushing. "It wasn't like the first one. It was... real. It was a promise, Raven."

"Oh my God!" Raven shrieked. "I knew it! I knew this would happen! I'm so happy for you, Clarke. I really am."

"Me too," Clarke said, her voice soft. "It feels like... everything is finally falling into place. It feels like we're a family."

"You are a family," Raven said, her voice filled with a genuine warmth. "And now you have a date to look forward to."

"We already had our date," Clarke said, a small smile on her face. "And it was wonderful. Do you have dementia?"

Raven let out a long, contented sigh. "I'm so glad. Now go get some rest. My brain is overstimulated."

"Don't make me text the group. Nylah already offered me a 100 bucks for some dirt on you."

"Fuck you!" Raven retorted, and Clarke laughed.

Clarke hung up the phone and walked to her bedroom, a sense of peace settling over her. She was just about to get ready for bed when her phone buzzed with a new message.

Lexa:

I had a truly wonderful time tonight, Clarke. Thank you for making my first proper date so memorable.

A warm smile spread across Clarke's face.

Clarke:

Me too. It was perfect.

Lexa:

It was. And I'm looking forward to the next one. And the one after that.

The texts continued for the next hour, a comfortable, playful back-and-forth. They talked about the park, the food, and the awkwardness of being in a business meeting together on Monday. The conversation was easy, and Clarke found herself laughing out loud at Lexa's witty and self-deprecating humor.

Clarke:

I'm not sure if I'll be able to focus at work on Monday. My brain is a little preoccupied.

Lexa:

I'll make sure to bring you extra tea. And maybe a new blanket. Just in case.

Clarke:

You are a menace, Lexa Woodson.

Lexa:

Only for you, Clarke Griffin.

The last message Clarke sent was a simple one, a tired but happy admission.

Clarke:

I'm falling asleep.

Lexa's reply came moments later.

Lexa:

Good night, Clarke. Sleep well. And dream of us.

Clarke smiled, her phone still in her hand. The glow of the screen cast a soft light on her face. She closed her eyes, and as she drifted off to sleep, she didn't just dream of their date. She dreamed of all the dates to come.

Chapter Text

The first light of dawn on Monday morning cast long shadows across the polished floors of Woodson Enterprises. The quiet hum of the building seemed to hold a different kind of energy, a silent anticipation. Clarke arrived early, hoping to get a head start on her work and to avoid any potential awkwardness. Her stomach was a mix of fluttering nerves and excited jitters, a feeling she hadn't experienced since she was in high school.

She was engrossed in a report when a shadow fell over her desk. She looked up, and there was Lexa, her usual CEO armor in place. She was dressed in a sharp, tailored black suit, her hair pulled back in a severe, professional bun. But her eyes, as they met Clarke's, held a soft, unguarded warmth that completely contradicted her outfit.

"Good morning," Lexa said, her voice a low murmur that only Clarke could hear.

"Good morning," Clarke replied, a nervous smile on her face.

Lexa lingered for a moment, her gaze sweeping over Clarke's face. "You look... refreshed," she said, a playful tone entering her voice. "Did you have a good weekend?"

Clarke's cheeks flushed, and she felt a giddy happiness bubbling up inside her. "I did," she said, her voice a low whisper. "I had a wonderful weekend."

Lexa's lips twitched into a small smile, and she leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I'm glad. I'll see you in the boardroom in five minutes."

As Lexa walked away, Clarke watched her, a dreamy smile on her face. The tension and fear that had once defined their workplace interactions were gone, replaced by a new, exciting energy. The first day back at work was going to be an interesting one.

Five minutes later, Clarke walked into the boardroom. The space was intimidating, with its long mahogany table and high-backed leather chairs. The other executives were already seated, their faces a mix of focused concentration and quiet chatter. Clarke took her usual seat, next to Raven.

Lexa entered the room, her presence commanding and powerful. She took her place at the head of the table, her gaze sweeping across the room. Her eyes met Clarke's for a fleeting second, and a tiny, almost imperceptible smile touched her lips before she began the meeting.

"Good morning, everyone," Lexa said, her voice clear and authoritative. "Let's begin with a review of the Q3 financials. Douglas, if you would."

The meeting proceeded as usual, a blur of numbers, projections, and reports. Lexa was in her element, a sharp, decisive leader who commanded the respect of everyone in the room. But Clarke noticed the subtle changes, the small, almost imperceptible glances Lexa would send her way. The way her gaze would linger for a second longer than it should, the way her lips would twitch into a small smile when Clarke made a point.

As the meeting was wrapping up, Lexa turned her attention to Clarke. "Clarke, I'd like to hear your thoughts on the creative direction for the new campaign."

The last of the executives filed out of the boardroom, their footsteps echoing in the large, quiet space. Lexa stood at the head of the table, her posture straight and commanding.

"Clarke, can you stay for a moment?" she asked, her voice a low murmur.

Clarke's heart beat a little faster. She gathered her papers, her hands trembling slightly, and waited.

Once the door was closed, Lexa walked over to the chair next to Clarke's. She didn't sit, but she leaned against the table, her presence a powerful, magnetic force.

"I wanted to talk to you about the campaign," Lexa said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "The team loves your ideas, but I think we can push it further. I have some thoughts on the creative direction, and I wanted to run them by you."

Clarke's nerves, which had been a tangled mess just moments before, began to settle. She was a professional. This was a business meeting. She could do this.

"I'm listening," Clarke said, her voice steady.

Lexa's eyes, which had been warm and soft just moments before, were now sharp and focused. She began to speak, her words filled with a passion and a vision that Clarke found completely captivating. She talked about the campaign's potential, about the new markets they could reach, about the message they could send to their consumers. She talked about the future of the company, and about the future of their collaboration.

Clarke listened intently, her own ideas and thoughts bubbling to the surface. She spoke with a new kind of confidence, her voice filled with a passion that matched Lexa's own. They talked for a long time, the conversation a flurry of ideas and plans.

As the conversation began to wind down, Lexa's demeanor softened. She looked at Clarke, a small, genuine smile on her face. "I'm glad you're here, Clarke," she said, her voice a low murmur. "I'm glad we're doing this together."

Clarke smiled, her heart a warm, comfortable space in her chest. "Me too," she said. "Me too."

The business meeting had ended, leaving Clarke with a feeling of quiet confidence and a new sense of hope. But the afternoon brought with it a different kind of reality.

The first time someone said it out loud, Clarke was holding a stapler. She was halfway through a quarterly report when a shadow fell over her desk. She looked up and saw Natalie from PR, a nervous smile on her face. Her fingers were wrapped tightly around a mug that said, "WORLD'S OKAY-ISH COPYWRITER."

"Congratulations, by the way," Natalie said, her voice a little too loud.

Clarke blinked, her mind still on the report. "I'm sorry?"

"On the baby. And... on you and Lexa. I mean, CEO Woodson." Natalie paused, her smile faltering. "It's true, right?"

Clarke's hand tightened on the stapler. She felt a familiar knot of anxiety form in her stomach. She looked Natalie straight in the eye. "That we're seeing each other?" she asked, her voice calm but firm. "Or that I'm pregnant?"

"I guess... both," Natalie said, flushing a deep red.

"Then yes," Clarke confirmed, her voice leaving no room for doubt.

Natalie looked surprised, almost relieved. "That's... cool. And brave, honestly. Not many people would... You know. Risk it."

Clarke offered a small, polite smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Thanks."

By the time lunch rolled around, the whispers weren't whispers anymore. They were a low, constant buzz that followed Clarke like a cloud. She heard snippets of conversations in the breakroom, in the hallways, even in the restroom.

"Did you hear she's keeping it?"

"Apparently they met at a bar. Wild."

"Is Lexa even into women? I heard she might be intersex—"

"That's gotta be some kind of conflict of interest, right? How is HR not all over this?"

The last comment was the final straw. Clarke stepped into the elevator, her hands balled into fists, and let the doors close before she finally snapped. She pressed the button for the 14th floor, Lexa's other office.

The executive wing was quieter than usual, a stark contrast to the low din of the floors below. It was too quiet. Clarke walked straight past the reception desk and into Lexa's office without knocking.

Lexa looked up from her laptop, a look of surprise on her face. "Clarke?"

"It's everywhere," Clarke said, her voice a low, furious murmur.

Lexa's expression changed instantly. She closed her computer with a decisive snap and stood up. "I know."

"They're talking about us. About you. The rumors are getting worse."

"Let them," Lexa said, her voice calm, a fortress of control.

"Lexa—"

Lexa walked around the desk and stopped inches from Clarke. "Do you want me to shut it down?"

"Can you?" Clarke's voice was filled with a desperate hope.

Lexa's eyes darkened, her gaze intense. "If you want me to."

Clarke hesitated, the thought of being Lexa's public, scandalous girlfriend warring with her desire to be acknowledged. She took a deep breath, then shook her head. "No. I don't want to be your secret. But I don't want to be your scandal, either."

Lexa's expression softened, and she reached out, her hand gently touching Clarke's cheek.

"Then let me handle it."

"How?" Clarke asked, the vulnerability in her voice raw.

"By doing what I do best." Lexa's lips twitched into a small, confident smile. "Controlling the narrative."

That afternoon, an internal email went out to the entire company. The subject line was simple, direct, and unapologetic.

From: Lexa Woodson
Subject: Transparency, Boundaries, and Change

Leadership is not always about distance. Sometimes, it's about accountability. Yes, Clarke Griffin and I are in a relationship. Yes, she is expecting a child. That child is mine. There is no abuse of power. There is no scandal. There is only life. We will continue to work, separately and professionally, with the same standards we expect from all of you. I do not expect applause. Only respect.

The office fell into a stunned silence after the email was sent. Clarke sat at her desk, rereading the words with shaking hands. She didn't feel exposed. She didn't feel like a scandal. She felt claimed.

A few minutes later. Howard from Legal cleared his throat. "You really wanted to send that email?"

Lexa didn't flinch. "Yes."

Janette from the Board shifted uncomfortably. "It changes the optics."

"It clarifies the facts."

"You don't think it undermines your authority?"

Lexa met her eyes. "You think my authority is tied to my personal life?"

Silence.

"No one's asking you to justify your choices—"

"Except you are," Lexa said smoothly. "And I'm not going to. My team is still hitting targets. The company's growing. If anyone's confused by my ability to lead while also... being human, perhaps they need a performance review."

Janette looked away. "Fine. But prepare for headlines. The press isn't kind to women like you."

Lexa straightened. "Let them print whatever they want."

"And what exactly are you?" Janette asked, tired.

"A parent. A partner. A CEO." Lexa didn't blink. "In that order."

By the time she got back to her office, her inbox was already a battlefield. Half chaos. Half... not.

One subject line caught her eye:

From: Zuri Adebayo – COO
Subject: For what it's worth.

I think it's about time someone in leadership actually told the truth about being more than their title. If they push back, I've got your back.

Lexa read it twice. Then once more. And for the first time in years, maybe ever, she allowed herself to believe:

Clarke read the email one more time, the words a steadying force in the swirling chaos of the office. She looked up and saw Raven walking toward her, a cup of coffee in her hand and a wide smile on her face.

"You absolute chaos goblin," she whispered, too loud.

Clarke raised her eyebrows. "Hi to you, too."

Raven pulled out her phone and read aloud:

"There is no abuse of power. There is no scandal. There is only life." she gave a proud smirk. "Clarke. Griffin. You're in an office-wide love letter."

Clarke flushed. "It wasn't a love letter."

"I knew she'd do it," Raven said, her voice a low murmur. "I told you she was a marshmallow with a steel core."

Clarke felt a single tear slip down her cheek, but this one wasn't from fear or anxiety. It was from relief. She looked at Raven, her best friend, who had been there for her through it all.

"She didn't have to," Clarke said, her voice filled with a quiet sense of wonder. "She could have just ignored it. But she didn't."

"Because she's not a coward, Clarke," Raven said gently. "She's Lexa Woodson. And she's in this with you. All the way."

Raven handed Clarke the coffee, a silent, comforting gesture. Clarke took a sip, the warm liquid a welcome balm to her frayed nerves. She looked at the email on her screen, a public declaration of love and commitment. She wasn't just a scandal. She was Lexa's life.

"I love me. Also, I saw Janice cry."

"What?"

"Like, a single emotional tear. Muted awe. It was weird, I'm unsettled."

Clarke exhaled. "Can we not do this right now?"

Raven stood. Her expression shifted. Softer. Sharper.

"Hey," she said. "Seriously? I'm proud of you. That was brave as hell. Both of you."

Clarke blinked. "Even if it's messy?"

"Especially if it's messy."

The office remained quiet, the silence now a sign of respect rather than a breeding ground for gossip. Clarke looked around, her gaze sweeping across the faces of her colleagues. Some looked surprised, some looked thoughtful, but none looked judgmental. The narrative had been controlled.

Clarke turned back to her computer, a new sense of purpose filling her. She was a professional. She was a mother. And she was a woman in love. And she was ready to face all of it.

The new digital strategist, Ayden, was an undeniable force of charisma. They had a way of being charming without being pushy, a quiet confidence that filled the room. Dressed impeccably and with a quick wit, they were clearly new enough not to know that lingering at Clarke Griffin's desk was a risky move.

"So, wait," Ayden said, their grin infectious, "you actually rewrote the slogan on launch day?"

Clarke laughed, pushing her hair behind her ear. "Don't remind me. I thought Lexa was going to fire me."

"Fire you? She probably fell in love with you."

The playful comment landed like a punch. Clarke froze, the sound of her own laughter dying in her throat. Ayden clearly meant it as a joke, light, casual, and completely careless. But the atmosphere shifted. The change wasn't from Ayden; it was from the hallway behind her.

Clarke felt her before she saw her, a sudden, electric awareness that prickled the hairs on her arms. Lexa had just stepped into the hallway. She didn't speak. She didn't make a sound. Ayden's eyes, however, widened just enough to betray the shift in power.

"Oh—" Ayden began, their casual posture stiffening.

Lexa's eyes met theirs. And everything in Lexa went still.

"Ayden," she said, her voice cool, measured, and dangerously calm. "Could I borrow Clarke for a moment?"

Ayden stepped back immediately, their easy grin gone. "Of course. I was just—"

"Yes. I saw."

It wasn't rude. It wasn't loud. But it was final. Clarke followed Lexa into the corner office, the door clicking shut behind them, severing them from the world outside.

"That was intense," Clarke said, her eyebrow raised in a silent challenge.

Lexa turned, arms crossed tightly over her chest. "They were flirting with you."

"They were talking."

"They touched your hand."

"Briefly. Like a person."

Lexa's jaw flexed. "You think I didn't notice?"

Clarke stepped closer, folding her own arms, matching Lexa's defensive posture. "Why does it bother you, Lexa?"

Lexa's carefully constructed composure began to fray. "They were touching you, laughing with you. You looked... happy." Her voice was low and tight, revealing a raw vulnerability beneath the cool, professional exterior. "That's my job. To make you happy. To make you laugh."

Clarke stepped even closer, the small space between them crackling with unspoken tension. "Is it?" she asked softly. "Because I don't remember you applying for that position. I don't remember you asking for it."

Lexa's eyes darted away for a moment, a flicker of pain crossing her face. "I know," she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I know I messed up. But it doesn't change what I feel." She looked back at Clarke, her expression a mix of regret and fierce possessiveness. "I want to be the one who makes you laugh. I want to be the one you look at like that."

Clarke's anger softened, replaced by a sudden rush of understanding. This wasn't about Ayden; it was about Lexa's fear. Fear of being replaced, of losing the fragile connection they were just beginning to rebuild.

"Hey," Clarke said, her voice gentle as she reached out, placing a hand on Lexa's arm. "Look at me."

Lexa's tense muscles relaxed slightly as she met Clarke's gaze.

"You're the only one I want to look at like that," Clarke said, her voice a quiet promise. "And you're the only one who can make me feel like this." She paused, her thumb tracing small circles on Lexa's forearm. "You're the one who makes me happy. And you're the one I want to be with."

Lexa's throat worked, the tension in the room finally beginning to dissipate. She reached out, her hand gently cupping the back of Clarke's neck, pulling her closer. "I'll try," she whispered. "I'll try to be better. For you. For all of us."

"I don't share well," Lexa said, her voice a raw whisper. "I want to be the one you come home to. I want to be the one who makes you laugh and the one you can fall apart in front of. I want to be your person, Clarke. Because you're mine."

Lexa's eyes were filled with a fierce, desperate honesty, and Clarke's heart ached with a love so strong it was almost painful. She leaned in, her hand sliding up to cup Lexa's cheek. "You are my person," she said, her voice thick with emotion.

Lexa closed her eyes, leaning into the touch. "I just... I'm so afraid of messing this up again," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I'm so afraid of losing you. I think I would rather die than-" She stopped, her eyes flying open, as if she'd just caught herself on the edge of a cliff.

She took a shuddering breath, her gaze locked with Clarke's.

"Than what?" Clarke asked, her heart pounding in her chest, a new kind of hope bubbling up inside her. "Lexa, what were you going to say?"

Lexa's eyes darted away, her composure returning like a shield slamming shut. "Nothing," she said, her voice now flat. "It's nothing. I just... I'm sorry." She pulled back from Clarke, the small space between them suddenly feeling vast and cold. "We should... we should talk about this later."

The spell was broken, the fragile moment shattered. Clarke watched her go, a million questions burning on her tongue, but the door clicked shut before she could ask a single one. She was left alone in the silent office, the scent of Lexa's perfume lingering in the air, a ghost of the almost-confession hanging between them.

Chapter Text

The following day at work unfolded with a different kind of rhythm. The tension from the day before had been replaced by a quiet attentiveness from Lexa. She seemed to be everywhere, yet nowhere at the same time, her focus constantly on Clarke.

Just before lunch, Lexa appeared at Clarke's desk. She didn't say anything, just set a small paper bag and a bottle of water down. Clarke opened it to find a perfectly packed lunch, a kale and quinoa salad with grilled chicken, exactly what her doctor had recommended.

"You didn't have to do that," Clarke said, her voice soft.

"I know," Lexa replied, a small smile on her lips. "But I wanted to. I just want to make sure you're both okay."

The afternoon passed in a similar way. Lexa brought Clarke a fresh cup of tea and a small bowl of fruit, checking in on her with a subtle look or a brief question. It was a new kind of routine, a small dance of care and attention that felt both comforting and a little overwhelming.

Around four o'clock, Clarke started packing up her things. She had a birthing yoga class she couldn't miss. Lexa, seeing her, walked over to her desk.

"Heading out?" she asked.

"Yeah, my birthing yoga class," Clarke explained, pulling on her jacket.

"Can I come with you?" Lexa asked, her voice low. "I could... I could sit in the back. Or wait outside. Whatever you need."

Clarke paused, her hand on the strap of her bag. The request was unexpected, but a warm feeling spread through her chest. This was what she had wanted, for Lexa to show up, to be a part of this new reality. She thought about the morning, about the quiet care Lexa had shown, and a small smile touched her lips.

"You don't have to wait outside," Clarke said softly. "You can come in."

Lexa's eyes widened slightly, a flicker of surprise and relief on her face. "Are you sure? I don't want to make you uncomfortable. Or the instructor."

"I'm sure," Clarke said, a genuine smile spreading across her face. "Besides, I think you could use a good stretch. CEO posture can't be good for your back."

A small, easy laugh escaped Lexa's lips. "I think you might be right."

They walked out of the office together, the usual professional distance between them replaced by a comfortable proximity. The drive to the studio was filled with a quiet sense of anticipation. The air in the birthing yoga studio was thick with the scent of lavender and nervous anticipation. Clarke and Lexa were the last to arrive, stepping out of the chilly late afternoon and into a room filled with quiet chatter and the soft rustle of yoga mats.

"I can do this," Lexa muttered under her breath, her jaw set with determination.

"You look like you're about to be assigned a group project you didn't sign up for," Clarke whispered back, a smirk playing on her lips as she took off her shoes.

Lexa's head snapped toward her. "I hate group projects."

Clarke just laughed softly, grabbing a plush cushion from the stack by the wall. "You'll be fine."

They found an open spot in the circle, and Clarke settled herself onto the floor with practiced ease, her body already familiar with the motions. Lexa, in her sleek blazer and slacks, lowered herself to the ground with the precision of a CEO preparing for a tactical landing. She looked completely out of place and yet, completely committed.

A woman with a warm smile and kind eyes clapped her hands together, calling the room to attention.

"Welcome, everyone! I'm Tanya, your birth coach. We're going to learn how to breathe, how to support, and how to welcome new life into the world, with open hearts and open hips!"

Clarke turned slowly to look at Lexa, whose eyes had widened slightly at the last two words. She looked like she was trying to decrypt a particularly difficult business contract.

"What does that mean?" Lexa whispered, her brow furrowed.

"I think you'll find out," Clarke said, her voice a low murmur as she bit back a laugh.

Fifteen minutes into the class, Lexa's composure was beginning to fray. Tanya had passed out anatomical diagrams and a plush knitted uterus, and Lexa was staring at the diagram with the same intensity she'd usually reserve for a financial report.

"You okay?" Clarke murmured, trying to keep her voice even. Tanya was demonstrating the stages of cervical dilation using a foam ring and her fist, and Lexa looked like she was re-evaluating every decision she had ever made.

"This feels less like a class," Lexa said, her voice tight, "and more like psychological warfare."

"You're doing great," Clarke reassured her, placing a gentle hand on Lexa's arm.

"You're enjoying this," Lexa accused, a hint of genuine bewilderment in her tone.

Clarke just smiled sweetly. "Tremendously."

The real unraveling began during the breathing exercise. "Partners, you'll sit behind your birthing person and help them practice their breath. Anchor them. Center them."

Lexa hesitated. Her hands hovered over Clarke's shoulders, unsure of where to land.

"Come on, Boss Lady," Clarke said softly, leaning back against her. "Center me."

Lexa exhaled slowly, and settled behind her, her arms lightly bracketing Clarke's sides. Her hands hovered for a moment, respectful, careful, and unsure.

"You can touch me," Clarke said softly.

Lexa's palms finally rested against Clarke's belly, a tentative, grounding pressure. "Better?" she whispered.

"Mm-hmm," Clarke hummed, a feeling of deep contentment spreading through her.

Then it happened. A sharp, undeniable kick right beneath Lexa's hands. Lexa flinched, her body tensing in surprise.

Clarke snorted. "You okay?"

Lexa nodded slowly, her eyes wide with a mixture of shock and wonder. "She's... strong."

"She likes to remind me she's there," Clarke said, a small, knowing smile on her face.

Lexa didn't move her hands. Her thumbs began to make small, absent circles on Clarke's skin, a calming rhythm that felt both possessive and protective. Clarke's heartbeat slowed, her mind clearing of everything but the quiet, anchoring pressure of Lexa's touch. It wasn't a moment of simple attraction; it was something closer to belonging.

After the class, as they gathered their things, a woman from across the circle smiled at them.
"You two are adorable," she said warmly. "First baby?"

Lexa opened her mouth, a hesitant answer on her lips, then paused.

Clarke answered for her, her gaze finding Lexa's with a quiet, certain confidence. "First everything."

A new feeling of belonging and unspoken promise solidified in that moment. Lexa's hand found Clarke's as they walked out, a silent, comforting connection that had been forged in a room smelling of yoga mats and a very bewildered, very in love CEO.

Lexa tossed her car keys into the decorative bowl by the door with a little more force than necessary, as if she needed to physically throw away the last lingering remnants of her composure.

"I can't believe you flinched," Clarke said, a wide, playful grin on her face as she breezed past Lexa and kicked off her shoes.

"It was a surprisingly strong kick," Lexa defended, her tone a mix of genuine surprise and slight embarrassment.

"It was a baby kick, not a roundhouse kick," Clarke retorted, flopping dramatically onto the couch and stretching out like she owned the space.

A quiet thought crossed Lexa's mind: Maybe she did. A little.

Lexa walked into the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water to steady herself. She stood in the doorway, all long limbs and slightly mussed hair, watching Clarke with a vulnerability she was still learning how to wear.

"That instructor said 'open hips' three separate times," she muttered, taking a long drink. "There should be a warning for that."

"Clarke cackled, leaning her head back over the top of the couch to look at Lexa upside down. "You looked like you were going to ask for a refund."

"On my dignity, yes."

Clarke's laughter softened into a smile. "You were good. Better than most partners there."

Lexa's gaze met hers. "I felt... like I didn't belong."

"You did," Clarke said, her voice quiet and sincere. "Especially when she kicked. It was like she knew."

Lexa's expression softened. The memory of the small, insistent flutter beneath her hands was a powerful one. "I don't want to miss that again."

"Then don't."

Lexa walked over and sat down on the couch beside her, not close enough to crowd her, but not so far that the distance felt like a chasm. The room fell into a comfortable silence, filled only with the hum of the city night and Clarke's soft breathing. They simply sat together, not needing to speak, a shared moment of peace.

After a few minutes, Clarke looked down at her belly and then at Lexa.

"I bought something today," she said, pulling a small paper bag from her purse. "Wanted to show you after the class." She reached inside and pulled out a baby onesie. It was a soft gray, with a delicate pattern of tiny stars. Across the chest, in subtle lettering, were the words: Cosmic Disruption.

Lexa stared at it, a slow, genuine smile spreading across her face. "She's going to be a menace."

"She's yours. Of course she is."

Lexa's hand, still a little shaky, reached out and lightly touched the soft fabric. Then her hand drifted, not to the onesie, but to Clarke's knee, a soft, grounding gesture that spoke volumes.

The headline hit before sunrise. It was Raven who saw it first. Her text came through at 6:41 AM, a screenshot from a popular news site.

BREAKING: WOODSON'S HEIR?
CEO Lexa Woodson Spotted at Birthing Class with Pregnant Staffer.

Beneath the sensational headline was a blurry, grainy photo of Lexa and Clarke. It was from the class, taken from a distance. Lexa was seated on a floor mat, her arm wrapped around Clarke's waist, her hand resting protectively over Clarke's belly. The angle made the moment look sacred, soft, and deeply intimate.

The comments, however, were anything but.

"Power imbalance much?"

"CEO baby? Nepotism incoming."

"Bet she gets promoted during maternity leave."

"Can intersex people even... oh, never mind. Gross."

"Not surprised. Woodson was always too polished to be straight."

Lexa sat on the edge of her bed, her phone in one hand, jaw locked so tight she thought she might grind her teeth to dust. She was a CEO, a public figure, a target. The world always needed a villain, and she made a damn convenient one.

Clarke didn't cry. Not until the third article. Not until they used a photo of her from college, smiling in the sunlight, framing it as evidence of some kind of deception. Her body, this body, carrying this child, was now public property. The invasion of privacy felt like a physical violation.

Lexa didn't call. She showed up.

Clarke barely had time to buzz her in before Lexa was standing in her doorway, cheeks flushed from the cold, eyes dark with an emotion Clarke couldn't name.

"You saw?" Clarke asked, her voice a small whisper.

Lexa stepped inside, closing the door behind her. "Of course I saw."

Clarke held out her phone, the screen a stark display of the hateful comments. "Did you see the comments?"

Lexa gently took the phone from her and tossed it onto the couch. "I don't care what strangers think."

"You should," Clarke insisted, her voice trembling. "You're a CEO. This is your company."

"I'm also a person," Lexa said, her voice filled with a quiet intensity. "And a parent. And in love with you."

Clarke stared at Lexa, her heart pounding. The words "in love with you" hung in the air, a powerful shield against the outside world's cruelty. Tears, hot and heavy, finally spilled down her cheeks, not from sadness, but from an overwhelming sense of relief and love.

Lexa reached out, pulling Clarke into her arms. Clarke buried her face in Lexa's shoulder, the scent of expensive fabric and Lexa's unique, clean scent a comforting anchor. Lexa held her tightly, her hand stroking the back of Clarke's head in a soothing rhythm.

"Let them talk," Lexa murmured into Clarke's hair. "Let them write. None of it changes what's real. It doesn't change you. It doesn't change us. It doesn't change the fact that I love you, and I am so excited to be a parent with you."

Clarke pulled back, her eyes red but her gaze steady. "How did you know?" she whispered. "How did you know it would get this bad?"

"I didn't," Lexa admitted, her voice raw with emotion. "But I knew that our joy, our choice, would be a challenge to some. And a target. So I made sure to prepare for it."

Clarke looked around her apartment, her safe haven that now felt a little less secure. "What do we do now?"

Lexa's expression hardened, her CEO persona re-emerging, but this time, it was a protective force. "We do nothing. We go about our lives. We have dinner. We talk about our baby. We live our lives, and we show them that their noise means nothing. I will handle the company. I will handle the press. All you have to do is be happy. With me. With our child."

Clarke's gaze met Lexa's, and she saw not just a CEO, but a partner. A parent. A protector. A woman who, in the face of a media storm, chose love.

"Okay," Clarke said, a small, genuine smile finally appearing on her face. "Okay."

-

Chapter Text

The following two days were a blur of isolation for Clarke. She didn't leave her apartment. The outside world, once a place of bustling streets and friendly faces, now felt like a hostile landscape filled with prying eyes and judgmental whispers. She spent the hours scrolling through the articles and comments, each hateful word a fresh sting. Her phone, once a source of connection, was now a constant reminder of the public's cruelty. The thought of stepping outside, of facing the world that had so quickly passed judgment on her and Lexa, was unbearable.

She tried to eat, but the food tasted like ash in her mouth. She slept in fits and starts, her mind a constant loop of vicious comments and blurry photos. Her sanctuary had become her prison, and she felt herself sinking deeper into a well of despair. The world outside was a place of noise and judgment, and she didn't want to be a part of it.t

Lexa, however, didn't stop trying. Her texts were a constant, steady stream of concern and reassurance. She didn't demand a response; she just kept sending them, a quiet testament to her unwavering support.

Lexa:

Just checking in. I'm thinking of you. Please let me know you're okay.

Lexa:

I'm bringing you some food. I'll leave it at your door. You need to eat, Clarke.

Lexa:

I'm not going to stop trying. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere.

Lexa showed up at Clarke's door, her arms filled with bags of groceries and a steaming container of Clarke's favorite soup. She knocked gently, her voice a low murmur through the wood.

"Clarke, it's me. I brought you some food. Please, just open the door."

But Clarke couldn't. The thought of facing her, of showing her the broken, vulnerable person she had become, was too much. "I can't," Clarke said, her voice a raw, choked whisper. "I can't."

Lexa didn't leave. She sat outside the door, her back against the cool wood, her phone in her hand. She just sat there, a silent, unwavering presence, a fortress of strength in the face of Clarke's self-imposed isolation. She sent a final text:

Lexa: I'm here. I'm not leaving. When you're ready, I'll be here.

Clarke's isolation was taking a toll on Lexa, too. The CEO who was used to being in control of every situation was now helpless, unable to reach the woman she loved. The lack of a response from Clarke was a constant source of agony for her. She had bags under her eyes, her usually impeccable suit was a little rumpled, and she was a constant, simmering mix of frustration and worry.

She was exhausted, both physically and emotionally. She couldn't eat, she couldn't sleep, and she couldn't focus on work. All she could think about was Clarke, alone and hurting. She felt a deep, profound sense of helplessness, a feeling she had rarely experienced. She had controlled the narrative, but she couldn't control Clarke's pain. And that was the hardest thing of all.

Lexa sat outside Clarke's apartment door, the cool wood of the hallway a stark contrast to the burning frustration in her gut. She had spent the last twenty minutes trying to get Clarke to open the door, her voice a low, steady murmur of reassurance and concern. But all she had received in return was a suffocating silence.

“Clarke," Lexa said, her voice a little more strained now. "I'm not leaving. I'm going to sit here until you open this door, or until you tell me to go away."

The silence stretched, a heavy, suffocating thing. Lexa leaned her head back against the wall, her eyes closing. She was exhausted. The last two days had been a blur of sleepless nights and half-eaten meals, her mind a constant loop of Clarke's face, Clarke's pain, and the hateful words of strangers. She pulled out her phone, her thumb hovering over Raven's name. She needed to talk to someone, someone who understood. But she couldn't. This was her and Clarke's mess, and she wouldn't drag anyone else into it.

A few minutes later, Lexa heard a sound from inside the apartment, a soft, muffled sob. Her heart ached, a sharp, physical pain. She wanted to be in there, to hold her, to tell her that everything was going to be okay. But she couldn't. She had to wait. She had to give Clarke space.

“Clarke," Lexa said again, her voice a little softer now. "I love you. I love you more than anything. And I'm not going anywhere. I'll be here. When you're ready, I'll be here."

The silence was her only answer. Lexa just sat there, a silent, unwavering presence, a fortress of strength in the face of Clarke's self-imposed isolation. She just sat there, waiting for the woman she loved to open the door.

Lexa left Clarke's apartment, the silence from the other side of the door a cold weight in her chest. She got in her car, the familiar comfort of the leather seat doing little to soothe her. She drove aimlessly for a few minutes, the city lights blurring into a meaningless smear. She was a CEO, a leader, a woman who controlled a multi-billion dollar company, but in this moment, she was completely powerless. The feeling was a sharp, physical pain in her gut. She couldn't help Clarke, couldn't reach her, couldn't even see her.

Her phone vibrated, and she saw a new text from Raven.

Raven:

Is she okay? I've been calling her, but she's not answering.

Lexa felt a fresh wave of frustration and helplessness wash over her. She couldn't talk about this with anyone. She was supposed to be the strong one, the one with all the answers. But she didn't have any answers, and she wasn't strong. She felt like she was breaking.

Her car came to an abrupt stop outside Raven's apartment building. She didn't know why she was there, just that she had to be. She had to talk to someone. She had to get it out.

She walked up to Raven's door and knocked, the sound echoing in the quiet hallway. Raven opened the door, a worried expression on her face. Her eyes widened when she saw Lexa. The CEO looked exhausted, her hair a mess, her suit rumpled.

“Lexa?" Raven said, her voice filled with surprise. "What are you doing here?"

Lexa just stood there, her throat tight with unshed tears. She couldn't speak, couldn't form the words. The dam of her composure, so carefully constructed, was finally breaking.

“Can I come in?" Lexa asked, her voice a raw, choked whisper.

Raven just nodded, stepping aside to let her in. Lexa walked into the apartment, the warm, lived-in space a stark contrast to the sterile perfection of her own penthouse. She looked around, her gaze unfocused, and then she saw a half-finished canvas on a table, a colorful, chaotic explosion of paint. It was so much like Clarke's art, so full of life and light. The sight of it was the final straw.

Lexa crumpled, her body shaking with silent sobs. She slid to the floor, her face buried in her hands. She couldn't stop the tears now, couldn't stop the pain from pouring out.

"I can't reach her, Raven," Lexa choked out between sobs. "She won't open the door. She won't answer my calls. I'm so scared. I don't know what to do."

Raven sat down on the floor beside her, her hand gently stroking Lexa's back. "Hey, hey," Raven said, her voice soft and soothing. "It's okay. It's okay. I'm here."

Lexa looked at her, her eyes red and puffy, her face a mask of grief and helplessness. "I'm supposed to be the one who protects her. I'm supposed to be the strong one. But I can't even get her to open her door. I'm failing her, Raven. I'm failing her."

Raven just shook her head. "No, you're not," she said gently. "You're not failing her. You're human. You're hurting. And it's okay. It's okay to not be okay. But we're not going to let her give up. We're not going to let her stay in there."

Lexa looked at Raven, her eyes filled with a new kind of hope. "Can you try?" Lexa begged, her voice a raw, desperate whisper. "Can you please try to get through to her? She'll listen to you. I know she will."

Raven just looked at her, her expression softening. She saw not just her oldest friend, but a woman in love, a woman in pain. "Of course I'll try, Lexa," she said, her voice gentle. "She's my best friend. And she needs us both right now."

Lexa just nodded, her eyes filled with a new kind of hope. "Thank you," she whispered, the words barely audible. "Thank you."

"You should go home and rest. You'll need the energy for when she finally lets us in."

"I don't think I can fall asleep at a time like this," she admitted, voice tired.

"You need rest, Lexa. I've got this. I'll text you the updates."

Lexa left Raven's apartment a few minutes later, a small weight lifted from her shoulders. She drove home, the city lights now a welcome distraction instead of a meaningless blur. She was still scared, but she wasn't alone anymore. She had Raven, a fierce and loyal friend who would do anything for the people she loved.

As Lexa walked into her apartment, her phone buzzed with a new message. It was a screenshot from Raven.

Raven:

I'm at her door. She's not answering.

Lexa's heart sank. She knew this was a long shot, but she had to hope. She sat down on her couch, her phone in her hand, and waited.

A few minutes later, another message from Raven.

Raven:

I'm not leaving. I'm going to sit here until she opens the door.

Lexa smiled, a genuine, teary smile. Raven was a force of nature, a loyal friend who would stop at nothing to help the people she loved. She knew, in that moment, that everything was going to be okay.

The next morning, Lexa woke up to a new message from Raven.

Raven:

She opened the door.

Lexa's heart soared, a wave of relief washing over her. She quickly sent a message back.

Lexa:

Is she okay?

Raven:

She's a mess. She's been crying. But she's eating the soup you made her. I'm going to stay with her today. But she wants to see you tomorrow.

Lexa's eyes filled with fresh tears, this time of pure, unadulterated joy. She was a CEO, a leader, a woman who controlled a multi-billion dollar company, but in this moment, all that mattered was that the woman she loved had opened her door.

The next day, Lexa arrived at Clarke's apartment, a bouquet of flowers in her hand and a new sense of hope in her heart. She knocked gently on the door, and this time, it opened.

Clarke stood there, her eyes red and puffy, her hair a mess, but a small, genuine smile on her face. "Hi," she said, her voice a little shaky. "Come in."

Lexa stepped inside, and without a word, she wrapped Clarke in her arms. Clarke buried her face in Lexa's shoulder, the scent of expensive fabric and Lexa's unique, clean scent a comforting anchor. Lexa held her tightly, her hand stroking the back of Clarke's head in a soothing rhythm.

"I love you," Lexa murmured into Clarke's hair. "I love you so much."

Clarke pulled back, her gaze steady. "I love you too," she said. "I'm sorry. I was just... so scared."

"I know," Lexa said gently. "But you're not alone. Not anymore. We're in this together. All of it."

a few minutes later, Clarke was curled up on her couch, a mug of chamomile tea in her hands, the warmth a small comfort against the lingering chill of the past two days. Lexa was sitting beside her, her arm around Clarke's shoulders, a silent, comforting presence. The apartment, once a place of isolation, now felt like a sanctuary.

“I can't believe they did that," Clarke said, her voice a soft, shaky whisper. "They just... made up things. And the comments..." She trailed off, the memory of the hateful words a fresh sting.

Lexa's grip on Clarke's shoulder tightened. Her expression, which had been soft and gentle, hardened into a mask of cold fury. "They won't get away with it," she said, her voice a low, dangerous murmur.

Clarke looked at her, a hint of fear in her eyes. "Lexa, what are you going to do?"

Lexa pulled out her phone, her thumb hovering over Jasper's name. Jasper was her most trusted confidant and the head of her legal team. He was ruthless, brilliant, and completely loyal.

"I'm going to make them pay," Lexa said, her voice devoid of all emotion. "They caused you emotional distress, Clarke. They invaded your privacy. They slandered you, and they slandered our family. They're going to pay for it."

Clarke's eyes widened. "Lexa, you can't just..."

Lexa cut her off, her gaze meeting Clarke's. "I can. And I will. They made a choice. They chose to attack us. Now they will face the consequences."

Lexa's finger finally hit the button, and she sent a text to Jasper.

Lexa:

Jasper. I have a new assignment for you. I want you to go after the news outlets that released the articles about Clarke. I want you to find every legal loophole, every breach of contract, every libelous statement. I want you to make them pay for causing Clarke such emotional distress that she couldn't leave her apartment for two days. I want you to shut them down. I want you to make an example of them. Do whatever it takes.

A few minutes later, Jasper's reply came through.

Jasper:

Consider it done, Lexa.

Lexa closed her phone, the cold fury that had driven her to send the text to Jasper still simmering beneath the surface. She looked at Clarke, her expression softening, the rage she felt for the outside world replaced by a profound and overwhelming love for the woman in her arms.

“Clarke," Lexa said, her voice a low, raw murmur. "You can't do that to me again."

Clarke looked at her, her eyes wide and filled with confusion. "Do what?" she whispered.

"Hide from me," Lexa said, her voice breaking. "You can't just disappear. You can't just shut me out. I was so worried, Clarke. I was so scared."

Tears, hot and heavy, filled Lexa's eyes, and a single one slipped down her cheek. The powerful, in-control CEO was gone, replaced by a vulnerable woman who was terrified of losing the person she loved most in the world.

“I didn't know what to do," Lexa continued, her voice thick with emotion. "I couldn't reach you. I couldn't help you. I just sat outside your door, and you wouldn't open it. I felt so helpless. I felt like I was failing you."

Clarke reached out, her hand gently touching Lexa's cheek, wiping away the tear. "You didn't fail me, Lexa," she said, her voice soft and full of love. "I was just... so lost. The world felt so loud, and I just wanted to disappear. I didn't mean to hurt you."

Lexa leaned into Clarke's touch, her eyes closing. "I know," she whispered. "I know. But you have to promise me. You have to promise me that you'll never do that again. That no matter how bad it gets, you'll never shut me out. We're in this together, Clarke. All of it. The good, the bad, and the ugly. We're in it together."

Clarke's hand moved to the back of Lexa's neck, her fingers tangling in the soft, dark curls. "I promise," she said, her voice a low, steady vow. "I promise."

After their emotional conversation, a fragile peace settled over the apartment. Lexa held Clarke tightly, a silent promise in her embrace. The anger she felt for the outside world was still there, but it was overshadowed by her fierce devotion to the woman in her arms.

"I don't want to leave you," Lexa murmured, her voice still raw with emotion. "I don't want you to be alone."

Clarke pulled back, her eyes meeting Lexa's. A soft, genuine smile graced her lips. "You don't have to," she said, her voice a low, steady vow. "Stay with me."

Lexa just nodded, a wave of relief washing over her. She gently pushed a stray strand of hair from Clarke's face, her touch soft and reassuring. "I'll stay," she promised. "I'll stay right here."

The evening had settled into a quiet calm. Clarke was curled up on the couch, her feet tucked under a blanket, while Lexa sat beside her, reading. The air was comfortable, filled with the soft rustle of pages turning and the low hum of the city outside. Suddenly, a sharp pain seized Clarke. She gasped, a sound that made Lexa's head snap up.

“Clarke?" Lexa's voice was sharp with instant concern.

Clarke's hand flew to her belly, her knuckles white as the sensation tightened. It wasn't a kick; it was a squeezing, an intense pressure that took her breath away. "Something's wrong," she whispered, her voice tight with panic. "I think something's wrong."

Lexa was on her feet in an instant. Her face, usually so composed, was a mask of stark panic, though her voice remained steady. "What is it? What are you feeling?"

Clarke couldn't speak. She could only shake her head, trying to breathe through the tightening sensation. It lasted for a few seconds before slowly releasing its grip. Just as she thought it was over, it returned, even stronger this time.

"It's... contractions," Clarke managed to gasp out, tears welling in her eyes. "They're coming fast."

Lexa's phone was in her hand before Clarke had even finished the sentence. She started to dial, her gaze fixed on Clarke, her mind racing. "Are you in pain? On a scale of one to ten, Clarke, where is it?"

"It's not... It's not a ten," Clarke said, her voice shaking. "It's just... fast." She was trying to remember what her doctor had told her, the difference between real labor and something else.

"Braxton Hicks," she muttered, the words a lifeline in the chaos.

Lexa stopped dialing, her thumb hovering over the call button. She crouched down in front of the couch, placing a hand on Clarke's knee. "What about them? Are these Braxton Hicks?"

"I don't know," Clarke said, a sob escaping her. "They're not supposed to be this intense. Or this close together."

Lexa's mind, the same one that navigated complex corporate mergers, was now trying to process medical information. She pulled out her phone and began typing furiously, her eyes scanning search results.

"Okay, okay," she said, her voice a little more in control. "It says to lie on your left side and drink water. It can be a sign of dehydration."

She helped Clarke shift onto her side, propping a pillow behind her back. She came back a moment later with a glass of water, holding it to Clarke's lips. Clarke took a few sips, her body still tense, but the pain began to subside. The contractions, which had been coming in rapid succession, began to slow down.

Lexa sat on the floor beside the couch, her hand resting on Clarke's belly, her own breathing a little ragged. "Are you still feeling them?" she asked, her voice a quiet whisper.

"They're... they're fading," Clarke said, her own breathing beginning to even out. "Just... a little tight." She took a deep breath, the reality of the scare finally sinking in. "I'm so sorry. I scared you."

Lexa shook her head, her gaze fixed on Clarke. "Don't ever apologize for that. That's my job. To be scared for you. To figure out what to do." Her voice was soft, but the underlying fear was still present. "Are you sure you're okay?"

“Yeah," Clarke said, a new kind of calm settling over her. "Yeah, I think we're okay. Just a drill."

Lexa closed her eyes for a moment, a wave of relief washing over her. She stayed there, on the floor, her hand over Clarke's, until the last lingering hint of a contraction had faded completely.  Her own breathing was finally returning to normal, but her heart was still hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs. The silence in the room was heavy, but no longer with panic. It was filled with the lingering echo of a shared fear, and the profound relief that followed.

"That was... that was terrifying," Lexa finally said, her voice a low, shaky whisper. "For a second there, I thought..."

Clarke reached out, her fingers gently tangling in Lexa's hair. "I know. Me too. It just came out of nowhere."

"I was running through every scenario," Lexa confessed, her gaze fixed on Clarke's face. "We haven't even started packing a hospital bag, the fastest route to the emergency room, the phone numbers for your doctor. My mind just... went to work." A small, self-deprecating laugh escaped her. "My job is to be prepared for every crisis. But this... this felt different. This felt like a crisis I couldn't control."

Clarke's heart swelled with affection. This was the vulnerability she had seen glimpses of, the raw fear beneath the composed exterior. She squeezed Lexa's hand. "You did great. You were calm. You knew what to do. You took care of us."

"I just... I don't ever want to feel that helpless again," Lexa said, her voice barely audible. "I want to be able to protect you. Both of you." She looked down at Clarke's stomach, her expression a mix of love and a fierce, new protectiveness. "I want to be the one who's there. Always."

"You were," Clarke said, her voice soft and full of conviction. "You were right here. And you will be. Always."

Lexa finally moved, shifting to sit on the edge of the couch, pulling Clarke into her arms. Clarke rested her head on Lexa's shoulder, feeling the solid warmth of her body, the steady beat of her heart. The scare had been terrifying, but in its wake, something new had blossomed. A deeper trust. A stronger bond. They had faced their first real crisis as a 'family', and they had faced it together.

Lexa spent the rest of the evening taking care of Clarke. She made her a simple, warm meal and insisted she eat every bite. She pulled a warm blanket over her and made sure she was comfortable. She didn't talk about the articles or the company or the media storm. She just talked about them. About their baby. About their future.

As the night wore on, a new kind of quiet settled over the apartment. It was a quiet filled with trust, with love, and with the promise of a shared future. Lexa held Clarke in her arms, her hand resting protectively on Clarke's stomach, and she felt a sense of peace she hadn't felt in days. The world outside was still a place of noise and judgment, but in that small, quiet apartment, they were safe. They were together. And that was all that mattered.

The next morning, sunlight streamed into the kitchen, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. Clarke was at the counter, carefully slicing a grapefruit with a sharp knife, a skill she was still trying to teach Lexa. Lexa was making coffee, the rich aroma filling the space. The quiet domesticity was a soothing balm after the previous night's scare.

"I took the liberty of doing something this morning," Lexa said, her voice casual as she poured coffee into two mugs. She didn't look at Clarke, but the slight tension in her shoulders betrayed her.

Clarke paused her slicing. "Oh yeah? What'd you do?"

"I called your doctor's office," Lexa said, finally turning to face her. "I scheduled an OB appointment for you this afternoon. To make sure everything is okay."

Clarke's knife clattered onto the cutting board. She stared at Lexa, a whirlwind of emotions swirling inside her. It was a sweet gesture, but also a startlingly possessive one. Lexa hadn't asked; she had simply acted.

"Lexa, you can't just... schedule my appointments," Clarke said, her voice a mix of gratitude and frustration.

“I know," Lexa said, her gaze steady. "But after last night... I just need to know. I need to hear it from a professional that you're both okay. I was terrified, Clarke. I couldn't just sit here and wait."

Clarke looked at her, at the raw honesty in her eyes, and the frustration faded. She saw not a controlling CEO, but a scared, loving partner.

"I understand," Clarke said softly, a small smile on her lips. "Thank you. But next time, you have to ask first."

Lexa let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding. "Okay," she said, a small smile of her own gracing her face. "Next time, I'll ask. Now, please put the knife down. You're going to lose a finger."

The tension in the kitchen slowly dissipated, replaced by a comfortable silence as they finished their breakfast. Clarke and Lexa fell into a rhythm, cleaning up together before heading out.

The drive to the clinic was quiet, but it wasn't awkward. Instead, it was filled with a quiet sense of purpose. Lexa had a hand on Clarke's knee, her thumb rubbing gentle circles, a silent apology.

"Thank you, by the way," Clarke said, her voice soft, breaking the silence.

"For what?"

"For last night. For being... you," Clarke said. "I know that was a lot. And for a moment, I was terrified you were just going to leave. But you didn't. You stayed. And you took care of me."

Lexa's hand squeezed her knee. "I'm not going anywhere, Clarke. I promise you that. You and that little one are my priority. Nothing is more important than that."

The words hung in the air, a profound declaration that settled deep in Clarke's heart. She looked out the window at the passing city, a small smile on her face. The future was still uncertain, but for the first time, it didn't feel like a storm she had to weather alone. It felt like a journey they were taking together.

The car pulled up to the clinic, a modern building with large windows. Lexa turned off the engine, but neither of them moved to get out. The quiet in the car was different now, no longer filled with anticipation, but with a slight, nervous energy.

“You ready?" Lexa asked, her voice soft.

Clarke nodded, her hand still resting on her belly. "As I'll ever be."

They walked into the clinic hand-in-hand, a small gesture of solidarity that made Clarke's heart swell. The waiting room was bright and clean, filled with other expectant parents. Lexa, a woma who was used to commanding a boardroom, looked a little out of place in her sharp suit, but she didn't seem to care. Her focus was entirely on Clarke.

The nurse called Clarke's name, and Lexa followed her into the exam room, never letting go of her hand. The doctor came in a few minutes later, this time a warm, older woman with kind eyes. She took Clarke's vitals, asked her a series of questions, and then it was time for the ultrasound.

The room went quiet as the doctor applied the gel to Clarke's stomach. Lexa squeezed Clarke's hand, her eyes fixed on the screen. The image came into focus, a tiny, flickering heartbeat, a small, perfect shape swimming in a sea of black and white.

Lexa's breath hitched, she just stared at the screen, a look of profound awe on her face.

"Everything looks perfect," the doctor said, her voice gentle. "The baby is healthy, and you're doing great, Clarke."

A wave of relief washed over them both. Clarke felt her own eyes well up with tears as she looked from the screen to Lexa's face. The past few days, the arguments, the pain, the fear, it all faded away in that moment.

After the appointment, they walked back to the car in a daze, a new kind of silence hanging between them. It was a silence of pure, unadulterated happiness. They got in the car, and before starting the engine, Lexa turned to Clarke, her hand reaching for her face.

"She's fine," Lexa whispered, her voice choked with emotion. "She's really fine."

The drive back was filled with a comfortable silence, a new sense of peace settling over them. Lexa's hand remained on Clarke's knee, a grounding presence. As they pulled into Clarke's neighborhood, Lexa didn't turn toward the apartment building. Instead, she drove past it, taking a different street.

"Where are we going?" Clarke asked, a hint of confusion in her voice.

"It's a surprise," Lexa said, a small, genuine smile on her face. "A small apology for overstepping this morning. I should have asked first."

Clarke felt a wave of affection wash over her. "You really don't have to."

"I want to," Lexa replied, her eyes focused on the road. "It's important to me that you know I'm listening. That I'm learning."

A few minutes later, Lexa parked in front of a small, charming building. The sign above the door read "The Crafty Corner." Inside, Clarke could see shelves filled with colorful yarns, paints, and pottery.

"What is this?" Clarke asked, her eyes wide with curiosity.

“It's a pottery studio," Lexa explained, a hint of excitement in her voice. "I booked us a private session. I figured we could... make something. For the baby."

Clarke's heart swelled with emotion. The gesture was so thoughtful, so perfectly Lexa, practical, meaningful, and a subtle nod to the future they were building together.

They walked into the studio, the scent of wet clay filling the air. An instructor led them to two pottery wheels and gave them a quick lesson. Lexa, a woman of precision and control, initially struggled with the messy, unpredictable nature of the clay. Clarke, with her artistic background, took to it more naturally, her hands shaping a small, lopsided bowl.

"This is harder than it looks," Lexa said, her hands covered in gray mud.

Clarke laughed, a soft, warm sound that filled the small studio. "You just have to let go. Let the clay guide you."

Lexa looked at her, a genuine, easy smile spreading across her face. "I'll try."

They spent the next two hours in a world of their own, molding and shaping the clay. Lexa's final creation was a wobbly, imperfect cup, but she looked at it with a sense of pride. Clarke's bowl, while still a little uneven, was a testament to the joy she felt in that moment. When they left the studio, the sun was beginning to set, casting a warm glow over the city. Lexa held the two small, unglazed pieces of pottery in her hands.

"They're not perfect," Lexa said.

"They're perfect," Clarke replied, a gentle smile on her face. "They're ours."

Clarke's stomach rumbled, a sound that broke the peaceful quiet of the car. She winced, a small laugh escaping her. "Okay, so maybe I'm not as full as I thought. I'm starving."

Lexa turned to her, a teasing smile on her face. "You and the little one, or just you?"

"Both of us," Clarke said with a grin. "And you, too, if I'm going to be honest. That bowl of yours was... artistic."

"Hey," Lexa protested, a playful smirk on her lips. "It had a certain rustic charm. Very authentic." She squeezed Clarke's hand. "Where to? I'm sure we can find a place that can handle your new appetite."

"I was thinking pizza," Clarke said. "I've been craving it all week."

“Pizza it is," Lexa said, already pulling out her phone. "I know a place. It's a little hole-in-the-wall with the best wood-fired crust. And no butter knives, I promise."

Clarke laughed, a sound of genuine happiness. "Good. Because I don't think I can handle another crisis in the kitchen."

As they drove, the conversation flowed easily, a natural rhythm of jokes and shared observations. Lexa pointed out a ridiculous billboard, and Clarke teased her about a tiny smudge of clay still on her cheek. The flirting was subtle, a series of knowing looks and quick, light touches that spoke of an intimacy that was finally taking root.

They arrived at the pizza place, a cozy little spot with checkered tablecloths and the warm, inviting smell of garlic and basil. They ordered a large pizza with all of Clarke's favorite toppings and sat across from each other, their hands resting on the table, their fingers occasionally brushing.

"I still can't believe you made a pottery bowl for our daughter," Clarke said, a soft smile on her face. "It was... really sweet."

Lexa's cheeks colored slightly, a rare display of shyness. "It's not much. But it's a start."

"It's everything," Clarke whispered, her gaze filled with an emotion that was no longer hidden. "It's everything."

The two of them sat in the restaurant, a comfortable silence settling between them as they ate. The pizza, a perfect blend of gooey cheese and savory toppings, was everything Clarke had been craving. She watched as Lexa took a bite, a small, content smile on her face. The casualness of the moment was a stark contrast to the high-stakes world they both inhabited, and Clarke found herself enjoying it immensely. After they finished eating, they walked back to the car, the city lights beginning to flicker on around them.

The night air was cool, a welcome change from the warmth of the restaurant. As they drove back to Clarke's apartment, she found herself thinking about the past 24 hours. The quiet care, the shared fear, the small, artistic pottery bowl, it all felt like a new beginning. As Lexa pulled up to her building, Clarke turned to her, a new idea forming in her mind.

"Hey," she said, her voice soft. "I know this is sudden, but... what are you doing tomorrow?"

Lexa's eyes met hers. "I'm free. My assistant cleared my schedule for the rest of the week. Why?"

“The beach," Clarke said, a small smile on her face. "It's supposed to be sunny. We could go, just for the day. Get away from the city."

Lexa looked at her, a genuine smile on her face. "The beach. I haven't been to the beach in years."

“It's settled then," Clarke said, her heart feeling lighter than it had in months. She reached for her phone. "We should call Raven. I bet she'd love a day trip."

Lexa's smile softened. "That's a great idea."

Clarke found Raven's name in her contacts and sent a quick text. A few moments later, her phone buzzed with a reply.

"She's in," Clarke said, looking up at Lexa with a happy grin. "She's off work early tomorrow, and she's been wanting to get out of the city."

"Perfect," Lexa said, already pulling out her own phone. "I'll text her with the details. I have a beach house a couple hours from here. It's on a private cove, so it'll be nice and quiet."

Clarke's heart swelled. The idea of a day at the beach, just the three of them, felt like a promise of something new. A fresh start.

Chapter Text

The next day, the three of them, Clarke, Lexa, and Raven, arrived at the beach house. As Lexa unlocked the front door, a cool, salty breeze welcomed them inside.

The house was a modern, glass-walled structure perched on a small bluff overlooking the ocean. The interior was minimalist and clean, a stark contrast to the wild, natural beauty just outside.

"Well, this is a little slice of heaven," Raven declared, dropping her bag by the door. She immediately strode to the floor-to-ceiling windows, her hands on her hips as she took in the view. "See, I told you guys we needed to get out of the city."

Clarke, however, was focused on something else. She watched as Lexa, with a natural ease, started to get her settled. Lexa opened the large glass doors to let in more of the sea air and then went to a closet to pull out a soft, oversized blanket. She draped it over a plush armchair that faced the ocean.

"Here," Lexa said, gesturing to the chair. "You should be comfortable here. And if you need anything else, just say the word."

Clarke smiled, her heart full. This was the Lexa she was getting to know, the one who planned ahead, who anticipated needs, and who showed her care through quiet, thoughtful actions.

"I have to admit, this is pretty impressive, Lexa," Raven said, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she turned from the window. "I was expecting a cabin in the woods, not a five-star resort. What, did you make a spreadsheet to find the most relaxing place on the coast?"

Lexa's lips twitched. "I don't need a spreadsheet for everything, Raven."

"Oh, really?" Raven shot back, a teasing grin on her face. "So you're telling me you don't have a color-coded chart for the most optimal beach-lounging positions?"

Lexa just shook her head, a hint of amusement in her eyes. "I think you're projecting."

As Raven and Lexa fell into their familiar back-and-forth, Clarke settled into the armchair. She was comfortable, wrapped in a soft blanket, with the sound of the ocean and the easy laughter of her two favorite people filling the room. It was perfect.

The rhythmic sound of waves and the fresh sea air created a soothing atmosphere. Raven, after her playful jabs at Lexa, settled onto a plush couch, kicking her feet up.

"Seriously, though," she said, looking around the expansive living room, "this place is amazing. Can we just move in?"

Lexa, who had just returned from the kitchen with a tray of fresh lemonade, handed a glass to Clarke before offering one to Raven. "You know where to send the rent check."

"Ah, there's the CEO I know and love," Raven quipped, taking a long drink.

Clarke, watching the exchange, felt a deep sense of contentment. The easy banter between Lexa and Raven was a testament to the mending friendships. They were navigating their new dynamic with a comfortable familiarity, and it filled her with a quiet happiness.

After a little while, Raven got up. "Alright, I'm heading down to the beach," she announced. "Need to get some sun before I turn into a city-dwelling vampire."

Lexa looked at Clarke. "Are you warm enough? Do you need anything else?"

"I'm perfect," Clarke assured her. "You should go with Raven. I'm just going to sit here and enjoy the view for a bit."

"You sure?" Lexa asked, her gaze lingering on Clarke.

"Go," Clarke said, smiling. "I'll be right here."

Lexa gave a small nod and then followed Raven down the private path that led to the beach. Clarke watched them from the window, the two figures shrinking against the vast expanse of sand and sea.

The beach house, with its panoramic views and the gentle sound of the ocean, felt like a peaceful retreat. She closed her eyes, letting the sun warm her face, and for the first time in a long time, the future felt bright and full of possibility.

Clarke drifted into a light, peaceful doze, lulled by the rhythm of the waves. She woke up to the sound of laughter and opened her eyes to see Lexa and Raven walking back up the path, their hair windswept and their feet covered in sand. They were holding their shoes and talking animatedly, a shared, easy happiness between them.

Raven walked into the house, a wide grin on her face.

"You should have seen her," she said to Clarke, pointing a sandy finger at Lexa. "I dared her to run into the water and she did it without even hesitating! Full CEO mode, running headfirst into the Pacific."

Lexa, a little breathless and with a few drops of seawater still clinging to her hair, just rolled her eyes with a smile. "It was a very strategic run."

"Strategic my ass," Raven retorted. "You looked like a kid on a sugar high."

Lexa just shook her head, a real, genuine laugh escaping her. She looked at Clarke, her eyes full of light.

"The water was surprisingly warm." She paused, her gaze softening. "Are you hungry? I can make us some dinner."

Clarke's heart felt so full it could burst. The day had been everything she had hoped for and more. She had her best friend back, and the woman she loved was finally showing her the full depth of her heart.

"I am," Clarke said, a soft smile on her face. "And I think a certain someone has some sand in her hair that needs to be rinsed out."

The sun began its slow descent, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple. After rinsing the sand from their feet, Lexa and Raven joined Clarke in the living room, where the conversation was easy and the atmosphere relaxed. Lexa started a fire in the stone fireplace, casting a warm, flickering glow across the room.

"I'll get dinner started," Lexa announced, heading to the kitchen. "I picked up some groceries on the way. I'm thinking seafood pasta."

"Yes!" Raven cheered. "My favorite. You're lucky, Clarke. This woman can cook."

Clarke smiled. "I know."

Raven settled onto the couch next to Clarke, her demeanor shifting from playful to serious. "Seriously though, I'm glad we could do this. All of us."

"Me too," Clarke said, her voice soft. "It's good to have you back, Raven. I missed you."

"I missed you too," Raven replied, a genuine warmth in her eyes. "I'm sorry, Clarke. For all of it. I should have told you."

"I know," Clarke said, a small smile on her face. "But we're here now. And that's what matters."

Lexa called them into the kitchen a little while later. The dinner was delicious, a rich pasta with fresh shrimp and scallops. They ate by the flickering light of the fire, the sounds of the ocean providing a natural soundtrack. The conversation flowed easily between them, a mix of old memories and new plans.

After dinner, they gathered around the fireplace, the warmth a comforting presence against the cool night air. Clarke leaned her head on Lexa's shoulder, feeling a profound sense of peace. She had her best friend, the woman she loved, and the promise of a new life growing inside her. The future was still an uncharted ocean, but for the first time, she felt ready to set sail.

The fire crackled, casting dancing shadows on the walls as the evening deepened. The trio had moved from dinner to a comfortable silence, filled with the warmth of the fire and the sound of the ocean. Suddenly, Raven broke the spell.

"Alright, this is getting a little too serene," she announced, her mischievous grin returning. "We're at a beach house. We need to do something fun. Something ridiculous."

Lexa raised an eyebrow. "Such as?"

"I've got it," Raven said, her eyes gleaming. "We're going to play a game. A highly competitive, utterly pointless game." She stood up and rummaged through her bag, pulling out a small, brightly colored box. "I brought Cards Against Humanity."

Lexa's lips twitched in a rare, genuine smile. "Raven, I'm not sure Clarke's delicate state can handle your brand of humour."

"Hey!" Clarke protested, but she was already laughing. "I'm pregnant, not dead."

The game began, and the quiet, serene atmosphere was quickly replaced by raucous laughter. Lexa, a woman who commanded boardrooms, was surprisingly good at the game, her dry, witty answers often winning the round.

Raven, of course, was in her element, her dark humor and theatrical delivery making every card a comedic masterpiece.

After a particularly vulgar card that had them all in stitches, Lexa looked at Clarke, a soft, loving smile on her face. "You know," she said, her voice low and filled with affection, "this is a pretty perfect ending to a pretty perfect day."

Clarke's heart felt so full it could burst. She reached for Lexa's hand, her fingers intertwining with hers. "It is," she whispered. "It really is."

The laughter from the game slowly died down, leaving a comfortable quiet in its wake. The fire crackled, and the sound of the ocean provided a peaceful rhythm. Clarke stifled a yawn, the day's events finally catching up to her.

"I think I'm going to call it a night," she said, her voice soft. "It's been a long day."

Raven stood up, stretching. "Yeah, me too. All that fresh air and bad humor has worn me out. I'm going to find my room." She gave Clarke a quick hug and a knowing look before heading down the hall.

Clarke and Lexa were left alone by the fire. The air, which had been light and playful moments before, was now thick with a different kind of tension. Clarke's heart started to beat a little faster. She and Lexa had shared a lot in the last twenty-four hours, a pregnancy scare, a doctor's appointment, a shared meal, but they hadn't shared a bed.

Clarke felt a wave of uncertainty wash over her. She wanted to be close to Lexa, to feel her arms around her, but she was unsure if they were at that stage yet. She looked at Lexa, her eyes searching for a sign, for a hint of what she was thinking.

Lexa, as if reading her mind, looked back at her, a gentle smile on her face. "The master bedroom is yours, Clarke," she said softly. "I'll take the guest room down the hall."

A wave of relief washed over Clarke, followed by a pang of disappointment. She wanted Lexa to stay, but she also wanted to respect the pace of their mending relationship.

"Okay," Clarke said, her voice barely a whisper. "Thank you." She stood up, her body feeling heavy with exhaustion and a strange mix of emotions.

"Good night, Lexa."

"Good night, Clarke," Lexa replied, a soft smile on her face. "Sleep well."

Clarke walked down the hall, her feet heavy, and slipped into the large, empty bed. She was grateful for the space, but she was also keenly aware of the woman sleeping just down the hall. The night was quiet, but her mind was anything but.

A storm rolled in just after midnight. Clarke was jolted awake by a crack of thunder that rattled the windows of the beach house. A flash of lightning illuminated the room, followed by another deafening boom. Her heart pounded in her chest, a familiar childhood fear resurfacing with a terrifying intensity.

The house was dark and unfamiliar. Clarke's first instinct was to seek comfort, to find someone to anchor her in the storm. Her mind went to Raven, her oldest friend. She imagined walking down the hall, tapping on Raven's door, and finding a quick, easy comfort.

But then she thought of Lexa. The woman she'd spent the last few days with, the woman who had shown her a raw, unguarded part of herself. The woman who had been there for every scare, every tear, and every moment of joy.

Another crash of thunder shook the house, and Clarke's decision was made. She slipped out of bed, her bare feet silent on the cool wooden floor. She walked past Raven's door without a second thought and continued down the hall, her heart a frantic rhythm against her ribs.

She found Lexa in the guest room, curled up under the covers. Lexa's eyes fluttered open as Clarke approached, her face a mask of sleepy confusion in the dim light.

"Clarke?" she whispered, her voice thick with sleep. "What's wrong?"

Clarke didn't say anything. She just stood there, a silent plea in her eyes. Lexa, with a silent understanding, pushed the covers back.

"Come here," she said, her voice soft and reassuring.

Clarke didn't hesitate. She climbed into the bed, the warmth of the blankets and Lexa's body a welcome comfort against the cold fear that had seized her. She curled into Lexa's side, and Lexa's arm came around her, holding her close. Another flash of lightning lit up the room, and Clarke squeezed her eyes shut. But this time, she didn't feel the fear. She felt safe.

Lexa's arm came around Clarke, holding her close against the rumbling thunder. The fear that had seized Clarke's heart began to dissipate, replaced by the profound comfort of being held. Lexa's body was a solid, warm presence, and the steady rhythm of her heartbeat was a lullaby against the storm.

"Bad dream?" Lexa whispered into Clarke's hair, her voice thick with sleep.

"Storm," Clarke mumbled, her voice muffled against Lexa's shoulder. "I don't like them."

Lexa's arm tightened around her, a small, reassuring squeeze. "It's okay. It's just a little bit of rain and noise. We're safe here." She kissed the top of Clarke's head, a simple, gentle gesture that felt more intimate than any passionate kiss.

"You're safe."

Clarke relaxed into the embrace, a deep sigh escaping her lips. The storm outside raged on, but inside the bed, surrounded by the warmth and safety of Lexa's arms, everything felt calm.

"I almost went to Raven," Clarke admitted, her voice barely a whisper. "I don't know why I came here instead."

Lexa was quiet for a moment, and Clarke felt her chest rise and fall with a slow, steady breath. "I'm glad you did," she finally said, her voice low and filled with a raw honesty. "I'm glad you chose me. Just... just for a minute."

Clarke lifted her head, her eyes meeting Lexa's in the dim, storm-lit room. "Not just for a minute," she said, her voice firm with conviction. "I chose you, Lexa. Not just for a minute. For... for all of it."

Lexa didn't say anything. She just looked at Clarke, a profound, unguarded emotion in her eyes. She pulled Clarke closer, their foreheads touching, and in the quiet space between the rumbles of thunder, Clarke finally felt like she was home.

The storm had settled into a steady rhythm, the thunder now more distant, the rain a constant whisper against the glass. But Clarke didn't move from Lexa's arms. She stayed there, her cheek pressed to the steady rise and fall of Lexa's chest, the warmth beneath the blankets cocooning them in a way that felt impossible to leave.

Lexa's fingers traced lazy, absentminded circles against the small of Clarke's back, her touch featherlight, almost like she didn't realize she was doing it. Clarke felt each pass of her fingertips like a spark through her skin.

"You're warm," Clarke murmured into the hollow of Lexa's throat.

A soft chuckle rumbled under her ear. "And you're freezing," Lexa said, tucking the blanket more securely around Clarke. "You should have woken me sooner."

Clarke smiled faintly, her lips brushing Lexa's collarbone. "Didn't want to bother you."

Lexa's voice dropped, the tone a low rasp that made Clarke's pulse quicken. "You could never bother me." Her hand slid up, fingertips grazing Clarke's nape, a gentle pull that encouraged Clarke's face upward until their eyes met.

The dim light from the storm outside painted Lexa in soft shadows, her hair slightly mussed from sleep, her eyes open and impossibly clear.

"I like being here," Clarke whispered. It felt like a confession, though she wasn't sure why.

Lexa's gaze searched hers, lingering for a long, quiet moment. Then, with an unhurried certainty, she leaned in. The kiss was gentle at first, almost questioning, but Clarke's hand came up to cup her jaw, holding her in place. That was all the encouragement Lexa needed. The kiss deepened, warm and slow, carrying the weight of everything they hadn't said aloud.

When they parted, Clarke's breath was uneven. "Lexa..." she started, but the words got lost somewhere between her chest and her lips.

Lexa brushed her thumb along Clarke's cheek. "I love you," she murmured. "You know that right?"

Clarke nodded, and when she settled back down, Lexa didn't let go. The steady heartbeat, the warmth, the storm fading outside, it all blurred together into something that felt like safety, like a promise neither of them needed to speak aloud.

The next morning, the smell of coffee drifted through the air before Clarke even opened her eyes. For a moment she stayed still, her cheek pillowed against something warm and solid, Lexa's shoulder. She could feel the slow rise and fall of Lexa's breathing, the faint, comforting scent of her shampoo mixed with something warm and woodsy.

Lexa was awake, of course. Clarke realized it in the way Lexa's fingers were brushing idly through her hair, slow and unhurried, like she'd been doing it for a while.

"Morning," Clarke murmured, voice still thick with sleep.

"Morning," Lexa replied quietly, her lips twitching in the faintest smile. She didn't move to get up, almost as if she was reluctant to break the cocoon they'd made during the night.

It was the loud clatter from the kitchen that finally broke the moment. Clarke blinked and frowned toward the door.

Lexa sighed. "Raven," she said, not even needing to check.

Sure enough, when Clarke padded into the kitchen a few minutes later, Raven was there, already dressed, hair pulled into a messy bun, leaning casually against the counter with a mug in hand.

"Well, well," Raven drawled, giving Clarke an assessing look before her gaze flicked past her shoulder to where Lexa had followed. "You two look... cozy."

Clarke rolled her eyes, reaching for a mug. "It's too early for whatever you're implying."

Raven smirked, clearly enjoying herself. "I didn't say anything."

Lexa moved past Clarke to the coffee pot, her hand brushing lightly against Clarke's hip in the process, casual, but deliberate enough that Clarke caught Raven's raised eyebrow.

"So," Raven said, sipping her coffee. "What's the plan today? The storm's clearing. We could hit the beach, maybe the boardwalk?"

Clarke opened her mouth, but Lexa spoke first. "Breakfast first. I'll cook."

Raven's smirk widened. "Lexa Woodson in the kitchen. I need to find myself a baby mama like you."

Lexa ignored her, already moving to pull ingredients from the fridge. Clarke couldn't help the small smile tugging at her lips, not at the breakfast, but at the way Lexa seemed entirely unfazed by Raven's teasing, like her focus was only on her.

Raven waited until Lexa was at the stove, sleeves pushed up, hair falling over one shoulder as she cracked eggs into a skillet, before casually leaning toward Clarke.

"You two look different," she said under her breath, taking another slow sip of coffee.

Clarke frowned. "Different how?"

Raven smirked. "You know how. Last night something shifted." She tilted her head slightly. "She's looking at you like she's done pretending she's not in love with you."

Clarke felt heat creep up her neck, both from the truth in the words and the fact that Lexa's voice floated over from the stove, low, calm, humming faintly to herself.

"She told me she loves me," Clarke murmured, eyes dropping to her mug.

"And you believed her," Raven guessed, watching her closely.

Clarke didn't answer right away. Her gaze flicked toward Lexa, who was plating food with that focused precision she seemed to apply to everything. "I want to," Clarke admitted softly. "But part of me still—" She broke off, shaking her head. "I don't know if I can let her in all the way yet."

Raven's voice softened, losing some of its teasing edge. "She's trying, Clarke. And she's not the type to chase someone unless she's serious. You know that."

Clarke did know. She also knew her own walls weren't built overnight, and they wouldn't crumble overnight either. But watching Lexa now, hair falling forward as she leaned over the plate, biting her lip in concentration, she couldn't deny that something in her chest was loosening.

"Food's ready," Lexa called, glancing over her shoulder at them. The small smile she gave Clarke lingered just long enough to make her pulse skip.

Raven leaned closer, her voice low enough for only Clarke to hear. "Yeah. You're gone for her, Griffin. Whether you admit it yet or not."

Chapter Text

The three of them settled at the small dining table, the late-morning light spilling in through the wide windows, making everything softer than it had any right to be. Lexa had set the plates with quiet care, scrambled eggs, avocado, toast, and a little bowl of berries that Clarke knew she hadn't asked for but Lexa had noticed she'd been craving lately.

"Looks good," Raven said, spearing a piece of toast. Her tone was casual, but her eyes flicked between Clarke and Lexa like she was watching a live chess match.

"Hope it's to your liking," Lexa murmured, though her gaze was locked on Clarke, not Raven. The words were for both of them, but the way her voice dipped at the end made it sound meant for Clarke alone.

Clarke focused on her eggs, determined not to react, but Lexa's attention had weight. Every time Clarke looked up, Lexa was already watching her, never for long enough to make it obvious, but long enough to make Clarke's pulse jump.

At one point, Lexa slid the berry bowl toward Clarke, their fingers brushing briefly. "You should eat those," she said, her tone soft, almost coaxing. "They're good for you."

Clarke's fork paused halfway to her mouth. She didn't miss the way Lexa's eyes softened as she said it, not a command, not even a suggestion, but something warmer. Protective.

Raven cleared her throat loudly, breaking the moment. "So, Clarke, you forgot all about Matt?"

The question was obviously bait. Clarke shot her a glare, but before she could answer, Lexa spoke, her voice calm but edged. "That's between Clarke and Matt."

Raven's brows shot up at the shift in Lexa's posture, that subtle straightening, the set of her jaw. Oh, she was jealous. Delicious.

Clarke, feeling both cornered and strangely emboldened, finally smirked. "Haven't decided yet." She took a bite of toast and caught the faintest twitch in Lexa's jaw before the CEO smoothed it away.

"We'll see about that." Lexa mumbled to herself.

Raven just grinned into her coffee. "Wow. That was almost flirty."

Lexa's lips twitched but she didn't look away from the plate. "Almost?" she asked lightly. "Guess I'll have to try harder."

"God, you two," Raven muttered, getting up to pour herself more coffee. "You're like a slow-burn romance novel in real life, and I'm the accidental roommate who's stuck in every chapter."

"Don't tempt me to change your room to the one without a view," Lexa replied dryly, though her eyes never left Clarke.

Clarke bit back a smile, turning toward the fruit bowl just to give herself something to do. She could still feel Lexa's gaze on her, steady and patient but undeniably interested.

The rest of breakfast was a dance, Lexa making understated comments that were just this side of personal ("You've got something here," she said once, brushing her thumb along Clarke's cheekbone to wipe away a crumb), Clarke pretending to be unaffected, and Raven watching like she was front row at her favorite show.

By the time the plates were empty, Clarke's carefully guarded distance had cracked enough that when Lexa leaned past her to collect a plate, she caught herself breathing in the scent of Lexa's cologne, infuriatingly addictive, and had to force herself to look away before she was caught.

By the time breakfast was done, Raven had already claimed the hammock outside with her coffee and a book, effectively taking herself out of the equation.

Lexa rinsed the plates, then glanced toward Clarke. "Walk with me?"

Clarke hesitated, then nodded. "Sure."

The sand was warm but not scorching yet, and the water rolled in low waves, curling just enough to soak the edge of their footprints. Lexa walked close enough that Clarke could feel her presence in the way their arms brushed now and then, not quite accidental, not quite deliberate.

For a while, they said nothing. Just the sound of the waves and the gulls overhead, and the occasional shout of kids further down the beach.

"You slept well?" Lexa asked at last, her voice quieter out here, as if the open air made it easier to say the things she didn't in the city.

Clarke nodded. "Better than I thought I would."

"Good." Lexa's eyes slid to her, soft but unwavering. "I... know I've said it before, but I'm sorry. For not telling you before making the appointment."

Clarke let out a breath. "It's not that simple, Lexa. You kept something huge from me. And part of me still doesn't know how to... trust that won't happen again."

Lexa didn't flinch, just slowed until they were both stopped, the ocean folding in at their feet. "Then let me show you. Not in one grand gesture, but in a thousand small ways until you believe it."

Clarke's throat tightened. She hated how easily Lexa's words sank into her, how they felt less like a line and more like a promise she could see her keeping.

"That sounds like a lot of work," Clarke tried to deflect, though her voice was softer than she meant it to be.

Lexa smiled faintly, but her gaze stayed locked on Clarke's. "You're worth the work."

A breeze caught Clarke's hair, sending a few strands across her face. Before she could move, Lexa's hand lifted, slow enough for her to stop her if she wanted, and brushed them back. Her fingertips lingered, just for a moment, against Clarke's cheek.

Clarke's pulse jumped, but she didn't step away.

"Lexa..."

"Just... walking," Lexa said, a small smirk tugging at her lips before she turned back toward the waterline. But Clarke didn't miss the warmth in her voice, the way she seemed to be holding herself back, giving Clarke the space to come closer if she wanted.

They walked on, and Clarke realized she was already closer than before.

The midday sun had settled into a warm, lazy glow, and the stretch of private beach in front of Lexa's place looked like something out of a dream, wide, untouched, and rimmed with pale dunes that rolled gently into the horizon.

Clarke had traded her sundress for a pale blue bikini, her hair pulled into a messy bun that left loose curls sticking to the back of her neck. Lexa, in black swim shorts and a dark green rash guard she'd rolled up to her elbows, had set up two chairs and an umbrella just far enough from the tide line to hear the waves at their loudest without having to dodge them.

They started with the water. It was cool enough to make Clarke gasp on her first step in, but Lexa waded in beside her, all quiet confidence, until they were waist-deep.

"Okay," Clarke said, treading the water as a small wave pushed past them. "You could've warned me it's colder than it looks."

"I did," Lexa said, smiling in that infuriatingly calm way that made Clarke want to splash her.

So she did.

Lexa didn't even blink at the spray, just reached out and caught Clarke around the waist, pulling her in before she could duck away. "Dangerous game," she murmured, the words low enough to be swallowed by the water.

Clarke laughed but didn't pull away right away. The warmth of Lexa's hands against her bare skin was noticeable even in the cool sea.

They swam and floated for a while, letting the current carry them a little before making their way back to shore. Raven had reappeared from somewhere with sunglasses and a beer, raising her bottle in salute from her hammock as they passed.

Back under the umbrella, Clarke stretched out on her towel, letting the sun dry her skin. Lexa sat beside her, leaning back on her elbows, eyes fixed on the horizon. There was an ease to her here, no suit, no office walls, no constant stream of decisions to make.

"You always come here?" Clarke asked after a moment.

"When I need to breathe," Lexa said. "It's... quieter here. And I don't have to be anyone except me."

Clarke glanced over at her. "And who is that?"

Lexa's mouth curved, but she didn't answer right away. Her gaze shifted from the ocean to Clarke, lingering just a second too long. "Someone who's trying to earn your trust back."

The words made Clarke's chest tighten, but instead of answering, she reached for the cooler and handed Lexa a bottle of water. "You're doing an okay job so far."

It wasn't forgiveness, not yet. But it was more than she'd given before. And from the faint flicker of relief in Lexa's eyes, she knew Lexa took it that way.

The rest of the afternoon unfolded easily, Raven joining them for a game of beach volleyball, Clarke laughing until her cheeks hurt, Lexa taking the game just seriously enough to keep up with Raven's competitive streak. They ended up sprawled on towels, the sun dipping low, painting everything in molten gold.

For the first time in weeks, Clarke realized she wasn't thinking about what had happened. She was just here and it felt... good.

By the time the sky turned a bruised violet, the air had cooled just enough for Lexa to pull on a soft hoodie, sleeves pushed up. The three of them had built a small fire pit in the sand, its glow casting warm light over their faces.

Clarke sat cross-legged on a blanket beside Lexa, her bare knees brushing against Lexa's thigh. Raven had claimed the opposite side of the fire, beer in hand, occasionally tossing driftwood onto the flames.

The ocean was a dark stretch beyond them now, the rhythmic rush of waves underscoring their conversation. Raven had launched into a story from her early engineering days, the kind that had Clarke laughing so hard she nearly spilt the water Lexa had poured for her.

Lexa wasn't laughing as much as she was watching, that low, attentive way she had of memorizing Clarke when she was lit from within. The firelight caught in Clarke's hair, turning the loose strands into threads of gold, and Lexa's hand twitched once, like she had to stop herself from tucking them behind her ear.

When Raven got up to grab another beer, Clarke leaned into Lexa's side, just slightly, letting her shoulder rest there. "You're quiet tonight," she said, voice low enough not to carry.

"Just thinking," Lexa answered, her gaze still on the fire. Then, after a beat, she glanced down at Clarke. "About how different this feels. Being here with you."

Clarke tilted her head. "Good different?"

Lexa's mouth curved, slow and deliberate. "The kind of good I'd like to get used to."

Clarke felt her cheeks warm, maybe from the fire, maybe not. She looked away, hiding a smile, but Lexa noticed anyway.

When Raven returned, the conversation picked back up, but Lexa's hand found Clarke's under the blanket. She didn't intertwine their fingers, not fully, just let her palm rest against Clarke's, their thumbs brushing now and then.

Later, after Raven had headed inside, Clarke stayed behind, hugging her knees and staring at the glowing embers. Lexa joined her, close enough that Clarke could feel the heat of her even through the night air.

"You cold?" Lexa asked.

"A little."

Lexa draped her hoodie over Clarke's shoulders without hesitation, her fingertips grazing the back of her neck as she pulled the hood into place. The scent of her curled around Clarke, grounding her in a way she didn't expect.

"You don't have to look after me all the time," Clarke murmured, though she didn't give the hoodie back.

Lexa smiled faintly. "I want to."

Clarke glanced at her then, really looked, the firelight softening the sharp lines of her jaw, the flicker of something almost vulnerable in her eyes. And for the first time since that night in the kitchen, Clarke let herself lean into Lexa without thinking too hard about what it meant.

The waves kept their steady rhythm, and the fire burned low, and for a while, it felt like nothing existed outside this stretch of beach and the woman beside her.

The house was quiet once Raven retreated to her guest room, a low hum of the ocean slipping in through the cracked windows. Clarke lingered in the living room, still wrapped in Lexa's hoodie, curled into one corner of the couch.

Lexa came in from the kitchen with two mugs of tea, setting one down in front of Clarke before sinking into the cushion beside her. The space between them was barely a hand's width, but it felt charged.

"You didn't have to make this," Clarke murmured, fingers curling around the mug.

"I wanted to," Lexa replied simply, her voice that low, steady register that always seemed to find its way under Clarke's skin.

They sipped in silence for a moment, the sound of waves filling the space. Clarke set her tea down on the coffee table, leaning back, and Lexa's gaze followed the movement, lingering at her neck, her profile, the way a strand of hair had fallen loose from her bun.

"You're staring," Clarke said without looking at her, a faint smile tugging at her mouth.

"I know," Lexa admitted, no hesitation in her tone. "I've been doing that a lot lately."

That pulled Clarke's gaze to her, curiosity and something warmer mixing in her expression. "Why?"

Lexa's eyes held hers, unflinching. "Because I don't want to miss a single thing about you."

Clarke's breath caught, and before she could think of a reply, Lexa reached out, brushing that stray curl back behind Clarke's ear. Her touch lingered, fingertips trailing lightly down her jaw before falling away.

The air between them thickened, the quiet suddenly louder. Clarke's pulse picked up, and she shifted slightly closer, though she wasn't sure if she'd meant to.

"I'm still mad at you, you know," she said softly, the words almost at odds with the way her body leaned toward Lexa's.

Lexa's mouth curved faintly, but there was regret in her eyes. "I know. I'll spend as long as it takes earning back your trust." Her gaze flickered briefly to Clarke's lips, then back up. "And I'll try not to make you hate me in the process."

Clarke huffed out a breath, not quite a laugh, but not entirely frustration either. "You're making it hard to stay mad."

"That's not an accident," Lexa murmured, a ghost of a smile before her hand found Clarke's again, warm and steady.

Clarke didn't pull away. Not tonight.

They stayed like that, side by side, fingers brushing now and then, the tea cooling untouched, until the pull of sleep finally sent them both to their rooms. But Clarke carried the warmth of Lexa's hand, and that look in her eyes, all the way to bed.

The ocean was louder at night, the tide rolling in with a deep, steady pulse that seemed to echo inside Clarke's chest. She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, her mind refusing to quiet. Every time she closed her eyes, she kept seeing Lexa, the way her gaze had softened on the couch earlier, the way her touch had lingered just long enough to burn.

Finally, with a quiet sigh, Clarke pushed the covers back. The wooden floor was cool under her bare feet as she padded down the hall, drawn by the faint sliver of light spilling from beneath Lexa's bedroom door. She hesitated only a moment before tapping softly.

The door opened almost immediately. Lexa stood there in a loose black T-shirt and drawstring pants, her hair unbraided and falling in soft waves over her shoulders. Her eyes swept over Clarke, concerned.

"Couldn't sleep?" Lexa asked, voice low, carrying that deep nighttime warmth.

Clarke shook her head. "My brain won't shut off."

For a second, neither of them moved, the air between them humming with the same quiet electricity from earlier. Then Lexa stepped aside, letting her in.

Her room was dim, lit only by a small lamp on the bedside table. Clarke climbed onto the bed without overthinking it, sitting cross-legged near the middle while Lexa closed the door.

Lexa sat down beside her, legs stretched out, back against the headboard. "Want to talk about it?"

Clarke shook her head again, eyes fixed on the ocean visible through the glass balcony doors. "Not really. Just... didn't want to be alone."

That admission settled between them, heavier than the words themselves. Lexa's expression softened, and after a beat, she lifted the edge of the blanket in silent invitation. Clarke hesitated, then slipped under, leaning just enough so her shoulder brushed Lexa's arm.

They lay there in the quiet, listening to the waves. Lexa's hand rested on the blanket between them, fingers twitching like she was fighting the urge to reach for her. Eventually, she gave in, just a small movement, her pinky brushing Clarke's, then her fingers curling loosely around hers.

"You're safe here," Lexa murmured, her voice a promise as much as reassurance.

Clarke's chest tightened at the sincerity in it. She turned her head, finding Lexa already watching her, and for a heartbeat the world felt narrowed down to just this, the low lamplight, the scent of warm skin, the steady rhythm of Lexa's breathing.

"Yeah," Clarke whispered, and she didn't pull her hand away.

The steady rhythm of the waves filled the silence between them, the kind of quiet that wasn't empty but thick with unspoken thoughts. Lexa's hand was warm in Clarke's, her thumb brushing slow circles over her skin like she didn't even realize she was doing it.

Clarke's gaze kept drifting to her profile, the softened line of her jaw in the lamplight, the way her lashes cast faint shadows across her cheeks. She could feel her pulse picking up, a heat starting low in her stomach. She knew she should just close her eyes, let the comfort of Lexa's presence lull her to sleep, but the truth was she hadn't come here just because she couldn't sleep.

She wanted her.

Her free hand moved before she'd fully decided, fingertips skimming over the inside of Lexa's wrist, tracing the strong tendon there. Lexa's breath thumbed, her gaze flicking to Clarke's like she was trying to read her thoughts.

"Clarke..." Lexa's voice was low, warning and wanting all at once.

Clarke didn't give her a chance to talk herself out of it. She shifted closer, until the blanket tangled between them was the only barrier, and lifted her hand to Lexa's face. Her fingers brushed along her cheek, into the soft wave of her hair, her touch deliberate and slow.

"I don't want to just... lie here wishing I'd touched you," Clarke whispered, her words barely more than breath.

Lexa's jaw tightened, green eyes locked on hers with an intensity that made Clarke's stomach flip. For a heartbeat, neither moved. Then Lexa leaned in, closing the space until their foreheads touched.

Clarke tilted her chin, brushing her mouth against Lexa's. Tentative at first, a soft press that still managed to send a shock all the way to her toes. Lexa's lips were warm and still, like she was giving Clarke the choice to take it further or pull back.

Clarke deepened it, her hand sliding to the back of Lexa's neck, pulling her closer. Lexa's restraint cracked; her other hand came up to cradle Clarke's jaw, her kiss answering with a slow, aching hunger that made Clarke's breath catch.

The blanket slipped lower as Clarke pressed into her, feeling the solid warmth of Lexa's body through thin layers of cotton. Every shift brought them closer, the air between them charged, the sound of the waves almost lost under the pulse roaring in her ears.

When they finally broke apart, breathing uneven, Lexa's thumb traced along Clarke's bottom lip. "You have no idea what you do to me," she murmured.

Clarke smiled faintly, her heart hammering. "Maybe I'm starting to."

Lexa's soft laugh vibrated against her, and she drew Clarke in again, this time pulling her fully against her side under the blanket. They stayed that way, mouths finding each other in slow, unhurried kisses, the night stretching around them like the tide, inevitable, unstoppable.

The waves outside kept up their steady rhythm, but in Lexa's room, time seemed to slow to match the way their hands explored, tentative but certain, like they were learning each other for the first time.

Clarke's knee brushed against Lexa's hip as she shifted closer, the blanket sliding off her shoulder. The moonlight spilling through the open curtains painted Lexa in silver, catching in her hair and making her eyes look impossibly green.

God, she's beautiful.

Lexa's hand came to rest on her thigh, warm and steady, but it stayed there, not pushing, not rushing. "We don't have to..." Lexa started, her voice low, almost hesitant.

"I know," Clarke murmured, her fingers tracing down the side of Lexa's neck. "But I want to."

That admission seemed to undo something in Lexa. Her eyes softened, but the heat there deepened. She cupped the back of Clarke's head and pulled her into another kiss, slow at first, then more insistent, as if she'd been holding herself back for too long.

Clarke melted into it, her hand sliding beneath the hem of Lexa's T-shirt, fingertips brushing over smooth, heated skin. Lexa's breath hitched against her mouth, her own hand slipping up Clarke's side until her thumb grazed the underside of her breast.

The contact sent a rush of heat through Clarke, and she broke the kiss only to pull Lexa's shirt over her head. Her gaze wandered for a moment, taking in the defined lines of her shoulders, the rise and fall of her chest. Lexa didn't move, letting Clarke look, letting her choose to touch again.

Clarke leaned in, pressing her lips to the hollow of Lexa's throat, tasting salt and skin. Lexa's head tipped back, a quiet sound escaping her, and Clarke felt a rush of satisfaction at pulling that from her.

Their bodies aligned slowly, carefully, Clarke straddling Lexa's lap, her palms braced on strong shoulders, Lexa's hands splayed over her hips. The air between them felt electric, every shift drawing them closer until there was no space left.

When Lexa's mouth trailed down Clarke's neck, lingering where her pulse beat hard, Clarke's eyes fluttered shut. "Lexa..." It came out half-gasp, half-plea.

Lexa's hands tightened on her hips. "Tell me what you want."

Clarke met her gaze, her cheeks flushed, breath uneven. "You. All of you."

That was all it took. The restraint Lexa had been clinging to slipped, and she rolled them gently onto the bed, her body bracketing Clarke's. Her mouth moved over hers again, slower now but deeper, every kiss sinking past the surface until Clarke felt it in her chest.

Layer by layer, the space between them disappeared, until the sound of the waves was replaced by the quiet mix of breaths, whispered names, and the creak of the bed under them.

And when Lexa finally moved inside her, it wasn't with the hunger of that first kiss, it was deliberate, reverent, like she was trying to memorize every reaction, every sound Clarke made. Clarke's fingers curled into Lexa's shoulders, her head tipping back as pleasure rolled through her in waves that matched the ones outside.

Lexa stayed close, her forehead resting against Clarke's, murmuring soft reassurances, until Clarke's body arched under her, shuddering with release. Lexa followed soon after, the last of her restraint breaking as she buried herself in the moment.

They stayed tangled together in the quiet after, skin damp, breaths slowing, the night air cool against them. Lexa's arm curled around Clarke's waist, keeping her close, as if letting go might wake them from whatever spell had settled over them.

"You're not sleeping in your room tonight, are you?" Lexa murmured, a sleepy smile tugging at her lips.

Clarke's answering hum was low and certain. "Not a chance."

The next morning.

The morning light poured into the beach house in soft gold, the salty breeze slipping in through the cracked kitchen window. Raven was already at the counter, leaning over a mug of coffee while scrolling through something on her phone.

She heard the faint creak of the hallway floorboards first, then the sound of two sets of footsteps. Slow ones.

Clarke emerged first, hair loose and just slightly tangled, wearing one of Lexa's hoodies over her pajama shorts. Her cheeks carried that subtle morning flush, and there was an easy looseness in the way she moved, like her body had been thoroughly worked over.

Lexa followed a beat later, barefoot, wearing a simple T-shirt and sweats, her hair messy in a way Raven had never seen before. She was carrying two mugs of coffee, one of which she wordlessly slid across the counter to Clarke before settling into the chair beside her.

"Morning," Raven drawled, her eyes flicking between them. She took a slow sip of her coffee, hiding the smirk tugging at her lips.

Clarke, clearly determined to act normal, just hummed a "Morning," and reached for her mug. But her hand brushed Lexa's as she took it, and the way Lexa's eyes lingered on her for a second too long gave Raven everything she needed.

"So... sleep well?" Raven asked, keeping her tone casual but her eyes sharp.

Clarke froze mid-sip for half a second. "Fine," she said, maybe a touch too quickly.

Lexa didn't answer right away, just sat back in her chair, that small, unreadable smile playing on her lips. "Better than I have in a while," she said finally, voice low, and Clarke's ears turned pink.

Raven bit back her grin. She'd known these two were circling something for a while now, but the shift this morning was impossible to miss. Clarke kept tucking her hair behind her ear, a tell she had when she was trying to hide that she was flustered, and Lexa was practically radiating that calm, quietly satisfied energy of someone who'd gotten exactly what she wanted.

"You guys doing anything today?" Raven asked, feigning innocence.

Clarke glanced at Lexa, and Lexa, without breaking eye contact, said, "Beach. Just us."

That was interesting. Raven nodded slowly, her smirk returning as she sipped her coffee again. Yep. Something definitely happened last night.

The sand was cool under Clarke's bare feet, the ocean's steady hush wrapping around them as they stepped out from the deck. The morning was still young, the sun just high enough to turn the water into a sheet of liquid gold.

Lexa walked beside her, hands tucked into the pockets of her hoodie, her gaze trained on the horizon. She didn't speak right away, and Clarke found herself grateful for it, the quiet felt like an extension of last night, their breathing falling into an unspoken rhythm as the tide inched toward their toes.

When they reached the damp edge of the shoreline, Lexa slowed. "I've missed this," she said softly, eyes scanning the water.

Clarke tilted her head. "The beach?"

Lexa's lips curved slightly. "The calm. Time where I'm not running from one meeting to the next... where it's just me, and the person I want to be with."

Clarke's chest tightened at the weight of that. She shifted her toes in the wet sand, watching it swallow her footprints. "Last night..." she began, then stopped, unsure how to wrap words around something that had felt so inevitable and so terrifying all at once.

Lexa's head turned, her green eyes warm but searching. "You don't have to say anything you're not ready to."

But Clarke found she wanted to. "It wasn't just... it didn't feel like just a one-time thing to me."

Something flickered in Lexa's gaze, relief, maybe, or something deeper, and she took a step closer, close enough that the edge of Clarke's sleeve brushed her knuckles. "It wasn't to me either."

The breeze pulled at Clarke's hair, and Lexa reached up without thinking, tucking a strand behind her ear. Her fingers lingered against Clarke's cheek for the briefest moment, and Clarke didn't pull away.

"I still don't know what we're doing," Clarke admitted, her voice low. "But I know I... want to be here. With you."

Lexa's jaw softened, and she exhaled like she'd been holding that breath for longer than she'd ever admit. "Then that's all that matters right now."

They stood there, the waves curling around their ankles, until Lexa finally threaded her fingers through Clarke's, their joined hands warm despite the breeze. No grand gestures, no rush, just the steady pull of the tide and the unspoken agreement that they'd keep moving forward.

Clarke was the first to notice the way Lexa's hand tightened just slightly around hers, a telltale sign of mischief she'd already learned to spot.

"You're looking at me like you're planning something," Clarke said, narrowing her eyes.

Lexa's mouth twitched, almost a smirk. "Just wondering how much you'd fight me if I walked us into the water."

Clarke laughed, stepping back instinctively. "It's freezing. Absolutely not."

Lexa tilted her head, the sunlight catching on her green eyes. "You're wearing shorts, Griffin. You'll survive."

"I'm wearing shorts because I planned to stay dry." Clarke backed up another step, but the sand behind her was uneven, and she stumbled just enough for Lexa to close the distance in two long strides.

"Lexa—" she started, but her protest dissolved into a squeal when Lexa scooped her up effortlessly, her arm curling behind Clarke's back, the other under her knees.

"You're ridiculous," Clarke laughed, holding onto her shoulders as Lexa started toward the waves.

"You'll thank me in about thirty seconds," Lexa said, her grin widening.

The water foamed around their ankles, then their shins. Clarke let out a sharp gasp when the cold hit, instinctively curling closer into Lexa's chest. "You're evil."

"Accurate," Lexa agreed, but there was nothing but warmth in her voice. She stopped when the water reached her knees, tilting her head down so her lips brushed just near Clarke's ear. "I like it when you cling to me."

Clarke swatted at her shoulder, but her blush gave her away. "You're shameless."

"And you're still holding onto me."

Clarke rolled her eyes, but she didn't let go, not even when Lexa shifted her grip so Clarke's feet touched the water. The cold made her yelp again, but Lexa's steady hold anchored her there, and within seconds she was laughing, the early morning air echoing with the sound.

"You're impossible," Clarke said, still smiling as Lexa finally set her down, their hands brushing again as they stood side by side in the surf.

"And yet, you're still here," Lexa murmured, her eyes softer now, the playfulness underpinned by something quieter, a look that made Clarke's heart thump hard enough for her to hear it over the ocean.

By the time they made it back up the steps to the deck, Clarke's hair was damp and curling at the edges, and Lexa's shirt clung to her in ways Clarke was very aware of but tried not to stare at.

Lexa grabbed two towels from the chair and handed one over. "Here," she said, watching as Clarke wrapped it around herself and rubbed her arms.

"You're not even shivering," Clarke accused, glancing at her.

Lexa shrugged. "Years of training."

"Training?" Clarke arched a brow.

Lexa smirked. "Enduring terrible weather to win arguments."

Clarke laughed softly, shaking her head as she sat on the cushioned bench by the railing. The ocean stretched endlessly in front of them, its horizon softened by the early haze.

Lexa settled beside her, close enough that their knees brushed. She leaned back, resting one arm along the back of the bench behind Clarke's shoulders, casual in posture but deliberate in proximity.

"You're staring," Clarke said without looking at her, her voice low but not cold.

Lexa didn't deny it. "I like the way you look when you're trying not to smile."

That got her a sideways glance, faintly challenging. "And if I said you're terrible at subtlety?"

Lexa's lips curved in something slower, warmer. "Then I'd stop pretending to be."

The wind tugged at Clarke's towel, and without thinking, Lexa reached over, pulling it snug around her again. Her hand lingered just a fraction too long at Clarke's side, thumb brushing the edge of her ribs before she drew it back.

"I meant what I said last night," Lexa murmured, her voice dipping quieter so it nearly blended with the sound of waves. "About wanting to do this right. About you."

Clarke swallowed, her gaze fixed on the water. "You're... not making it easy to stay mad at you."

"That's the idea."

Clarke bit back a smile, shaking her head. "You're shameless."

Lexa leaned in just slightly, her breath warm against Clarke's ear. "Only with you."

Clarke's pulse kicked hard, and for the first time since last night's conversation, she didn't pull away.

Chapter Text

The next morning, the house smelled faintly of coffee and ocean air, the kind of mix Clarke wished she could bottle. Suitcases sat by the front door, the sand they'd tracked in already swept away by Lexa's meticulous habits.

Clarke stood on the deck for a moment, staring out at the water one last time. "Feels like we just got here," she said, wrapping her sweater tighter around herself.

Lexa stepped up beside her, the sun catching in her damp hair from an early swim. "We'll come back," she promised, her voice low and certain, like it was already decided.

The drive back was quiet in the way that felt easy, Raven had her headphones in, watching something on her phone, and Clarke had her bare feet tucked beneath her in the passenger seat, her head occasionally turning toward Lexa as the city skyline began to rise in the distance.

When they pulled into the private garage beneath Lexa's Manhattan penthouse, Clarke hesitated before unbuckling. She hadn't quite figured out what to call whatever was growing between them, but she knew she wasn't ready for it to end just because the trip had.

Lexa noticed. "Come up for coffee?" she asked, casual in tone but with an edge of hope.

Clarke almost said yes right away, she could picture it too clearly: curling up on Lexa's sofa, New York spread out beyond the glass, the conversation stretching into hours. But Raven was already tugging her suitcase out of the back, and reality had a way of sliding in between them.

"I should get home," Clarke said softly, then added, "But... maybe dinner this week?"

The smile Lexa gave her was small but warm enough to cut through the cool concrete air of the garage. "It's a date."

They lingered for a second longer than necessary when Clarke handed her bag over, fingers brushing, eyes catching, before Raven cleared her throat and muttered something about traffic.

By the time Clarke and Raven left in the cab, Lexa was still standing there in the garage, watching until the taillights disappeared.

The hum of the city outside Clarke's window was usually a comfort, the occasional siren in the distance, the muted chatter from the street below, the low rumble of the subway far underground. Tonight, it only made the silence in her apartment feel louder.

She'd unpacked almost as soon as she got home, a habit she'd always had, but now she wondered if she'd done it just to keep from thinking too much. It hadn't worked. Every folded sweater, every click of a drawer shutting, had only made her think of the quiet clicks and shuffles in Lexa's beach house. The way the sound of her footsteps carried differently across polished wood floors instead of concrete.

Her phone sat on the coffee table, face down. She'd already picked it up twice, thumbs hovering over Lexa's name.

Don't be that person, she told herself. It had been barely twelve hours since they'd left the beach.

But her mind kept looping back, Lexa's hand steady on the steering wheel, her voice promising, We'll come back. The warmth in her eyes when Clarke said "maybe dinner." The quiet way she'd just... looked at her, as if Clarke was something rare and she was still deciding if she was allowed to touch it.

She pushed off the couch, padding barefoot into the kitchen, then right back into the living room without even grabbing a drink. Her reflection in the darkened window caught her, messy hair, oversized shirt hanging low on one shoulder.

The thought slipped in before she could stop it: if she were at Lexa's right now, she wouldn't be pacing alone in this apartment.

She sat back down, pulled her knees up, and finally gave in. Picking up her phone, she typed out a message before she could second-guess it.

Clarke:

Made it home. Still feels weird not hearing the ocean.

She stared at the little typing bubble that appeared almost instantly.

Lexa:

I miss it too. Mostly, I miss you.

Clarke's pulse jumped. She set the phone down in her lap, not trusting herself to answer right away. But the truth was, she missed Lexa too and that was the part she was starting to realize was going to be harder to keep hidden.

Lexa had been telling herself for the past four hours that she was going to sleep early.

It was a lie.

The penthouse was quiet in a way she usually found grounding, high above the streets, the city's noise softened into a faint, steady pulse. But tonight it only made the rooms feel bigger, emptier.

Her overnight bag still sat by the bedroom door, unopened. She'd walked past it twice, on her way to and from the kitchen, neither time remembering why she'd gone there in the first place. Her thoughts kept looping back to Clarke, the way her laugh had sounded out on the deck last night, salt and sea air catching in her hair.

She sat on the edge of her bed now, one ankle resting over the opposite knee, head bowed as she ran a hand over her face. She'd been holding herself in check for weeks ever since she'd told Clarke the truth. Careful not to push too much, not to cross lines Clarke wasn't ready for.

But the beach had undone her in ways she hadn't expected. Waking up to Clarke in the kitchen, barefoot, hair tangled from sleep. Watching her watch the tide like she could stand there forever. Those moments had sunk into Lexa's chest like anchors.

When her phone lit up on the nightstand, she didn't even have to look to know who it was. Clarke's name had been sitting at the top of her messages all day.

Clarke:

Made it home. Still feels weird not hearing the ocean.

Her mouth curved despite herself. Fingers tapped a reply before her brain caught up.

Lexa:

I miss it too.

She hesitated, thumb hovering, then typed what she'd been thinking since they'd left the driveway.

Mostly, I miss you.

She set the phone down but didn't move away from it, listening for the faint buzz of a reply. In the silence that followed, she leaned back against the headboard, picturing Clarke exactly as she'd been last night, warm beside her, eyelids fluttering just before she fell asleep.

Lexa exhaled slowly. She was in trouble, she knew that much. Whatever careful pacing she'd planned before was already unraveling. Because if Clarke had knocked on her door tonight the way she had at the beach house, Lexa knew she wouldn't have been able to tell her to go back to bed.

The next day.

The elevator ride to the top floor felt longer than usual.

Clarke leaned against the cool steel wall, the folder in her hands feeling lighter than it should. She could still feel Lexa's touch from two nights ago, warm hands, steady and unhurried, like Lexa had all the time in the world. The memory kept intruding when she least expected it, and it was doing it now, creeping under her skin until her pulse was a little too quick for a Tuesday morning.

The doors slid open and there she was.

Lexa looked up from where she was speaking with her assistant, a black coffee in hand, sunlight spilling across the sharp lines of her suit. Her eyes found Clarke's instantly, and something in them softened, that private, knowing look Clarke was starting to recognize as theirs.

"Morning," Lexa said, low enough that it felt like it belonged to only them.

"Morning," Clarke returned, pretending her heart hadn't just skipped at the way Lexa's gaze dipped, quick, subtle, but unmistakable, down the length of her before meeting her eyes again.

They fell into step toward Lexa's office without speaking, that easy, magnetic pull between them stronger now that they'd crossed the line at the beach. Lexa brushed her hand against Clarke's as she opened the door, the contact so slight it could have been accidental. Except it wasn't.

Inside, the door clicked shut and Lexa leaned against it, watching her with a hint of a smirk. "You didn't text me when you woke up."

Clarke raised a brow. "I didn't realize I was supposed to."

Lexa pushed off the door, closing the space between them in three unhurried steps. "You're not. But I would've liked it."

There it was, that edge of teasing, the flirtation Lexa wielded like a slow-burning fuse. It made Clarke's cheeks warm, but she rolled her eyes for cover. "You're insufferable."

Lexa's voice dipped just enough to make Clarke's breath catch. "You didn't think that at the beach house."

Heat flashed through Clarke before she could stop it, the memory immediate and vivid, Lexa's hands gripping her waist, the sound of waves somewhere beyond the open balcony door.

"I have work to do," Clarke muttered, sidestepping toward the desk in an attempt to keep her composure.

Lexa let her pass, but not without letting her fingers brush the small of Clarke's back, deliberate, light enough to leave Clarke wanting more.

By midmorning, Clarke had managed to bury herself in her work, or at least pretend to. Her laptop screen was open to a financial report, but every so often, her focus drifted. She could feel Lexa's presence even when she couldn't see her.

It didn't help that every time she glanced toward Lexa's office, the CEO was already looking at her. Not openly, not enough for anyone else to notice, just these quick flicks of attention like Lexa was checking to make sure Clarke was still there. And every time their eyes met, Lexa's mouth curved in the faintest smile before she returned to her own work.

By lunch, Clarke was sitting with Raven in the break room, halfway through a salad, when Lexa appeared in the doorway. She didn't say anything, just leaned against the frame, her gaze finding Clarke like it always did.

"You're quiet today," Raven said, following Clarke's line of sight. A slow, knowing grin spread across her face. "Or maybe someone's keeping you distracted."

Clarke's cheeks warmed instantly. "Don't start."

But Raven only smirked and bit into her sandwich, clearly enjoying herself.

Lexa crossed the room to the coffee machine, her movements unhurried. She poured herself a cup, but her attention never left Clarke. When she spoke, her tone was casual to the room but pitched for Clarke.

"You free after work?"

The question landed like a spark under Clarke's skin. She swallowed a bite too quickly, nearly choking. "I—uh—I might be."

Lexa's lips twitched. "Good. We'll talk." And with that, she walked out, coffee in hand, leaving Clarke acutely aware of Raven's raised eyebrows.

The afternoon was worse. Every time Clarke passed Lexa's office to deliver a file or get a signature, Lexa found some excuse to keep her there just a moment longer, leaning over the desk so Clarke could smell her cologne, brushing her fingers against Clarke's when she took the papers, letting her gaze drop for a beat too long.

By the time five o'clock rolled around, Clarke's resolve had eroded enough that when Lexa appeared by her desk and said, "Ready?" she didn't even pretend not to know what Lexa meant.

Raven's voice cut in before Clarke could answer. "You two going somewhere fun?"

Lexa's response was maddeningly smooth. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

Clarke grabbed her bag, ignoring Raven's smirk, but her heart was pounding, not just because she knew Lexa was pushing her, but because she wasn't sure how much longer she wanted to resist.

The elevator ride down felt far too small. Clarke stood with her bag slung over her shoulder, eyes on the glowing floor numbers, while Lexa stood beside her, close enough that Clarke could feel the faint heat radiating off her arm.

"You've been avoiding looking at me all day," Lexa said quietly, her voice just for Clarke.

Clarke's jaw tightened. "I've been working."

"I didn't say you weren't." Lexa shifted slightly, her shoulder brushing Clarke's. "But I notice things, Clarke. And you've been... careful. Careful not to get too close."

Clarke didn't respond, but she felt Lexa watching her.

When they stepped out into the crisp evening air, Lexa fell into step beside her, hands in the pockets of her coat. "I meant what I said yesterday," she murmured. "I missed you."

Clarke exhaled slowly, still walking. "I missed you too, Lexa."

Lexa's green eyes flicked down, then back to her face, the smallest smile breaking through her usual restraint. "Hungry?"

Clarke's stomach answered before she did, grumbling loudly enough to make them both laugh. She rolled her eyes. "Apparently the baby is. Again."

"There's a little place not far from here," Lexa said, already steering them toward the corner like she'd decided for both of them. "It's quiet. You'll like it."

Clarke didn't argue, though she teased, "Bossy even outside the office."

"Efficient," Lexa corrected smoothly, but there was a spark in her eyes that told Clarke she knew exactly what she was doing.

They reached the corner, waiting for the light to change. Lexa stepped a little closer, her breath warm against Clarke's temple. "I'm going to keep showing you how much I love you, until you believe it."

Clarke's pulse kicked up, her resolve fraying at the edges. She finally looked at Lexa, and the sincerity in those green eyes made her chest tighten.

The restaurant was tucked away, dimly lit with candles on every table, a low hum of music soft enough to wrap around them like a secret. Lexa held the door for her, hand gentle at the small of Clarke's back as she guided her inside, an old-fashioned gesture that might've felt overbearing if it wasn't softened by the quiet reverence in Lexa's touch.

They slipped into a booth in the corner, Lexa automatically positioning herself so Clarke wouldn't be jostled if anyone passed by. Clarke noticed. She noticed everything.

"You always do that," she said after a moment, watching as Lexa adjusted her water glass closer so she wouldn't have to reach.

Lexa lifted a brow. "Do what?"

"Put yourself between me and the rest of the world."

Lexa's expression softened, a shadow of vulnerability flickering through her composure. "Maybe I just like knowing you're safe."

The words landed heavy in Clarke's chest. She looked down at her menu, cheeks warming. "You make it really hard to keep pretending this isn't... whatever this is."

Lexa leaned in, elbows braced on the table, her voice dipping low, intimate. "Then don't pretend. Just... let yourself want it."

Clarke's pulse tripped, the baby shifting inside her like even her body was reacting to the pull between them. She exhaled slowly, glancing up at Lexa through her lashes. "You really don't give up, do you?"

"Not on you," Lexa said simply, like it was the truest thing she'd ever spoken.

The waiter came and went, breaking the moment, but the tension lingered like a thread stretched between them. Through dinner, Lexa kept her attention fixed, listening intently when Clarke talked about her day, stealing bites of her food only when Clarke rolled her eyes and pushed the plate toward her.

Later, the low hum of the restaurant wrapped around them, clinking cups and the faint hiss of the espresso machine filling the pauses. Lexa sat with one arm draped casually along the back of the booth, but her body angled toward Clarke like she wasn't interested in anything else in the room.

"So..." Clarke stirred her tea absently. "When was the last time you actually took a break? A real one, not just answering emails from somewhere sunny."

Lexa's mouth tilted into a wry smile. "Are you implying I'm bad at relaxing?"

"I'm not implying," Clarke said, lifting her eyes. "I'm telling you."

Lexa chuckled quietly, leaning in a fraction. "I'll have you know I've been to a beach before."

"Uh-huh. And did you sit under an umbrella with a laptop?"

Lexa feigned offense. "That's a very specific accusation."

Clarke's smile lingered longer than she meant it to. "I'm just saying... you don't strike me as someone who knows how to slow down."

"I know how," Lexa said, her tone lower now. "I just need the right reason." Her eyes held Clarke's just long enough to make her chest tighten before she shifted the subject. "What about you? You've lived here your whole life. Still not tired of it?"

"New York?" Clarke shrugged, leaning back. "Sometimes I think about leaving, but... it's home. I like knowing I can walk outside and find something new every day. Or get good takeout at two in the morning."

"Valid priorities," Lexa said, her lips quirking.

The conversation meandered from there, favorite neighborhoods, books they'd both read, ridiculous stories from college. Clarke found herself laughing, really laughing, at a story Lexa told about accidentally getting locked out of her dorm in the middle of winter with nothing but a towel.

By the time their cups were empty, Clarke realized the earlier tension had softened into something else, an easy rhythm that felt comfortable.

Lexa glanced at her watch, then back at Clarke. "Drive you home?" she asked, and there was no pressure in her voice, just quiet steadiness.

Clarke hesitated only a beat before nodding. "Okay."

By the time they left, Clarke's body was pleasantly heavy with food and fatigue, but her chest buzzed with something else entirely, the sense that the night had shifted something quiet but undeniable.

The night air was cooler than Clarke expected when they stepped outside, a soft breeze carrying the scent of rain on concrete. Streetlights cast long pools of amber across the sidewalk, and for a while, neither of them spoke. Their footsteps fell into sync, the silence somehow companionable.

Clarke hugged her coat tighter around herself, stealing a sidelong glance at Lexa. The woman walked with her usual poise, but there was a softness to her tonight, her shoulders not as rigid, her jaw not locked tight as it often was in the office.

Lexa opened the car door for her, steadying her hand as Clarke eased in. Their eyes caught in the low glow of the streetlight. "My lady, your chariot awaits."

Clarke swallowed, voice soft. "You really are impossible."

Lexa's smile curved slowly. "Anything for the lady."

"You know," Clarke said after a beat, "if someone told me a month ago that I'd be... here with you, like this, I would've laughed in their face."

Lexa's mouth curved faintly. "And now?"

Clarke exhaled through her nose, half a laugh. "Now I'm still trying to figure out how I got here. And why it doesn't feel wrong."

"Because it isn't wrong." The certainty in her voice made Clarke's stomach twist.

The drive back was quiet, the kind of silence that didn't feel awkward but weighted, thick with the echoes of everything unsaid. Streetlights streaked golden across Clarke's window, her fingers absently tracing the curve of her belly. Lexa kept one hand steady on the wheel, the other flexing once in her lap like she was resisting the urge to reach across the console.

When the car slowed in front of Clarke's Williamsburg brownstone, Lexa shifted into park but didn't turn off the engine. She looked over, green eyes catching Clarke's profile in the soft glow from the dash.

Clarke hesitated before meeting her gaze. Her throat felt tight, but she forced the words out anyway. "Do you... want to come up?"

Lexa blinked, surprised. Not by the invitation, maybe, but by the timing. Clarke bit her lip, cheeks heating. "It's late. And I— I just thought maybe... you didn't have to go."

For a moment, Lexa just watched her, the air in the car stretching taut. She reached over then, her fingers brushing along Clarke's hand where it rested on her thigh. Her touch was warm.

"I want to," Lexa admitted, voice rougher than she meant it to be. "More than you know."

Clarke's pulse kicked, hope sparking behind her ribs.

"But..." Lexa let her thumb skim the back of Clarke's hand before pulling away, regret etched in the small downturn of her mouth. "You've had a long day. You need rest. And if I go upstairs tonight, Clarke..." She trailed off, eyes dark, jaw tense. "I'm not sure I'll be able to leave."

Clarke swallowed, her body betraying her with a shiver. She hated how much she wanted her to say so don't.

But Lexa was already reaching for her coat draped in the backseat, gathering her restraint around her like armor.

"Thank you... for tonight," Clarke said, her voice softer now.

Lexa's gaze lingered on her, steady and unwavering. "You don't have to thank me." A pause, then, quieter: "I like being with you."

The words landed heavy between them, heavier than Clarke was prepared for. Her fingers twitched at her side like they wanted to reach for her, but she pulled in a slow breath instead.

"I should..." she gestured vaguely at the door.

"Goodnight, Clarke," she said softly, lingering just a second too long on her name before unlocking the door.

And just as Clarke turned toward the door, she felt the barest graze of Lexa's hand at the small of her back, a fleeting touch, nothing more, but it sent heat curling low in her stomach.

Clarke watched her step out, her chest tight, her palms pressed flat over the swell of her belly as if to ground herself. She wanted to call her back, wanted to tell her that the thought of Lexa not leaving didn't scare her at all.

She didn't look back when she slipped inside, but she knew Lexa was still there, watching until the door clicked shut behind her.

Clarke sat frozen until Lexa's taillights disappeared down the street, the silence of her apartment building suddenly louder than ever.

The city blurred past in streaks of neon and shadow, but Lexa barely registered any of it. Her hands gripped the steering wheel too tightly, knuckles pale, the leather groaning faintly beneath her hold. She could still smell Clarke on her, soft shampoo, faint traces of paint, and beneath it something warmer, something uniquely her. It clung to Lexa's skin, her clothes, her lungs, making it impossible to breathe without wanting.

When Clarke had asked her to come upstairs, something in Lexa's chest had almost broken free. She'd seen it in Clarke's eyes, the hesitation threaded with invitation, the tremor of vulnerability she'd trusted Lexa with. And gods, she'd wanted to say yes. To follow her up the stairs, close the door, and finally let her hands map every curve she'd been aching to touch again.

Instead, she'd lied. Said Clarke needed rest, said she couldn't stay. When the truth was she didn't trust herself not to cross the fragile line they were walking, and Clarke deserved more than to become a casualty of Lexa's hunger.

By the time she reached her penthouse, the restraint felt like it had curdled inside her, an ache she carried up the elevator and into the dark silence of her home.

She dropped her keys on the counter with a metallic clatter and stood still, chest rising and falling unevenly. Her jacket came off next, but her hands didn't move to hang it; they just clenched into the fabric, her jaw set tight. She could still see Clarke's face when she'd asked her up. Could still hear the catch in her voice. Could still feel the ghost of her hand under Lexa's fingers.

Lexa exhaled harshly, pressing the heel of her hand to her eyes. For someone who had built her entire reputation on control, she was coming apart far too easily.

Her gaze flicked toward her bedroom door, and for a split second she let herself imagine it wasn't her own apartment she'd walked into. That if she pushed it open, Clarke would be there, hair spilling against her pillow, lips parted slightly in sleep, the swell of their child safe beneath her hands. The image cut through her chest like glass, equal parts unbearable and intoxicating.

Lexa swallowed hard, retreating from the thought before it destroyed her. She stripped down mechanically, pulled on a t-shirt, but when she slid into bed, the sheets were cold, empty, wrong.

And still, she couldn't stop replaying Clarke's voice. Do you want to come up?

Her body tightened, restless, her throat dry as she turned over for the fifth time, staring at the skyline out her window.

"Yes," she whispered into the dark, though no one was there to hear it.

It wasn't just want anymore. It was need. And if she wasn't careful, that need was going to undo her completely.

The morning had started like any other, back-to-back meetings, a flood of emails, Raven forwarding project updates with her usual sarcastic commentary attached. Lexa was halfway through signing off on a new contract when her eyes flicked to the list of employee check-ins she made a habit of glancing at every morning. A habit born less of control and more of an unshakable need to know Clarke was here, close, safe.

But her name wasn't there. No swipe-in. No login. No presence.

Lexa's pen stilled over the paper.

She didn't panic. Not outwardly. Instead, she set the pen down, folded her hands on the desk, and let her jaw flex once, twice, while her mind whirred through possibilities. Clarke wasn't late. Clarke was steady, reliable. If she wasn't here, something was wrong.

Her phone was in her hand before she could stop herself.

Lexa:
You're not in the office. Are you alright?

The three dots appeared after a minute. Lexa held her breath.

Clarke:
Morning sickness. Couldn't keep anything down. Sorry.

Sorry. Of course Clarke would apologize for being sick.

Lexa exhaled through her nose, a faint scoff of disbelief leaving her. She typed quickly.

Lexa:
Don't apologize. Stay in bed. I'll bring you something light and bland that won't upset your stomach.

She didn't wait for permission. Within ten minutes her calendar was cleared, her assistant waved off with a curt, "Reschedule everything." By the time she slid into her car, she'd already ordered a small haul from Clarke's favorite café and pharmacy: ginger tea, saltines, dry toast, electrolyte water. The sort of arsenal you put together when you've spent nights researching pregnancy nausea at two in the morning because you couldn't sleep for worrying.

Clarke set the phone aside and buried her face in the pillow. She must've drifted, because the next thing she registered was the sound of her buzzer going off. Clarke blinked at the clock, barely an hour had passed. With a sigh, she shuffled out of bed and pressed the intercom.

"Clarke, it's me."

Her stomach flipped for reasons that had nothing to do with nausea. Of course.

When Clarke opened the door, pale but trying for a smile, Lexa stood there in her immaculate coat, but her eyes softened the second she saw her.

"You should've told me you were this sick," she murmured.

"You didn't have to—" Clarke started, voice hoarse.

"Yes, I did," Lexa interrupted softly, stepping inside without hesitation. She set the bags down on the counter, shrugging off her coat like she'd done it a hundred times before. "You're carrying my child, Clarke. That means when you're sick, I show up. That's not optional."

The words slipped out before she could stop them, but she didn't take them back. Not when Clarke blinked at her like she wasn't sure if she wanted to roll her eyes or melt.

"You raided a pharmacy, didn't you?" Clarke asked, leaning against the doorframe, trying not to smile.

Lexa turned to her with that deadly serious expression that always undid her. "If it helps you feel even a little better, then it was worth it."

Clarke's chest ached at the sincerity in her tone. She pushed off the doorframe, padding over slowly. "You didn't have to come all the way here."

"Yes, I did." Lexa's voice dropped, almost a whisper now. Her hand lifted, brushing a strand of messy blonde curls away from Clarke's damp cheek. "I can't sit in an office knowing you're sick and alone."

Heat prickled behind Clarke's eyes, stupidly emotional. Maybe it was hormones, maybe it was the way Lexa looked at her like she was the only thing in the world that mattered. She leaned into the touch before she could think better of it.

"You cleared your schedule for me?" Clarke asked, moving slowly back toward the couch.

"Of course I did," Lexa replied simply, following her. She pressed a hand to Clarke's back, guiding her down onto the cushions. "Everything else can wait."

She unpacked the food with careful efficiency, lining up crackers, toast, and tea, then knelt beside the couch. "Small bites," she instructed, soft but firm. "Sip slowly. You don't need to finish anything, just enough to settle your stomach."

Clarke looked down at her, then at the spread, then back. "You sound like you've done this before."

Lexa's lips quirked, the faintest, rueful smile. "Only in theory. I read. A lot."

"You... read about morning sickness?"

"And everything else," Lexa admitted, her gaze lowering to Clarke's belly before flicking back to her eyes. "Because I want to be ready. For you. For the baby."

For a moment, Clarke couldn't speak. Her throat tightened too much for words, and all she could do was reach for a cracker, nibbling obediently under Lexa's watchful eyes.

And Lexa stayed there, on her knees by the couch, as though there was nowhere else in the world she'd rather be.

Lexa stayed crouched by the couch long after her knees began to ache. She barely noticed. Her focus was fixed on Clarke's pale face, the way her lashes fluttered when she forced herself to nibble at a cracker, the tiny wince when her stomach protested.

It struck Lexa with sharp clarity, this was what she wanted. Not boardrooms, not accolades. This. Clarke in her sweats, hair messy from sleep, face bare and vulnerable. A home that smelled faintly of tea, with sunlight filtering weakly through the curtains. A family.

Her fingers twitched against her knee, aching to reach up and brush a curl behind Clarke's ear. She forced them to stay still. She'd learned restraint the hard way, and Clarke's anger a few weeks ago over her withheld truth was still raw in Lexa's chest. She had no right to touch without invitation.

Still, she couldn't keep her voice soft. "Good," she murmured as Clarke sipped the tea, "you're keeping it down."

Clarke gave her a tired look that was almost a smile. "You're hovering."

Lexa's lips curved, but it wasn't quite amusement. More like relief bleeding into affection. "I prefer watching over."

The words landed heavier than she meant them to, but she didn't retract them. Instead, she shifted, perching carefully on the edge of the couch. She kept a deliberate space between them, even though every fiber of her wanted to close it, to draw Clarke against her chest and let her sleep there.

Her eyes caught Clarke's hand resting on the blanket, pale knuckles curved loosely. Without thinking, she reached for it, then stopped an inch away. She let her hand hover, then slowly pulled back, curling it into her lap.

Patience, she reminded herself. Clarke deserved patience.

"You shouldn't be alone on days like this," Lexa said finally. "If you won't let me stay, then I'll hire someone—"

"Lexa." Clarke's voice was dry but steady. "You're not hiring me a babysitter."

Her jaw clenched, a familiar stubborn streak tightening through her spine. "I'm not leaving you to throw up alone."

Something flickered across Clarke's face at that, surprise, maybe, or something softer she didn't want Lexa to see.

Lexa leaned back slightly, reigning herself in. She couldn't let the jealousy she felt a few weeks ago over Matt or the sting from last night push her into overstepping. Instead, she let out a slow breath.

"You don't have to decide anything about... us. Not right now." Her green eyes searched Clarke's face, earnest and unguarded. "But I need you to know I'm here. For you. For our child. In whatever way you'll let me be."

There it was. The truth, bare and aching in her chest.

And for the first time in a long time, Lexa didn't care if she sounded desperate.

To be continued...

Chapter Text

Lexa's confession hung in the air, fragile as spun glass. She braced herself for silence, for Clarke to look away and retreat behind her tired walls.

But instead, Clarke shifted on the couch, her blanket slipping a little as she turned fully toward her. Her eyes were rimmed with exhaustion, yes, but they were clear, steady, cutting right through Lexa's defenses.

"You came over," Clarke said softly, as though she was still wrapping her head around it. "You cleared your entire morning, just because I couldn't keep my breakfast down."

Lexa opened her mouth, ready to remind her it was nothing, that she'd do it a thousand times over without hesitation, but Clarke didn't let her.

"And I need you to hear me when I say..." Clarke's voice caught, her fingers tightening slightly around the edge of the blanket. Then, deliberately, she reached for Lexa's hand where it lay clenched in her lap. She threaded their fingers together, firm and certain.

"...that I appreciate it more than I know how to explain." Her thumb brushed over Lexa's knuckles. "You being here, you taking care of me, it means more than I can put into words."

Lexa's throat went tight. She swallowed hard, but Clarke wasn't finished.

"I was hurt last night. I still am, a little," she admitted, honest as always. "But that doesn't erase what I feel. It doesn't erase how much I..." Her breath trembled, and then the words spilled out, unpolished but sure. "How much I love you, Lexa."

The world seemed to narrow to that single point, Clarke's pale, tired face, her eyes wide and vulnerable, the press of her hand against Lexa's.

Lexa felt her control fray like a thread pulled too thin. The feral instinct in her wanted to crush Clarke against her chest, to bury her face in her curls and never let go. But she forced herself to move slowly, reverently, like Clarke was something sacred.

Her free hand rose, brushing lightly across Clarke's cheek. She bent forward until her forehead touched Clarke's, their breaths mingling in the quiet.

"I love you too," Lexa whispered, the words rough and unsteady. "So much it scares me."

Clarke's lips curved into the faintest smile, weary but radiant. "Good. Then we're both scared."

Clarke leaned in, closing the space not just with her hand, but with her whole self, pressing her lips to Lexa's in a kiss that was slow and certain and full of promise.

The kiss broke with a soft sound, Clarke pulling back first, her lips lingering against Lexa's just long enough to make the separation ache. She rested her forehead against hers, breath evening out slowly, like the act of speaking her truth had finally let her body relax.

Lexa didn't move right away. She wanted to memorize the curve of Clarke's face in this light, the way exhaustion softened her, made her look almost younger. She brushed a curl from Clarke's cheek, letting her fingers trail there a little longer than necessary.

"Lay back," she murmured, her voice low, coaxing. "You need rest."

Clarke huffed softly, rolling her eyes even as she let Lexa guide her down against the cushions, tucking the blanket snug around her shoulders. "You make it sound like I'm on bedrest already. I just threw up, Lexa."

Lexa arched an eyebrow, lips quirking. "Just threw up? Clarke, you couldn't even look at your orange juice without glaring at it like it had personally wronged you."

A laugh sputtered out of Clarke before she could stop it, the sound shaky but real. "That's because it did wrong me. Betrayal in liquid form."

"Mm." Lexa's smile softened as she smoothed a hand over Clarke's hair. "Then I'll have stern words with the juice later. For now, you're my priority."

Clarke let her eyes fall shut for a moment at the warmth of Lexa's hand. Her body eased into the couch, tension bleeding out little by little. "You're bossy, you know that?" she mumbled, though there was no bite behind it.

Lexa leaned down, pressing a feather-light kiss to her temple. "You love me that way."

Clarke cracked one eye open, a smirk tugging faintly at her lips. "Unfortunately, I do."

"Fortunately," Lexa corrected softly, lips brushing her hairline again.

Clarke let the smile linger before sighing, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I'm glad you're here."

That was all it took for Lexa's chest to tighten with something fierce and tender all at once. She shifted down onto the couch beside Clarke, pulling her close until Clarke's head was resting against her chest. One arm curled protectively around her, her thumb stroking absent circles against the swell of her belly.

They stayed like that, wrapped up in each other, until Clarke's breathing slowed into the steady rhythm of sleep. Lexa held her even after, staring at the ceiling with the ghost of a smile on her lips, thinking how impossibly lucky she was that Clarke had let her in at all.

By the time Clarke stirred awake again, the apartment smelled different. Warm. Comforting. Something savory threaded with herbs. She blinked blearily, the blanket still tucked around her, and for a second she thought she had dreamed Lexa being there at all.

But then she heard the faint clatter of a pan in the kitchen and Lexa's quiet muttering something about "too much salt" and "absolutely not ordering takeout."

Clarke pushed herself up slowly, padding barefoot toward the sound. She leaned against the doorway and tried not to smile at the sight before her: Lexa, sleeves rolled to her elbows, hair slipping free from its neat braid, standing over the stove like she had a board meeting with the pasta sauce.

"You're going to scare the poor tomatoes if you glare at them like that," Clarke teased, her voice still husky from sleep.

Lexa turned, instantly softening when she saw her. "You should still be lying down," she said, moving toward Clarke like she might herd her back to the couch.

Clarke waved a hand, amused. "I napped. I'm fine. Besides, I had to make sure you weren't setting my kitchen on fire."

Lexa's mouth quirked, a rare flash of humor tugging at her lips. "I'll have you know, I am perfectly competent at boiling water."

"Mm, yes, clearly. The steam practically looks afraid of you." Clarke walked over, peeking into the pot. "What is it?"

"Pasta with roasted vegetables. Nothing too heavy," Lexa said, then added almost sheepishly, "I read it's good for nausea."

Clarke stilled, watching her. There was something about Lexa like this, out of her armor, so deliberate in her care, that made Clarke's chest ache. She reached out, brushing her fingers lightly against Lexa's forearm. "You didn't have to go through all this trouble."

"I wanted to." The reply was quiet but certain, green eyes steady on hers.

Clarke felt her cheeks warm and quickly looked down at the counter, spotting the neat array of chopped zucchini and peppers. "You even cut them evenly," she murmured, half teasing, half impressed.

"Precision matters," Lexa deadpanned, but Clarke caught the flicker of amusement in her eyes before she turned back to stir the sauce.

Clarke stayed close, leaning against the counter, just watching her move around the kitchen. For a while, it was quiet, peaceful in a way Clarke didn't know she craved until it was right there in front of her.

When Lexa finally plated the food and set it on the table, Clarke sat down with a little sigh. "You know," she said between bites, "if this whole CEO thing doesn't work out, you could always open an Italian restaurant. You've got the intimidating head chef thing down."

Lexa gave her a look, but it was softened by the way her lips curled just slightly. "Only if you're my first customer."

Clarke smiled around her fork, warmth flooding her chest as she realised this, right here, was the kind of ordinary intimacy she wanted with Lexa. Dinner. Teasing. Quiet gestures that said everything without needing words.

And for the first time in a long while, she let herself lean into it, no walls, no caveats, just two people, one table, and a shared meal that felt like something far bigger.

By the time their plates were empty, Clarke's body felt heavier, that familiar late-pregnancy fatigue tugging her down. But it wasn't unpleasant, it was softened by the fact that Lexa was there, still sitting across from her, quietly watching her with that focused attention Clarke hadn't learned how to handle yet.

When Clarke pushed her chair back, Lexa immediately started gathering the dishes. Clarke opened her mouth to protest, but one sharp look from Lexa had her lips snapping shut again.

"I'm not letting you do this," Lexa said simply, stacking the plates with neat precision.

Clarke rolled her eyes, but her smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "You realize you're a bit bossy in the kitchen, right?"

Lexa's brows lifted, amused. "I've been told."

Clarke snorted, rising slowly and brushing past her to grab the dish towel. "Well, you can't hog all the chores. I'm helping."

She felt it, the way Lexa's breath caught, the way her body stilled, because Clarke's hip brushed against her side, casual, maybe, but also deliberate. Clarke smirked to herself, turning to the sink, and Lexa followed with the plates, keeping just a little too close, like she couldn't help herself.

They washed and dried in companionable silence, the kind that felt warm instead of heavy. By the time the counters were wiped and the lights dimmed, Clarke stretched with a yawn, hand instinctively resting against the curve of her belly.

Lexa noticed, of course she did, and her gaze softened. "You should get some rest," she said quietly.

Clarke hesitated, chewing on her lip as she looked at her. The words slipped out before she could overthink them. "You don't have to leave, you know."

Lexa blinked, green eyes sharp with surprise. Clarke felt heat rush up her neck but pushed through it, voice softer now. "I mean... you could stay. Just—just stay. No expectations, no pressure. Just... it would be nice."

For a long moment, Lexa didn't move, didn't speak, only watched her like Clarke had asked something far more serious than what she thought was a simple invitation. Then, finally, Lexa inclined her head, slow, deliberate. "If you're sure."

Clarke let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, a small smile tugging at her lips. "I'm sure."

Later, when Clarke curled beneath her comforter and Lexa slid in beside her, there was no rush, no tension, just the quiet press of bodies settling into the same space. Clarke shifted until her back was against Lexa's chest, Lexa's arm draped instinctively across her middle.

Clarke whispered into the dark, sleep already tugging at her, "I'm glad you came today."

Lexa pressed her face into Clarke's hair, inhaling the faint scent of her shampoo, and answered in a low, steady voice, "There's nowhere else I'd rather be."

And for once, Clarke believed it completely.

The apartment was wrapped in silence, the kind that made the hum of the refrigerator sound louder than it should. Clarke shifted slightly under the covers, careful not to disturb Lexa's arm draped over her waist. It was heavy and warm, anchoring her in a way she didn't know she'd been craving until now.

Her body was exhausted, pregnancy pulling her down into drowsiness, but her mind wasn't ready to give in yet. She could feel the steady rise and fall of Lexa's chest against her back, the faint brush of breath against her hair. It was... disarming. How safe she felt in the arms of someone who had once been just a stranger in a bar, then a complicated secret, then a boss, and now, whatever this was becoming.

Clarke's hand drifted down, brushing over Lexa's fingers where they splayed across the curve of her belly. The gesture was instinctive, unconscious maybe, but when Lexa stirred behind her, tightening her hold ever so slightly, Clarke's heart skipped.

"You're still awake," Lexa murmured, her voice low and roughened by the edge of sleep.

"Mm," Clarke hummed, her lips quirking faintly. "You make it kind of hard to sleep."

There was a beat of silence. Then, dry amusement: "That's usually not the complaint."

Clarke choked back a laugh, shoving her elbow lightly into Lexa's side. "God, you're impossible."

The quiet settled again, warmer now, wrapped in the faint sound of rain starting to tap against the window. Clarke let her head rest more fully against the pillow, closing her eyes.

"Clarke," Lexa said softly, the humor gone now, replaced with something that vibrated low in her tone, almost tentative.

"Yeah?"

"I don't want you to ever feel like I'm here out of obligation. Or because of the baby. I'm here because... I want to be."

Clarke swallowed hard, her throat thick, her chest tight with the words she wanted to say but wasn't sure she was ready for yet. So she let her fingers lace through Lexa's where they rested on her belly, holding on instead.

"I know," she whispered. And for once, she meant it.

Lexa pressed her lips against Clarke's hair, a lingering touch that carried both restraint and promise. The weight of it pulled Clarke deeper into the dark, into the warmth, into the terrifying comfort of letting herself fall.

Sleep finally took her like that, surrounded by Lexa's arms, the sound of her heartbeat steady against her back.

The next morning

Clarke woke to warmth. Not just the heavy quilt pulled over her, but the steady, solid weight of an arm still looped around her waist. For a moment, she forgot where she was, the blur of sleep confusing her senses. Then she caught it, the faint scent of clean cotton, the slow rhythm of a breath ghosting against the back of her neck.

Lexa.

Her first instinct was to tense, to roll away before the weight of the moment could sink in. But the smallest shift of Lexa's hand against her belly stilled her. The gesture wasn't deliberate, Clarke realized, just sleep-drunk instinct, but it sent a rush of warmth through her all the same.

She lay still for another long moment, listening to the rain still pattering outside. The apartment smelled faintly of coffee beans from the sealed bag she'd left out on the counter last night. Her place had never felt this alive in the morning.

When she finally moved, rolling slowly onto her back, Lexa stirred with her. Green eyes blinked open, unfocused at first, then sharpening the second they landed on Clarke.

"Good morning," Lexa rasped, her voice still thick with sleep.

Clarke's mouth tilted. "You don't sound like a CEO right now."

One brow arched faintly, and Lexa propped herself up on an elbow, messy strands of brunette hair falling around her face. "What do I sound like, then?"

Clarke bit back a smile. "Human."

That earned her a soft huff of laughter. Lexa shifted closer, her fingers brushing over the back of Clarke's hand where it rested on the sheets.

"Do you... usually let people stay over?" Clarke asked, the question slipping out before she could stop it. Her tone was casual, but the weight of it wasn't.

Lexa shook her head once, without hesitation. "No." She let the answer sit for a beat, then added, quieter, "Only you."

Clarke's chest tightened, a sharp ache under her ribs. She wanted to roll her eyes, to defuse the moment with sarcasm. But the sincerity in Lexa's voice stopped her. She just held her gaze instead, the silence stretching between them, heavy and fragile.

Finally, Clarke broke it with a crooked smile. "If you're going to keep hovering, you might as well make yourself useful."

Lexa's brows lifted, suspicious. "Useful how?"

"Coffee." Clarke smirked, nudging her with her shoulder. "Since you're clearly awake, and I'm the one growing your baby, I think it's only fair."

Lexa gave her an incredulous look, but she was already swinging out of bed, muttering something under her breath that Clarke didn't catch. Clarke watched her go, watched the broad line of her back disappear into the hallway, and let herself smile into the pillow.

For the first time in weeks, she realized, the morning didn't feel heavy.

The sound of cabinets opening and the faint grind of the coffee beans drifted into Clarke's bedroom. She rolled onto her side, tucking one arm beneath her head, a grin tugging at her mouth despite the way her body still ached with pregnancy heaviness.

The fact that Lexa Woodson, CEO of Woodson Enterprises was in her kitchen right now, barefoot and probably frowning at her too-small coffee maker, was absurd enough to make her laugh softly into the sheets.

When Lexa returned, she carried two mismatched mugs carefully in her hands. One was chipped near the rim, the other had faded blue paint that used to be a whale. Clarke sat up against her headboard as Lexa passed her the whale mug, her face serious like she was presenting something far more formal.

"Your barista is very underqualified," Lexa said dryly, settling on the edge of the bed with her own mug. "But she is trying her best."

Clarke chuckled, taking a careful sip. "Mm. Not bad for someone who probably has an espresso machine worth more than my rent."

Lexa smirked. "Two, actually."

Clarke rolled her eyes. "Of course you do."

Silence fell between them again, softer this time. Clarke's fingers tapped against the ceramic, restless. She could feel Lexa's gaze on her, patient but piercing, like she was waiting for Clarke to either pull away or lean in. And Clarke hated how much she wanted the latter.

Finally, she spoke. "You know, if someone had told me a few months ago that I'd be having tea in bed with you, I'd have laughed in their face."

Lexa tilted her head slightly, considering her. "Are you laughing now?"

Clarke held her eyes for a long beat. "...No."

Something shifted in Lexa then, subtle but undeniable. The tension in her shoulders eased, her mouth curved into something that wasn't her usual controlled smirk but a softer, quieter smile. She reached out almost absently, brushing her thumb against Clarke's wrist where it rested on her knee. The touch was feather-light, but it sent Clarke's heart into a stutter.

"You make it very difficult not to fall for you," Lexa admitted quietly.

Clarke wanted to deflect, to joke, to protect herself from the intensity of the moment. But Lexa's eyes, earnest and unwavering, made it impossible.

Instead, she exhaled and muttered, "You really know how to ruin a perfectly casual coffee, don't you?"

Lexa's smirk returned, but softer. "I'll take that as a yes."

Clarke shook her head, fighting a smile she couldn't quite contain. She leaned back against the headboard, sipping her coffee again. Lexa didn't move her hand from Clarke's wrist, and Clarke didn't pull away.

For once, neither of them felt the need to fill the quiet. It was enough to just sit there, side by side, pretending, if only for the morning, that this was what their life already looked like.

By the time Clarke finished her coffee, the weight in her chest had loosened into something lighter, more dangerous. She set her mug down and glanced toward the kitchen.

"You know," she said, drawing out the words, "if you're going to invade my apartment unannounced and make yourself useful, you should probably learn how to make breakfast on something other than a $10,000 range."

Lexa raised a brow, setting her own mug aside. "Are you challenging me?"

Clarke smirked, already sliding off the bed. "I'm saying you're spoiled."

Lexa followed her to the kitchen, barefoot, her t-shirt hanging a little loose from sleep. Clarke had to bite her tongue not to get distracted by how unfairly good she looked doing something as simple as opening Clarke's refrigerator.

"What exactly do you have in here?" Lexa asked, peering inside like she'd discovered a barren wasteland.

"Food," Clarke deadpanned, leaning against the counter. "Some people don't need a personal chef, you know."

Lexa pulled out eggs, a half-used stick of butter, and what might have been yesterday's blueberries. She looked at Clarke, all seriousness. "Omelets. With... artistic interpretation."

Clarke laughed, shaking her head. "This I have to see."

What followed could only be described as organized chaos. Lexa, normally the embodiment of control, cracked an egg with so much force it splattered onto the counter. Clarke cackled, grabbing a paper towel to wipe it up before it dripped.

"Okay," she teased, "maybe you should just stick to coffee."

Lexa narrowed her eyes but there was no real bite in it. "You're enjoying this too much."

"Of course I am," Clarke said, stepping close enough to bump her hip against Lexa's. "You're kind of adorable when you're out of your element."

Lexa grumbled something under her breath, but Clarke caught the faintest upward twitch of her lips. She tried again, cracking the next egg with careful precision, and this time managed to keep it clean. Clarke mock-clapped, earning herself a pointed look.

By the time the omelets hit the pan, Clarke was leaning against the counter, watching Lexa stir with far more intensity than was necessary. "You know," she said slyly, "for someone who runs a company, you're surprisingly easy to fluster."

Lexa glanced at her, green eyes sharp but amused. "And for someone who invited me to cook, you're surprisingly lazy."

Clarke only grinned, stepping up beside her and sliding her hand over Lexa's on the spatula. "Fine. Teamwork."

Their hands lingered together a beat too long before Clarke let go, her chest fluttering. She tried to focus on the pan, but her mind was already ten steps ahead, at how natural this felt, at how much she wanted it to last.

"You're... alarmingly domestic for someone who terrifies an entire boardroom," Clarke said as she moved toward the counter, a smile tugging at her lips.

Lexa glanced at her, green eyes amused. "Don't tell anyone. It'll ruin my reputation."

Clarke chuckled softly, but then the smell of the food hit her, mixing with the strong, rich scent of brewing coffee. Her stomach clenched, half hunger, half the edge of nausea that had been dogging her mornings lately. She pressed a hand lightly against her middle, trying to breathe past it.

Lexa noticed immediately. Of course she did. She set the spatula down and came around the counter, her hand brushing Clarke's wrist where it rested against her stomach.

"Clarke." Her voice softened. "Are you alright?"

Clarke swallowed, trying to play it down. "Just... morning sickness. It comes and goes."

Something flickered across Lexa's face, concern, guilt, protectiveness, all tangled into one. She crouched slightly so her eyes were level with Clarke's, her hand steadying against Clarke's knee.

"You should've stayed in bed. I would've brought everything to you."

Clarke rolled her eyes, though her chest tightened at the sincerity in Lexa's voice. "You can't smother me every time I feel queasy."

"I can try," Lexa murmured, but there was a half-smile tugging at her lips now.

Clarke looked down at her, at the ridiculous sight of Lexa Woodson. Impeccable, commanding, always in control, kneeling at her side and fussing over her like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Something in her softened then, in a way she couldn't fight.

"Fine," Clarke said quietly. "You win. Breakfast in bed next time."

Lexa's smile widened, subtle but radiant, like Clarke had just given her the world.

When the food was ready, they ate, sitting shoulder to shoulder at Clarke's small table, laughing through every bite. Lexa slipping the occasional piece of toast onto Clarke's plate before she could protest. And for a moment, it didn't feel complicated. No labels, no unresolved arguments. Just the two of them, learning the shape of mornings together.

And when Clarke caught Lexa watching her in one of those rare, unguarded moments, it didn't feel terrifying anymore. It just felt inevitable.

Clarke pretended to glare when Lexa stole the last bite of her toast, but it was impossible to keep a straight face when Lexa just smirked, chewing slowly like she'd won a battle.

"You're insufferable," Clarke muttered, though she couldn't keep the smile from curving her lips.

Lexa leaned back on her stool, coffee mug in hand, looking unfairly casual for someone who'd just stolen her food. "You say that like it's news."

Clarke snorted, sipping her own tea. The warmth settled her stomach in a way she hadn't expected, or maybe it was the company that did it. "If your board could see you right now..."

"What?" Lexa tilted her head, all feigned innocence. "Relaxed? Making eggs instead of financial forecasts?"

Clarke laughed, nearly choking on her sip. "Exactly. Their terrifying CEO, barefoot and smug about stealing toast."

Lexa's grin softened then, less smug, more something Clarke couldn't quite name. "They'll never know. That's just for you."

The words slipped under Clarke's skin, warm and dangerous, and she had to look away, busying herself with her fork before she let it show on her face.

They lingered over breakfast longer than necessary, Lexa refilling Clarke's cup before she even asked, Clarke stealing glances at the way sunlight caught in Lexa's hair. It felt... startlingly normal. Like they'd been doing this for years instead of days.

And when Clarke finally pushed her plate away, Lexa reached over and brushed her thumb across the corner of Clarke's mouth. "Crumb," she said simply, but her eyes lingered a little too long, her touch a little too gentle.

Clarke's breath caught, but she rolled her eyes to cover it. "Smooth."

Lexa smirked again, but there was heat behind it this time, unspoken, hovering between them.

To be continued...

Chapter Text

Clarke wiped at her mouth with a napkin, then caught Lexa looking again, really looking, the kind of stare that pinned her in place.

"What?" Clarke asked, trying for casual but failing when her voice went softer than she meant.

Lexa tilted her head, eyes flicking down to Clarke's lips before snapping back up. "Nothing."

Clarke set the napkin down and leaned just a little closer, the edge of the table forgotten. "You keep staring at me like that," she murmured, "and I'm going to think you want something."

Lexa's jaw worked, tension running through her like a live wire. "Clarke..."

But Clarke wasn't in the mood for restraint. She leaned in anyway, brushing her lips against Lexa's, just enough to taste the faint warmth of coffee still on her mouth. Lexa froze for half a second, then kissed her back, slow, aching, like she'd been starving and was finally being fed.

Clarke's hand slid up, fingers threading into Lexa's hair. The chair scraped back as Lexa shifted, turning into her, one hand finding Clarke's waist, holding her like she was terrified to let go. The kiss deepened, heat curling low in Clarke's belly, her body arching toward Lexa's without hesitation.

It was messy, hungry, the kind of kiss that tasted like weeks of restraint unraveling all at once. Clarke tugged her closer, the edge of the table pressing into her hip, but she didn't care, she just wanted more.

And then Lexa broke the kiss with a sharp breath, forehead pressed to Clarke's as she held her still. "Clarke..." Her voice was low, ragged, almost desperate. "If I don't stop right now, I don't trust myself to."

Clarke's chest rose and fell, her lips tingling, her hands still tangled in Lexa's hair. "Then don't stop," she whispered, reckless and sure in the same breath.

Lexa's eyes searched hers, green and fierce and uncertain all at once. She looked like a woman on the edge of a cliff, terrified of falling, but more terrified of walking away.

For a heartbeat, Clarke thought she'd pull back. But then Lexa's control snapped, her mouth crashing back onto Clarke's with a ferocity that stole the air from her lungs.

Clarke gasped against her, but it melted into a moan as Lexa lifted her slightly, setting her onto the table without breaking the kiss. Plates clattered, silverware skidding aside, but neither of them cared. Clarke wrapped her legs around Lexa's hips, pulling her closer, every nerve in her body lit.

It wasn't careful anymore, it was raw, consuming, Lexa kissing her like she'd been holding back for too long and didn't intend to anymore.

The kiss burned hotter with every second, any restraint Lexa might have clung to shattered by the feel of Clarke pulling her in. Their mouths moved together with a ferocity that bordered on desperation, tongues tangling, lips bruising, neither willing to break the contact.

Clarke leaned back on the table, her legs hooked tight around Lexa's waist, dragging her impossibly close until the air between them was gone.

"Lexa," Clarke breathed, the sound trembling out of her, equal parts plea and invitation.

Lexa's lips tore from hers only to wander lower, down Clarke's jaw to the hollow beneath her ear. She nipped lightly at the skin there, the scrape of her teeth enough to make Clarke shiver. Her voice, when it came, was hoarse and low, vibrating against Clarke's throat. "You have no idea how long I've wanted this."

Clarke's fingers knotted in the fabric at the back of Lexa's shirt, grounding herself as waves of heat and electricity coursed through her veins. "Then show me," she whispered, breathless, daring her.

Lexa didn't need to be told twice. Her hands slid under Clarke's shirt, the rough pads of her fingers grazing the soft swell of her waist. She explored with reverence, tracing every curve slowly, deliberately, as though memorizing her. Clarke arched into the touch, giving herself over completely, eyes dark with need. The shirt was peeled away, lifted over her head and tossed aside without a thought.

Clarke shivered under the air's cool touch, her skin prickling until Lexa pressed her body close again, sealing the heat back in. She reached for Lexa in return, tugging impatiently at her shirt until Lexa raised her arms, letting it join Clarke's on the floor. Clarke's palms skated across her bare skin, tracing muscle, feeling every shift and flex beneath.

The next kiss was different, hotter, more unrestrained, all tongue and hunger. Both of them kissed like they had been starving for far too long, and now they were finally allowed to feast. Clarke's fingers trailed lower, brushing the waistband of Lexa's pants in teasing passes.

"You're trembling," Clarke murmured against her lips, smirking even in the haze.

Lexa broke the kiss just long enough to look at her, green eyes heavy with desire, her voice raw and unguarded. "Because it's you."

The words hit Clarke harder than any touch. She pulled Lexa down again, kissing her deep enough to steal her breath.

And then, without warning, Lexa bent, gripped Clarke firmly, and lifted her from the table in one fluid motion. Clarke let out a breathless laugh at the suddenness of it, her legs instinctively wrapping tighter around her waist. Lexa carried her toward the couch, lips never straying far from Clarke's skin, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to her neck, her shoulder, the tops of her breasts with every step.

When Lexa lowered her onto the cushions, Clarke barely had time to inhale before Lexa followed, pinning her down with the full weight of her body. The press was heavy but grounding, a reminder of her strength and of Clarke's complete surrender.

Lexa's mouth was on hers again, claiming and relentless, while her hands moved everywhere at once, up Clarke's sides, around her ribs, skimming the outer swell of her breasts before sliding back down to grip her thighs. She squeezed them firmly, spreading them wider, slotting her body between Clarke's until they fit together like puzzle pieces.

Clarke gasped into the kiss when she felt the hard press of Lexa against her through the thin fabric of her panties. The friction made her squirm, her hips jerking upward instinctively.

Lexa pulled back, lips swollen, a wicked smirk curving her mouth. "Already?" she teased, her voice a low growl that made Clarke's stomach flip.

"Shut up," Clarke shot back, though her voice cracked on a gasp when Lexa rolled her hips deliberately, grinding into her with exquisite pressure.

"Not a chance," Lexa murmured, dipping down to drag her tongue across the swell of Clarke's chest, teasing the edge of lace before biting just enough to make Clarke's back arch. "I plan on making you beg."

Clarke's fingers dug into her shoulders, her head tipping back as a whimper escaped her throat. "Lexa..."

Lexa's grin widened against her skin, teeth grazing, tongue soothing, hands everywhere. She tugged at Clarke's bra until it loosened, sliding the straps down her arms. She kissed down Clarke's belly, reverent when her lips brushed the tiny swell of her pregnancy, and then continued lower, hooking her fingers under the waistband of her panties.

She dragged them down painstakingly slow, kissing each inch of skin as it was revealed, savoring the tremble in Clarke's thighs, the way she squirmed under the deliberate torture.

When Clarke was finally bare, Lexa sat back just enough to look at her, her gaze dark and hungry, her chest rising and falling fast. "You're perfect," she said, voice rough, almost broken. "Absolutely fucking perfect."

Clarke's cheeks burned, her body trembling with arousal. She tried to reach for Lexa, to pull her down again, but Lexa caught her wrists, pinning them gently above her head against the cushion.

"Not yet," she whispered. "Not until I've had every inch of you."

She leaned down, kissing her again. Slow, searing, a promise of everything yet to come, before trailing her mouth down Clarke's body once more, teasing, tasting, worshiping.

And Clarke, undone and breathless, could only arch into her, surrendering completely as Lexa claimed her piece by piece.

Lexa kept Clarke's wrists pinned above her head, the grip firm but not unkind, a constant reminder of who was in control. Clarke writhed beneath her, chest heaving, lips parted as she tried to press herself up for more.

Lexa pulled back just enough to let Clarke catch her breath, her chest heaving, hair plastered to her sweaty forehead. Clarke's eyes were glassy, pupils dilated, and Lexa's mouth curved into a slow, teasing smirk. "Not done yet," she murmured, brushing her thumb across Clarke's flushed cheek. Clarke whimpered, trying to pull Lexa back down, but Lexa only leaned away slightly, letting her pulse with desire ache through every nerve.

"You think you can handle more?" Lexa whispered, her voice a low growl that sent shivers down Clarke's spine. Clarke's only answer was a frantic nod, legs shaking, arms reaching for her like a lifeline. Lexa's fingers traced slow, deliberate lines along Clarke's inner thighs, teasing the sensitive skin just shy of the places Clarke craved most. Each brush made her hips lift involuntarily, whining with need, but Lexa stopped before she could claim her fully, smiling at her helplessness.

Clarke gasped, head falling back against the cushions. "Please... please, Lexa..." she begged, voice trembling with desperation.

"That's better," Lexa breathed, leaning down to press a trail of hot kisses across Clarke's stomach, lingering over her swollen belly, her touch reverent and possessive. Then, just when Clarke thought she might finally be taken, Lexa pulled back again, teasing with fingertips and kisses that never landed fully where Clarke wanted. Her hips bucked, crying out for contact, and Lexa chuckled softly, a sound full of dark amusement.

"Patience," Lexa whispered, her mouth grazing Clarke's ear, her voice low and molten. "I want to hear you fall apart first."

Her free hand traced down Clarke's side with agonizing slowness, over the swell of her breast, across the curve of her stomach, until it reached the slick heat waiting for her. Clarke gasped, her back arching when Lexa's fingers barely skimmed her. Just enough to tease, to promise, but not enough to satisfy.

"Lexa," Clarke whined, hips jerking, chasing the touch.

"Say it," Lexa demanded, her lips brushing Clarke's throat, her breath hot. "Say what you want."

Clarke bit her lip, trembling with frustration and arousal. "I want you," she whispered.

"Not good enough," Lexa rasped, pressing a single finger against her, circling slowly, torturously. Clarke gasped, eyes fluttering shut, her thighs trembling.

"I want you inside me," she confessed finally, the words breaking out of her on a desperate moan. "Please, Lexa... I need you."

That was all it took.

Lexa released her wrists, immediately tugging her panties the rest of the way down and tossing them aside. She shifted lower, spreading Clarke's thighs wide with her hands, lowering her head until her mouth replaced her fingers. She licked a slow stripe up Clarke's core, savoring the way Clarke's entire body jolted at the contact.

"You taste so sweet," Lexa whispered, finally taking her with careful, deliberate attention.

"Fuck," Clarke gasped, her hand flying to Lexa's hair, tangling in the strands.

Lexa groaned into her, the sound vibrating against Clarke's skin as she worked her tongue with expert precision, teasing, circling, plunging. She alternated between slow, deliberate strokes and quick, sharp flicks, learning the rhythm that made Clarke unravel fastest.

Clarke's legs trembled, her hips bucking against Lexa's mouth. "Don't stop, don't stop—" she begged, voice broken.

Lexa didn't. She pinned Clarke's hips with one hand, holding her down as she devoured her, unrelenting. The taste, the sounds, Clarke's gasps, her moans, the way she choked out Lexa's name, they all drove her higher, harder.

"Fuck—Lex! Angh! I'm gonna—"

When Clarke came, it was sudden and violent, her body arching off the couch, thighs clamping around Lexa's head as she cried out, trembling from head to toe. Lexa kept going, gentler now, drawing out every last spasm until Clarke was a shaking, gasping mess beneath her.

Lexa finally pulled back, lips glistening, eyes dark and wild as she crawled up Clarke's body again. She kissed her hard, letting Clarke taste herself on her tongue.

But she wasn't finished.

Clarke barely had time to catch her breath before Lexa pushed her knees apart again, positioning herself between them. Clarke felt her, hard, heavy, throbbing with need, pressing against her entrance. Her breath caught, eyes flying wide.

"Lexa..." she whispered, equal parts desperate and overwhelmed.

Lexa cupped her cheek, grounding her with one steady look. "Tell me to stop, and I will."

Clarke shook her head immediately, pulling her closer, wrapping her legs tight around Lexa's waist. "Don't you dare."

Lexa's control snapped. With one slow, deliberate thrust, she pushed inside, filling Clarke inch by inch. Clarke cried out, clutching at Lexa's shoulders, overwhelmed by the stretch, the fullness.

"God," Lexa groaned, her forehead pressed to Clarke's, her body trembling as she stilled inside her. "You feel so fucking good."

Clarke's nails raked down her back, urging her. "Move, please."

Lexa obeyed.

She started slow, pulling almost all the way out before thrusting back in, setting a deep, steady rhythm that made Clarke gasp with every snap of her hips. The couch creaked beneath them, their bodies slick with sweat, the sound of skin against skin filling the room.

Clarke clung to her, head thrown back, moans spilling out uncontrolled. "Harder," she begged.

Lexa growled low in her throat, snapping her hips harder, faster, driving into her with relentless force. Clarke screamed her name, nails digging crescents into her shoulders, her body trembling on the edge.

"You're mine," Lexa rasped, her thrusts growing frantic now, losing rhythm in the haze of pleasure. "Say it, Clarke."

"I'm yours," Clarke gasped, the words tumbling out without thought. "Always—always yours."

The confession broke them both. Clarke shattered first, her body convulsing around Lexa as she came with a scream, the intensity nearly blinding. Lexa followed seconds later, burying herself deep, spilling into her as her own orgasm ripped through her with brutal force.

They clung to each other through it, riding out every wave until they collapsed together, sweat-slicked and trembling, hearts pounding in sync.

Lexa buried her face in Clarke's neck, still inside her, whispering, "I love you. More than I can say."

"We're really bad at keeping things slow, you know."

Lexa let out a soft laugh, kissing the top of her head. "I don't want slow. I just want you."

And for the first time, Clarke didn't hesitate to answer. "You already have me."

And Lexa did, wrapped around her, inside her, exactly where she belonged.

Clarke shifted lazily against Lexa's chest, the rapid thrum of her pulse finally easing back into something steady. The weight of Lexa's arm draped over her felt grounding, protective in a way she hadn't known she needed until this moment.

Lexa kissed her temple softly again, lingering there, breathing her in like she couldn't get enough. Then, almost reluctantly, she pulled back just enough to look at Clarke's flushed face. "Are you okay?" she asked, voice gentle but threaded with a seriousness that tugged at Clarke's heart.

Clarke laughed, low and a little hoarse. "More than okay."

Lexa's brow furrowed slightly. She brushed a damp strand of hair back from Clarke's forehead, green eyes searching. "I need to hear you say it. With the baby, did I push too much?"

Clarke's chest warmed at the way Lexa framed it, like she already belonged to both of them. She cupped Lexa's face, thumb stroking her cheek. "No. You were perfect. You always are."

Relief flickered across Lexa's expression, softening her features. She let out a breath she'd been holding and pressed a slow kiss to Clarke's palm. Then, with a suddenness that made Clarke laugh, she sat up straighter and said, "Wait, did we eat breakfast?"

Clarke blinked, then burst out laughing, curling against her again. "You ruined breakfast for me, remember?" she teased.

Lexa tilted her head, lips quirking. "I'd say that was an upgrade."

"An upgrade?" Clarke echoed, mock-offended, but her smile gave her away.

Lexa smirked, then leaned in, kissing the tip of Clarke's nose. "Breakfast could never taste as good as you."

Clarke groaned at the cheesiness, swatting at her. "God, you're lucky you're hot."

"Lucky?" Lexa teased, settling back into the cushions with Clarke nestled in her arms. "You're the one who just dragged me into sin before I could even wash the dishes."

Clarke snorted, snuggling closer. "Please. You were begging for it ever since I walked into your room at the beach house."

Lexa laughed, the kind of sound Clarke realized she wanted to spend her whole life chasing. She kissed the top of Clarke's head again, and this time there was no urgency in it, just quiet devotion.

They stayed like that for a while, wrapped up together on the couch, the remains of their abandoned breakfast cold in the kitchen, both of them far too content to care.

For the first time in weeks, Clarke felt the tension in her chest ease. She had Lexa's arms around her, her steady heartbeat under her cheek, and the surety that whatever label they did or didn't put on it yet, this was hers.

And Lexa, running her fingers idly through Clarke's hair, thought the same thing.

By the time Clarke finally peeled herself out of Lexa's arms, the clock on her wall was glaring at her. Her eyes widened. "Oh my god—we're supposed to be at the office in twenty minutes."

Lexa, still half reclined on the couch, gave her a slow grin, entirely unbothered. "We'll survive."

Clarke scrambled to grab her blazer, muttering something about responsibility and showing up like adults, while Lexa casually followed, rolling up the sleeves of her shirt and watching her with a fondness that made Clarke's stomach flip.

They ended up rushing out the door, hair slightly mussed, cheeks still a little flushed, and a rhythm between them that was just a touch too soft, too intimate, for two people who were supposed to be "colleagues."

When the elevator doors slid open at Woodson Enterprises, Raven was already waiting in the lobby, arms crossed, eyebrow raised.

"You're late," she said pointedly, though her lips twitched like she was holding back a smirk.

Clarke groaned. "Don't start."

Raven's gaze flicked between the two of them, Clarke with her blouse buttoned one too low and Lexa with her collar slightly askew, a faint redness still at her throat. She lifted a brow higher. "Oh, I'm not starting anything. You two already finished it."

Clarke's face burned as she elbowed Raven on her way past. "Shut up."

Lexa, for her part, didn't even flinch. She only gave Raven the smallest, smug tilt of her head as she fell into step behind Clarke. It wasn't arrogant, it was protective, almost tender, like a silent yeah, she's mine.

Raven caught it immediately, smirking to herself. "Uh-huh. Totally professional."

Clarke shot her a glare over her shoulder, but the corner of her mouth betrayed her with the tiniest smile.

When they finally stepped into the office, Clarke dropped into her chair with a sigh, rubbing at her temples. "We cannot make a habit of this."

Lexa leaned casually against her desk, voice low but teasing just enough to make Clarke's pulse skip. "Then maybe you shouldn't kiss me good morning if you want to get anywhere on time."

Clarke looked up at her, eyes narrowing, but her lips curved despite herself. "You're impossible."

"And you love it," Lexa murmured, so softly Clarke wasn't sure if anyone else in the world could've heard.

But Raven, passing by with a coffee in hand, definitely did. She didn't even turn around, just called out, "God, you two are disgusting. And I'm here for it."

Clarke dropped her face into her hands with a groan. Lexa only chuckled, entirely unbothered, entirely at peace.

The day was a blur of meetings, numbers, and endless signatures, but Clarke found it impossible to focus on spreadsheets when Lexa was right there, sliding into her office with a file, leaning just close enough that Clarke caught the faint scent of cedar and mint clinging to her skin.

At first Clarke tried to play it safe. She sat a little straighter, kept her voice professional, hands folded on her desk. But Lexa didn't make it easy. She lingered when she didn't need to, her green eyes brushing over Clarke with a softness that no quarterly report deserved.

By late afternoon, Clarke gave up pretending.

Lexa leaned down to set a folder in front of her, their shoulders brushing, and Clarke's breath caught. She glanced up, found Lexa's gaze already waiting for her, steady and unguarded.

"Lexa," Clarke warned, her voice hushed, "we're at work."

"And?" Lexa murmured, low enough that only Clarke could hear.

Clarke shot her a look, stern, but not really. Lexa smirked, and in a bold, reckless move, Clarke tugged her down just enough to press a quick kiss to the corner of her mouth before pushing her away.

Lexa froze for a second, eyes bright with surprise, before her lips curved. "You'll regret that," she whispered.

Clarke tried to refocus on her screen, but five minutes later, Lexa slipped back in under the guise of 'clarifying a report,' and this time she didn't settle for Clarke's cheek. She leaned in, lips brushing Clarke's in a kiss so soft it barely counted, but it left Clarke's heart slamming against her ribs.

"Lexa," Clarke hissed, shoving her back with the file folder. "Seriously. What if someone walks in?"

"That would be unfortunate," Lexa said smoothly, but her grin gave her away.

And of course, that was the exact moment Raven poked her head in.

Both Clarke and Lexa jerked apart, too fast to be casual, Clarke's cheeks flaming red.

Raven's eyes narrowed, flicked between them, and she grinned. "Wow. You two are terrible at this."

"Raven," Clarke started, glaring.

Raven only chuckled, leaning against the doorframe. "Don't mind me. Just try not to traumatize the interns, okay?"

When she left, Clarke groaned into her hands. "We are so bad at this."

Lexa, on the other hand, looked entirely unfazed. She bent down, kissed the top of Clarke's head without hesitation, and murmured, "Maybe. But I like being bad with you."

Clarke peeked up at her, exasperated, flustered, but undeniably smiling.

Chapter Text

The elevator ride down from Woodson Enterprises was suffocating in all the ways Clarke secretly loved and hated. Raven leaned casually against the mirrored wall, eyes flicking between them with way too much amusement, while Lexa stood beside Clarke, her hand brushing hers every time the car jolted to a stop on another floor.

Clarke tried not to react, but her pulse betrayed her, fluttering like a trapped bird. By the time they reached the lobby, Raven's smirk had only deepened.

"Alright, lovebirds," Raven drawled as they stepped into the evening chill. "Try not to combust on the sidewalk."

Clarke elbowed her, but her cheeks burned. "We're not—"

But the protest fizzled when she caught Lexa's small, knowing smile. Lexa said nothing, simply opened the back door of the waiting car for Clarke, her hand steady at Clarke's back as she guided her inside.

The drive was quiet, charged. Raven kept her earbuds in this time, giving them the illusion of privacy. Clarke sat stiffly, trying to focus on the city rushing past, but every few seconds Lexa's hand would brush hers on the leather seat, deliberate in a way that made Clarke ache.

When they dropped Raven off first, she leaned through the open door with one last grin. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

Clarke groaned, sinking into the seat as the car pulled away. "I'm going to kill her."

"Jealousy doesn't suit you," Lexa murmured, her voice low, amused.

Clarke turned to glare, but the look faltered when she saw the faint, hungry softness in Lexa's eyes. She turned away quickly, heart hammering, and the rest of the ride stretched taut with everything unsaid.

By the time they reached Lexa's penthouse, Clarke's nerves were strung tight enough to snap. She followed silently as Lexa unlocked the door and stepped aside to let her in.

Inside, the city glowed through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Clarke set her bag down on the counter, trying to steady herself.

"Are you hungry?" Lexa asked softly, already slipping her jacket off, rolling her sleeves. "I can make something simple."

But Clarke couldn't answer. Not with the way Lexa moved, controlled and careful, but brimming with an energy that matched her own.

She crossed the room before she could think better of it, grabbing Lexa's wrist. Lexa turned in surprise, green eyes locking onto blue.

Clarke's voice shook when she finally spoke. "You drive me insane, you know that?"

Lexa's brows furrowed slightly, but there was no mistaking the glimmer in her eyes. "Do I?"

Clarke didn't give her a chance to say more. She surged up, kissing her with all the tension of the day pouring out at once. It was messy, desperate, their teeth clicking before they found a rhythm, Clarke's hands gripping Lexa's shirt like she'd fall without her.

Lexa groaned against her mouth, one arm wrapping tight around Clarke's waist, pulling her in. She pressed Clarke back gently against the counter, lips tracing the corner of her jaw.

But just when Clarke thought they'd tumble headlong into the inevitable, Lexa stilled, breathing hard against her neck.

"I shouldn't—" she rasped, voice rough. "Clarke, if I don't stop now, I won't."

Clarke's answer came without hesitation, breathless and fierce. "You sure?"

And that was it. Lexa gave in. Her mouth crashed back onto Clarke's, all restraint breaking, hands roaming with a hunger that had been caged too long. Clarke arched into her, gasping, every thought replaced with the feel of Lexa everywhere at once.

Lexa broke the kiss first, her forehead pressing to Clarke's, chest heaving like she'd just run a mile. Clarke's fingers still curled tight in the fabric of her shirt, her lips tingling, her heart wild.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. Then Lexa huffed out a laugh, soft and self-mocking. "You're going to be the death of me."

Clarke blinked up at her, startled, then snorted despite herself. "That's dramatic."

"I mean it." Lexa eased back just enough to look at her properly, the corner of her mouth curving. "Every time I think I've regained control, you look at me like that, and..." She trailed off, shaking her head with a rueful smile.

Clarke pretended to scowl, though her cheeks hurt from fighting a grin. "Like what?"

"Like I'm the only thing keeping the world turning."

Her stomach swooped at the earnestness in the words, heat rising in her cheeks again. She deflected the only way she knew how. "Well, if the universe collapses, I'm blaming you."

Lexa chuckled low in her throat and tugged her away from the counter, guiding her toward the living room. "Come here, reckless woman."

They ended up tangled together on the massive sectional couch, Clarke tucked against Lexa's chest, her legs sprawled over hers. A blanket was thrown lazily over them, though Lexa's warmth was more than enough.

"You're comfy," Clarke mumbled after a while, cheek pressed to the steady rhythm of Lexa's heartbeat.

Lexa tilted her head down, pressing a kiss into Clarke's curls. "That's a very flattering review. I'll add it to my résumé."

Clarke laughed, muffled against her shirt. "Lexa Woodson, CEO, terrifying in boardrooms... excellent human pillow."

"Don't forget world's best cook."

"You literally tried to feed me cereal for dinner once."

Lexa's mock-offended gasp made Clarke laugh harder. "That was a highly strategic, perfectly nutritious meal."

"Uh-huh," Clarke teased, lifting her head to grin at her. "You just didn't want to admit you can't cook."

Lexa's eyes softened even through the playful banter. She leaned forward, pressing their noses together in a brief nuzzle. "Good thing I'm better at other things."

Clarke blushed, swatting her lightly on the chest, though her smile betrayed her. "Don't get cocky."

"Never. Just confident."

They settled again, the silence that followed no longer heavy but warm, the kind that wrapped around them like a second blanket. Clarke drifted half into sleep against her, lulled by Lexa's steady breathing and the faint brush of her fingers tracing idle patterns on her arm.

By the time the food arrived, Clarke was staring at the bags on Lexa's kitchen counter like she couldn't decide whether to laugh or scold her.

"Lexa," she said slowly, eyebrows climbing. "Did you... order the entire menu?"

Lexa, looking unreasonably pleased with herself, shrugged as she started unpacking boxes. "You said you were hungry."

"I said I was craving dumplings." Clarke pointed at the spread piling higher and higher, dumplings, noodles, rice, spring rolls, something fried that smelled amazing but unidentifiable. "This is a feast. For six people."

Lexa gave her a deadpan look, unbothered. "You're eating for two."

Clarke groaned, covering her face with both hands, but she was smiling behind them. "That's not how it works."

"Seems like exactly how it works." Lexa plucked a dumpling out with her chopsticks and waved it vaguely toward Clarke's belly, before lowering her voice in mock seriousness. "Right? You're hungry too, aren't you?"

Clarke peeked between her fingers. "Are you... talking to my stomach?"

Lexa didn't even blink. She leaned down, addressing the bump with exaggerated gravitas. "Listen, small human. I've secured provisions. It's quality stuff. You're going to love it."

Clarke burst out laughing, nearly choking as Lexa offered her the dumpling like she was conducting some sacred offering. "You're ridiculous."

"Ridiculously responsible," Lexa corrected smoothly, though her green eyes twinkled. "I'm just trying to get on her good side early. I hear it helps with teenage rebellion later."

Clarke accepted the dumpling, biting into it while still chuckling. "You're going to embarrass the hell out of her, aren't you?"

Lexa smirked, settling beside her on the couch with their spread laid out on the coffee table. "Oh, absolutely. It's my duty as a parent. Step one: overfeed. Step two: bad dad jokes."

"You're skipping straight to step two already," Clarke teased, nudging her knee under the blanket.

Lexa leaned in close, eyes playful but soft, and whispered conspiratorially against her ear, "Don't tell her, but you're still my favorite."

Clarke's breath caught before she rolled her eyes to cover it, shoving a container of noodles toward her. "Eat before I change my mind and keep all of this for myself."

Lexa grinned but obeyed, content to share every ridiculous dish with her, though Clarke noticed she kept sliding the better bites into her bowl, watching her eat like it was the most entertaining, endearing thing in the world.

And when Clarke was too full to move and slumped against her with a groan, Lexa pressed a kiss to her hair and murmured low, as if the baby might actually hear it, "Don't worry, little one. I've got you both."

Clarke stretched out on the couch, one hand absently rubbing over the slight swell of her stomach while the other dangled lazily against Lexa's thigh. Dinner was a graveyard of takeout boxes now, most of them empty thanks to Clarke's pregnancy-fueled appetite and Lexa's insistence on "just one more bite."

"You're fussing," Clarke said, her voice still warm with laughter as she caught Lexa watching her with a careful, borderline intense look.

Lexa tilted her head, unbothered. "I'm observing. Making sure you're comfortable. Monitoring intake."

Clarke snorted, rolling her eyes. "Monitoring intake? You're not a doctor."

"I could be," Lexa replied evenly, leaning back but not breaking eye contact. "If I wasn't running a company, I'd have considered medicine."

Clarke's smile softened despite herself. "So what you're telling me is, I should be grateful my overachieving, ridiculously gorgeous... CEO slash wannabe doctor is babysitting me?"

Lexa's lips curved at the edges. "Something like that."

Clarke nudged her with her foot under the blanket, teasing but fond. "You do realize I'm pregnant, not helpless."

"I know," Lexa said quietly, the playfulness fading into something serious. Her hand moved, hesitated, then brushed over Clarke's knee, grounding. "I just... want to take care of you. Both of you."

The honesty in her tone sent heat crawling up Clarke's neck. She shifted closer, letting her head fall against Lexa's shoulder. "You're making it very hard to keep pretending we're not basically a couple."

Lexa's breath caught, her arm slipping naturally around Clarke's back to hold her closer. "Maybe we should stop pretending then."

For a moment, Clarke went still. She could hear Lexa's heartbeat beneath her ear, steady but a little fast, betraying nerves. Clarke smiled against her shirt, lips brushing the fabric, before she tilted her head up to meet those sharp green eyes.

"You're impossible," Clarke whispered, but her mouth was already curving as she pressed a soft kiss to the corner of Lexa's lips. "And way too good at this."

Lexa let out a low laugh, warm and real, before she kissed her properly, slow, steady, not demanding, just enough to let Clarke know she meant it.

When they broke apart, Clarke leaned back with a mischievous grin. "You're still not allowed to monitor my intake though."

Lexa gave her a mock-serious nod. "Fine. I'll just monitor dessert."

Clarke groaned, laughing as she buried her face in Lexa's shoulder again.

Clarke melted deeper into the couch cushions, laughter spilling from her lips as Lexa leaned down and pressed a ridiculous number of kisses to her face, her cheeks, her nose, her forehead, her chin.

"Lexa—" Clarke squealed, squirming half-heartedly under the barrage of affection.

"What?" Lexa asked innocently, planting another exaggerated kiss at the corner of her mouth. "I thought you said I smother you with attention. I'm just living up to expectations."

Clarke shoved at her shoulder, though the smile she wore made it clear she wasn't serious. "You're ridiculous."

"And you love it," Lexa murmured against her skin before catching Clarke's lips in a proper kiss this time slow but sure, as if she was reminding her that beneath all the teasing, there was nothing uncertain about what she wanted.

When they pulled apart, Clarke's cheeks were pink, her lips parted as if she had more to say but couldn't quite find the words. Lexa brushed a strand of hair back from her face and let her thumb linger along Clarke's jaw.

"You're beautiful," Lexa said simply, and Clarke had to look away for a second, heart racing.

To lighten the moment, Lexa leaned back and gave her a sly smile. "Now. Since I've successfully demolished you with affection... I was thinking about taking a shower."

Clarke raised a brow, instantly catching the note of challenge in her voice. "Oh, were you?"

Lexa's smirk widened, eyes glinting with something more dangerous now. "Mhm. And I could use some company." She paused deliberately, tilting her head. "Care to join me?"

Clarke blinked, caught somewhere between a laugh and a gasp at how smoothly Lexa could flip from tender to wicked. Her pulse jumped, and she hated that Lexa could see it in the way her throat worked as she swallowed.

But then Clarke's lips curved, slow and deliberate, her hand sliding up Lexa's arm. "You know what, Woodson..." she murmured, her voice low, "I think I will."

Lexa's composure cracked just enough for Clarke to catch the flash of hunger in her eyes before she stood, offering Clarke her hand with old-world formality that only made Clarke roll her eyes affectionately as she took it.

"Come on then," Lexa said, her voice a little huskier now. "Let me spoil you properly."

Steam curled against the glass, softening the edges of the world until it felt like there was only the two of them, pressed close beneath the steady rush of water. Lexa had pulled Clarke under the spray first, tilting her chin back so warm rivulets ran through her hair and down the curve of her body, her hands steady and sure as she worked shampoo into blonde curls.

"You don't have to," Clarke murmured, eyes fluttering shut as Lexa's strong fingers massaged her scalp.

Lexa's voice was quiet, but certain. "I want to. You carry enough every day. Let me carry this."

The words pressed into Clarke more than the heat did, softening her, making her chest ache. She leaned back into Lexa's touch, and for a few long moments, there was only the sound of water and the intimate rhythm of hands moving through her hair.

When Clarke cracked her eyes open again, she caught Lexa watching her with that intent green gaze, the one that always made her feel seen through. Clarke smiled faintly, trying to ease the weight of the moment. "You know," she said, voice soft but playful, "we still need to go crib shopping. I've been making lists."

Lexa's mouth curved. "Of course you have." She reached for the conditioner, her knuckles brushing the nape of Clarke's neck as she smoothed it in. "We'll go this weekend. You're not lifting a single box, though. Deal?"

Clarke snorted. "Bossy."

"Protective," Lexa corrected, leaning in to press a kiss to her wet temple. "Very protective."

The tenderness of it all had Clarke's heart aching, but something in her wanted to push, to feel that sharp edge she knew Lexa kept leashed so tightly. So she tilted her head, lips quirking. "Maybe I'll ask Matt to come with me instead," she teased lightly.

Lexa's hands stilled instantly against her shoulders, grip tightening just enough to make Clarke shiver. Her jaw flexed as her eyes cut to Clarke's, narrowed, darkened. "Clarke," she warned, voice low, dangerous in a way that sent heat spiraling through her.

Clarke bit her lip, triumphant and aching all at once. "What? He offered..." she trailed, letting the tease linger before her smile broke.

Lexa exhaled slowly, as if holding herself together by threads. Then, in one smooth motion, she caged Clarke against the slick tile, her palms braced on either side of her head, water streaming down her broad shoulders.

"You think that's funny?" Lexa asked, voice rough, green eyes burning.

Clarke's breath hitched, her back pressed to cool tile. "A little," she admitted, her grin faltering under the intensity of Lexa's stare.

Lexa leaned in, her mouth at Clarke's ear, her breath hot even through the steam. "He doesn't get to see you like this. He doesn't get to touch what's mine."

Clarke trembled, her pulse stuttering at the raw possessiveness in her tone. "Yours?" she whispered.

Lexa didn't hesitate. "Yes. Mine."

The word settled low and hot in Clarke's stomach. She barely had time to process it before Lexa's mouth crashed against hers, hungry, claiming, tongue sliding deep until Clarke was clutching at her shoulders, already breathless.

From there, Lexa didn't hold back. She kissed her like she'd been starving, hands roaming Clarke's body with barely controlled urgency. Every brush of her touch was firm, deliberate, meant to remind Clarke exactly how wanted and how owned she was. Lexa's thigh slipped between Clarke's, pressing her higher against the wall as water cascaded over them both, and Clarke moaned into her mouth, arching.

Lexa pulled back just enough to look at her, wet hair plastered to her sharp jawline, chest rising and falling hard. "Say it," she demanded softly, dominance threaded through every word.

Clarke swallowed, dizzy and undone already. "Yours."

Lexa's groan was guttural, primal, her lips slanting back over Clarke's as her body moved with intent. This time, she didn't restrain herself, she let every ounce of her hunger, her need, pour into Clarke, taking her breath, taking control, giving her no room to doubt who she belonged to.

And Clarke, God, Clarke gave herself over to it, to her, every shiver and gasp proof of how much she craved the strength Lexa had been holding back all along.

Lexa didn't give Clarke a chance to catch her breath. Her mouth was everywhere at once, along her jaw, down the curve of her throat, her teeth grazing just enough to make Clarke gasp and arch. The water beat against her back while Lexa's hands gripped her thighs, lifting her effortlessly and pinning her against the slick tile. Clarke instinctively wrapped her legs around Lexa's waist, a whimper spilling from her lips when she felt the hard length of her pressing against her through the heat of the spray.

"God, Clarke," Lexa groaned into her skin, her voice rough with restraint she'd clearly abandoned. "You drive me insane."

Clarke's fingers tangled in her wet hair, tugging her closer, eyes fluttering as she felt Lexa grind against her. "Then don't hold back," she panted, kissing her hard. "I don't want you to."

That was all Lexa needed. She growled into Clarke's mouth, one hand sliding between them to free herself, the other steady at Clarke's hip to keep her secure. When she pressed forward, sliding into her with a slow, deep thrust, Clarke broke—her head falling back against the tile, a choked moan escaping that was swallowed quickly by Lexa's kiss.

Lexa set a rhythm that was anything but gentle—every movement deliberate, claiming, her hips driving Clarke higher against the wall. The water poured down their bodies, turning everything slick and desperate, her hands tightening with each thrust like she couldn't get close enough.

"Say it again," Lexa rasped against her ear, biting at her lobe as she drove into her harder. "Tell me who you belong to."

Clarke's nails raked down her shoulders, her voice a broken cry. "Y-you—Lexa—I'm yours."

Lexa's answering groan vibrated through her chest, and she pushed deeper, harder, until Clarke was trembling, her whole body taut and shuddering from the relentless pace. Lexa's mouth never stopped, kissing, sucking, biting at her neck and collarbone, each mark a brand of possession, each kiss a confession she couldn't put into words.

Clarke's cries grew louder, muffled only by Lexa's shoulder when she buried her face there, overwhelmed. Her body clenched around Lexa, her orgasm tearing through her in waves that left her breathless, shaking, clinging desperately to the only anchor she trusted.

Lexa didn't stop. She fucked her through it, holding her tighter when Clarke tried to twist away from the overstimulation. "No, baby," Lexa growled, teeth grazing her throat, "I'm not done with you."

Clarke moaned, weakly protesting but giving in, hips rocking helplessly as Lexa pushed her toward another edge. She felt wrung out, undone, yet each demanding thrust reignited the flames until she was spiraling again, clinging to Lexa like she was the only thing holding her together.

Lexa's control finally cracked when Clarke whimpered her name and she thrust deep, burying herself as she came with a groan against Clarke's throat. Her body shook with it, every muscle tight as she held Clarke close, grinding through the waves until she collapsed against her, both of them slick with water and sweat and trembling from the intensity.

Lexa didn't let go of Clarke, even when the orgasm trembled out of her body and left her weak against the wall. She held her there, kissing her slow and deep, letting the water wash over them both. But there was a glint in Lexa's eyes, that sharp, hungry gleam that told Clarke she wasn't finished.

Without breaking the kiss, Lexa shifted her grip, lifting Clarke easily off the wall and carrying her across the slick tile until her back pressed against the cool stone of the shower bench. Clarke gasped at the sudden change, her legs instinctively wrapping tighter around Lexa's waist. The water streamed over them in steady sheets, steam curling around their flushed skin.

Lexa pulled back, lips slick and swollen, staring down at Clarke sprawled against the bench. Her blonde hair clung to her face and chest, droplets trailing down the swell of her breasts. Lexa's mouth curved into a hungry smirk. "You're mine like this," she murmured, her voice husky with possession.

Clarke shivered, tilting her head back against the wall, her nipples pebbling as the cool air hit her soaked skin. "Then take me," she breathed, her voice shaky but sure.

Lexa wasted no time. She bent low, capturing one stiff nipple in her mouth, sucking deeply as her tongue swirled around it. Clarke cried out, arching against her, fingers tangling in Lexa's wet hair. Lexa alternated between both breasts, using her fingers to roll and pinch one peak while her lips devoured the other, pulling desperate moans from Clarke's throat. Every flick of her tongue, every scrape of her teeth made Clarke's hips grind against Lexa's stomach, restless with need.

"Sensitive?" Lexa teased between kisses, giving Clarke's nipple a sharp bite that made her squeak, then moan when Lexa soothed the sting with her tongue.

"Y-yes," Clarke panted, cheeks flushed, lips parted. "Don't stop, please."

Lexa pulled back just enough to smirk. "I wasn't planning on it."

Her hands slid down Clarke's waist, gripping her thighs and spreading them wider. She kissed down Clarke's stomach, her tongue tracing rivulets of water until she reached the very edge of her heat. Without warning, she leaned in and tasted her, slow, languid, her tongue moving in deliberate strokes. Clarke's entire body jolted, her back hitting the wall as her moans echoed in the shower.

"Fuck, Lexa..." she cried, her thighs trembling.

Lexa buried her face deeper, alternating between gentle swirls and harder flicks of her tongue, sucking her clit into her mouth until Clarke was writhing helplessly against the bench. Her hands gripped Lexa's shoulders, nails biting into damp skin, her cries louder and louder as pleasure built sharp and fast.

Just when Clarke was on the edge, body taut, Lexa pulled back.

"No!" Clarke whined, her hips lifting off the bench as if to chase her.

Lexa's green eyes gleamed wickedly. "Not yet. I want you to ride me first."

She kissed Clarke hard, making her taste herself, before pulling Clarke forward, guiding her to straddle her lap. Lexa leaned back against the opposite wall, water pounding down over them, her thick length pressing between Clarke's slick thighs. She gripped Clarke's hips and held her there, forcing her to feel every inch rubbing against her folds without giving her the satisfaction of sliding in.

Clarke whimpered, rolling her hips, desperate for more. "Please..."

Lexa grinned, her voice low and commanding. "You want it? Show me."

Clarke swallowed hard, then braced her hands on Lexa's shoulders and sank down slowly. Inch by inch, she took Lexa inside her, her body stretching deliciously until she was filled to the hilt. Her head fell back with a moan, lips parted in pure ecstasy.

"God, you're perfect," Lexa groaned, her hands clutching Clarke's ass, guiding her. "So tight around me."

Clarke began to move, hips circling, grinding down, testing the rhythm until she found the angle that made her gasp. Then she rode Lexa harder, faster, the sound of skin slapping mixing with the pounding water and Clarke's wild moans. Her breasts bounced with every thrust, water dripping from her nipples, and Lexa reached up to suck one into her mouth again, biting lightly, tugging with her teeth until Clarke cried out.

The sight of Clarke above her, wet and flushed, breasts in her hands, hair plastered to her skin, drove Lexa mad. She thrust up from below, meeting every roll of Clarke's hips, filling her deeper, harder, until Clarke was screaming her name.

"I can't—fuck, Lexa, I can't—" Clarke broke, her orgasm crashing through her with violent shudders, her walls tightening around Lexa as she collapsed forward, forehead pressing into Lexa's shoulder.

But Lexa didn't stop. She gripped Clarke tighter, thrusting up into her trembling body, whispering against her ear, "Yes, you can. One more for me. Come again for me, Clarke."

Clarke moaned, overstimulated but helpless, her body responding anyway. Every deep thrust sent her higher, her sensitive nipples teased and pulled by Lexa's hands and mouth until Clarke's cries broke into sobs of pleasure. She clung desperately, nails clawing down Lexa's back, as another orgasm ripped through her, leaving her shaking, trembling, broken open.

Only then did Lexa finally let go, pulling Clarke down hard onto her length as she came with a guttural groan, her release spilling deep as her body bucked beneath Clarke. She held Clarke tight through the waves, grinding slowly, drawing out both of their peaks until they collapsed against each other, utterly spent.

The water poured over them, steam wrapping them in heat as they clung together, Lexa's hands still firm on Clarke's hips, Clarke's face buried in Lexa's neck, their breaths uneven, their hearts pounding in sync.

Lexa kissed her temple, whispering against wet skin. "Mine."

Clarke smiled weakly, lips brushing her neck.

The shower was still running, steam curling thick in the air, when Lexa finally pulled out of Clarke. Clarke whimpered at the sudden emptiness, her thighs trembling as she slumped forward against Lexa's chest. Her body felt spent, every nerve buzzing from being wrung out twice in such quick succession.

But Lexa wasn't finished.

She pressed one more deep kiss to Clarke's swollen lips, then stood, lifting Clarke from her lap like she weighed nothing at all. Clarke squeaked at the movement, arms winding instinctively around Lexa's neck as she was carried across the bathroom. Water dripped from both their bodies, trailing across the tiles, until Lexa set her down in front of the wide mirror above the sink.

"Hold on," Lexa commanded, her voice low and husky.

Clarke barely had time to brace her palms against the cool counter before Lexa bent her forward, pressing her chest to the slick surface. Clarke's reflection blinked back at her through the fogged mirror, flushed face, messy hair plastered to her shoulders, lips kiss-swollen and parted in shallow pants. Her breasts pressed against the cold countertop, nipples pebbling instantly from the chill, while her ass arched instinctively as Lexa positioned herself behind her.

Lexa groaned at the sight. "Fuck, Clarke... look at you. Look at how perfect you are like this."

Clarke tried to lift her head, catching her own reflection, heat flooding her cheeks at the sight of herself bent over, wet, needy. "Lexa..." she whispered, her voice shaky, almost pleading.

Lexa's hand smoothed over the curve of her spine before gripping her hip firmly. With her other hand, she lined herself up, dragging the tip through Clarke's slick folds just to hear the broken whimper that tore from her throat. Then, with one steady thrust, she sank into her again, burying herself to the hilt.

Clarke's head dropped forward with a cry, fingers clutching the edge of the counter hard enough to ache. "Oh god—"

Lexa's hips snapped forward, setting a brutal rhythm from the start, her hands gripping Clarke's hips to hold her in place as she drove into her over and over. The wet sounds of their bodies meeting echoed in the small bathroom, mixing with Clarke's helpless moans and the ragged groans spilling from Lexa's lips.

"Look at yourself, baby," Lexa rasped, leaning down so her breath brushed Clarke's ear. "Look at how good you take me."

Clarke forced her eyes open, catching sight of herself in the mirror, hair wild, mouth open in broken cries, her body rocking forward with every thrust. The sight alone made her clench tight around Lexa, her moans tumbling out louder.

"Lexa, I—fuck, I'm already so close—"

"Good," Lexa growled, her pace quickening, the sharp sound of skin meeting skin echoing against the tiled walls. "Come for me again. I want to feel you fall apart."

Her hand slid up Clarke's body, covering one breast, fingers pinching and rolling her sensitive nipple until Clarke sobbed from the overload. Her other hand slipped lower, circling Clarke's clit in time with her thrusts. The dual assault made Clarke's knees buckle, her body quivering against the counter.

"Don't let go," Lexa warned, her voice sharp with authority.

Clarke gritted her teeth, knuckles white against the sink, her whole body trembling. And then she shattered. Her orgasm ripped through her, violent and overwhelming, her body convulsing as she screamed Lexa's name into the fogged glass. Her reflection blurred as her vision went hazy, her body clenching tight around Lexa's cock, milking her with every wave of release.

Lexa groaned deep, almost feral, thrusting harder, chasing her own release. She slammed into Clarke a final few times before her control snapped, burying herself deep as she came with a guttural cry, her hips grinding hard against Clarke's ass as her release spilled hot and deep.

They both collapsed against the counter, breathing hard, water still dripping down their trembling bodies. Clarke's cheek pressed against the cool surface, her eyes closing as she tried to steady herself. Lexa leaned over her, chest heaving, lips brushing Clarke's damp shoulder in soft, grounding kisses.

"Fuck..." Clarke whispered, her voice raw, her reflection still trembling in the mirror.

Lexa smiled against her skin, still catching her breath. "You're mine," she murmured, possessive but tender, her hands smoothing over Clarke's hips in lazy circles.

Clarke let out a weak laugh, lifting her head just enough to meet Lexa's gaze in the mirror. Her lips curled into a tired, sated smile. "Always."

Lexa kissed her shoulder again, slower this time, pressing her body flush against Clarke's back. And in the fogged mirror, Clarke thought they looked like exactly what they were, wrecked, claimed, and bound completely to each other.

For a long while, the only sound was the shower, steady and relentless, washing over them as their breaths synced slowly back together. Lexa finally lowered Clarke carefully to her feet, her hands gentle now, supportive, rubbing at her hips as though to soothe where she'd held her too tightly.

Clarke leaned against her chest, boneless, utterly spent. "Holy shit," she whispered hoarsely, laughter trembling under the exhaustion.

Lexa pressed a tender kiss to her temple, her voice softer now, reverent. "You're mine, Clarke. Always."

Clarke's lips curved, eyes still closed, her head resting against Lexa's heart. "Good. Because I don't think anyone else could survive that."

Lexa laughed quietly, hugging her tighter, her mouth brushing the damp crown of Clarke's head. "I'll take care of you," she murmured, the edge of dominance softening into something warm and steady. "Always."

By the time Lexa finally managed to sweet-talk Clarke out of the shower, both of them were wrung out, waterlogged, and laughing weakly at how impossible it had been to stop touching each other. Lexa wrapped Clarke in the biggest towel she could find, tucking it around her snug like she was swaddling something precious, before carrying her straight to bed despite Clarke's half-hearted protests.

"Lexa," Clarke laughed, swatting at her shoulder as she was deposited against the pillows. "I can walk, you know."

"Not taking chances," Lexa said simply, climbing in beside her and immediately pulling her against her chest, one hand sliding protectively over Clarke's belly. "You've got two people to look after now."

Clarke rolled her eyes, but her lips curved anyway, unable to resist the affection spilling from her. "You're ridiculous."

"I'm serious," Lexa murmured, pressing a kiss to her damp hair. Her thumb brushed slow circles over Clarke's bump, her other arm wrapped so tightly around her waist it was almost possessive. "I know I was rougher than I should've been. I keep replaying it, worrying if—"

Clarke tilted her head back, silencing her with a kiss. It was slow, soft, everything their earlier desperation hadn't been. When she pulled back, she rested her forehead against Lexa's. "I'm fine. The baby's fine. You take care of me even when you're losing your mind. You don't need to worry."

But Lexa still looked unconvinced, her jaw tense as she kissed her again, as if she could reassure herself through the press of Clarke's lips. She didn't let go when Clarke shifted, not even for a second. If anything, she tugged her closer, leg hooking over Clarke's so she couldn't move an inch away.

"You're clingy," Clarke teased softly, though her hand slipped up to stroke the damp hair at the nape of Lexa's neck.

"Good," Lexa muttered, her voice muffled against Clarke's throat where she was now planting lazy, smothering kisses. "Get used to it."

Clarke laughed, the sound husky and warm, and Lexa smiled against her skin before pressing another kiss there, then another, then another, up her jaw, across her cheek, down again like she couldn't stop. Clarke wriggled, squealing quietly. "Lexa, you're smothering me—"

"That's the point," Lexa cut in, grinning now, nipping at her earlobe before kissing it better. "If I keep kissing you, maybe you'll finally accept that I'm not going anywhere."

Clarke's heart stuttered at the words, the weight behind them. She curled closer, nuzzling into Lexa's chest, whispering almost shyly, "I already know you're not going anywhere."

That stilled Lexa. For a moment, she just held her, chest rising and falling against Clarke's cheek, and then she let out a breath that was almost a laugh but not quite, it was softer, rawer. She kissed Clarke's hair again, whispering, "Good. Because I want to stay right here. Forever."

Clarke smiled into her, eyes finally fluttering closed, her body sinking into the safety of Lexa's hold. The water was still running faintly in the bathroom, the smell of her shampoo clung to the air, and Lexa's arms were an anchor around her, solid and unyielding.

The storm inside them had finally burned down to embers, but Lexa still refused to let go. She lay stretched out on her side, one arm banded around Clarke, the other lazily tracing little patterns over her belly, like she was memorizing every curve. Clarke rested half on her chest, the steady drum of Lexa's heartbeat grounding her.

"Mm," Clarke murmured, eyes closed but lips tugging upward. "You're not even pretending to give me space, are you?"

"Not a chance," Lexa replied without hesitation, her voice low and warm. She kissed Clarke's temple, then her cheek, then her jaw, smothering her in slow kisses until Clarke squirmed with a little laugh.

"God, you're clingy," Clarke teased.

"Clingy?" Lexa hummed like she was considering it, then nuzzled her nose against Clarke's. "I call it protective. You're mine, both of you. No apologies."

The words should have sounded possessive, but the way Lexa whispered them like a vow, reverent and almost disbelieving, made Clarke's chest ache. She pressed her lips against Lexa's collarbone, murmuring, "I like it when you're clingy."

Lexa's hand froze for a moment, then resumed its gentle circling over Clarke's bump. She tilted her chin down, catching Clarke's lips in a soft, lingering kiss that melted into a smile halfway through.

"You know," Clarke said after a beat, pulling back just enough to look up at her, "The baby kind of needs a place to sleep that isn't just... a pile of throw pillows."

Lexa chuckled, brushing a damp curl from Clarke's forehead. "You mean my bed isn't acceptable?"

Clarke gave her a look, trying to stay serious despite the warmth bubbling in her chest. "Lexa. The baby is not sleeping in your bed."

Lexa grinned, lips twitching as she kissed the tip of Clarke's nose. "Fine. But only because you're bossy."

"Bossy?" Clarke gasped mock-indignantly. "I am a responsible soon-to-be mother."

"Bossy," Lexa insisted, nipping her lower lip before soothing it with another kiss. "And perfect. And mine."

Clarke tried to scowl but ended up laughing, her body shaking softly against Lexa's. When she finally calmed, she rested her forehead against Lexa's, voice dropping quieter. "You know what else?"

"What?" Lexa asked, brushing her thumb across Clarke's cheek like she already knew something tender was coming.

"I love you," Clarke whispered. "More every day. Even when you order enough dinner for an entire army, or cling to me like a koala, or smother me in kisses until I can't breathe."

Lexa stilled, blinking rapidly like she was trying to lock that moment away forever. She kissed her again and when she pulled back, her voice was hoarse. "Say it again."

Clarke smiled, brushing her fingers along Lexa's jaw. "I love you, Lexa."

The look on Lexa's face was nothing short of undone. She pulled Clarke impossibly closer, wrapping herself around her like she could fuse them into one, and smothered her in another round of kisses until Clarke was laughing breathlessly against her mouth.

"Clingy," Clarke murmured again, though softer now, like a secret.

"Forever," Lexa promised into her skin.

To be continued...

Chapter Text

Clarke's laughter slowly gave way to yawns, the warmth of Lexa's body and the rhythm of her kisses lulling her toward sleep. Lexa noticed the way her breaths grew deeper, slower, and eased them both down into the pillows. She tugged the blanket higher around Clarke's shoulders, still holding her close, and whispered one last, almost reverent, "I love you," into her hair.

Clarke murmured something unintelligible, nuzzling closer, but the faint smile on her lips made Lexa's chest ache. She pressed one last kiss to Clarke's temple, then closed her own eyes, keeping her hand on the swell of Clarke's stomach like a quiet promise.

The night slipped into silence around them, soft and steady, until morning sunlight spilled across the sheets.

Lexa woke first. The light was catching Clarke's curls, turning them into gold, her face relaxed and peaceful against the pillow. For a long while, Lexa didn't move, just watched, her thumb brushing absent circles over Clarke's belly. She whispered a hushed "good morning" to both of them, her lips curving into a smile as she thought about breakfast, about the day ahead, about how she never wanted this to end.

The sunlight kept climbing across the bed, but Clarke didn't stir. Lexa studied her for another moment, torn between wanting to stay wrapped up forever and wanting to spoil her. In the end, the latter won. She carefully slipped her arm out from under Clarke, tucking the blanket snug around her before padding silently out of the room.

Down in the kitchen, Lexa tied her hair up in a loose knot and set about rummaging through Clarke's fridge with the kind of focus she usually reserved for board meetings. Eggs, fruit, bread, simple, but it would do. She laid everything out on the counter like it was an art project, muttering under her breath, "Okay, baby, this is for your mom, so you'd better appreciate it."

She cracked the eggs with ridiculous care, grinning at herself when one broke cleanly. "See? Your mama doesn't even know how good I am at this." She paused mid-stir, then leaned down toward Clarke's belly, well, toward the air since Clarke wasn't there to hear, and added softly, "Don't tell her, though. We'll keep it our secret."

The smell of toasting bread filled the kitchen, mixing with the scent of fresh coffee she'd just started brewing. Lexa plated everything neatly, then hesitated, staring at the tray like she'd forgotten something. Her eyes caught on the fruit, blueberries, strawberries, and she added them with a little flourish, because Clarke deserved color on her plate.

She straightened, tray in hand, and suddenly felt her chest squeeze. For someone who could negotiate billion-dollar deals without blinking, the idea of waking Clarke with breakfast in bed made her pulse quicken. But it was worth it, every ounce of it.

Taking a slow breath, Lexa carried the tray back upstairs, ready to surprise her.

The door creaked softly as Lexa nudged it open with her hip, careful not to tip the tray balanced in her hands. Clarke was still curled on her side, one hand tucked under her cheek, golden hair scattered across the pillow. The faint rhythm of her breaths filled the room, steady and fragile, and Lexa's heart squeezed at the sight.

She set the tray down on the bedside table without a sound, then leaned over the bed, bracing herself with one hand on the mattress. For a long moment, she just studied Clarke, the way the morning light kissed the curve of her face, the small lines of sleep-softened relaxation around her mouth. It was the kind of picture Lexa knew she'd burn into her memory forever.

Bending down, she brushed her lips against Clarke's temple, featherlight. Clarke shifted but didn't wake, only murmured something unintelligible and burrowed deeper into the blankets. Lexa's mouth curved into a smile. She pressed another kiss to Clarke's forehead, then her cheek, letting herself linger.

"Good morning, mama," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. Her hand slid gently across Clarke's stomach, over the swell of her bump, protective even in sleep. "And good morning, you too, little one. I brought breakfast for your mom. Think she'll be impressed?"

As if on cue, Clarke stirred again, eyelids fluttering open slowly. The first thing she saw was Lexa's face hovering above hers, a smile tucked into the corner of her mouth, eyes soft in a way they never were for anyone else.

"Lexa?" Clarke's voice was scratchy with sleep.

"Yeah." Lexa let her thumb trace along Clarke's jaw. "I didn't want to wake you, but breakfast's ready. Thought you might be hungry."

Clarke blinked, still drowsy, then glanced at the tray with its neat arrangement of eggs, toast, fruit, and coffee. Her lips curved, warmth flooding her gaze. "You made that?"

"Don't sound so surprised," Lexa teased, though her ears burned a little. "I'm capable of more than takeout, you know."

Clarke laughed softly, catching her hand and tugging her down until Lexa was half-stretched across her, their noses brushing. "I love you, you know that?" she whispered, voice thick with affection.

Lexa's throat tightened. She kissed Clarke's lips tenderly, then grinned. "I was hoping you'd say that before I let you taste my cooking. Just in case it's terrible."

Clarke pushed herself upright against the pillows, tugging the blanket up around her shoulders. Lexa quickly reached for the tray and carefully balanced it across Clarke's lap, hovering like she expected the whole thing might tip at any second.

"You're fussing," Clarke teased, watching the way Lexa's brow furrowed in concentration.

"I am not fussing," Lexa argued, though her hands lingered a little too long to make sure the tray was steady. "I'm making sure you and our child don't end up wearing scrambled eggs for breakfast."

Clarke's laugh was bright, chasing away the last traces of sleep. "You're ridiculous. Adorable, but ridiculous."

Lexa arched a brow, settling onto the mattress beside her, legs crossed casually. "Adorable? That's a new one. Not intimidating? Not terrifying CEO? Just adorable?"

Clarke cut off a piece of toast and held it up to her mouth with a smirk. "Right now, you're absolutely adorable. Especially when you're trying not to panic over crumbs on your fancy sheets."

Lexa made a show of scowling, but Clarke caught the faint pink flush creeping into her cheeks. "You're lucky I love you," Lexa muttered, stealing the bite of toast right out of Clarke's hand and popping it into her mouth before Clarke could react.

"Hey!" Clarke swatted at her, laughter bubbling up again. "You thief!"

Lexa chewed slowly, savoring the piece, then leaned closer with a shameless grin. "Mm. Tastes better when it's yours."

Clarke rolled her eyes but her lips twitched, trying and failing to hide her smile. "God, you're impossible."

"I prefer irresistible," Lexa countered smoothly, reaching for the coffee cup and holding it steady so Clarke could take a sip.

The domesticity of it all hit Clarke then, warm and grounding. Lexa's protectiveness, the way she hovered just enough without smothering, the playful stealing of food, it felt like a glimpse of what their mornings could be. What their family might look like, not just in fleeting weekends at the beach house, but every day.

As Clarke set the cup back on the tray, her hand found Lexa's without hesitation. Fingers laced, easy and natural, like they had always belonged there.

Lexa brushed her thumb over her knuckles, her voice dipping softer. "I could get used to this."

"You better," Clarke replied, eyes glinting, "because once this baby comes, mornings are going to be a lot louder."

Lexa chuckled, leaning over to kiss her again, this one slower, lingering, the kind that made Clarke's chest ache with how much it said without words.

Clarke buttered a piece of toast and gave Lexa a look when she reached over, predictably stealing half. "You know, if you're this bad at sharing breakfast, I can't wait to see you when the baby wants bites off your plate."

Lexa smirked, unrepentant. "They'll have to earn it. You, however, are simply irresistible."

Clarke rolled her eyes but softened instantly when Lexa's hand slid to rest over her belly, thumb brushing gently in small circles. It was instinctive now, like Lexa couldn't help but reach for her whenever she was close. Clarke swallowed against the sudden warmth blooming in her chest.

"So," Clarke started, breaking the little silence, "we still need to actually... you know... get a crib. Unless you're planning to have the baby sleep in a drawer like my mom always threatened to do with me."

Lexa's eyes widened at that. "A drawer?"

Clarke burst out laughing at her horrified tone. "She never meant it! But yeah, we need to figure it out."

Lexa's lips pressed into a thoughtful line. "I was thinking we could go shopping this weekend. Make a day of it. Crib, stroller, all the things. I've... done research."

Clarke arched a brow, fighting a grin. "Of course you have. Did you make a spreadsheet?"

Lexa paused. The silence stretched.

"Oh my god," Clarke gasped, hand flying to her mouth as she dissolved into giggles. "You did."

"It's efficient!" Lexa defended, her ears turning pink. "There are safety ratings, material comparisons, consumer reports, it's important."

Clarke leaned over, kissing her temple with a smile that was both amused and achingly fond. "You're going to be the nerdiest, most protective mom. And I love it."

Lexa stilled at that, just for a moment, like the words hit deeper than Clarke even realized. She recovered quickly, smirking as she tucked a strand of hair behind Clarke's ear. "You love it, huh?"

Clarke met her gaze without flinching this time, her voice low and certain. "Yeah. I do."

Lexa kissed her then, slow and tender, like she was trying to memorise the exact moment, the taste of coffee on Clarke's lips, the warmth of her laughter still lingering in the air, the small swell of her belly pressing between them.

When they finally broke apart, Clarke smirked. "So, spreadsheet or not, we're going crib shopping this weekend."

"And stroller," Lexa added, mock stern. "And car seat. I won't negotiate on safety."

Clarke groaned dramatically, dropping her head on Lexa's shoulder. "God, I'm in love with a spreadsheet."

Lexa chuckled, kissing the top of her head. "Lucky for you, this spreadsheet loves you back."

Lexa was still chuckling softly at Clarke's jab about being "in love with a spreadsheet" when Clarke leaned back in the pillow, stretching with a groan. The movement drew Lexa's eyes, as it always did, her hand halfway lifting like she might reach across again. Instead, she dropped it to her lap, biting back the instinct to cling.

"I have to go, you know," Clarke said, brushing crumbs off her shirt.

Lexa frowned. "Go?" The word came out sharper than she intended.

Clarke grinned at her expression, smug. "Don't sound so scandalized. Raven and I are going shopping this afternoon. Baby stuff, clothes for me, probably junk food we don't need."

Lexa's frown deepened, this time with something closer to pout than genuine annoyance. "You're leaving me for Raven?"

Clarke tilted her head, amused at how openly clingy Lexa was being. "You'll survive a few hours without me."

Lexa didn't look convinced. She pushed her plate away and stood, moving around the bed to bend down and press a kiss against Clarke's temple, then her cheek, then her jawline. Clarke laughed, trying to swat her off.

"Lexa," she warned, though her voice was warm.

"I just want to make sure you won't forget me while you're gone," Lexa murmured against her skin, deliberately dramatic as she trailed another kiss just below her ear.

Clarke giggled, pushing at her chest until Lexa finally straightened, looking thoroughly pleased with herself. "God, you're impossible," Clarke said, rolling her eyes though her smile was impossible to hide.

Lexa leaned down once more, placing her hand gently on Clarke's belly. Her voice softened, playful but tender. "Don't let Raven talk you into buying something ridiculous, okay? No leopard-print baby onesies. No robot pajamas. I will veto them."

"You're ridiculous," Clarke countered, shaking her head. But then she covered Lexa's hand with her own, giving it a squeeze. "Thank you. For this morning. For taking care of me. I... I really do love being here."

Lexa's face softened completely, the teasing fading into something earnest. "I love being with you," she said quietly, and Clarke knew she meant more than just physically being in her apartment.

Clarke leaned in, kissed her quickly before it could get too deep and make her even later. Then she slipped away, changing real quick, and grabbing her bag. "Okay. I'll see you tonight?"

Lexa's lips curved into a slow smile. "Try and stop me."

Clarke left with her heart tugging in two directions, warm from Lexa's affection, and fluttering with nerves about what it all meant as she headed out the door to meet Raven.

Shopping

Williamsburg on a Saturday afternoon was its usual blend of chaos and charm, cafés spilling people onto sidewalks, boutique windows dressed in trendy displays, and the constant hum of the city that never seemed to take a breath. Clarke adjusted her bag on her shoulder as Raven fell into step beside her, iced coffee in hand and mischief already written across her face.

"So," Raven drawled, eyeing Clarke like she was a puzzle she already had most of the pieces to. "You've got that glow."

Clarke squinted at her. "What glow?"

"The 'I'm getting it on the regular with a ridiculously hot CEO' glow." Raven sipped her coffee, smirk growing when Clarke flushed immediately.

"Raven," Clarke hissed, glancing around like someone might overhear.

"What? You think people don't notice?" Raven teased. "You're practically walking around with sex hair and dopey eyes."

Clarke tried to glare but ended up laughing, shaking her head as they ducked into a baby boutique filled with soft lighting and overpriced onesies. "Okay, fine," she admitted, keeping her voice low. "Yes. We... we're kind of—" She paused, fumbling for words. "We're basically together."

Raven grinned wide enough to split her face. "Finally. Took you two long enough. I was about to lock you in a supply closet and not let you out until one of you caved."

Clarke rolled her eyes and tried to focus on a rack of tiny socks, but Raven was relentless. "And?"

"And what?"

"And how is it?" Raven wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, already bracing herself for an answer she wasn't sure she wanted.

Clarke bit her lip, heat creeping up her cheeks. "Really good."

Raven groaned, covering her ears dramatically. "Nope, nope, don't need details. Don't wanna hear about my friend naked. I'm already traumatized enough from walking in on Miller and Jackson making out last week."

Clarke laughed so hard she had to grip the stroller display for balance. "I didn't even say anything!"

"You didn't have to. That face said it all." Raven narrowed her eyes, then smirked again. "But seriously, I'm happy for you. You look... lighter. Like you're not carrying it all alone anymore."

Clarke's smile softened, her gaze landing on a crib in the corner, painted a soft sage green. "Yeah. I do feel that way. She... she makes me feel safe. Seen."

Raven nudged her shoulder gently. "Good. You deserve that."

For a moment, they just stood there, surrounded by impossibly tiny clothes and the hum of the store, Clarke's hand resting absently over her bump. The world outside kept moving fast, but in that moment, Clarke let herself breathe because maybe, just maybe, she had found the family she didn't even know she'd been searching for.

Raven was crouched over a display of baby onesies, shaking her head in disbelief. "Clarke. Look at this. Two hundred bucks for something the kid's gonna spit up on in, like, five minutes." She held up a cream-colored cotton thing with little golden bees stitched on the sleeves. "It's basically a glorified napkin."

Clarke laughed, taking it from her to look closer. "Okay, but it's really cute."

"It's extortion is what it is." Raven tossed it back onto the table and immediately picked up another, this one neon orange with bold black letters across the chest: Future CEO.

Clarke burst out laughing. "Oh my god. Can you imagine Lexa's face if she saw that?"

"She'd probably buy the whole rack and hand them out at the next board meeting," Raven deadpanned, grinning when Clarke laughed harder.

They wandered further into the store, Clarke stopping at a display of soft baby blankets while Raven wandered toward the novelty items. "Oh, Clarke!" she called, her voice gleeful. "I found it."

Clarke looked over to see Raven holding up a bib with the words My Mom's Hotter Than Yours printed across it.

Clarke pressed her face into her hands. "Raven—"

"What? It's true!" Raven wiggled her eyebrows. "Hell, it's true for both of you. Baby's basically guaranteed to break hearts on the playground."

Clarke shook her head, fighting a blush as she rubbed her belly absently. "You're impossible."

"And you're glowing again," Raven shot back with a wink.

They ended up with a few practical things, a pack of onesies Clarke could actually afford, a blanket she couldn't resist, and, thanks to Raven's insistence, the ridiculous CEO onesie "for when you need to mess with Lexa."

As they headed out into the late afternoon sunlight, Raven bumped Clarke's shoulder with hers. "You know, I give you crap, but... I'm really proud of you. For letting yourself have this. With her."

Clarke smiled softly, touched. "Thanks, Rae. It's... scary sometimes. But it feels right."

Raven slung an arm around her shoulders as they started walking down the block. "Scary's good. Means it matters."

The diner was loud in that comforting way, clatter of plates, hum of conversation, the faint squeak of sneakers on linoleum. Clarke slid into the booth across from Raven, resting both hands protectively on her belly. Raven immediately stole one of the pickles from Clarke's plate when their food arrived.

"Hey!" Clarke laughed, swatting at her.

"Don't be greedy," Raven said with a smirk, crunching into it. "You've got cravings, I've got free food."

Clarke shook her head, grinning despite herself as she took a bite of her burger. For a few minutes they just ate, both starving from shopping, but Raven was never quiet for long.

"So," she said around a mouthful of fries, "on a scale of one to ten, how whipped are you for our dear Commander of Wall Street?"

Clarke rolled her eyes, but the blush gave her away. "Raven."

"What? I'm asking as your best friend." Raven leaned forward, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like a solid eleven. And the way you glow after being with her? Girl, I don't need the details—"

"Good," Clarke cut in quickly, though she was smiling.

Raven smirked. "—but I do need confirmation that the sex is blowing your mind."

Clarke groaned, hiding her face in her hands. "Raven Reyes, you are hopeless."

"I'll take that as a yes," Raven shot back, smug.

Clarke peeked at her through her fingers, cheeks pink but eyes soft. "Fine. It's... yeah. It's good. More than good. She's... she's everything, Rae. Gentle, but... not. She knows me in a way I didn't expect."

Raven sat back, grin fading into something softer. "Then I'm glad. You deserve that. And she—" she pointed her fry at Clarke's belly "—she's gonna be a lucky kid, having two moms who adore her."

Clarke's throat tightened unexpectedly. She ducked her head, brushing a hand over her belly. "Sometimes I wonder if I'll be enough. If I'll know what to do."

Raven's voice softened immediately. "You will. You've always been the one who figures things out, Clarke. You love hard, you fight hard. That's what makes a good mom. And with Lexa? You're not doing it alone."

Clarke blinked against the sting in her eyes, giving Raven a grateful smile. "Thanks, Rae."

"Anytime," Raven said, popping another fry into her mouth to lighten the moment.

Later that night

Lexa sat on the couch in her penthouse, laptop open but long forgotten on the coffee table. The city lights painted her windows in streaks of gold and silver, but she barely noticed. Her phone sat in her hand, thumb tapping the edge of it over and over.

She hated this restless feeling. Hated how quiet the apartment was without Clarke's laughter drifting through it, or the sound of her humming distractedly while she looked through cabinets.

Her mind kept circling back, Clarke's laugh at dinner the other night, her soft warmth tucked against Lexa's chest as they dozed, the flutter of her belly beneath Lexa's palm when she talked to their baby.

Lexa ran a hand down her face and leaned back, staring at the ceiling. She wanted to call. She wanted to text. But Clarke had plans with Raven, and Lexa was trying, really trying, not to suffocate her.

Just as she set her phone aside, it buzzed. Her heart leapt before she even looked.

Clarke:
Dinner was good. Shopping was exhausting. Wish you were here.

Lexa's lips curved, relief rushing through her chest. She typed back quickly, then paused, fingers hovering. Too much? Too little? Finally she settled on the truth.

Lexa:
I wish I was too. I miss you.

Lexa's phone buzzed again before she could even set it down.

Clarke:
Miss you too. Raven says hi. She's being nosy.

Lexa smiled, the tension in her shoulders easing. She could practically hear Clarke's amused voice through the words.

Lexa:
Tell her I said hello. And to stop stealing your pickles.

A few seconds later, the reply came:

Clarke:
She says she'll steal what she wants.

Lexa chuckled softly, shaking her head. Before she could type again, the screen lit up with Clarke's name and an incoming call. She answered without hesitation.

"Hey," Clarke's voice was warm, a little tired but laced with a smile.

"Hi," Lexa breathed, leaning back against the couch. Just hearing her eased something in her chest. "You sound exhausted."

"I am," Clarke admitted. "But I wanted to hear you. Didn't want you to think I forgot about you."

"As if I could," Lexa murmured, letting her eyes close. "How's my favorite girl? And my favorite little one?"

Clarke laughed, soft and low, the sound like honey. "We're fine. Though she was kicking up a storm earlier while I was trying on clothes. I think she approves of retail therapy."

"Smart girl," Lexa said, lips curving. She let herself imagine Clarke curled up in bed, hand on her belly, that glow on her cheeks.

They talked like that for a while, nothing heavy, just murmured updates, a few teasing remarks, Lexa slipping in compliments that made Clarke go quiet in that way she always did when she didn't know how to accept being adored.

Eventually, Clarke yawned. "Okay, I need to head home before I fall asleep in Raven's car."

"Text me when you get there," Lexa said softly. "Please."

"I will."

Later, Clarke shuffled into her apartment, bags of baby clothes and random finds from the afternoon piled by the door. Raven trailed in behind her, stretching with an exaggerated groan.

"My feet hate you," Raven muttered.

"You offered to come," Clarke teased, already digging her phone out of her bag.

Raven narrowed her eyes when she saw the way Clarke's whole face lit up at the screen. "You're calling her, aren't you?"

Clarke smirked, thumbing the FaceTime button. "Yup."

"Gross. Tell your girlfriend I said hi," Raven said, dropping onto Clarke's couch.

"She's not—" Clarke started, but the protest died when Lexa's face filled the screen. Her hair was loose, her expression softening instantly.

"Hi," Lexa said, voice dipping warm and low.

Clarke's stomach did that swooping thing again. "Hi. We made it back."

"Good," Lexa replied, gaze flicking across the screen like she was cataloging every detail of Clarke's face.

Raven leaned into the frame suddenly. "Sup, Commander."

Lexa actually cracked a laugh. "Hello, Raven."

"Don't keep her up too late, she needs her beauty sleep," Raven quipped, then flopped back out of view.

Clarke rolled her eyes, cheeks pink, but Lexa's smile only widened.

"You look beautiful," Lexa said softly once they were alone again.

Clarke's breath caught, her free hand instinctively brushing her belly. "You can't just say things like that when I look like this."

"You look like everything I've ever wanted," Lexa answered without hesitation, and Clarke's heart thudded hard against her ribs.

They stayed on the call until Clarke was tucked in bed, the phone propped on the pillow beside her, Lexa's face the last thing she saw before sleep tugged her under.

The next morning, Clarke blinked awake to the pale gray light slipping through her curtains, the familiar heaviness of her third-trimester body anchoring her to the mattress. She fumbled for her phone on the nightstand, expecting maybe a weather alert or a reminder from her OB.

Instead, she found six unread messages from Lexa.

The first was timestamped just after midnight:

Lexa: You fell asleep on me. I don't mind. It was the sweetest thing I've seen in a long time.

Clarke bit back a smile, already feeling her chest warm.

Lexa: You looked peaceful. I hope you stayed that way all night.

Another, only minutes later:

Lexa: I wish I were there to tuck you in properly.

Her throat tightened at that one. She pressed a hand absentmindedly to her belly, as though grounding herself.

Lexa: Tell her goodnight for me. Her other mom already misses her.

Clarke's eyes stung. She read that line three times, lips trembling, her heart pulling painfully in her chest.

The last two were lighter, like Lexa had caught herself getting too heavy:

Lexa: Also, please remind Raven that threatening to "steal you away" isn't funny. She'd lose.

And finally—

Lexa: Good morning, in case you see this after sunrise. I love you, Clarke. Don't panic—I just... couldn't not say it tonight.

Clarke lay there, phone clutched in her hand, staring at that last message like it was something fragile and alive. The words reverberated through her, terrifying and perfect all at once.

She typed a reply, erased it. Tried again. Deleted it.

Finally, she sent a single line:

Clarke: Good morning. I slept better than I have in weeks. Thank you for that.

She stared at the three dots that popped up immediately, her pulse racing like she'd just run a mile.

Chapter Text

The morning bustle of Woodson Enterprises was in full swing when Clarke stepped out of the elevator, smoothing a hand over her bump almost unconsciously. She hadn't expected to feel nervous, she and Lexa had already said it, they'd already crossed that line, but her heart still kicked up at the thought of seeing her.

She didn't have to look far. Lexa was waiting near the doors of her office, pretending to skim something on her tablet, but Clarke could see it in her, the way her eyes softened the second they landed on her, the way her whole posture loosened.

Clarke's lips curved before she could stop herself. "Good morning," she said, her voice softer than she meant it to be.

Lexa didn't bother with words at first. She closed the distance in a few strides and folded Clarke into her arms, not caring who might see. Clarke melted into her, her cheek pressed to Lexa's chest, and exhaled like she'd been holding her breath all morning.

"You're here," Lexa murmured into her hair, her voice low and threaded with relief. "I missed you."

Clarke gave a small laugh. "We saw each other yesterday morning."

"And this morning wasn't nearly enough," Lexa countered, pulling back just enough to brush a thumb across Clarke's cheek. Her expression was openly and unapologetically tender, the kind of look that once would've made Clarke's knees go weak.

"God, you two are disgustingly sweet," Raven's voice rang out from down the hall, making both of them glance up. She was leaning against a cubicle wall, grinning like a cat who'd caught them sneaking kisses in the copy room. "Some of us are just trying to drink our coffee in peace, you know. PDA central over here."

Clarke rolled her eyes, though her cheeks burned pink. "Don't you have an engine to build or something?"

"Engines can wait," Raven shot back, wagging her eyebrows. "This is way more entertaining. I mean, come on. Our fearless CEO, completely undone by a hug? I'm taking mental notes."

Lexa gave her a look that was half exasperation, half fond amusement. "Go to work, Reyes."

"Yeah, yeah," Raven said, smirking as she strolled off. "Just don't start making out in the middle of the floor unless you want the entire building buzzing about Baby Woodson 2.0."

Clarke groaned, hiding her face in Lexa's shoulder. "She's never going to let us live this down."

Lexa only tightened her hold, her lips brushing her temple in a quiet kiss. "Let her tease," she said softly, so only Clarke could hear. "I don't care who knows how much I love you."

And in that moment, Clarke didn't either.

Lexa's hand lingered at Clarke's lower back as she guided her into her office, shutting the door behind them with a quiet click. The hum of the office floor dulled, leaving only the steady beat of Clarke's pulse in her ears.

Before Clarke could even turn, Lexa was there pressing her against the edge of the desk, her arms bracketing Clarke in. It wasn't rushed, wasn't desperate; it was deliberate, like Lexa was savoring the rare moment of privacy.

"I wasn't kidding," Lexa murmured, dipping her head so her lips brushed Clarke's temple. "I missed you."

Clarke's mouth curved despite herself. "You saw me ten hours ago."

"Too long," Lexa said simply, her hand skimming down to rest over Clarke's bump. Her thumb stroked there gently before her lips found Clarke's in a kiss that was soft at first, then deepened as Clarke gave in, curling her fingers in the lapel of Lexa's jacket.

Clarke broke the kiss just long enough to catch her breath. "We're at work," she whispered, though her body leaned into Lexa's like it had its own mind.

"No one's coming in," Lexa countered, her mouth brushing Clarke's jaw, trailing lower until Clarke's pulse fluttered beneath her lips. "I locked the door."

Clarke let out a shaky laugh. "Of course you did."

Lexa smiled against her skin, then pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. That same openness was there, the one that disarmed Clarke every time. "I love you, Clarke," she admitted softly, thumb brushing her cheekbone. "Every second I'm with you, I just want more."

Clarke's heart twisted at that, at the honesty, the vulnerability she knew Lexa didn't show to anyone else. She lifted her hand, threading it into Lexa's hair, tugging gently until their lips met again.

This time the kiss was deeper, more insistent. Clarke sighed into it, her body arching against Lexa's, and Lexa swallowed the sound with a low groan, pressing closer.

For a moment, it felt like the whole world narrowed down to the two of them, the warmth of Lexa's lips, the strong circle of her arms, the soft press of her hand against the life growing inside Clarke.

When they finally broke apart, Clarke rested her forehead against Lexa's. "You're going to get us caught," she murmured, though her voice carried no real protest.

"Then let them catch us," Lexa said with a half-smile, kissing her once more, quick and certain.

Clarke gasped softly against her mouth when Lexa's hands slid lower, finding the curve of her hips and pulling her flush against her.

"Lexa," Clarke whispered, half in warning, half in want. But her body betrayed her, fingers tightening in Lexa's shirt as she pressed closer, arching against her.

Lexa pulled back just enough to look at her, green eyes dark and sharp with need. "Tell me to stop, Clarke," she said, voice low, rougher than Clarke had ever heard it. Her thumb traced the line of Clarke's jaw, feather-light, as if she were holding herself back by sheer will. "Tell me, and I'll stop."

Clarke's breath shivered out of her. She should think about where they were. She should think about timing. She should think about a thousand reasons to say no.

Instead, she tugged Lexa's tie loose with a shaky laugh. "Shut up and kiss me."

Something broke in Lexa then, something careful and controlled. Her mouth was on Clarke's again, hot and demanding, and she walked her backward until Clarke hit the desk. Papers scattered as Lexa lifted her onto the edge in one swift motion, stepping between her knees.

Clarke's head tilted back when Lexa's lips found her neck, her pulse pounding hard enough that Lexa could feel it. "God," Clarke whispered, threading her fingers into Lexa's hair. "You're so hot right now."

"Is that so," Lexa murmured against her skin, voice husky, before claiming her mouth again.

The kiss turned wild, Clarke clutching at Lexa's shoulders, pulling her closer. Lexa's hands smoothed over her thighs, thumbs pressing into soft skin, and Clarke shivered, spreading her knees wider for her without hesitation.

She only cared about Lexa, Lexa's heat, Lexa's lips, Lexa's hands that made her forget they were anywhere but together, alone.

"Someone could—" Clarke tried to say, but it dissolved into a moan when Lexa's teeth grazed her earlobe, followed by a whispered, "Let them. I don't care."

Clarke laughed breathlessly, clutching her tighter. "You're going to ruin me."

"You already ruined me," Lexa countered, pressing her forehead to Clarke's for just a heartbeat before kissing her again, as if she couldn't bear the space between them.

The kiss turned molten fast, Clarke's lips bruised under Lexa's mouth as if all the restraint of the past weeks had broken in one rush. Lexa's hands gripped her thighs, pulling her to the very edge of the desk until Clarke could feel the hard line of her body pressing into her.

Clarke gasped against her lips when Lexa's hips rolled forward, instinctive, hungry. "Lexa—"

But Lexa swallowed the sound, kissing her deeper, tongue sliding against hers until Clarke whimpered. Her fingers dug into Lexa's shoulders, pulling, greedy, desperate.

Clarke tugged hard at Lexa's shirt, her hands slipping under the fabric to find warm skin. She felt the flex of muscle beneath her palms, the heat of her, and she sighed into her mouth, dizzy with it.

Lexa's control snapped further when Clarke hooked her legs around her waist. With a low groan, she lifted Clarke higher onto the desk, papers crumpling under the shift. Clarke's skirt hitched up her thighs, and Lexa's hands were there, smoothing up over soft skin, gripping hard enough to leave prints.

"God, Clarke," she muttered against her jaw, voice frayed and low. "I can't— I can't stop wanting you."

Clarke tilted her head back when Lexa's mouth trailed hot down her neck. "Then don't," she breathed, her nails raking gently over Lexa's back.

Lexa pulled back just far enough to look at her, eyes blazing, chest heaving like she was holding herself together by threads. "You're sure?"

Clarke's lips curved in a daring little smile, her eyes shining with want. "You wouldn't have locked the door if I wasn't."

Lexa let out a chuckle and kissed her again, rough and hungry, one hand slipping beneath Clarke's skirt now, finding her bare thigh and dragging higher, higher. Clarke gasped into her mouth when Lexa's touch pressed exactly where she ached most, firm and certain, and her hips bucked against her hand.

"Lexa," Clarke moaned, her voice wrecked, clinging to her shoulders like she might fall apart without her.

Lexa's other hand came up to cup her face, thumb stroking her cheek even as her fingers teased and pressed, relentless. "So beautiful," she whispered, kissing her again, slower this time, like she wanted Clarke to feel every ounce of it.

Clarke's head tipped back as pleasure spiked through her, a helpless cry muffled against Lexa's lips. Her thighs trembled around Lexa's waist, nails digging into her skin, a few loose papers fluttering to the floor like startled birds. She barely noticed, the only thing her body registered was Lexa pressing her back down, firm but controlled, the CEO's grip reminding her exactly who held the power in this room.

The air was thick with tension, charged with the kind of heat that burned hotter because it wasn't supposed to happen here. Not in broad daylight. Not in the office with her name stamped on the door. But Lexa wasn't asking. Lexa was taking, and Clarke couldn't pretend she didn't love every second of it.

"Lexa—" her voice broke, hushed but urgent, as she felt strong fingers trace up the inside of her thigh.

"Shh," Lexa breathed against her ear, her voice low, commanding, the kind of tone that made Clarke's core clench before she'd even been touched. "Quiet. Or they'll hear."

Clarke bit down on her lower lip, forcing her whimper to stay in her throat as Lexa's hand slid higher, slipping beneath the edge of her panties. The first deliberate brush of Lexa's fingertips against her slick heat had Clarke gasping, hips jerking shamelessly up into the contact.

Lexa's mouth curved into a knowing smirk against her neck. "So wet already. Did you really come into my office like this, wanting me to ruin you?"

Clarke shut her eyes, shuddering at the words. She wanted to deny it, but Lexa's fingers were already sliding between her folds, slow and teasing, her thumb circling just enough to make her ache with the need for more.

"Yes," Clarke whispered, her voice breaking with desperation. "God, yes."

Lexa's teeth grazed her earlobe, and then she pinched lightly at her clit, making Clarke arch against the desk. "Good girl."

The praise made Clarke's breath stutter, and she clung harder to the edge of the desk as Lexa worked her, fingers moving in steady strokes, building pressure with every pass. Clarke's thighs trembled, the edge of her heels digging into the carpeted floor to steady herself. She was already close, too close, but Lexa knew her body too well to let her fall just yet.

Instead, she withdrew her hand entirely. Clarke whimpered, frustrated, her eyes flying open, but Lexa silenced her protest with a kiss, hard and punishing, tongue sliding into her mouth with practiced dominance.

When Lexa pulled back, her pupils were blown, her voice rough. "Strip. Everything."

Clarke's fingers fumbled with the buttons of her blouse, urgency making her clumsy, but Lexa didn't help. She stood there like a predator watching her prey, arms folded, gaze raking over Clarke as each layer came off and joined the pile of papers and pens littering the desk.

By the time Clarke was bare, her nipples had already peaked into tight points from the cool office air and the sheer intensity of Lexa's stare. She blushed under it, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

"Beautiful," Lexa murmured, stepping closer. "But you knew that, didn't you?"

Clarke opened her mouth to respond, but her words died when Lexa bent down and took one sensitive nipple between her lips, sucking hard, her tongue swirling in deliberate circles. Clarke's cry tore from her throat before she could stop it, and Lexa's hand came up immediately to cover her mouth.

"Quiet," she hissed against her breast, giving the nub a sharp flick with her tongue that had Clarke squirming helplessly. "Or do you want my board of directors to hear how good I make you feel?"

Clarke's moan vibrated against Lexa's palm, muffled but loud enough that Lexa chuckled darkly. She switched to the other nipple, teasing, biting just hard enough to make Clarke whine, then soothing the sting with her tongue. Clarke's body arched into her mouth, nipples so sensitive that every flick of Lexa's tongue sent jolts straight to her core.

Lexa's hand moved down again, between Clarke's thighs, pressing two fingers inside her without warning. Clarke's muffled scream was swallowed by Lexa's hand still clamped over her mouth, her hips bucking as Lexa curled her fingers upward in a perfect rhythm, stroking that spot with ruthless precision.

"Take it," Lexa whispered against her skin, pumping harder. "Take my fingers like the good girl you are."

Clarke's body obeyed, clenching around her, slick pooling as her thighs quivered uncontrollably. Lexa's thumb brushed her clit again, faster this time, and Clarke shook her head, muffled pleas tumbling against Lexa's palm. She was already on the brink, her body desperate for release.

But Lexa wasn't done.

She pulled her fingers out and brought them to Clarke's lips, forcing them past her parted mouth. "Taste yourself," Lexa demanded.

Clarke moaned around the digits, licking them eagerly, her eyes hazy with lust.

Lexa groaned at the sight, her arousal straining against her slacks. "That's it, baby. On your knees. Now."

Clarke slid off the desk obediently, dropping to the floor, her palms braced against Lexa's thighs as she reached for the button of her pants. Lexa's breath hitched, one hand tangling in Clarke's hair as the other freed herself.

The moment Clarke's lips wrapped around her, Lexa bit back a curse, her head tilting back toward the ceiling. The office filled with the obscene sound of Clarke's mouth working her, wet and eager, her tongue swirling as she took more of her each time.

"Fuck, Clarke," Lexa groaned, her voice low but ragged. "You're going to make me—"

She cut herself off, forcing the words down, her jaw tight as Clarke's pace quickened. Lexa's hips jerked forward helplessly, every ounce of control threatening to shatter.

Clarke hummed around her, and that was it, Lexa's climax ripped through her, muffled curses falling from her lips as she pulled Clarke tighter against her, spilling into her mouth. Clarke swallowed greedily, eyes locked on Lexa's face the entire time.

Lexa collapsed back against the desk, panting, her hand still tangled in Clarke's hair. She looked down, flushed and wrecked, as Clarke licked her clean with slow, teasing strokes.

"Good girl," Lexa rasped, pulling Clarke up by the chin for a deep, messy kiss, tasting herself on Clarke's tongue.

Papers still littered the floor. The desk was a disaster. The office smelled faintly of sex. And Clarke, naked, trembling, and glowing leaned into Lexa's embrace, flushed with both shame and pride at how completely she'd been undone in the one place they shouldn't have touched each other.

Lexa smirked, brushing her thumb over Clarke's swollen lips. "I should keep you here all day, spread out over my desk, just like this."

Clarke smiled, breathless. "Then close the blinds."

A/n: they are not in Lexa's glass office, for now😉. Its the other one with actually walls, 14th floor. My sequel people already have an idea of what's going on.

Lexa was still catching her breath, her shirt hanging half open, her hair falling loose from the careful bun she'd started the day with. She looked powerful even like this, especially like this, sitting in her chair, flushed and wrecked, her chest rising and falling in sharp waves.

Clarke, however, wasn't finished.

She rose from the desk, gathering herself, and crossed the short distance to Lexa's chair. Bare, glowing, her hair wild, her skin still marked by Lexa's mouth, she looked nothing short of devastating. She leaned forward, bracing herself on the arms of Lexa's chair, lips grazing her ear.

"My turn to take charge," Clarke whispered.

Lexa's hand twitched on the leather armrest, her jaw tightening. She swallowed hard, gaze flicking up to Clarke's. "Clarke—"

"No." Clarke's voice was husky, breathless, but steady. "You don't get to lead every time. Not when I know how much you need this."

And then she straddled her lap.

Lexa let out a choked groan at the sudden weight, her head falling back as Clarke's bare thighs settled on either side of her. Clarke ground down against her deliberately, her slick core brushing against Lexa's still-sensitive length, drawing a sharp intake of breath from the CEO.

"Fuck, Clarke..."

Clarke smirked, leaning forward to kiss along her jaw, her hands slipping inside Lexa's half-open shirt. She pinched at her nipples, rolling them between her fingers until Lexa cursed under her breath, her whole body jerking in response.

"You're so sensitive here," Clarke whispered, biting lightly at Lexa's throat. "I love that." She twisted harder, and Lexa's strangled moan filled the space between them.

"Quiet," Clarke teased, echoing the command Lexa had used on her earlier, her tone dripping with irony. "Wouldn't want your precious employees to hear their boss falling apart for me."

Lexa growled low in her chest, but Clarke only smirked wider, sitting up and reaching between them to line Lexa up. With one slow roll of her hips, she sank down onto her fully, both of them groaning at the stretch, the way it felt too much and perfect all at once.

Lexa's hands gripped Clarke's hips instantly, bruising tight, but Clarke slapped one of them away, pinning it to the arm of the chair. "No," she breathed. "You sit there. You can take it."

The shift in power made Lexa's pupils blow wide. Her lips parted, but no words came. She only nodded faintly, surrendering.

Clarke set the rhythm herself, slow at first, grinding down until she felt Lexa twitch inside her. She dragged it out, rolling her hips in circles, tightening around her deliberately, savoring every gasp, every barely-contained curse.

"Look at you," Clarke murmured, one hand sliding up Lexa's chest to squeeze her breast, thumb and forefinger finding her nipple again and twisting until Lexa hissed. "The great Lexa Woodson, undone in her own office chair."

"Clarke—" Lexa's voice broke, caught between plea and warning.

Clarke leaned forward, their foreheads nearly touching, her breasts brushing Lexa's chest. "Beg for it."

Lexa's eyes darkened, jaw tight. She shook her head once, stubborn even now.

Clarke rolled her hips harder, faster, bouncing just enough to make Lexa groan aloud. "Beg," Clarke repeated, biting at her lip as pleasure coursed through her. "Or I'll stop."

Lexa's hand clenched into the chair, her self-control unraveling. "Please," she rasped finally, her voice raw. "Please, Clarke. Don't stop. I need you."

The words sent a shiver down Clarke's spine. She rewarded Lexa by quickening her pace, riding her harder now, her nails dragging down Lexa's chest as the room filled with the wet slap of their bodies colliding.

Lexa's eyes fluttered shut, her head tipping back against the chair, lips parting with broken sounds. Clarke reached down between them, pressing her thumb against her own clit as she moved, chasing her climax with wild abandon.

"God, Lexa—" Clarke moaned, her rhythm faltering as her body threatened to break apart. "You feel so fucking good—"

Lexa's hands trembled where they gripped the armrests, her thighs taut beneath Clarke, her body straining not to thrust up and ruin Clarke's control. "Clarke—I'm—fuck—I'm so close—"

"Come with me," Clarke demanded, riding her harder, faster, the desk behind them rattling with every movement. "Now."

It hit them together, a tidal wave of heat and pressure breaking all at once. Clarke cried out Lexa's name, biting down on her shoulder to muffle herself, while Lexa groaned loud and guttural, her body bucking helplessly beneath Clarke as she spilled deep inside her.

Clarke collapsed forward, shaking, her chest pressed against Lexa's as they panted in unison, every nerve still on fire. She kissed Lexa's jaw, her ear, her lips, soft and lingering this time.

Lexa finally let go of the chair, her arms wrapping around Clarke's waist, holding her tight in the aftermath. She buried her face in Clarke's neck, her breath still ragged. "You're dangerous when you're in control," she whispered.

Clarke smiled lazily, kissing her temple. "And you love it."

Lexa chuckled hoarsely. "I really fucking do."

They stayed tangled in the office chair, the room still smelling of sex, the desk still littered with papers, the blinds still open to the city below. Clarke smirked as she shifted in Lexa's lap, still unwilling to move.

"You'll never look at this office chair the same way again," she teased.

Lexa's smirk mirrored hers. "Neither will you."

And with that, Lexa kissed her again: hungry and unyielding, already promising that this was far from over.

The blinds were still half-open, sunlight streaking across Lexa's office floor in sharp golden lines. Papers littered the desk, Clarke's blouse dangled precariously off the edge of the chair, and the air smelled faintly of sex and leather.

Clarke was still perched on Lexa's lap, straddling her in the wide leather chair, naked and flushed, her back now arched against Lexa's chest. Lexa had pushed her panties down around her thighs and hadn't bothered to remove them, letting the fabric hang uselessly as a reminder of how quickly Clarke had come undone.

Lexa kissed the back of her shoulder, lips hot, voice low. "You thought we were finished?"

Clarke shuddered, every nerve ending raw and wanting. "We should be. God, Lexa—what if someone—"

Lexa cut her off with a sharp thrust upward, her length sliding deep inside. Clarke gasped, the sound echoing in the high-ceilinged office.

"That's half the fun," Lexa growled against her ear, one hand splayed across Clarke's stomach, the other squeezing her breast, thumb flicking over her nipple with deliberate cruelty.

Clarke's head fell back against Lexa's shoulder, her mouth falling open as Lexa set a rhythm, slow at first, each thrust deliberate and heavy. She bit her lip hard to hold in the moan bubbling up in her throat. Her nipples were painfully sensitive now, each drag of Lexa's thumb sending sparks straight between her thighs.

"Lexa—" Clarke whispered, pleading, her nails digging into the armrests of the chair.

"Shh," Lexa hushed, sucking at the side of her throat, marking her in a place that made Clarke's pulse hammer. "Stay quiet, or everyone in this building will know exactly how needy you are for me."

The words only made Clarke wetter, her nails digging into Lexa's shoulders as she tried to smother her sounds against her neck. But Lexa had no mercy now, fucking up into her with steady, deliberate strokes, drawing out every whimper, every shiver.

Clarke's response was strangled, halfway between a whimper and a curse. Her body betrayed her, hips rolling back against Lexa's with each thrust, desperate for more friction.

"You think you're in control?" Lexa's voice was dangerous silk, low and commanding. "Not here. Not in my office."

The knock came at the door like a gunshot.

Clarke froze, panic sparking in her chest, but Lexa didn't stop. In fact, her thrusts grew deeper, slower, each one dragging a desperate gasp out of Clarke's throat.

"Ms. Griffin, you in there?" a voice called, muffled through the thick wood of the door. "I have the paperwork you requested!"

Clarke's stomach dropped. Her mouth opened, desperate to respond, but Lexa's hand clamped over it instantly.

"Don't you dare," Lexa whispered against her ear, voice dark and dangerous.

Clarke squirmed, shaking her head, her muffled whimper caught against Lexa's palm. Lexa smirked, and instead of pulling back, she moved. A sharp, deep thrust that had Clarke crying into her hand, body arching uncontrollably.

"Clarke?" the voice called again. "Do you need me to leave it on your desk?"

Lexa's hand slid from her mouth just enough for her to answer.

"Answer," Lexa whispered into her ear, nipping at her lobe. "Go on."

Clarke shook her head wildly, trying to hold back another moan. "I—I can't—"

Lexa's hand slid up, pinching her nipple between her fingers, sharp and sudden. Clarke bit back a cry, her body jerking against her.

"Yes, you can," Lexa murmured darkly, thrusting hard enough that the chair creaked. "Answer her. Or I won't stop until you're screaming my name."

Another knock, firmer this time. "Clarke?"

Clarke clawed at Lexa's shoulders, tears pricking the corners of her eyes as pleasure overwhelmed her. She tried to find her voice, tried to force it past the moans.

"I—y-yeah!" she managed to choke out, her words tumbling over the sound of another thrust. "Leave it!—J-just—finishing up something!"

Her voice cracked on the last syllable, breaking into a stifled whimper as Lexa took the opportunity, driving her hips upward again at the same time Clarke spoke. The words fractured, stuttering into the silence. Clarke slapped her hand over her own mouth, cheeks burning red, eyes watering as she tried to hold it together.

There was a pause on the other side of the door. "Oh. Okay. Sorry." The person behind the door seemed to hesitate. Then footsteps retreated down the hall.

Clarke sagged forward with a choked exhale, relief flooding her only to be swallowed again as Lexa's hand fisted in her hair and pulled her head back.

"You answered," Lexa said, her lips brushing her jaw, tone darkly amused. "But you couldn't hide it. You wanted them to hear."

"I didn't—" Clarke tried to protest, but her words broke off into a moan as Lexa pinched one nipple hard, her hips pistoning faster now, unforgiving.

"You're dripping all over me," Lexa hissed, her pace rougher, each thrust making the chair creak. "You love this—the risk, the thought of being caught with my cock inside you."

Clarke tried to steady her breathing, tried to find the composure to push herself off Lexa's lap and salvage what little dignity she had left before the assistant came back. But Lexa didn't give her that chance.

Her hands clamped firm on Clarke's hips, grounding her, keeping her right where she was. "Don't you dare move," Lexa murmured, her voice dark velvet.

Clarke's eyes widened. "Lexa—she's going to come back. She'll know."

Lexa's smirk was slow, dangerous, her chest rising and falling against Clarke's. "Then you'd better be quiet."

The words set Clarke on fire.

She moved without thinking, hips rising and then dropping down hard onto Lexa's length, a choked moan slipping past her bitten lip. The risk only sharpened every sensation.

Clarke's thighs tightened around Lexa's hips as she rode her, slow at first, trying to keep control, but Lexa's hands guided her into a rhythm that was deeper, hungrier, devastating. Each thrust bottomed out inside her, each shift of Lexa's hips sending sparks through Clarke's body until she was shaking all over again.

Her breasts brushed Lexa's chest with every movement, her nipples hard and overly sensitive, catching against the fabric of Lexa's blouse. Clarke gasped, arching into the friction, and Lexa noticed instantly, sliding one hand up to cup her breast, thumb flicking over the taut peak.

"Lexa—!" Clarke hissed, muffling the cry against Lexa's neck, her lips biting down hard to stifle the sound. The attention on her nipples made her whole body spasm, every nerve raw, every thrust harder to endure without breaking.

"You love it," Lexa whispered, her voice like smoke, teasing her nipple again until Clarke shook. "You're dripping down my cock, Clarke. You're begging to be caught."

Clarke shook her head violently, though her hips told the truth, slamming down against Lexa's with frantic need. She was gone, undone, every thrust unraveling her tighter and tighter.

And then footsteps again.

Clarke froze mid-motion, wide-eyed. The sound of heels echoed in the hallway, closer, closer.

"Fuck, Lexa—" Clarke's whisper was wild, panicked, her whole body trembling. "She's coming back—"

Lexa only held her tighter, thrusting up once more, stealing Clarke's breath in a rush of heat. "Then finish before she opens that door."

A/n: the door is still locked🤪 Clarke is just not in her right senses.

Before Clarke could argue, Lexa thrust up into her again, pulling a strangled sound from her throat that she barely managed to smother against the back of her hand. Her body betrayed her instantly, clenching around Lexa with such intensity she nearly lost her balance.

"God—" Clarke whimpered, rocking forward helplessly as her nails dug into Lexa's shoulders. "You're gonna get us caught—"

Lexa's eyes never wavered, locked on her like they were the only two people in the world. She leaned in, her lips grazing Clarke's ear. "Then don't give me a reason to make you scream."

Clarke's nails clawed at the leather armrest, her thighs trembling as she tried to keep her voice down. The heat coiled low in her belly, unbearable. Every snap of Lexa's hips drove her higher, closer.

"Say it," Lexa demanded, her voice gravelly, thrusting deep and grinding against her at the same time.

Clarke shook her head, tears in her eyes from the effort of staying quiet.

Lexa's hand slid down to her clit, circling it mercilessly while still thrusting inside her. Clarke bit down hard on her knuckles, muffling the scream that threatened to rip free.

"Say it, Clarke," Lexa growled, biting her shoulder, thrusting harder. "Say you want them to hear you."

Clarke broke. Her voice came out strangled, desperate, too loud in the office. "I—I want them to hear! Lexa, fuck, I want them to know—"

Lexa only smirked, kissing her temple. "And you love it."

Then she pushed Clarke back upright, grabbing her ass in both hands, bouncing her roughly on her cock. Clarke bit down on her lip so hard she tasted blood, her moans reduced to muffled, desperate whimpers as Lexa fucked up into her with punishing rhythm.

"Ride me," Lexa ordered, voice low, raw.

Clarke obeyed, hips slamming down in messy, frantic motions, sweat beading on her skin, every thrust sending white-hot shocks of pleasure through her. Lexa pinched her nipples again, making Clarke cry out softly, the sound swallowed by Lexa's mouth as they kissed through the chaos.

The chair squeaked. The desk rattled. The whole office reeked of sex and danger.

Clarke was unraveling fast, her thighs shaking, her body clenching tight around Lexa with each desperate roll of her hips.

"Please," she begged, her voice broken, her head falling back. "Please, Lexa—let me—"

Lexa tightened her grip on Clarke's waist, thrusting up brutally hard, hitting deep enough that Clarke's scream broke free despite her best efforts.

"Come for me," Lexa demanded, her own voice guttural, her thrusts unrelenting.

"Lexa—please—" she whispered, voice breaking, riding her faster, reckless now, each movement risking everything.

Lexa groaned at her surrender, pushing her harder into the chair, her pace brutal now. Clarke's body convulsed, her orgasm tearing through her with violent force, her cry muffled against her hand as she came hard around Lexa, her thighs shaking uncontrollably.

Lexa followed with a low, guttural moan, burying herself to the hilt as her own release ripped through her. She held Clarke tight against her chest, panting into her shoulder as she spilled deep inside her.

For a moment, the office was nothing but ragged breaths and the creak of leather. Papers scattered around their feet. Clarke's hair clung to her damp neck, her body trembling as Lexa kept her close, still buried deep.

"You—are the worst," Clarke whispered hoarsely, her lips brushing Lexa's jaw. "I almost died."

Lexa chuckled low, kissing the corner of her mouth as her hands smoothed over Clarke's back. "You lived. And you came harder than you ever have."

Clarke's glare was ruined by the way she still shivered in her arms, undone. "I hate that you're right. God... you're going to get me fired."

Lexa chuckled, breathless, one hand brushing damp hair from her face. "Youll be fine. You forget, I'm the boss."

Chapter Text

By the time Clarke and Lexa finally got themselves put back together, the sun outside was already beginning to dip. Clarke had fixed her hair in the reflection of Lexa's office window, cheeks still flushed, legs a little wobbly when she tried to stand. Lexa, for her part, had been useless, hovering close and adjusting Clarke's blouse buttons with hands that still shook, kissing her temple when Clarke swatted her for making her even later.

They slipped out of the office together, trying to act casual. Lexa's hand brushed against Clarke's lower back every so often, a quiet, protective presence that made Clarke's stomach flutter.

Of course, Raven was waiting by the elevators.

She took one look at Clarke's disheveled hair, the color in her cheeks, the way Lexa's shirt collar was slightly askew, and her grin went wide. "Well, well, well."

Clarke groaned immediately. "Don't."

Raven cocked her head, eyes dancing. "What? I'm not saying anything. I mean, it's not like I've been saying for months that you two needed to just—" she gestured vaguely between them "—handle all that unresolved tension."

Lexa cleared her throat, trying for composed, but Clarke could feel the heat radiating off her. "Raven," Lexa said evenly, though her ears were pink.

Raven smirked at her, unbothered. "Relax, boss. Your secret's safe with me. Just maybe double-check Clarke's hair before you walk her past reception next time."

Clarke smacked Raven's arm, mortified. "Oh my god, stop."

Raven only laughed, leaning against the elevator doors. "Don't be embarrassed, Griffin. Honestly, you're glowing. Sex in the office will do that, I guess."

Clarke's jaw dropped, and she stammered, "We didn't—" but the protest fizzled, because lying felt stupid with Lexa standing right there looking unfairly smug.

Raven raised her brows, victorious. "Uh-huh. Exactly."

The elevator dinged open then, saving Clarke from further teasing. Lexa's hand brushed Clarke's again as they stepped inside together, and Clarke fought to hide her smile.

Raven's voice carried in after them. "You two are disgustingly cute already. I'm gonna need hazard pay for how much PDA I'm about to witness at work."

Lexa's lips quirked, and Clarke, despite herself, laughed. Warm and embarrassed, but happy.

Back at her desk, Clarke tried to bury herself in her sketches, but it was impossible to ignore Raven perched across from her, smirking like she'd won some kind of championship.

"So..." Raven drawled, tapping her pen against her notebook. "How was your lunch break, Griffin?"

Clarke didn't look up. "Fine."

"Mm-hm. Fine." Raven leaned closer, lowering her voice but not enough. "Because you look like someone who got thoroughly kissed against a desk, not someone who ate a salad."

Clarke's cheeks flamed. "Raven."

Across the office, Lexa's door was propped open, and Clarke could feel her watching. Lexa's gaze kept lifting from her laptop, flicking toward Clarke's corner, lingering just a second too long before she pretended to be busy again.

Raven noticed too, of course. She elbowed Clarke lightly. "She's been staring at you for the last ten minutes. Girl's in deep."

Clarke risked a glance up. Sure enough, Lexa's green eyes caught hers, and there was no pretending anymore. The tiny smile Lexa gave her was soft, private, just for her. Clarke felt something swoop low in her stomach.

"God, you two are gross already," Raven muttered, though she looked more amused than annoyed. "Like, give it a week and I'm gonna walk in on you feeding each other grapes or some shit."

Clarke tried to hide her grin behind her hand, failing miserably.

And then, like she wanted to prove Raven's point, Lexa appeared in Clarke's space a moment later, leaning down beside her desk. The woodsy warmth of her cologne curled around Clarke immediately.

"Don't forget," Lexa murmured quietly, meant just for Clarke. "We're supposed to meet with the marketing team in twenty." Her voice was low, teasing. "Think you can stay focused until then?"

Raven stage-whispered across the desk, "Nope."

Clarke smacked her arm again, mortified, while Lexa actually laughed and brushed a hand against Clarke's shoulder before heading back toward her office.

When she was gone, Raven gave Clarke a wide-eyed look. "Oh yeah. She's gone for you."

Clarke tried for sarcasm but ended up smiling helplessly, warmth buzzing in her chest. "Shut up, Raven."

Raven leaned back in her chair, smug as ever. "Not a chance."

Five minutes later.

Raven didn't even bother knocking. She slipped into Lexa's office with the kind of confidence only she could pull off, shutting the door behind her and planting herself in front of Lexa's desk like she owned the place.

Lexa glanced up from her laptop, brows raising. "Raven."

"You know, for someone who built a billion-dollar company, you're really bad at hiding your horniness." Raven dropped into the chair across from her, grinning.

Lexa's pen stilled in her hand. "I don't know what you mean."

Raven barked a laugh. "Please. You've been making heart eyes at Clarke from across the bullpen all afternoon. If this were high school, you'd be doodling 'Mrs. Clarke Woodson' in your notebook right now."

Lexa's lips twitched, the faintest betrayal of amusement, but she schooled her expression quickly. "You're exaggerating."

"Am I?" Raven leaned forward, smirking. "Because I've watched you check on her no less than nine times since lunch. Nine. That's not boss behavior, that's girlfriend behavior."

Lexa gave her a pointed look. "Careful, Raven."

But Raven only grinned wider. "Ooooh, there it is! The scary CEO glare. Doesn't work on me, Woods. I know your weakness."

Lexa arched an eyebrow. "And what would that be?"

Raven spread her arms dramatically. "Blonde. Blue eyes. Currently pretending to work on architectural sketches while secretly doodling your jawline in the margins."

Lexa's composure cracked; she huffed out something between a laugh and a groan, pinching the bridge of her nose. "You are insufferable."

"Maybe," Raven shot back, "but you're lovesick. And honestly? It's kind of adorable. You, the ice queen, completely undone by my best friend."

Lexa leaned back in her chair, giving up on pretending she wasn't smiling anymore. "She does... undo me," she admitted softly, almost to herself.

Raven's grin softened into something genuine. "Yeah. I can tell. And for the record? She's already just as gone for you. Even if she's still pretending otherwise."

That made Lexa's chest tighten in a way she didn't let Raven see, though her quiet hum of acknowledgment gave her away.

"God, this is so much fun," Raven said, standing up and heading for the door. "I'm never gonna let you live this down."

"Raven," Lexa warned, though there was no real heat in it.

Raven glanced back, laughing. "Relax, Woods. I'm rooting for you. Always have been."

And with that, she slipped out, leaving Lexa both exasperated and, if she was honest, smiling.

Later that day as the office finally started to clear out, Clarke stretched, a yawn escaping her lips. It had been a long day, the kind where the clock seemed to be stuck in place. She turned to Lexa, who was still gathering her things, and sighed. "I think I'll just walk. The fresh air will do me some good."

Lexa looked up, a small, knowing smile on her face. "Not a chance."

Before Clarke could protest, Lexa was already crouching in front of her. "On you get," she said, her voice a low rumble.

Clarke blinked, trying to process the request. "Are you serious?"

A couple of employees were still lingering, their heads turned in their direction. One of them, a new hire named Finn, was shamelessly filming the whole exchange on his phone.

Clarke felt her cheeks flush. "Lexa, stop. People are watching."

Lexa stood, her gaze unwavering. "And? Let them watch." She leaned in conspiratorially. "Think of it as a public service. We're providing entertainment for the masses."

Clarke rolled her eyes, but a smile was threatening to break through. "You're ridiculous."

"I know," Lexa said, her voice laced with a playful confidence. "Now, get on."

Clarke was about to argue again, but Lexa didn't give her the chance. She bent down, scooped Clarke up in one fluid motion, and started walking toward the elevators. The bullpen, which had been quiet just moments before, erupted in cheers and laughter.

"Go, boss!" one of the engineers yelled.

A few more clapped, and someone whistled. Clarke buried her face in Lexa's shoulder, half-mortified and half-amused. "Put me down. Right now, Lexa."

Lexa's hold tightened, her stride long and steady. "Nope. You're exhausted. I'm not. Besides," she added, her voice a low whisper that sent shivers down Clarke's spine, "I like the view from up here."

Just as they reached the elevator, the doors opened and Raven stepped out, a wide grin on her face. She took one look at them and burst out laughing. "You are such a nerd, Clarke. I told you she'd be the death of you."

Clarke groaned, sinking further into Lexa's arms. "I hate both of you."

"Yeah, yeah, love you too," Raven shot back, giving them a mock salute. "Now, I'm going to need you to be very careful with that cargo, Lex. She's precious, and she bites when she's cranky."

Lexa just chuckled, pressing a kiss to Clarke's temple. "Duly noted."

The walk to the car seemed to take forever. They were stopped multiple times by other employees who wanted to take pictures or just stare in disbelief. Lexa, of course, reveled in the attention, holding Clarke closer with each passing step. Clarke, on the other hand, just wanted to disappear.

By the time they finally made it to the parking lot, Clarke was a mix of exhaustion, mortification, and pure affection. She peeked up at Lexa, her face flushed. "You are the most infuriating person I have ever met."

Lexa set her down gently by the passenger door, a satisfied smirk on her face. "And you love it."

Clarke shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips. "I really, really do."

Lexa opened the car door one-handed, still holding her securely. Her voice softened, private now. "I'd carry you every day if it meant making things easier for you."

Clarke rolled her eyes, though her lips betrayed her with a small smile. "You love embarrassing me, don't you?"

"Proudly," Lexa replied, helping her into the seat.

From the sidewalk, Raven's voice rang out one last time: "Don't make a baby in the backseat, you two!"

Clarke groaned again, slamming the door shut as Lexa's low laugh filled the car.

The second the car pulled away from the curb, Clarke folded her arms tight across her chest and stared stubbornly out the window. Her cheeks were still burning, the echo of Raven's cheer replaying in her head. Lexa, of course, looked completely unruffled, one hand steady on the wheel, the other resting on Clarke's thigh like it had every right to be there.

Lexa navigated the busy city streets, the city lights reflecting in the car windows. Clarke was still half-buried in her seat, a faint blush still on her cheeks. Lexa glanced at her, a low chuckle escaping her lips.

"Stop smirking," Clarke muttered, catching the curve of Lexa's mouth in the glass reflection.

"I'm not smirking," Lexa said mildly.

"You are. You look smug. Smug and..." Clarke waved a hand in frustration, "...CEO-y."

That pulled an actual laugh out of Lexa, warm and low. "I carried you because you needed it. Not because of an audience. Though," she glanced at her out of the corner of her eye, "I won't lie. I liked showing them who you belong to."

Clarke's mouth dropped open. "Lexa!"

"What?" Lexa's lips curved again, teasing. "I'm proud. Why shouldn't they know?"

Clarke groaned, hiding her face in her hands. "You're so annoying!"

Lexa squeezed her thigh gently. "You love me anyway."

Clarke peeked through her fingers, giving her the most dramatic glare she could manage. "Don't think you can just pick me up like some kind of caveman and get away with it."

"Didn't hear you complaining once you were in my arms," Lexa countered smoothly.

Clarke sputtered. "Because there were people watching!"

Lexa chuckled again, and her tone softened as the laughter faded into something gentler. "You forget I notice things, Clarke. You were pale. Your steps were slower. I wasn't going to let you walk that whole way."

Clarke's irritation softened into something warm in her chest. She looked down at Lexa's hand still on her leg, the steady pressure grounding her. "You're too good to me," she murmured.

Lexa shook her head, eyes on the road. "Not possible."

For a few moments, the car was quiet, filled only with the hum of the engine and the city lights flickering past. Then, Clarke tilted her head toward her, lips curving into the tiniest smirk.

"You do realize," she said slowly, "that I'm never going to hear the end of this from Raven, right?"

Lexa smiled. "Worth it."

By the time Lexa turned onto Clarke's street, Clarke still hadn't shaken off her embarrassment. Raven's cheers. Employees clapping. Lexa looking proud as if she'd just walked out of a movie where the CEO gets the girl.

So when Lexa slowed near her building, Clarke straightened and sighed dramatically.

"Still embarrassed?"

"Don't even pretend you don't know the answer to that."

"Hey, you're the one who looked like a princess being rescued from her tower. It was a good look for you."

Clarke's head whipped toward Lexa, her eyes wide. "I hate you."

Lexa just laughed, a deep, easy sound that made Clarke's heart flutter despite herself. "You say that a lot, but I've noticed it's usually followed by a kiss."

"Not tonight," Clarke mumbled, turning her gaze out the window. "Tonight, I think I'd like to be alone. You know, to recover from the public humiliation."

Lexa's smile faltered just a bit. "Alone?"

Clarke nodded, feigning seriousness. "Yeah. I think I'll just, you know, go home and order a pizza. Maybe binge-watch a show. Just a quiet night to myself."

A beat of silence passed. Lexa's knuckles were white on the steering wheel. Clarke, trying to stifle a giggle, kept her eyes fixed on the passing buildings.

"Oh." The quiet weight of the word hit harder than Clarke expected. "If that's what you want."

Clarke bit back a grin, deciding to drag it out. "I mean, it might be easier. Less... awkward." She folded her arms, staring out the window like she was serious.

The silence that followed wasn't playful. Lexa's whole body seemed to go tense. She finally spoke, her voice quieter, rawer. "I didn't mean to embarrass you."

That tugged right at Clarke's chest. She almost broke then, but the tiniest wicked streak kept her going. She pressed a hand to her stomach, letting out a sigh. "It's just... maybe we should take some space tonight."

The car came to a stop in front of Clarke's building, and Lexa finally turned to her. Her expression was a careful mask, but her eyes filled with hurt and vulnerability, gave her away.

"You're not serious," Lexa said, her voice a little too tight.

"I am," Clarke said, her voice a little too high. "I just need some space. You know? The whole damsel-in-distress thing was a lot."

The car was silent again. Clarke risked a glance at Lexa, who was staring straight ahead, her jaw clenched. The playful light in her eyes was gone, replaced by a quiet vulnerability.

"If that's what makes you comfortable."

Clarke's smirk cracked. She leaned across the console, catching Lexa's face in her hands before she could pull away. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Clarke," Lexa began, her voice barely a whisper. "Don't do that."

Clarke's resolve finally broke. A wide grin spread across her face. "I'm kidding, you dork!" she burst out laughing, reaching over to squeeze Lexa's hand. "Oh my god, your face! I wish I had a picture."

Lexa let out a long, shaky breath, her shoulders slumping in relief. She squeezed Clarke's hand back, her thumb stroking the back of Clarke's knuckles. "That's not funny, Clarke. Don't ever do that again."

"I won't," Clarke said, her voice softening. "I'm just so glad I get to go home with my very own hero."

Lexa's lips curved into a soft smile. "Glad to be of service."

Clarke kissed her hard. When she pulled back, Clarke was grinning. "Aww, you really thought I wanted to sleep without you tonight?"

Lexa's arms slid around her, tugging her across the console until she squeaked. "You're cruel."

"Maybe," Clarke teased, kissing her again, softer this time. "But I love you."

Lexa finally relaxed, the tension melting out of her shoulders. She pressed her lips to Clarke's temple. "Please don't do that again."

"No promises," Clarke whispered, smiling against her skin.

A little while later, Lexa was still sulking, her jaw tight and her knuckles white on the steering wheel as she pulled away from Clarke's apartment. Clarke buckled her seatbelt and watched the familiar buildings of Williamsburg melt into the night.

"Don't be mad," Clarke sang, a soft, teasing note in her voice. She leaned her head back against the seat and looked at Lexa, who kept her eyes fixed on the road.

"I'm not mad," Lexa muttered, but her tone was as flat as the asphalt beneath them.

"Oh, you're so mad," Clarke said, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. "I can practically see the smoke coming out of your ears."

Lexa didn't respond, and the silence stretched on for a full minute, broken only by the hum of the tires on the street.

"You said you wanted space," Lexa finally said, the words clipped and quiet.

"I did," Clarke admitted, a thoughtful frown on her face. "But then I remembered... I'm pregnant. With your baby. Which means, as the person carrying our future, I am entitled to all the back rubs and snacks I could possibly desire."

Lexa shot her a quick, narrowing glance, but the corner of her mouth twitched. Clarke saw it and a small, triumphant smile played on her lips.

"Besides," Clarke continued, "it was an emergency. I was exhausted. And you're my hero, remember?"

Lexa let out a soft huff of air and turned on the radio. The rest of the ride was a comfortable silence, with only the soft music and the occasional street sign to break the quiet.

When they finally arrived at Lexa's apartment, Clarke had to stifle a laugh as Lexa's shoulders seemed to slump with a sense of defeat. Lexa got out of the car, grabbed both of their bags, and strode toward the elevator.

"Do you think your employees think you're a caveman now?" Clarke teased, hurrying to keep up. "Carrying me out like that? Or maybe a prince charming?"

Lexa's only reply was a quiet sigh. Clarke followed her into the apartment, dropping her own keys on the small table by the door. She slipped her arms around Lexa's waist, resting her head on her back.

"Hey," she whispered, her voice soft and full of affection. "I loved it. I just had to mess with you a little. Your face was priceless."

Lexa slowly turned in her arms, her expression a mix of exasperation and relief. "You are impossible," she said, but her voice held no real heat.

"Maybe," Clarke murmured, her lips brushing against Lexa's chest. "But I also love you. And you're stuck with me."

The last vestiges of Lexa's pout melted away. She dropped the bags to the floor with a soft thud and wrapped her arms tightly around Clarke, burying her face in Clarke's hair. Clarke threaded her hands through Lexa's hair, pulling her closer. Their lips met in a slow, tender kiss, a promise of a quiet night filled with no more teasing, just the two of them.

After their reunion, Lexa and Clarke settled into a comfortable silence. The only sounds were the soft hum of the city outside and the quiet of the apartment. Lexa moved toward the kitchen, and Clarke followed, leaning against the counter as Lexa began to prepare a snack.

"I'm still hungry," Clarke said, a hand resting on her stomach. "For some reason, the baby wants all the snacks."

Lexa turned, a small smile on her face. "I can handle that. What do you want?"

"Pizza," Clarke said immediately. "And maybe some ice cream."

Lexa laughed. "That sounds like a good start. I can do that."

Clarke leaned her head on Lexa's shoulder as they scrolled through the pizza options on Lexa's phone.

"Okay, so what are we thinking?" Lexa asked, her thumb hovering over the screen.

"Deep dish," Clarke said immediately. "With everything. Pineapple, jalapeños, olives, the works."

Lexa's head shot up. "Pineapple? On pizza? Clarke, we talked about this. It's a culinary travesty."

Clarke scoffed, pushing her off Lexa's shoulder playfully.

"It's a gift from the gods. You're just uncultured." She grabbed the phone from Lexa and started scrolling. "Okay, let's see... a deep dish from Lou Malnati's. Mmm, yes, that's what I'm talking about."

A/N: lets pretend Lou has a location in New York;)

Lexa pulled the phone back, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "No way. We're getting something classic. A simple pepperoni and mushroom. From Lombardi's. You can't argue with history."

"That's so boring, Lex," Clarke groaned, leaning her head on Lexa's shoulder again. "I'm pregnant. I get to be a little wild with my cravings."

Lexa's mouth quirked into a smile, and she rested her chin on Clarke's head. "Fine. How about a compromise? A pepperoni and mushroom for me, and a pineapple and jalapeño for you."

"A little personal pizza party," Clarke said with a satisfied hum. "I can live with that."

After a few taps, the order was placed. Lexa put the phone down and wrapped her arms around Clarke, pulling her into a tight hug. Clarke nuzzled into Lexa's chest, her arms wrapping around Lexa's waist.

"Thank you for being so good to me," Clarke whispered, her voice muffled against Lexa's shirt.

Lexa kissed the top of her head. "I'll always be good to you, Clarke. And to our little one."

They stayed like that for a while, swaying gently to the rhythm of the city. The silence was comfortable, filled with the warmth of their bodies pressed together.

"You know," Lexa said softly, breaking the quiet, "I wasn't just being dramatic earlier. When you said you wanted to be alone, it... it really hurt."

Clarke pulled back slightly to look at Lexa's face. "I know. I'm sorry, Lex. I'm just so used to pushing your buttons. I didn't think it would hit you that way."

"It's okay," Lexa said, her voice a little rough. "I'm just so used to you being my person. The thought of not having you here, especially tonight... it just felt so final."

Clarke's heart ached at the vulnerability in Lexa's voice. She reached up and cupped Lexa's face, her thumbs stroking her cheeks. "I'll always be your person, Lexa. Always. We're a team."

Lexa leaned into her touch, her eyes closing. "I know. I'm just so glad I get to come home to you."

"Me too," Clarke said, her voice thick with emotion. "Me too."

They kissed then, a slow, tender kiss that spoke of promises and a love that ran deeper than any teasing or playful banter. When they broke apart, the doorbell rang, signaling the arrival of their pizzas.

The aroma of hot pizza filled the air as Lexa and Clarke settled on the large, L-shaped sofa. Clarke had already claimed the spot closest to the television, pulling a soft, woven blanket over her legs. Lexa set the pizza boxes on the coffee table between them, opening the lid on each to reveal a steaming pie.

"See?" Clarke said, gesturing with a piece of her pineapple and jalapeño pizza. "The colors are just so much more vibrant."

Lexa just shook her head, a small smile on her face as she bit into her classic pepperoni and mushroom slice. "You're a menace to gastronomy."

They ate in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, the only sound the crunch of crust and the low hum of the television. Lexa, with the remote in her hand, flipped through channels until she landed on a documentary about space exploration.

"This is fascinating," Lexa murmured, her eyes glued to the screen. "Imagine being up there, seeing the Earth from that perspective."

Clarke took a sip of her water. "I'd be thinking about how much I miss my bed."

Lexa laughed, a genuine, full-bodied sound that made Clarke's heart feel full. "You're impossible."

As the documentary continued, they talked about the sheer scale of the universe and the tiny, insignificant place humanity held within it. The conversation meandered from stars and galaxies to the challenges of interstellar travel.

"It's like a metaphor for us, isn't it?" Clarke said, gesturing between them with her half-eaten slice.
"Two people from completely different worlds, figuring out how to navigate life together."

Lexa looked at her, her expression thoughtful. "I suppose so. But I'd like to think our journey is a little less... scientifically complex."

After they finished their pizzas, they leaned back against the cushions, the blanket pulled up to their chests. Lexa put on an old romantic comedy, a genre she claimed to despise but always seemed to know the best lines from.

"I can't believe he's trying that move," Lexa said, pointing at the screen. "It's so cliché."

"But it works, doesn't it?" Clarke replied, her eyes twinkling. "Just like carrying someone out of the office in front of all their coworkers."

Lexa nudged her gently with her shoulder. "That was different. That was an act of a hero."

Clarke shook her head, a soft smile on her lips. "Sure, Lexa. A hero."

The rest of the night passed in a blur of shared laughter, quiet whispers, and the soft glow of the television screen. They talked about their day, the baby, and their plans for the weekend, their voices a low murmur that filled the vast space of the penthouse with a comfortable warmth.

Clarke leaned back against Lexa's chest, rubbing her belly absentmindedly while Lexa picked at the last slice she insisted Clarke had to try it.

"I can't, Lex," Clarke groaned, laughing. "I'm full."

Lexa nudged it toward her lips anyway. "Its delicious, just try it. I'm sure my our daughter will agree."

Clarke swatted at her hand, grinning. "You're ridiculous."

"You love me," Lexa murmured, smug, dropping the pizza back into the box.

Clarke tilted her head back against her shoulder, eyes soft. "Unfortunately for me... I do."

Lexa chuckled, wrapping her arms tighter around her. They stayed like that for a long while, the TV murmuring in the background, Clarke occasionally muttering commentary at whatever ad came on, Lexa occasionally pressing absentminded kisses into her hairline.

When Clarke started to yawn, Lexa tried to coax her to bed, but Clarke was too comfortable in her arms. "Nope. Couch forever."

"You'll wake up sore," Lexa warned.

Clarke cracked one eye open, smirking. "Then you'll just have to give me a massage tomorrow."

Lexa groaned softly, but she didn't move her. Instead she tucked the blanket around them both and shifted until Clarke's bump rested snug against her. She kissed the top of Clarke's head, then whispered against her hair, "Goodnight, Clarke. Goodnight, little one."

Clarke's heart melted. She smiled sleepily, whispering back, "We love you too."

By the time Lexa noticed, Clarke was already asleep, breathing deep and even in her arms. Lexa didn't dare move, didn't want to. She stayed right there, holding her whole world on a couch that suddenly felt like the safest place she'd ever been.

The next morning.

Clarke stirred first, shifting against something firm and warm. It took her a moment to realize where she was. The couch. Lexa's arm heavy across her waist. The blanket bunched around them both.

She blinked blearily and tilted her head back. Lexa was still asleep, lashes fanned against her cheeks, lips slightly parted. And God, Clarke thought, it wasn't fair for someone to look that peaceful and beautiful first thing in the morning.

Her baby kicked just then, startling her, and she instinctively pressed a hand to her belly. Lexa's arm tightened around her like her body knew even before her mind did.

"Mmm. You okay?" Lexa's voice was husky, still tangled in sleep.

Clarke smiled softly. "Yeah. Just your kid saying good morning."

That made Lexa crack one eye open, a sleepy grin tugging at her mouth. She shifted lower, pressing a kiss right where Clarke's hand rested. "Good morning, little one," she murmured, voice low and reverent.

Clarke's chest squeezed. Her fingers slipped into Lexa's messy hair, stroking through it. "You're so good with her already," she whispered.

Lexa finally looked up at her, green eyes softened by morning light. "I'm just... already so in love."

Clarke rolled her eyes gently, trying to smother the way her heart was swelling. "Ugh, sap."

"Guilty," Lexa said with a little smirk before leaning up to kiss her nose.

Clarke giggled, scrunching her face. "Gross. Morning breath."

Lexa raised a brow. "You kissed me first last night after jalapeno pizza. You don't get to complain now."

Clarke burst into laughter, covering her face, but Lexa tugged her hands down and pressed a lingering, tender kiss to her lips anyway.

When they finally pulled apart, Clarke whispered, still smiling, "I could get used to this."

Lexa brushed a thumb across her cheek, her expression soft and certain. "Great, because I'm not letting you go."

And for the first time, Clarke didn't feel the need to argue.

The apartment smelled faintly of coffee and toast by the time Clarke shuffled into the kitchen in one of Lexa's T-shirts, her hair a sleepy mess. Lexa had beaten her out of the couch somehow, though Clarke suspected the CEO brain just never fully shut off. Still, seeing her at the stove barefoot, in sweats and a tank top, flipping pancakes with the same intensity she brought into boardrooms... it made Clarke's chest ache in the best way.

"Do CEOs usually make breakfast for their employees?" Clarke teased, leaning against the counter.

Lexa glanced over her shoulder with a smirk. "No. But for my girlfriend—" she paused just long enough to make Clarke's heart stutter, "—pancakes are the least I can do."

Clarke rolled her eyes, though her grin gave her away. "You're unbearable."

"And you're starving," Lexa countered, sliding a plate in front of her stacked with pancakes and cut fruit. Clarke didn't even try to argue. She dug in while Lexa poured coffee, then sat beside her with her own plate.

Halfway through breakfast, Clarke caught her staring. "What?"

Lexa shrugged, a little sheepish. "You just... fit here. At my table. In my shirt." Her hand moved without thinking, resting warm and protective over Clarke's belly. "With our baby."

Clarke's throat tightened, but before she could answer, the front door opened with a bang.

"Good morning, lovebirds! Or should I say lesbians?" Raven's voice cut through the peace like a siren. She appeared in the doorway, sunglasses on, holding a greasy bag that smelled unmistakably like bacon. "I brought backup breakfast in case Lexa decided to poison you with her five-star kale oatmeal or something."

Clarke groaned, burying her face in her hands. "Do you even knock?"

"Nope," Raven said cheerfully, dropping the bag on the counter and smirking at Lexa. "Well, well, well. If it isn't CEO Barbie playing house."

Lexa didn't flinch. She leaned back in her chair, draping an arm over Clarke's chair possessively. "I happen to like playing house."

Clarke sputtered on her coffee while Raven cackled. "God, you're disgusting. Both of you. Could you be more couple-y?"

"Yes," Lexa said calmly, pressing a kiss to Clarke's temple just to make Raven groan louder.

Clarke shoved her playfully. "Stop!" she laughed, though the warmth in her eyes gave her away.

Raven grinned, snagging a pancake off Lexa's plate. "Nah, don't stop. Honestly? Took you both long enough."

Clarke flushed, but the truth sat quietly between them: yeah, it had taken them a while. But now? It felt like exactly where they were supposed to be.

Clarke was still giggling into her tea when Raven swiped another pancake, this time straight off Clarke's plate.

"Hey!" Clarke protested, trying to shield her stack.

Raven shrugged. "You're eating for two, Blondie. Sharing is caring. Plus, I've seen how Lexa looks at you, she'd probably cook you pancakes for the rest of your natural life if you asked."

Lexa didn't even blink. She reached over with her fork, speared the pancake Raven had stolen, and slid it back onto Clarke's plate without a word.

Clarke blinked at her, then snorted. "Did you just... alpha-pancake her?"

Raven stared, fork midair, mouth hanging open. "You cannot just casually out-alpha me over breakfast, Commander Barbie. That's not fair."

Lexa took a slow sip of her coffee, completely unbothered. "I take care of what's mine."

The room went so quiet Clarke swore she could hear the clock ticking. Her cheeks burned, though it wasn't embarrassment, it was the way Lexa's hand slid under the table to rest warmly against her thigh like she hadn't even thought about it.

Raven broke the silence with a long, dramatic groan. "Ughhh, I'm gonna puke. You two are basically married and you don't even realize it."

Clarke covered her face. "Raven."

"What?" Raven leaned back in her chair, grinning. "You're all glowy and in love, she's all protective and touchy, and I'm sitting here third-wheeling in my own friend group. At least have the decency to be less disgustingly obvious in front of me."

Clarke peeked at Lexa from between her fingers, trying not to smile. Lexa looked smug. Infuriatingly smug.

"Fine," Clarke said, rolling her eyes. She turned toward Lexa and pressed a quick kiss to her cheek. "Better?"

"Nope," Raven said immediately. "Now it's worse."

Lexa smirked, catching Clarke's chin with her fingers and turning her face back to steal a proper kiss on the lips. Clarke squeaked, half-laughing, half-mortified.

Raven shoved back her chair with a clatter. "That's it. I'm leaving before this turns into a live-action romcom. Text me when you're ready to shop for baby stuff, Clarke. And Lexa—" she pointed accusingly, though she was laughing, "—learn boundaries, damn it."

The door slammed behind her, and Clarke sagged against the table, still laughing.

Lexa's hand was still on her thigh. She leaned close, voice low enough that only Clarke could hear. "I don't want boundaries with you."

Clarke's heart flipped, and she had to hide her smile behind her coffee mug.

With Raven finally gone, the apartment quieted. Clarke leaned back in her chair, one hand absently rubbing over the curve of her belly while the other stole another bite of pancake.

Lexa was watching her with that soft, dangerous gaze that always made Clarke feel both cherished and slightly flustered.

"What?" Clarke asked, narrowing her eyes.

Lexa's mouth curved. "You look beautiful when you're laughing. I like it when Raven makes you laugh."

Clarke arched a brow. "You didn't look like you were enjoying it two seconds ago when she was teasing us."

"I didn't enjoy that part," Lexa admitted smoothly, reaching over to brush a crumb off Clarke's lip with her thumb. "But I'll endure Raven if it means you're happy."

Clarke's chest warmed in a way she didn't want to admit out loud, not yet. So instead, she smirked and poked at her plate. "You're ridiculously sappy for someone who ordered enough food for a football team."

"You were hungry," Lexa said simply, then leaned in conspiratorially, lowering her voice toward Clarke's belly. "And so are you, little one. Don't worry, Mommy might try to hide pancakes from you, but I'll make sure you get fed."

Clarke groaned, covering her face with both hands. "You did not just baby-talk my stomach."

Lexa kissed the curve of her wrist, smothering a smile against her skin. "I absolutely did."

"You're impossible." Clarke tried to sound annoyed but the laughter snuck through.

"And you love me," Lexa murmured, matter-of-fact, pressing her lips to Clarke's temple before she could argue.

Clarke melted, just a little, into her side. She hated how much she wanted to stay like this. To let the day pass without Raven dragging her through baby stores, without real life creeping back in.

But Raven's text pinged on her phone a moment later—"I'm still downstairs. If you're not ready, I'm honking the horn until the baby learns my name."

Clarke snorted. "Guess I have to go."

Lexa frowned, childishly reluctant. "I could carry you down and tell Raven to come back tomorrow."

Clarke smirked, leaning in to kiss her softly, just once. "As tempting as that is... you're not getting rid of Raven that easily.

Chapter Text

Lexa leaned against the doorframe, her arms crossed, an expression of deceptive nonchalance on her face as Clarke finished buttoning her coat.

"You know," Lexa's voice was smooth, a silky contrast to the sharp glint of mischief in her eyes. "I could come with you. Stroller shopping. Crib shopping. Whatever grand plan Raven has cooked up."

Clarke froze, her fingers still on the last button of her coat. She turned to face Lexa. "You... want to go baby shopping with Raven?" The question was steeped in disbelief.

Lexa pushed off the doorframe and took a step closer, the corner of her mouth twitching. "Why not? I am," she paused, and her hand brushed lightly over the swell of Clarke's stomach, "invested in this process."

The touch was quick, almost shy, before she let her hand drop back to her side. Clarke blinked at her, trying to reconcile the image of the woman before her with the woman she knew.

"Lexa Woodson. The 'Powerhouse of the Boardroom.' The 'Terrifying Takeover Queen.' You're volunteering to go to Buy Buy Baby with Raven Reyes?"

A low chuckle rumbled in Lexa's chest. "I've handled hostile takeovers, Clarke. I can handle a few hours with Raven."

A laugh escaped Clarke, a disbelieving shake of her head. "You're out of your mind. She'll eat you alive."

Before Lexa could retort, Clarke's phone buzzed with another text from Raven. Clarke unlocked the screen and read it aloud, a smirk spreading across her face.

"'If you're not outside in two minutes, I'm marching up there and dragging both you and Lexa down myself.' See?" Clarke held up the phone for Lexa to see. "She already knows you're stalling me."

Lexa closed the remaining distance between them, her fingers brushing against Clarke's coat sleeve. She lowered her voice, a gentle murmur meant only for Clarke. "Maybe I don't want to let you go just yet."

Clarke's smile softened, her heart giving a little flutter. "Then come. But don't say I didn't warn you."
Lexa's eyes held a stubborn, yet tender, light. "I'll take my chances."

Raven was leaning against her car, looking like she owned the entire street. She had her sunglasses perched on top of her head despite the overcast sky, and she was scrolling through her phone with an air of practiced impatience. When Clarke appeared, Raven's head snapped up. She took in the sight of Clarke and then, with a slow, disbelieving turn, she saw the second figure at her side.

"No freaking way." Raven straightened up, dropping her phone with a loud clatter. She pointed an accusatory finger at Lexa. "You actually came."
Clarke smirked, pulling her coat a little tighter around her. "I told you she'd say that."

Lexa, as composed as ever, simply arched a brow. "What did you expect?"

"I expected," Raven gestured wildly between them, "you to stay in your glass tower of doom, signing million-dollar deals while Clarke and I argue over the difference between car seat safety ratings. Not... this." She gave Clarke a look of mock betrayal. "You didn't even warn me!"

"She insisted," Clarke said, trying to hold back a laugh.

"Insisted," Raven repeated flatly, her eyes narrowing as she looked Lexa over, from her stylish coat to her impeccable boots. Then, a slow grin spread across Raven's face. "Alright, Woodson. But if you slow us down, you're carrying every box we buy."

Without a moment's hesitation, Lexa replied, "That seems fair."

Raven's jaw went slack. "Oh my god. Clarke. She's serious."

Clarke bit her lip, trying to suppress her giggles. "Dead serious."

"Okay," Raven said, her theatrical flair in full force as she slammed her car door shut and rounded the hood. "This is either going to be the most efficient shopping trip of my life... or the best train wreck I've ever seen."

Clarke slid into the passenger side, Lexa following close behind. As they buckled up, their hands brushed, and Raven groaned from the driver's side.

"Ugh. Gross. Don't be cute in my car. Save it for the stroller aisle."

Clarke leaned toward Lexa, her voice low and full of teasing. "Told you she'd eat you alive."

Lexa's gaze remained fixed on Clarke, a warm, soft expression in her eyes that made it seem like Raven didn't exist at all. "I've survived worse."

Raven pulled away from the curb with a slight screech of tires, her phone already connected to the car's Bluetooth. She immediately blasted the music, a heavy bass track thumping through the speakers. She shot a look at Lexa in the rearview mirror, a grin spreading across her face.

"Don't mind me. I need to get into the right headspace to tackle the 'stroller section.'"

Lexa remained impassive, her expression a mix of amusement and a hint of something unreadable as the bass vibrated through the car. "I've reviewed the store's floor plan online. The strollers are in the back right corner, past the infant clothing and the car seats."

Raven let out a short, incredulous laugh. "You're kidding me. You actually did research for this?"
Lexa met her gaze in the rearview mirror, a challenge in her eyes. "I believe in being prepared. It's an efficient approach to any problem."

Raven shook her head in disbelief. "This is a shopping trip, not a hostile takeover." She turned to Clarke, who was biting her lip to keep from laughing. "You see what I'm dealing with here? She's going to categorize every single item by price, safety rating, and user reviews."

Lexa adjusted her posture in the seat, a subtle move that somehow managed to convey a sense of a CEO in a boardroom, even in a compact car. "It's called due diligence. Why would we buy a stroller without considering the long-term cost, durability, and customer satisfaction?"

Clarke chimed in, leaning over the center console. "She has a whole spreadsheet for it, Raven. A colour-coded one."

Raven threw her hands up in mock exasperation. "Of course, she does! I'm going to have to make a spreadsheet to counter her spreadsheet, aren't I? A 'fun vs. practical' column."

Lexa's lips twitched upward. "I'd be interested to see the data on that."

Raven laughed, shaking her head. "Oh, this is going to be so much fun. I can't wait to see your face when I make you try to fold a complicated stroller a million times while you're holding a baby doll that weighs 20 pounds."

"Raven," Clarke warned, a fond but firm tone in her voice.

Lexa, however, looked completely unfazed. "I'm confident in my abilities."

As they pulled into the sprawling parking lot of the baby superstore, Raven turned the music down to a manageable hum. She glanced at Lexa, a new, mischievous look in her eyes.

"Alright, Woodson. The battlefield awaits. And just so you know, there's a cafe section at the front with a serious lack of organic green tea. You're on your own there."

Lexa's response was a calm arch of a brow. "I believe in adaptability. Black coffee will suffice."

Clarke just shook her head, an exasperated but loving smile on her face. This was going to be a long day. She watched as Lexa unbuckled her seatbelt and prepared to face the world of onesies and pacifiers.

Raven was the first to exit the car, practically bouncing on her feet as she headed toward the entrance. "Come on, slowpokes! The perfect car seat is waiting for us!"

Clarke and Lexa followed, their footsteps a perfect rhythm on the pavement. Clarke's hand found Lexa's and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Lexa squeezed back, her grip firm and steady. The chaotic adventure ahead of them was just another challenge they'd face together.

The moment the automatic doors of the baby superstore slid open, Clarke's senses were on high alert. The air smelled faintly of new plastic and fabric softener.

A symphony of bright colors assaulted her vision, from impossibly tiny outfits on display to the towering walls of multicolored toys. Rows of sleek, futuristic strollers were lined up like a fleet of miniature cars, and every aisle was a new, overwhelming, and magical world. Clarke felt her pulse quicken, a mix of excitement and the sudden, acute reality of what they were doing.

"Alright," Raven declared, snatching a bright orange shopping cart with a flourish. "Let's lay down the ground rules. Rule number one: Clarke gets the final say on everything. Rule number two: I veto anything beige. Babies need color and personality, not a neutral color palette that looks like a sad, forgotten latte."

Clarke laughed, already feeling the stress of the situation easing. "Rule number three," she muttered, joining Raven at the cart. "Ignore Raven when she gets on her high horse about beige."

Raven gasped, feigning offense. "Excuse you, I have impeccable taste. And I'm right." She grabbed a onesie with a T-Rex wearing a party hat. "Case in point."

She tossed it into the cart, and Clarke, grinning, tucked it away.

Lexa trailed a few steps behind them, her hands casually tucked into her coat pockets. Her gaze was sharp and deliberate, sweeping over every detail of the store. It wasn't a casual browse; it was a full-scale assessment.

Clarke could feel it, the quiet, intense way Lexa was absorbing every bit of information, ready to analyze and act. It was the same look she used when she walked into a boardroom, and seeing it now, in a baby store, made Clarke's chest ache with a soft, overwhelming tenderness.

They moved past the chaotic aisles of bottles and swings, and Clarke paused in front of a display of cribs. Her hand found the smooth, polished wood of a simple crib with clean lines. It felt solid and safe under her fingers.

Lexa moved to stand beside her, her presence a comforting anchor. "Do you like this one?" she asked, her voice low.

Clarke nodded slowly, running her hand along the top rail. "Yeah... it's simple. It feels sturdy." She glanced at the price tag, and a knot of anxiety tightened in her stomach. It was more than she had planned to spend.

Without a word, Lexa studied the crib, then looked at Clarke for a long beat. The expression on her face was unreadable but held an undeniable resolve. She flagged down a sales associate with a quiet authority that had the young man hurrying over.

"We'll take this one," Lexa said, gesturing to the crib.
Clarke turned, startled. "Lexa, we should at least look at a few others first. We need to compare prices and—"

Lexa cut her off, her tone gentle but firm. "No questions asked, Clarke. This is for our daughter." She placed a hand lightly on Clarke's lower back, a steady, reassuring weight. "You chose it because it felt right. That's all that matters."

Raven, who had been a few feet away,
her arms loaded with stuffed animals, let out a low whistle. "Well, damn. Sugar mama alert."

A flush of warmth spread across Clarke's cheeks, but Lexa only gave Raven a faint smirk. She looked back at Clarke, her expression softening again, the boardroom persona dissolving into pure, undiluted affection. "You shouldn't have to worry about this. Just focus on what you feel is best."

Clarke swallowed, emotion catching in her throat. She wanted to argue, to insist on being practical, but the sincerity in Lexa's eyes was disarming. This wasn't a transaction for her; it was an act of love. Instead of protesting, Clarke reached for Lexa's hand, lacing their fingers together. She squeezed tightly, silently communicating the gratitude and love she couldn't put into words. This wasn't just about buying a crib; it was about building their future, together.

After the crib was purchased, Lexa seemed to relax, her hands no longer tucked away in her pockets. She pushed the shopping cart alongside Clarke, a silent, steady presence. Raven, meanwhile, had taken to a baby doll display with a fervor usually reserved for a shopping spree.

"Okay," Raven announced, holding up a baby doll. "This is 'Stroller Baby.' We need to test the foldability of every single model with her. It's the only way to be sure." She then handed the doll to Lexa, whose eyes widened slightly in surprise.

Lexa, who had just spent a small fortune on a crib with a single, firm decision, now held the soft-bodied doll as if it were a fragile artifact. Her fingers, which had confidently signed multi-million dollar contracts, now seemed unsure, brushing lightly over the doll's plastic head. A flicker of something soft and vulnerable crossed her face, a look Clarke had only ever seen in their private moments.

"Alright, let's start with this one," Clarke said, pulling a sleek, three-wheeled stroller from the row. "It's a top seller."

Lexa carefully placed 'Stroller Baby' in the seat and bent down to examine the stroller's frame. She pressed a button on the handle and a wheel popped off.

"Oh," she said, an amused look on her face. "That's not ideal."

Raven snorted. "Told you this was a battlefield. Try to fold it with the baby still in it. This is a real-life simulation."

Lexa, still holding the doll, tried to fold the stroller with one hand while holding the doll in the other. The stroller refused to budge. A bead of sweat formed on her brow as she wrestled with it.

Clarke laughed, stepping in to help. "It's a two-step process, Lex. You have to push the button on the side while pulling the handle."

Lexa followed Clarke's instructions, and the stroller collapsed with a satisfying click. "Ah," Lexa said, her voice full of triumph. "Now, this is an efficient design."

They continued their journey down the aisle, trying out stroller after stroller. Raven would offer sarcastic commentary, Clarke would provide calm, practical advice, and Lexa, surprisingly, would apply her strategic mind to the task. She'd analyze the weight, the ease of turning, and the quality of the wheels. She even pulled out her phone at one point to check the crash test ratings of a particular model, much to Raven's exasperation.

Finally, they came to the last stroller in the aisle. It was a simple, sturdy model with a spacious storage basket and smooth wheels. Clarke immediately liked it. She knelt down and ran her hand over the fabric. "This one feels... right. The wheels are solid, and the storage is huge."

Lexa, who was still holding the doll, set it gently in the seat. She pushed the stroller, a small, genuine smile on her face. "The turning radius is excellent. And it's surprisingly lightweight." She looked at Clarke, her eyes full of warmth. "This one."

Raven, who had been watching the scene unfold, finally spoke. "Okay, now you two are just being disgustingly cute. Let's get this thing to the checkout before I throw up."

Clarke and Lexa ignored her, their eyes locked on each other. In a place filled with so many things, they had found the one thing that mattered most: a shared, quiet understanding of the life they were building together.

With the crib and stroller secured in the car, they headed to a smaller, boutique-style baby clothing store a few blocks away. The vibe was a stark contrast to the sprawling superstore. Instead of endless rows of plastic and vibrant colors, the shop had a cozy, curated feel.

The clothes were displayed on wooden hangers, the fabrics were soft to the touch, and the overall aesthetic was muted, filled with creamy whites, soft pastels, and delicate prints.

"This is more my speed," Raven said, a mischievous glint in her eye as she eyed the racks. "Fewer spreadsheets, more cashmere."

Clarke smiled, her hand instinctively finding Lexa's as they walked deeper into the store. This felt more intimate, more real. The clothes were so small they were almost unbelievable.

Lexa, however, seemed a little lost. In the sterile, data-driven environment of the big box store, she had been in her element. Here, surrounded by tiny, delicate garments, she was out of her depth. She moved through the aisles with a quiet hesitation, her eyes wide as she looked at the impossibly small outfits.

"Okay, let's start with the basics," Clarke said gently, trying to ease Lexa into the process. She pulled out a small, white onesie. "This is a basic snap-up. Super easy for changes."

Lexa took it, her fingers tracing the tiny snaps. "It's... so small."

"Wait until you see the newborn size," Raven said, pulling a tiny pink beanie off a shelf. "It's like it's for a doll." She placed it on Lexa's head, who, to Clarke's and Raven's surprise, left it there.

Clarke couldn't help but laugh, pulling out her phone and snapping a quick picture. "You're a natural."

A soft, genuine smile spread across Lexa's face. "I am not. I've negotiated billion-dollar deals and a three-piece suit for a baby seems more manageable than this."

"It's a lot," Clarke agreed, her own hand brushing over a soft, cotton dress with tiny embroidered flowers. "But it's also... amazing."

They spent the next hour sifting through clothes, with Raven acting as a flamboyant fashion consultant. She insisted on a tiny leather jacket for the baby, which Lexa vetoed as "highly impractical" for a newborn. Clarke, however, secretly added it to their growing pile.

At one point, Clarke held up a simple, soft pink onesie with a small, golden heart embroidered on the chest. It was simple, elegant, and had a timeless quality that she loved. "What about this one?" she asked, looking at Lexa.

Lexa's eyes softened as she looked at it. She reached out and ran her hand over the tiny golden heart. "It's perfect," she said, her voice barely a whisper. She took it from Clarke and held it for a moment, then looked at Clarke, a look of profound awe on her face. "It's really happening, isn't it? We're going to have a little girl."

Clarke felt a lump form in her throat. She nodded, her eyes welling up with tears of happiness. "We are."

Raven, sensing the moment was getting too sentimental even for her, cleared her throat loudly.

"Alright, you two. You can get all emotional later. We still need to find something that doesn't stain easily. This is a baby, not a piece of art."

Lexa and Clarke just ignored her, wrapped up in their own little bubble of happiness. It was in moments like these, surrounded by a world so foreign to them, that they felt the reality of their future, and the love that was making it all possible. They knew they weren't just buying clothes; they were building a life. A life for their little girl.

Clarke and Raven were now in the baby shoe section, a place Clarke had initially planned to skip. Raven, however, was adamant about finding a pair of tiny sneakers.

"Look at these! They're like little versions of my shoes," she said, holding up a pair of bright red mini-sneakers. "Clarke, we have to get them."

Clarke laughed, shaking her head. "She's not even going to be able to walk for a year."

"Details, details," Raven said dismissively, adding them to the overflowing cart.

Lexa, who had been quietly observing them, saw her chance. While Clarke was preoccupied with a tiny pair of sparkly shoes Raven was holding up, Lexa subtly backed away from the cart. She gave a quick, reassuring nod to Clarke, who was still focused on the shoes, before slipping into the next aisle.

Her mission was clear, but the execution was proving to be a challenge. She was looking for something special for Clarke, a small gift to mark the day. Something that captured the quiet intimacy of their journey.

She wandered through the aisles, past swaddles and pacifiers and baby monitors, but nothing felt right. It all felt too... baby-centric. The gift wasn't for the baby; it was for Clarke.

She finally found herself in a small corner of the store dedicated to parents, where she spotted a display of "mom" and "dad" mugs, and a small, delicate necklace display. Her eyes landed on a simple silver necklace with a small, circular charm. It was elegant and understated, just like Clarke.

She walked over to it, but a quick look at the back of the charm revealed a small "S" engraved on it, for "son."

She sighed in frustration. She turned around and noticed a sales associate, a kind-looking woman with a warm smile, was approaching her.

"Can I help you find something?" the woman asked.

"Yes," Lexa said, a hint of vulnerability in her voice she rarely showed. "I'm looking for a gift for my partner. Something... meaningful. We just found out we're having a girl, and I want to get her something to remember this day by. I saw this necklace, and it was perfect, but it's for a boy."

The woman's smile widened. "That's so thoughtful. Let me see what I have." She rummaged through a box of charms under the counter. "I have a similar one here with a little girl's silhouette. It's subtle, but it's a beautiful way to mark the occasion."

She pulled out a small, sterling silver charm, with the faint outline of a little girl etched into the metal. It was simple and sweet.

"It's perfect," Lexa said, relief washing over her. "Thank you so much."

The sales associate smiled as she placed the necklace in a small, velvet bag. "She's a lucky woman."

Lexa just nodded, a quiet, happy smile spreading across her face. She walked back to where Clarke and Raven were, the small velvet bag clutched in her hand. She slipped back into position next to Clarke as if she had never left, her presence a quiet anchor amidst Raven's enthusiastic baby shopping spree.

Raven was now holding up a tiny, fluffy bear that was bigger than the baby's head. "Okay, but this is a medical necessity," she declared, tossing it into the cart with a self-satisfied grin.

Clarke laughed, but her eyes, still sparkling from the laughter, landed on Lexa. "Where did you go? I didn't even notice you left."

Lexa's hand, still a warm, steady presence on Clarke's arm, shifted slightly. "I needed a moment to... reassess the mission parameters," she said, a hint of her usual boardroom wit in her voice.

They paid for their mountain of items, and Lexa, true to her promise, carried every single bag. She walked with a quiet, determined strength, her face a mask of focus as she navigated the mall's throngs of people. Raven and Clarke walked side by side, their conversation a comfortable buzz of happy planning.

Back at the car, after Raven had finally burned all her energy.

"Don't get too mushy on me now!", Clarke looked at Lexa. "You didn't have to carry all of that, you know. I could've helped."

Lexa didn't reply, simply placing the last bag in the trunk. She then turned to Clarke, her eyes soft with an emotion that made Clarke's heart flutter. "I wanted to."

Lexa then reached into her coat pocket, pulling out a small, velvet bag. She held it out to Clarke, her hand trembling slightly. "Clarke, I... this isn't a spreadsheet-driven decision. It's just... for you. For today."

Clarke's breath caught in her throat. She took the small bag, her fingers brushing against Lexa's. She opened it and inside, nestled on a bed of white satin, was a delicate silver necklace with a tiny, simple charm of a girl's silhouette. It was a beautiful, elegant piece, but the meaning behind it was what made Clarke's eyes well up.

"Lexa," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "It's perfect."

Lexa's face softened, a small, tentative smile gracing her lips. She reached out and gently took the necklace from the bag. "May I?"

Clarke nodded, turning her back so Lexa could fasten the clasp. Lexa's fingers were surprisingly gentle against her skin, and when she was done, she left her hands on Clarke's shoulders for a moment, her head resting against Clarke's hair.

"I love you," Lexa murmured, the words so soft they were almost lost in the afternoon air. "And I love her already."

Clarke turned in her arms, tears now freely falling down her cheeks. "I love you too," she said, her voice full of a love so deep it was almost painful. She wrapped her arms around Lexa, holding on tight.

This was their own little world, a world they had created together, full of spreadsheets and strollers and tiny, beautiful necklaces. A perfect world.

Clarke should've known better than to let Raven take the lead. They had just finished loading the car with the car seat and more bags of impossibly small clothes, and Clarke was ready to go home and put her feet up. But as they headed toward the mall exit, Raven suddenly spun on her heel, a dramatic flair in her movements.

She pointed across the wide hallway at a sleek, minimalist storefront. The word "CHANEL" was spelled out in understated, elegant lettering.

"Baby needs couture," Raven announced, a glint in her eye.

"Raven," Clarke groaned, a mix of exasperation and laughter rising in her chest. She put a hand to her belly, a gesture both protective and weary. "The baby does not need a Chanel diaper bag."

"The mother does," Raven shot back, hooking her arm through Clarke's and pulling her in the direction of the boutique before Clarke could protest. "Come on, Griffin. Let Lexa put that CEO money to good use. What's the point of dating a hot, rich boss if you're not reaping the rewards?"

Lexa, who had been walking a few paces behind them, caught up and raised a perfectly sculpted brow. Her voice was dry as sandpaper. "I was under the impression we came for necessities, Raven."

Raven didn't miss a beat. She spun around, walking backward, her arm still linked with Clarke's. She pointed an accusatory finger at Lexa. "And Chanel is a necessity. Don't fight me on this, Woodson. Clarke's carrying your kid. The least you can do is buy her a diaper bag that doubles as an heirloom."

Lexa pinched the bridge of her nose, a familiar gesture of mild irritation. "I am not buying an infant a Chanel diaper bag."

"But you could," Raven teased, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. "And honestly, I'd respect you more if you did."

Clarke laughed so hard she had to stop walking for a moment, resting her hands on her knees to steady herself.

"Raven," Lexa's voice was sharper now, though Clarke could hear the amusement laced beneath it. "Do you ever stop pushing?"

"Do you?" Raven retorted instantly, her eyes sparkling. "Seriously, CEO. You've been in love with Clarke since your one-night stand, you're practically glued to her side now, and you still haven't put a label on it. Buy the bag, and I'll stop calling you a coward."

Clarke's laughter cut off abruptly, and she nearly choked. "Raven!"

Lexa's jaw flexed, and Clarke could see the sharp, defensive retort forming in her mind. But instead, Lexa inhaled slowly, her formidable control settling back into place. "You're insufferable."

Raven beamed, completely unbothered. "And you're rich. Perfect match, honestly."

Clarke tugged Raven's arm, pulling her forward. "You're enjoying this way too much."

"Of course I am!" Raven winked at her. "Free entertainment and free shopping. What could be better?"

A low murmur came from behind them as they stepped into the quiet, scented luxury of the Chanel store. "Peace and quiet."

Raven's hand flew to her chest in a dramatic gasp. "Did you hear that, Clarke? She threatened me. If I go missing, you know who to blame."

Lexa sighed, but the faintest upward twitch of her lips betrayed her. Clarke shook her head, biting back a smile, as she watched her best friend and the woman she was in love with bicker like it was their second language.

Lexa, for all her composure, looked utterly out of place in the pristine, hushed luxury of Chanel. She stood a few feet from Clarke and Raven, her hands now in her coat pockets again, her eyes sweeping over the displays of impossibly expensive handbags and clothes as if she were in a museum.

Clarke watched a sales associate approach her, an almost reverent look on her face, and Lexa gave her a small, polite nod. The woman seemed to understand without a word that Lexa was not to be disturbed.

Raven, on the other hand, was in her element. She had already picked up a glossy black quilted bag, holding it out to Clarke like it was a sacred offering.

"This, Clarke. This is a classic. Think of it as an investment piece. Big enough for diapers, wipes, bottles, hell, you could probably smuggle the baby in it if TSA wasn't such a buzzkill." she said. "You can pass it down to mini-Griffin-Woodson someday."

"Raven," Clarke said, trying to suppress a giggle. "We're not even sure of her name yet."

Lexa, a few feet away, caught Clarke's eye and the faintest of smiles played on her lips. She moved closer, slipping her hand into the crook of Clarke's elbow, her touch a grounding presence.

"What do you think, Woodson?" Raven asked, turning to her. "Does this scream 'heirloom'?"

Lexa looked at the bag with a critical eye, then at Clarke's face, a hint of genuine consideration in her expression. "It's beautiful, Raven. But I think Clarke would find a different style more practical."

"It's Chanel," Raven countered, like that alone should settle the debate. "Do you know how hot Clarke would look with this hanging off her shoulder? Mommy chic. Instagram would implode."

"Practical and stylish aren't mutually exclusive," Lexa replied, her voice smooth and confident.

Raven smirked. "Yeah, but she likes you. And if you show up with this bag without her knowing? You're locking down at least a month of girlfriend points. Trust me."

Lexa glared at her, lowering her voice like they were conspiring in a spy film. "She doesn't even like flashy things."

Lexa's frown softened a fraction, like she was actually considering it. She reached up, ran her fingers along the smooth leather.

Raven rolled her eyes. "God, you're hopeless. No. This one's too small. Clarke could barely fit her sketchbook in it. Go bigger. Go bolder. Show her she deserves to be spoiled, Woodson."

Lexa exhaled slowly through her nose. "You're insufferable."

"And you're cheap," Raven shot back instantly, grinning when Lexa's eyes narrowed.

"I am not cheap."

"Prove it," Raven dared, nudging the price tag dangling off the bag.

For a long beat, Lexa just stared at her, jaw clenched like she was weighing whether to strangle Raven or cave.

She then took a step back and scanned the store with the same focused intensity she had used to study the stroller displays. After a moment, her eyes landed on a simple, black leather tote with a subtle gold clasp. It wasn't as flashy as the quilted bags, but it was elegant and looked spacious. She walked over and picked it up.

"This," she said, holding it out to Clarke. "This one is more you, Clarke. It's understated, functional, and beautiful." Her eyes met Clarke's, and her voice dropped to a near whisper. "Just like you."

Clarke's heart did a little flip. She took the bag from Lexa, her fingers brushing hers, and a warmth spread through her. The bag was perfect. It wasn't flashy or loud, but it was strong and beautiful in a quiet way. It was a bag she could see herself carrying every day.

"Oh my god," Raven muttered, her voice full of exasperation. "Did you hear that? I'm going to get a cavity."

Lexa just gave her a small, satisfied smirk before turning back to Clarke, her eyes soft with affection. "We'll take this one."

Raven fist-pumped behind her, whispering, "Knew you'd crack, sugar mama."

"What are you two up to?" Clarke asked, narrowing her eyes.

"Nothing!" Raven chirped too quickly.

"Absolutely nothing," Lexa echoed flatly, handing over her black card.

Clarke's brows drew together suspiciously. "Uh-huh."

Raven looped her arm through Clarke's with a grin. "Don't worry about it, Griffin. Just enjoy the perks of dating a CEO. She's finally loosening up the wallet."

"Raven," Lexa warned under her breath, low and sharp.

But Clarke just laughed, shaking her head. "You two are impossible."

"Tell me something I don't know," Raven muttered, already scanning the store for shoes.

By the time they made it back out to the street, Clarke's hand went instinctively to her belly, rubbing slow circles.

Lexa immediately slowed her pace, concern flashing in her eyes. "Are you lightheaded? Do you need to sit?"

Clarke laughed, shaking her head. "I'm pregnant, Lexa, not fragile. I just... need food. Like, now."

Raven's head whipped around, grin spreading ear to ear. "Finally. A woman speaking my language." She hooked her arm through Clarke's and pointed down the block. "There's a diner right there. Burgers, fries, milkshakes. Baby Griffin is gonna be happy."

Lexa made a face. "A diner? You just dragged us through Chanel and now you want greasy food?"

Raven smirked. "She's pregnant. She gets what she wants. Even you can't argue with that."

Clarke tugged at Lexa's hand with a teasing smile. "Come on, loosen up. You don't have to wine and dine me every second."

Lexa sighed like she was suffering but relented instantly, guiding Clarke toward the car door and holding it open. "Fine. But you're getting something with protein," she muttered, eyes flicking to Clarke's belly again.

As the car pulled out of the parking garage, Clarke's stomach rumbled, a loud, undeniable sound that broke the emotional silence in the car. She laughed, a little shyly. "Well, that's one way to ruin a moment."

Lexa turned to her, her face a mix of concern and a gentle smile. She knew Clarke's habits better than anyone, knew that in her excitement and stress, she hadn't eaten much all day.

"Okay, I love luxury leather as much as the next person, but your daughter is staging a riot in here if we don't feed them soon."

Raven, who was texting in the back, looked up. "I'm in. But it better have good onion rings. This is a celebratory meal, after all."

Lexa, without hesitation, turned on the GPS and typed in "best diners near me." She found a small, old-fashioned diner a few minutes away and navigated them toward it with the quiet efficiency she used to close business deals.

Inside, the diner was everything Clarke had hoped for. The air smelled of griddled onions and coffee, and the booths were a worn red vinyl. They slid into a booth, with Clarke on one side and Lexa and Raven on the other. Raven immediately started looking at the menu, pointing out what she wanted

Clarke leaned back with a groan of relief. "This is perfect."

"You haven't even ordered yet," Lexa pointed out.

Clarke turned her face toward her with a sly smile. "Doesn't matter. You're here, I'm here, there's food coming. That's perfect."

Lexa softened instantly, her hand slipping under the table to cover Clarke's thigh. Raven made a gagging noise. "Oh my god, you two. Do that later."

Clarke rolled her eyes. "Jealous?"

"Of watching my best friend and her boss make heart eyes over mozzarella sticks? Yeah, no thanks."

The waitress arrived and Clarke rattled off her order like she'd been thinking about it for hours, burger, extra pickles, fries, and a milkshake. Raven ordered a stack of pancakes "because I can," and Lexa ordered grilled chicken, ignoring Raven's snicker.

"You really gonna eat rabbit food while Clarke and I live our best lives?" Raven teased.

Lexa shot her a look. "Someone has to set a responsible example."

Clarke leaned into her shoulder, eyes sparkling. "Don't worry, Lex. I'll share my fries."

That earned her a faint smile and under the table, Lexa gave her thigh a squeeze that made Clarke's stomach flip in a way that had nothing to do with the baby.

"I'm getting a chocolate shake," Raven declared. "You two are too busy being in love to have a proper celebratory meal, so I'm going to have a milkshake for all of us."

Clarke laughed, leaning her head on Lexa's shoulder for a moment, the weight of the day starting to settle in a pleasant way. Lexa's arm went around her, a comforting and protective gesture.

The plates landed with a satisfying clatter, Clarke's burger stacked high, fries spilling over the edge, and her milkshake topped with an obscene swirl of whipped cream.

Clarke's eyes lit up. "Oh my god, marry me," she sighed, picking up a fry.

Lexa raised a brow. "Excuse me?"

Clarke smirked, deliberately biting into the fry while looking at her. "I meant the food. But if the shoe fits..."

Raven howled. "Wow. Bold. You hear that, Woodson? Baby mama's proposing with fries and grease."

Lexa tried to look unbothered, but the faintest pink touched her ears. She reached for one of Clarke's fries without asking, dipping it in ketchup. Clarke gasped. "Hey! Those are mine."

"You said you'd share," Lexa said smoothly, chewing like she'd just won a small victory.

"Yeah, but not the best ones. I was saving that one," Clarke grumbled, grabbing her burger.

Raven leaned back, sipping her milkshake like she was watching live theater. "This is honestly the best entertainment I've had in weeks. Chanel fights, fry wars, pregnant goddess sass. I should be charging admission."

Clarke shot her a look. "You're just jealous."

"Of what? Your fry-stealing girlfriend?"

"Girlfriend," Lexa repeated under her breath, the corner of her mouth twitching. She didn't correct Raven. She didn't even blink at the word.

Clarke caught it, warmth spreading through her chest. She hid it by taking a giant bite of her burger.

Lexa, utterly unbothered by Raven's teasing, leaned in close enough for only Clarke to hear. "She's right, you know. I am stealing your fries. And I'm not sorry."

Clarke swallowed hard, cheeks warming. "You're insufferable."

"You love it."

Across the booth, Raven waved her fork dramatically. "Do you two realize I'm right here? Like, hello? Best friend, third wheel, witness to all your gross flirting?"

"You could look away," Clarke teased.

"I could. But then who would keep Lexa humble?"

Lexa didn't even glance at her, calmly cutting into her grilled chicken. "I don't recall asking for that job to be filled."

Raven snorted. "Too late. I've been hired."

Clarke laughed so hard she nearly choked on her milkshake, and Lexa had to rub her back, her palm lingering longer than necessary.

As they ate, the conversation flowed easily, a mix of planning for the baby and a comfortable silence that only comes from being completely at ease with the people you love. Clarke felt a profound sense of peace. The day had been overwhelming, but it was perfect. Surrounded by the people she loved most, with a full stomach and a full heart, she knew she had everything she had ever wanted.

By the time the check came, Clarke was blissfully full, Raven was happily smug, and Lexa was already sliding her card onto the table before Clarke could even reach for her bag.

"Lexa—" Clarke started, but Lexa silenced her with a look.

"Don't argue."

"Fine," Clarke sighed dramatically, leaning her head on Lexa's shoulder. "But next time, I'm paying."

Raven snickered. "Sure you are, Princess. That'll be the day."

Chapter Text

The neon glow of the diner's sign hummed behind them, casting a faint pink light onto the sidewalk as they emerged into the evening air. The city, usually a symphony of blaring horns and hurried footsteps, seemed to soften and fade into the background. For Clarke, the world had narrowed to the gentle warmth of Lexa's hand in hers and the slow, rhythmic circles her other hand was tracing over the slight swell of her belly. The rich, salty flavor of the burger and fries was a pleasant memory, a feeling of deep, satisfying contentment that settled heavy and warm in her stomach.

"You okay?" Lexa's voice was a low murmur, a counterpoint to the city's roar.

She looked at Clarke with a quiet intensity, her gaze sweeping over her face as if checking for a flicker of discomfort or a sign of fatigue. It was a familiar look, one Clarke had come to know well over the past months, protective, watchful, and deeply caring.

"I'm fine," Clarke answered, stifling a yawn behind her free hand. The lie was a flimsy one, and she knew it. "Just... the baby and the food teamed up against me. I think they've declared a truce and the terms are 'nap time'."

Raven, walking a few steps ahead of them with her hands clasped behind her head, let out a loud laugh that cut through the night. "You ate like a warrior, Clarke. I'm telling you, if that kid doesn't come out loving fries, I'll be shocked. You'll have a little carb-fiend on your hands."

Clarke leaned her head onto Lexa's shoulder, feeling the solid weight of her next to her. "Don't encourage me, Raven. You'll give me a reputation."

"I didn't have to encourage you," Raven shot back, a playful smirk on her face. "You devoured that burger like you were in an eating contest. I was proud. You were a true champion of the deep-fried."

Lexa didn't say a word, just squeezed Clarke's hand. The simple gesture spoke volumes. The unspoken question was clear: Do you want me to call the car?

"I can still walk," Clarke said, a note of mock indignation in her voice. She tried to straighten her posture, but the effect was comical.

Lexa just raised an eyebrow, a slight smile playing on her lips. "Walking and wobbling are not the same thing."

"I am not wobbling," Clarke insisted, her voice trailing off a little at the end.

Raven stopped and turned to face them, her eyes twinkling in the lamplight. "Oh, honey, you are definitely wobbling. It's cute, though. Pregnant penguin chic."

Clarke groaned, burying her face into Lexa's shoulder. "I hate you both." The words were muffled, but the affection in them was unmistakable.

A low, rumbling chuckle vibrated through Lexa's chest. She leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the top of Clarke's head. "You don't."

Clarke's voice was even more muffled as she clung to Lexa. "Maybe not you."

Raven clutched a hand to her chest, feigning a look of deep betrayal. "Ouch. The knife goes in deep. I'll remember this when you call me at 2 AM asking me to build a crib."

By the time they reached the corner, the car was already there, its headlights a beacon in the dark. Of course, Lexa had already called it. She always thought ten steps ahead, especially when it came to Clarke. She opened the back door, her movements deliberate and careful. She didn't just open the door; she stood there, her hands out to steady Clarke as if she were a precious, breakable vase. Clarke gave her a look that was a mix of exasperation and pure affection.

"Lexa, I'm pregnant, not made of porcelain."

Lexa's expression didn't waver. "You're carrying everything that matters most to me. Forgive me if I take a few precautions."

The words hung in the air between them, simple and profound. Clarke's breath caught in her throat, a soft, involuntary gasp. Even Raven, who was never without a sharp retort, was silent for a moment. It was one of those moments that felt impossibly big, one of the many reminders of the depth of Lexa's love.

Finally, Raven cleared her throat, breaking the spell. "Okay, wow. Didn't realize I signed up for front-row seats at the sappiest rom-com of the year."

Clarke let out a little laugh, a sound that was half-embarrassed and half-joyful, as she slid into the car's plush interior. "Shut up, Raven."

As Lexa climbed in beside her, Raven leaned in, a knowing look on her face. "No, you shut up. You two are disgustingly cute. I don't even know why you bother with labels. Everyone can see you're basically married already."

Lexa didn't deny it. Instead, she simply smirked, her eyes twinkling. She reached for Clarke, pulling her closer so that Clarke's head rested on her shoulder. "I don't see the problem," she said, her voice a low, warm murmur.

Clarke didn't say anything, but she didn't have to. She just tucked her face into the curve of Lexa's neck, the warmth and familiar scent of her a comfort that transcended words. As the car pulled away from the curb and began to glide through the city, the only thing that mattered was the steady beat of the heart next to her, a promise of a future that was already starting to feel very real.

The drive back was filled with a comfortable silence. Clarke leaned against Lexa's shoulder, her hand loosely tangled in Lexa's, while Raven scrolled through her phone in the back seat, a faint tune humming from her earbuds. The city lights streamed past the windows, blurring into a vibrant, moving mosaic. By the time the car pulled up to Clarke's building, she looked ready to drift off to sleep.

Lexa was out of the car in an instant, circling to open Clarke's door before she could even think to protest.

"I can walk, you know," Clarke said, her words a little slurred with fatigue as Lexa held out both hands to her.

Lexa arched a brow. "I've seen your 'walking' lately. It looks suspiciously like wobbling."

"Penguin chic," Raven quipped from behind them as she slung her bag over her shoulder, a smirk on her face.

Clarke gave them both a halfhearted glare. "You're both fired."

"Can't fire me," Raven said breezily, already heading toward the lobby. "I'm irreplaceable."

Lexa slipped an arm around Clarke's waist, providing a steady support as they ascended the front steps. Clarke muttered something about overprotective CEOs, but she leaned into Lexa's side, accepting the quiet care.

Inside her apartment, Raven announced her presence by tossing her bag onto the couch and then herself beside it. "Alright, lovebirds, I'm taking the spare room. No sex noises, please and thank you."

"Raven—" Clarke groaned, but Raven just laughed and disappeared down the hall.

Clarke turned to Lexa, her cheeks warm with a light blush. "She's impossible."

Lexa's only reply was a soft smile as she brushed her thumb over Clarke's cheek. "She's good for you." Her voice dropped to a lower, more intimate tone. "But let me take care of you for a little while."

Clarke's protests died on her tongue as Lexa guided her toward the bedroom. She gently sat her on the edge of the bed, then crouched down to untie her shoes, her movements slow and deliberate.

"Lexa," Clarke whispered, watching her fingers work, "you don't have to—"

"I want to," Lexa interrupted, looking up with those steady, green eyes that had a habit of making Clarke's heart flutter.

Clarke couldn't help but smile, her hand coming up to brush through Lexa's hair as she kicked off the second shoe. "You're ridiculous."

Lexa leaned in, pressing a kiss against Clarke's knee before she stood. "You're exhausted. Get changed, drink some water, and let me tuck you in."

Clarke laughed, shaking her head as she reached for her pajamas. "You're seriously going to tuck me in?"

Lexa smirked, pulling back the covers like she was performing a practiced ritual. "Of course. What else do girlfriends do?"

The word, spoken so casually, hung in the air between them, a new and heavy weight. The warmth that flooded Clarke's chest had nothing to do with the room's temperature. It was a warmth that came from a deeper place, a feeling of being wanted, of belonging. She climbed under the blankets, trying to suppress the smile that threatened to spread across her face.

Lexa tucked the sheet around Clarke's shoulders, kissed her forehead, and then lingered. Clarke reached up and caught her wrist.

"Stay a minute?" she asked softly.

Lexa's lips curved into a smile as she slipped onto the bed beside her, pulling Clarke against her chest. "As long as you want."

Clarke nuzzled closer, her smile hidden in Lexa's shirt. "You're unbelievable too, you know."

Lexa hummed in response, kissing her hair. "Then we're well-matched."

Clarke shifted against Lexa's chest, her body heavy with sleep but her mind unwilling to give in just yet. Her fingers played lazily with the collar of Lexa's shirt, tracing the edge of the fabric, a quiet attempt to keep herself from drifting off.

"You know," Clarke murmured, her voice thick with drowsiness, "you get this really smug look when you tuck me in."

Lexa tilted her head, a hint of amusement in her expression. "Smug?"

"Mhm." Clarke's nails grazed lightly over Lexa's collarbone, her eyes still half-closed. "Like you know exactly how much I like it and you're daring me to admit it."

A low chuckle vibrated through Lexa's chest. "Do you like it?"

Clarke cracked one eye open, a slow smirk spreading across her lips despite her fatigue.

"Maybe I do." Her hand slipped lower, a teasing touch over the buttons of Lexa's shirt. "Maybe I like it enough to think you're getting a little too confident."

Lexa caught Clarke's hand gently, pressing it back to her chest. "Careful. You're playing a dangerous game, Griffin."

Clarke let out a breathless laugh, which was immediately followed by a large yawn. "God, that's unfair," she mumbled against Lexa's shoulder. "I was being sexy."

"You were," Lexa agreed, kissing her temple. "But you're also about three minutes from passing out."

Clarke sighed dramatically, her body relaxing completely as she snuggled closer. "Fine. But tomorrow, I'm winning the game."

Lexa's smirk was a silent promise as she stroked a hand slowly down Clarke's back in a soothing, circular motion. "I'm looking forward to it."

Clarke's hum was the last sound before she fully succumbed to sleep, her breathing evening out against Lexa's skin.

Lexa held her for a long moment, a smile spreading across her face. The word, a quiet confession of affection, was an acknowledgement of a profound bond. She kissed the crown of Clarke's head, whispering, "I love you too," even though she knew Clarke was already asleep. The embrace held a silent promise of future moments together.

The room fell into a deep quiet, the only sounds the distant hum of the city and the soft, even rhythm of Clarke's breathing against her chest. Lexa held still for a long time, unwilling to shift for fear of disturbing the peaceful weight of Clarke's body. Her arms tightened instinctively, a silent, anchoring gesture. The truth of the matter was, Lexa didn't just want Clarke there for a moment.

She wanted her for all of it, the late nights, the early mornings, the messy, beautiful reality of a shared life.

She tilted her head, watching the way Clarke's face softened in sleep, the blonde hair a gentle mess against her shirt. Lexa's chest tightened in that familiar way, a feeling that was both overwhelming and comforting. She had told Clarke that she loved her before, but the words, even as profound as they were, felt like they were only scratching the surface of everything she felt.

A thought, small and quiet, slipped into her mind: Girlfriend.

She tested the word silently, her lips shaping the sound without making a noise. It felt small in comparison to the vastness of her feelings, but it also made her heart skip a beat. She wanted to say it, to make it real, to hear Clarke say it back.

But the doubt crept in, an unwelcome presence. Clarke was in her second trimester, exhausted and navigating so much change. Lexa didn't want to make her feel cornered or rushed. She had promised herself long ago that she would never let Clarke feel trapped by her, by their connection, by a relationship that had started in a complicated way.

Yet, when Clarke had whispered "love you" before falling asleep, something inside Lexa had snapped open. The words were a quiet confession, a profound acknowledgment of a deeper bond. Perhaps Clarke was already there, already choosing her every day, even without a formal label.

Lexa lowered her head, pressing the gentlest of kisses against Clarke's hairline. The ache in her chest was a quiet plea.

"Not yet," she decided. "But soon." When Clarke was ready. When Lexa could look her in the eye and ask her properly. Her thumb stroked over Clarke's spine, a soothing, possessive gesture.

"Girlfriend," she whispered this time, the word so soft it was almost swallowed by the night. It was an unguarded, private smile that only Clarke would ever get to see.

The next day, sunlight sliced through the room's blinds in soft stripes, warming the sheets and the tangle of limbs beneath them. Clarke was the first to stir, her mind still foggy with sleep as she registered the possessive weight of Lexa's arm wrapped tightly around her waist. She tried to shift, only to feel the arm tighten, holding her in place.

"Don't," Lexa mumbled, her voice a low rumble. Her lips brushed the back of Clarke's shoulder. "Five more minutes."

Clarke smiled against her pillow, her heart feeling full. "Pretty sure that's what you said half an hour ago."

"Then... five more minutes again," Lexa countered, her body moving to pull Clarke closer until she was flush against her chest.

A soft laugh escaped Clarke. For once, she didn't fight it; her body craved the closeness as well. She turned slightly, nestling into the crook of Lexa's neck and pressing a lazy kiss against her skin. "Fine. But only because I like it."

Lexa smirked, her eyes still closed. "You love it."
"Maybe," Clarke teased, though the lingering kiss was an admission in itself.

The quiet moment would have continued if not for Raven's voice, which drifted in from the kitchen. "Jesus, it's like watching two koalas in heat. Do you guys need a crowbar to separate, or...?"

Clarke groaned into Lexa's shoulder. "Why is she still here?"

Lexa opened one eye, her expression deadpan. "Because she likes making my life difficult."

"Correction," Raven called out, her voice loud and clear, "I like making your life difficult, Woodson. Clarke's just collateral damage."

Clarke rolled over, clutching Lexa's arm to her chest like a pillow, refusing to let go. "Don't listen to her," she murmured, kissing Lexa's knuckles. "I like you this way."

Raven appeared in the doorway, a mug of coffee in her hand. Her eyebrow was raised so high it nearly touched her hairline. "You two are a nauseatingly official couple. Spare the world and just get matching rings already."

Lexa, completely unfazed, kissed Clarke's temple in blatant defiance. "Noted," she said coolly, a small smirk on her face.

Clarke giggled, burying her face against Lexa's shoulder. "She's never going to let us live this down."

Raven pointed her mug at them like a judge issuing a sentence. "Nope. You're doomed. This is my entertainment now. And Lexa, if you keep looking at her like she's the cure to all your problems, I'm going to start charging you rent for the sap."

Lexa shrugged, tightening her hold on Clarke. "Worth it."

Raven groaned, while Clarke, caught between laughter and a blush, whispered into Lexa's ear, "She's not wrong."

Lexa responded with a kiss.

By the time Clarke finally convinced Lexa to let her out of bed, the loft was filled with the scents of fresh coffee and toast. Raven had clearly made herself at home. The clatter of pots and pans, the low music from her phone, and her loud, off-key humming filled the space.

Clarke shuffled into the kitchen, with Lexa following close behind. Lexa's hand rested on the small of Clarke's back, a gesture that seemed instinctual. Raven noticed the moment they entered, turning with a smirk.

"Would you look at that. The queen herself, Woodson, acting like a lovesick puppy." Raven raised her mug in a salute. "Didn't think I'd live to see the day."

Lexa arched a brow, her demeanor as calm as ever, but she didn't remove her hand. "And yet, here you are."

Clarke hid her grin by reaching for a piece of toast, but yelped when Lexa took it from her and bit into it first.

"Hey!" Clarke protested, swatting at her.
Lexa chewed calmly, her face showing no expression. "Making sure it's safe."

Raven nearly choked on her coffee. "Oh my God. You're that couple. The one that shares forks, bites, straws, it's like a rom-com montage waiting to happen."

Clarke's cheeks turned pink, but she couldn't stop laughing. She leaned against Lexa's side. "Don't listen to her. She's just jealous."

"Jealous?" Raven snorted. "Of what? Watching two people exchange glances over scrambled eggs? No thanks."

In retaliation, Lexa kissed the top of Clarke's head, her expression deliberately smug. Clarke seemed to melt against her, unable to resist. Raven groaned dramatically, tossing a napkin onto the counter.

"You know what? If you two are gonna sit here making heart eyes, I'm charging for breakfast. I don't cook for free public display of affection."

Clarke laughed so hard she nearly dropped her fork. Lexa smirked, pulling a crisp bill from her wallet and handing it to Raven without hesitation.

Raven blinked in surprise. "Wait—you're actually paying me?"

"Consider it hazard pay," Lexa said smoothly, sliding an arm around Clarke's waist as she guided her to a chair. "You're the one who insisted on staying."

Raven shook her head, muttering under her breath as she pocketed the bill. "Unbelievable."

Clarke, her cheeks flushed but her eyes soft, leaned into Lexa. She whispered low enough that Raven couldn't hear, "I kinda like you whipped."

Lexa kissed her hair again, her lips tugging into a smirk. "Good. Because I don't plan on changing."

Raven, catching only the happy sigh from Clarke's direction, threw her hands in the air. "Kill me now. I can't compete with this level of nauseating."

When Clarke excused herself to lie down for a bit, the baby apparently demanding an after-breakfast nap, Raven tossed her keys into the air and caught them with a flourish. A mischievous glint appeared in her eye as she looked at Lexa.

"C'mon, CEO Barbie. Walk with me to the corner store. I need a few things."

Lexa raised a brow, the corners of her mouth twitching. "I have a driver, you know."

"Yeah, and I have legs. Let's use 'em." Raven smirked, nudging Lexa's shoulder on her way out the door, not giving her a chance to argue. With a soft exhale, Lexa followed.

The morning air was crisp and cool against their skin as they stepped onto the city sidewalk. The city was alive around them, a steady hum of traffic and hurried footsteps. Raven wasted no time in filling the silence.

"You know," she began with a casual tone, "watching you carry Clarke out of the office yesterday like some kind of knight in a designer suit was the highlight of my year. Pretty sure half your staff is still talking about it."

A faint blush crept into Lexa's cheeks, but she responded with a composed voice. "Clarke was tired."

Raven barked a laugh. "Oh, don't give me that. You loved every second of showing her off."

"Perhaps." Lexa's voice was smooth, but the blush on her cheeks deepened.

Raven nudged her again, her smirk widening. "God, you're so gone for her. It's actually adorable. Who knew the ice queen was really just a golden retriever in disguise?"

Lexa gave her a sharp side glance, but Raven only grinned wider, unconcerned. They walked in silence for a block, Raven swinging the plastic basket she had grabbed from the store, before her tone softened.

"So... when are you gonna make it official?"

Lexa's steps slowed. "Official?"

"You know what I mean." Raven's eyes met hers, now serious. "She's already your girl. Anyone with eyes can see it. But Clarke... she deserves to hear it. Deserves to have it out in the open, not just in the space between you two."

Lexa looked ahead, her jaw tense. Her throat worked as she swallowed. Raven didn't push, allowing the quiet to stretch between them.

"I want to," Lexa finally admitted, her voice low and cautious. "Every day I want to. But she's carrying so much already. I don't want her to feel pressured, like I'm asking for more when she's already giving me everything."

Raven stopped at the crosswalk, turning to face Lexa squarely. "Lexa, listen to me. Clarke's not just giving. She's choosing you. Every damn day. And she's crazy about you."

Lexa's eyes softened, her chest tightening with an emotion she couldn't name.

Raven cracked a small smile, bumping her arm again. "Don't wait too long, okay? You're good for her. And she's good for you. Let yourself have it."

For a long beat, Lexa didn't answer. A faint, private, and thoughtful smile ghosted her lips. When the light changed, Raven strode ahead, tossing a grin over her shoulder as if she hadn't just exposed Lexa's deepest vulnerabilities. "Now hurry up, sugar mama. You're paying for my snacks."

Lexa let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head as she followed. The warmth in her chest remained. When they stepped back into the apartment, the faint sound of soft music drifted from Clarke's phone on the counter. Clarke was curled on the couch with a blanket draped over her shoulders, her hair a bit mussed from sleep. Her eyes blinked open as they walked in.

"Hey," Clarke murmured, a small smile pulling at her lips. "That was quick."

Raven tossed her bag onto the counter and flopped into an armchair. "Quick? I practically had to drag your girlfriend down the street to the store. She was whining the whole way."

Clarke's cheeks pinked at the word, but before she could respond, Lexa shot Raven a look sharp enough to kill. Raven only grinned wider.

Lexa ignored her, moving straight to Clarke. She knelt beside the couch, brushing a strand of hair away from Clarke's face with a deliberate and gentle touch. "Did you rest?"

Clarke nodded, leaning instinctively into Lexa's palm. "A little. The baby was doing gymnastics."
Lexa's lips curved as she pressed a kiss to Clarke's forehead. She stayed close, closer than usual, as if she couldn't stand the space between them. Her hand slid down to rest gently on Clarke's belly, her thumb stroking in quiet circles.

"Of course she was," Lexa murmured. "Already stubborn like her mother."

Clarke laughed softly, her heart skipping a beat at how naturally Lexa said it. "You're extra clingy today," she teased, although her voice was full of fondness.

Raven, sprawled in the armchair with a bag of chips she hadn't paid for, snorted. "You should have seen her outside. Total golden retriever mode. If I'd let go of the leash, she would have bolted straight back here."

Lexa's ears flushed pink, but instead of retreating, she leaned down and kissed Clarke again. The kiss was slow, lingering, almost like a silent answer to something Raven had said earlier.

Clarke's hand found her jaw, holding her there, and for a moment it was just the two of them in their own bubble. When Lexa finally pulled back, her voice was husky.

"I just... missed you. Even for the hour we were gone."

Raven groaned dramatically, covering her face with a cushion. "Okay, that's it, I'm out. You two are going to rot my teeth."

Clarke laughed, but her eyes stayed locked on Lexa's. Her heart fluttered with the warmth in them, and she could feel it, that question Lexa had not yet asked but was heavy between them. She couldn't deny that she was waiting for it.

Two hours later.

The studio smelled faintly of lavender and eucalyptus when they walked in, the soft mats already lined up in neat rows. A hushed atmosphere pervaded the room, with a few other couples settled into their places, speaking in low voices. Clarke tugged Lexa along by the hand, her belly leading the way, while Raven followed behind with a smirk, her eyes already scanning the room for any potential source of amusement.

"I thought you were tired of us," Lexa said, her voice a low murmur meant for Raven.

"Okay," Raven muttered, "I'm just here for the comedy show."

Clarke threw her a look over her shoulder. "You're here because I trust you. And because Lexa begged you to come so she wouldn't be the only awkward one in class."

Lexa's glare was sharp and direct. "I did not beg."

"You totally begged," Raven sang, a playful grin on her face.

Clarke's giggle was a soft, warm sound. When they settled onto their mats, Clarke leaned back against Lexa's chest. Her body fit perfectly against Lexa's. The instructor, a woman with a gentle smile and a serene voice, began to guide them through the first pose, a "support partner" pose. Lexa's hands were placed on Clarke's belly, and Clarke could feel Lexa's jaw flex as if she were overthinking how tightly to hold her.

"You can relax," Clarke whispered, tilting her head back to look at Lexa. "I'm not glass."

Lexa's expression softened instantly. She lowered her head and kissed Clarke's temple, then tucked her closer. "I just like keeping you safe."

The instructor's voice carried across the room, calm and measured. "Support partners, feel your breath match the mother's. You are grounding her."

Raven coughed from the next mat over, her voice a loud whisper. "Grounding her? You've been glued to her since breakfast, Lex. She couldn't float away if she tried."

A few of the other couples next to them snickered. Clarke covered her face, trying to stifle her laughter, but Lexa only rolled her eyes and kissed Clarke's cheek.

Later, when they practiced breathing through "contractions," Clarke's hand instinctively squeezed Lexa's. She could feel Lexa tense immediately.

"You okay?" Clarke asked softly, noticing the way Lexa's eyes had gone intense, a look of focused protection in them.

Lexa nodded, but her voice was strained. "It's just—seeing you in pain. Even pretending. It... gets to me."

Clarke's heart tugged. She rubbed her thumb over Lexa's knuckles, a grounding gesture. "Hey. I'm tougher than I look, remember? And I'll have you."

A small smile flickered on Lexa's lips, and her eyes glimmered with an unreadable emotion. "Always."

Raven, of course, was there to break the tender moment with a loud whisper. "God, get a room. We're in prenatal yoga, not a rom-com."

Clarke swatted her with the corner of her mat, her laughter so hard that her breathing exercise fell apart.

"Now we'll work on the 'supported squat.' This is a wonderful pose for strengthening your legs and preparing your pelvic floor. Partners, you'll be the anchor."

Clarke, with a slight wince, sank into the squat. Her legs trembled with the effort. Lexa's hands on her hips provided a steady anchor, but Clarke's face tightened as she worked. "Just... a minute," she breathed.

Lexa's hands tightened instinctively. "Take a break, Clarke. We can sit down."

Clarke shook her head. "No, I'm fine. Just... my hips feel like they're going to split."

Lexa's jaw tightened, and Raven looked up from her phone. She looked at Clarke with a rare expression of concern.

"Hey, princess," Raven said softly. "Listen to your body. You've been on your feet for hours. It's okay to take a break."

Clarke looked between the two of them, the intense concern on their faces. "Okay, okay," she said. She eased out of the squat and sat on the mat, leaning back against Lexa's chest.

Lexa's arms wrapped around her, her hands resting on Clarke's belly. "You did well," Lexa whispered.

Clarke let out a tired sigh. "I feel like a whale."

Lexa kissed her temple. "You're a beautiful whale."

Raven, with a sigh, put her phone away. "I need a nap."

The instructor moved on, and Lexa continued to hold Clarke, her hand on Clarke's stomach, feeling the movements of the baby inside. It was a rhythmic, gentle dance. Lexa's expression was soft and full of wonder.

By the time class wound down, Clarke was stretched out on her mat, her head pillowed in Lexa's lap during the final relaxation. The instructor's voice was calm and soothing, but Clarke's focus was on the steady hand brushing through her hair and the warmth of Lexa's thigh under her cheek.

"Best part of the class," Clarke mumbled, eyes half-closed.

Lexa bent down to kiss her forehead. "I agree."

Raven groaned from the other side. "You two are disgusting. I'm filing a complaint with management."

Clarke cracked one eye open, smirking. "Good luck with that. I think the management's on my side."

When the class dismissed, Lexa stood immediately and offered her hands to Clarke. "Come here, love. Slowly."

Clarke let herself be pulled up, grinning at how serious Lexa's face was while steadying her, one hand at her elbow, the other braced on her lower back like she thought Clarke might crumble at any second.

"I'm pregnant, Lexa. Not fragile."

Lexa didn't budge. "You're both."

Raven snorted so loudly a couple walking by turned their heads. "This is hilarious. The mighty Lexa reduced to a walking pregnancy pillow."

Lexa didn't even blink. She glanced down at Clarke's belly and crouched slightly, resting her palm there. "A very proud one." Then, with exaggerated seriousness, she spoke to Clarke's bump: "What do you think, little one? Ice cream? Or a proper lunch first?"

Clarke's laugh came out startled and warm, her cheeks pinking as people glanced their way. "Lexa, don't—"

"Oh no, keep going," Raven urged, practically doubled over in laughter. "I need this content for the group chat."

Lexa only looked smug, standing again and sliding an arm around Clarke's waist. "Are you hungry?" Lexa asked. "I can order some food."

"I'm starving," Clarke said, her eyes gleaming.

Raven rolled her eyes. "Of course, you are. You ate for two at the diner. You're going to eat for three now."

Clarke smiled. "Don't tempt me."

"I'm not tempting you," Raven said. "I'm just being realistic."

"So? Lunch, then ice cream?"

Clarke tried to give her a mock glare, but her grin betrayed her. "Ice cream first. Baby's vote wins."

"Of course," Lexa said, already steering her toward the exit. "Baby's always first."

Raven trailed after them, muttering to herself, "Can't believe I just spent my Saturday as a third wheel to a power couple and their fetus."

Clarke leaned her head against Lexa's shoulder as they walked, happiness humming in her chest.

Lexa just shook her head, a smile on her face. She led Clarke out of the studio, her hand on Clarke's back, a silent, comforting presence. Raven followed, complaining about the lack of snacks in the studio, and Clarke laughed, her heart full. She was exhausted, but she was also so happy. She had Lexa, and soon she would have the baby. That was all that mattered.

The little ice cream shop was tucked on the corner, bright umbrellas shading outdoor tables. Clarke ordered a double scoop of mint chocolate chip with hot fudge, Lexa insisted on paying (despite Clarke's pointed look), and Raven went for a towering sundae just to "outdo" everyone.

They found a spot outside. Clarke sat with her knees angled toward Lexa, one hand on her belly as she savored her first bite. Lexa didn't even touch her own cone at first, she was too busy watching Clarke, her expression soft, undone.

"What?" Clarke asked, a little shy under the weight of her gaze.

Lexa shook her head. "Just... you. Like this. Happy. It makes me realize how much I want to keep you that way."

Clarke's spoon stilled, throat tightening. There was so much earnestness in Lexa's voice that it scraped right past her defenses. "You already do," she admitted quietly. "I don't think I could have gotten this far without you."

Lexa reached for her hand, threading their fingers together. Her thumb stroked gently across Clarke's knuckles. "I'm still sorry I wasn't honest sooner. But... I need you to know, I'm not going anywhere. Not from you. Not from them." She brushed Clarke's stomach with her free hand.

Clarke's chest swelled with something tender and terrifying. She wanted to tell Lexa she was hers, that she didn't need to be afraid of scaring her off, but the words tangled in her throat.

Raven, oblivious, licked whipped cream from her spoon and groaned. "Okay, seriously, I need you two to stop looking like you're about to make out over a waffle cone. People are watching."

Clarke rolled her eyes, tugging her hand free to swat at Raven. "Don't you have anything better to do than heckle us?"

Raven's grin was wicked. "Actually, yes. Clarke, I had an idea."

Clarke instantly narrowed her eyes. "Oh no."

"It's genius," Raven pressed on, pulling out her phone. "We do the Baby Mama Dance. TikTok. You, me, belly front and center, shaking it out. I'm telling you, it'll go viral."

Clarke nearly choked on her ice cream. "Absolutely not."

"Absolutely yes," Raven countered, already opening the app. "Do you know how many millions of people eat this content up? We could be famous. Your baby could be famous."

Lexa gave a horrified little laugh, shoulders tensing like she was bracing for Clarke's answer. "What exactly is the Baby Mama Dance?"

Raven smirked. "Oh, don't worry, Commander. You'll see when your girl and I go viral."

Clarke groaned, half mortified, half laughing despite herself. "Lexa, don't you dare let her talk me into this."

Lexa leaned back in her chair, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Oh, I would never stand between you and your... artistic expression."

Raven cackled. "Translation: she totally wants to see it."

Clarke covered her face with both hands. "This is my life now."

By the time they got back to Clarke's apartment, Raven was still buzzing about her TikTok scheme, and Clarke, full of sugar and worn down by constant badgering, finally sighed.

"Fine," she said, hands up in defeat. "We'll do it. But if you post this, I swear to God—"

"Yes!" Raven whooped, already clearing space in the living room. "Clarke Griffin, prepare to ascend to internet glory."

Lexa leaned against the counter, arms crossed, half smiling, half deeply suspicious. "Do I need to be worried?"

"Only about secondhand embarrassment," Clarke muttered, tugging off her shoes and standing in the middle of the room.

Raven cued up the song, phone propped against a stack of books, and immediately started demonstrating the moves. Clarke laughed so hard she had to grab her belly for support.

"Raven, I can't do that. I'm eight months pregnant!"

"Exactly the point!" Raven yelled over the music. "The belly is the star!"

Clarke groaned but tried anyway, shuffling side to side, rolling her shoulders, adding a little hip sway. It was ridiculous. She felt ridiculous. And then she caught Lexa's expression, her stoic CEO, usually so composed, biting her lip hard to keep from laughing, eyes shining as she watched Clarke move.

"Don't you dare laugh at me," Clarke warned, pointing at her.

"I'm not," Lexa said, but her voice wobbled with suppressed laughter. "You're... incredible."

"Shut up," Clarke said, cheeks burning, though she couldn't stop grinning.

Raven whooped and jumped in beside her, the two of them dancing horribly in sync, Clarke giggling so much she could barely keep up. The phone recorded everything: Raven's dramatic hair flips, Clarke's belly shaking as she wiggled, both of them dissolving into laughter halfway through.

By the end, Clarke collapsed onto the couch, breathless and pink-faced, tears of laughter in her eyes. Raven fell beside her, triumphant.

"That," Raven panted, "was art."

Lexa crossed the room and crouched in front of Clarke, cupping her flushed face in both hands. "You," she said softly, forehead pressing to Clarke's, "are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

Raven gagged loudly. "Oh my God, you two. At least let me upload it before you start making out."

"Raven," Clarke warned, still laughing but already suspicious. "Don't you dare—"

"Too late!" Raven grinned wickedly, thumbs flying. "The world deserves this masterpiece."

Clarke tried to grab at the phone, but Raven was faster, darting away and holding it above her head like she was guarding a championship trophy.

"Raven Reyes!" Clarke yelled, throwing a pillow at her. "I swear if this ends up online—"

"It's already online," Raven cackled. "And you, my glowing goddess, are going viral."

Clarke groaned, covering her face with her hands. "Lexa, do something!"

Lexa, still kneeling in front of Clarke, tilted her head, fighting a smile. "I don't think I could stop her if I tried."

"Damn right," Raven called from the kitchen, already watching the views tick up. "Oh my God, Clarke—look at this. You've got like, five hundred likes in under a minute. People are obsessed."

Clarke peeked through her fingers, half horrified, half curious. "That fast?"

"Of course! Pregnant girl dances with her best friend? Internet catnip!" Raven sang, twirling her phone like it was a prize. "Also, your girl Lexa in the background looking like she's about to cry from how in love she is? Chef's kiss."

Lexa froze. "What?"

Raven shoved the phone in Clarke's direction. Sure enough, the video caught Lexa in the corner of the frame, arms folded, gaze locked on Clarke, eyes soft in a way that gave her away completely.

Clarke's breath caught. Her stomach swooped, but this time not from the baby.

Lexa cleared her throat, straightening a little. "I... may have been distracted."

Raven smirked knowingly. "Distracted? Try whipped."

Clarke laughed, cheeks hot, but she didn't argue. She leaned forward and kissed Lexa quick, just to prove Raven right.

Raven groaned. "Ugh, my TikTok comments are gonna ship you two so hard."

"You started this," Clarke said, tossing another pillow at her.

"Worth it," Raven grinned.

Thirty minutes later Clarke was curled against Lexa in bed, hair damp from her shower, phone lighting up her face in the dimness. She was scrolling, thumb flicking as a low chuckle escaped her now and then.

Lexa had been pretending to read, glasses perched on her nose, a book open in her hands. But she hadn't turned a page in at least fifteen minutes. Every time Clarke laughed under her breath, Lexa's eyes slid sideways, narrowing just a little.

"What's so funny?" Lexa finally asked, her tone carefully casual.

Clarke bit her lip, clearly hiding a smile. "Nothing."

Lexa arched a brow. "You've been smiling at your phone for twenty minutes. That's not nothing."

Clarke angled the screen away, teasing. "Just comments."

"Comments," Lexa repeated, as if testing the word. She set her book aside slowly. "On the video."

Clarke's grin widened. "Mhm."

Lexa sighed, leaning back against the headboard, feigning nonchalance. "I don't care what people are saying."

"You don't?" Clarke teased, peeking up at her with a wicked little smirk.

"No," Lexa said firmly, though her eyes betrayed her curiosity. "Not at all."

Clarke laughed, delighted. "Then you definitely don't want to hear that one user said, 'The tall one in the background is so gone for her, someone wife her up already.'"

Lexa's jaw twitched. "...They said that?"

"Oh, they said a lot of things." Clarke scrolled, reading aloud dramatically. "'This is the most beautiful pregnant woman I've ever seen, and her partner looks like she'd fight God himself to protect her.'"

At that, Lexa's ears flushed pink.

Clarke nudged her. "Or—oh this is a good one, 'CEO Energy staring at her sunshine.'"

Lexa groaned and dragged a hand down her face. "Why are people like this?"

Clarke giggled, tossing her phone aside and climbing up onto Lexa's lap, straddling her. "Because it's true."

Lexa's hands instinctively went to her hips, steadying her, green eyes soft but intense. "You enjoy torturing me, don't you?"

"Maybe a little," Clarke admitted, pressing a kiss to her jaw. "But mostly I just like that you don't even realize how obvious you are."

Lexa swallowed, her voice dropping low. "Obvious about what?"

Clarke smiled against her skin. "About loving me."

The words hung there, tender and electric. Lexa pulled her closer, holding her like she never wanted to let go.

"Guilty," she whispered.

Chapter Text

Lexa held Clarke close, the silence between them no longer a void but a space filled with the steady rhythm of their breathing. The earlier laughter had faded, but a new, deeper intimacy had taken its place. Clarke's fingers continued to trace the seams of Lexa's shirt, a subconscious, grounding gesture. Her head rested against Lexa's shoulder, a weight that felt less like a burden and more like a permanent fixture.

"I've been thinking about stepping back from the company," Clarke said softly, her voice barely a whisper against Lexa's skin. It wasn't a question or a request for permission, but an admission of a truth she had been grappling with alone. "At least for the rest of the pregnancy."

A subtle tension coiled in Lexa's muscles. She didn't pull away, but the shift was palpable, her entire focus narrowing on Clarke's words. Lexa's hands, which had been resting on Clarke's back, moved to her thighs, their weight a gentle pressure that rooted Clarke to her. "Stepping back?" she repeated, her tone carefully neutral, inviting Clarke to elaborate without judgment.

Clarke sighed, a long, weary sound, and leaned her forehead against Lexa's collarbone. "I love working with you, I really do. But these past few weeks... the exhaustion, the constant nausea, the doctor's appointments, it's like I can't keep up. I feel like I'm failing at everything at once. I'm failing as an artist and failing at... whatever I am at your company."

Lexa's heart ached at the self-doubt in Clarke's voice. She gently tilted Clarke's chin up until their eyes met. "You are not failing," she said, her voice firm and resolute, leaving no room for argument. "You are carrying our child. That is the most important thing either of us is doing, Clarke. It's not a failure; it's a miracle."

Tears welled in Clarke's eyes, a visceral reaction to the powerful weight of Lexa's words: 'our child.' She tried to brush off the emotion with a shaky smile.

"Still, I miss painting. I haven't touched a brush in weeks. Every time I think about going to the studio, there's another meeting or a deadline." She hesitated, the confession feeling more vulnerable than anything else she had said. "And honestly, Lexa, sometimes I wonder if I only kept this position because it meant being closer to you."

Lexa's breath hitched, a silent acknowledgment of the painful truth in Clarke's words. Her thumb brushed Clarke's jawline, a soft, reassuring touch. "Maybe that was part of it. But you've proven yourself there. Everyone respects you. You've built something for yourself that has nothing to do with me."

Clarke nodded, but the truth did little to quell the tears that now freely tracked down her cheeks. "I know. But this—" she pressed a trembling hand to her belly "—this little person deserves me to be fully here, not half-spent on conference calls. And I... I think I deserve to feel like myself again, too. I don't want to lose the part of me that paints."

The silence that followed was not empty, but full of unspoken understanding. Lexa simply watched her, her green eyes tracing every detail of Clarke's face as if committing this moment to memory.

"I won't pretend it doesn't make me selfishly sad," Lexa admitted, her voice low and thick with emotion. "I love seeing you every day, in my world. I love stealing moments in hallways, knowing you're there." She pressed a lingering kiss to Clarke's temple.

"But if stepping back means you're happier, healthier, more you... then that's what I want. More than anything."

Clarke pulled back, her eyes searching Lexa's for any hint of a lie. "You really mean that?"

"Yes." Lexa's answer was immediate, without a trace of hesitation. "You're not mine because of a desk or a role. You're mine because you choose to be, every day. That's enough."

A shaky laugh escaped Clarke's lips as her throat tightened with emotion. "God, you always know exactly what to say, don't you?"

"Not always," Lexa murmured, her own voice husky. "But when it comes to you, I try very hard."

They fell into a quieter rhythm, but neither woman seemed ready to move. Clarke leaned into her, letting the steady beat of Lexa's heart under her ear calm the turmoil within her.

"I'm scared," Clarke whispered after a while, the admission a quiet echo of her deepest fears. "About being a mom. About not knowing what I'm doing. About messing everything up."

Lexa's arms tightened, pulling Clarke closer until she was securely nestled against her. "Then we'll mess it up together. And we'll figure it out together. You are not doing any of this alone, Clarke. Not a single step."

Clarke let out a long, shaky breath, letting Lexa's words seep into all the small cracks of her fear. And when she finally lifted her head, she kissed Lexa slow, deep, and with a profound sense of gratitude.
The kiss lingered, a silent promise of their shared future. They stayed curled on the couch, neither ready for the night to end. The clock ticked past midnight, then half past, but the conversation flowed effortlessly as if they had a lifetime of things to discuss.

"What if I'm terrible at this?" Clarke whispered again, her hand absently smoothing over her belly.

"You won't be." Lexa's response was immediate and unwavering. "You're already so protective, so intuitive. You will be a wonderful mother."

Clarke gave a small, nervous laugh. "I'm not even sure what kind of mother I'll be. I didn't exactly have the best example growing up. My mom... she was brilliant, but she lived for her work. Sometimes I felt like an afterthought." Her throat tightened, the memory a physical ache. "I don't want our baby to ever feel that way. Not even once."

Lexa's arms tightened, a subtle but firm anchor. "You won't let that happen because you're aware of it. You've already broken that cycle."

Clarke looked up at her, eyes glistening. "And you? What kind of parent do you think you'll be?"

Lexa leaned back, a thoughtful expression on her face. "Strict, maybe," she admitted with a wry twist of her lips. "But only because I'll want her to be safe. Protective, without a doubt. Probably a little overbearing at times." She sighed softly, pressing her cheek against Clarke's hair. "But I promise I'll never let her doubt she's loved. Not for a second."

Clarke smiled faintly, her heart aching in the best possible way. "God, she's going to have you wrapped around their little finger."

"Completely," Lexa admitted without a hint of shame.
They laughed softly together, the sound muffled against each other's shoulders. The laughter faded, but the warmth remained.

After a pause, Lexa's voice softened, more tentative than before. "Clarke... I've been thinking about something else too. About us. About where we live."

Clarke blinked, pulling back just enough to search her face. "What about it?"

Lexa hesitated, brushing her thumb over Clarke's knuckles as if to steady herself. "I want to move in with you." The words spilled out, steady but vulnerable. "Not just because of the baby, but because... I want to end every day and begin every morning with you. I don't want you alone in that apartment, especially now. And I—" she exhaled, a tiny laugh of nervousness escaping her "—I want us to build a home together, not just keep shuffling between mine and yours."

Clarke's breath caught, her heart a frantic drum against her ribs. "You mean, actually live together. All the time."

"Yes." Lexa's green eyes held hers, full of sincerity and hope. "I want to wake up to you. I want to fall asleep knowing you're right there. And when the baby comes... I don't want to miss a single moment. I want us to share every sleepless night, every milestone, every mess."

Clarke stared at her for a long moment, stunned by the weight of the proposal. "Lexa... that's a huge step."

"I know." Lexa swallowed, her voice low but firm. "But I don't want to tiptoe around this anymore. You're already mine, Clarke. And I'm yours. This would just make it official."

For a long while, Clarke was quiet, chewing on her lip as she processed the gravity of his words. "I've never lived with anyone before," she confessed, her voice soft and tinged with nerves. "Not like this. It scares me, a little. But... when you say it, it doesn't feel so scary."

Lexa's expression softened with relief, and she pressed a kiss to Clarke's hand. "We'll figure it out together. We always do."

Clarke exhaled a shaky laugh, her hand sliding up to cup Lexa's cheek. "You really want this?"

"With everything I am," Lexa said simply, her eyes never leaving Clarke's.

Clarke let herself melt against her again, her answer in the way she held on tighter. "Then maybe it's time."

The rest of the night was a slow, gentle unfolding of their future. Every topic led into another, none of them planned, but none of them too heavy to handle together. They spoke about nurseries and color palettes, about where Lexa might set up a home office, about whether Clarke's studio could fit in the new arrangement.

They joked about who would wake up first when the baby cried, Clarke insisting Lexa's iron self-control would make her unbeatable, Lexa countering that Clarke's maternal instincts would put her ahead.

At some point, they found themselves sprawled sideways on the couch, Clarke's head pillowed on Lexa's chest, her belly nestled against her side. Clarke's voice grew slower, softer, but she kept talking about silly baby names she'd thought of, about how Raven would probably spoil the child rotten, about how she still couldn't believe they'd gotten here, from a one-night stand to this kind of love.

By the time Clarke's words blurred into yawns and eventually silence, the clock blinked 3:00 a.m. Lexa lay awake a little longer, her hand spread protectively over Clarke's belly, a small smile curving her lips as she whispered into the dark, "We'll be ready for you. I promise."

The next morning, the rich aroma of brewing coffee was the first thing to wake Clarke. She blinked against the morning light that seeped through the curtains, a soft, hazy glow. With a sleepy groan, she stretched, her hand reaching for the empty space beside her, only to find the sheets cool. A feeling of gentle disappointment washed over her, though it was quickly replaced by a sense of quiet anticipation.

Padding into the kitchen, she found Lexa at the stove, a domestic vision that never failed to make Clarke's heart skip a beat. Lexa's dark hair was still damp from her shower, and she was flipping pancakes with a focused, almost meditative precision.

Clarke leaned against the doorframe, a soft smile gracing her lips as she watched the effortless grace of Lexa's movements. It was in these small, quiet moments, the kind no one else got to see, that Clarke felt the full weight of their relationship.

"You're up early," Clarke said, her voice a low, husky rasp from sleep.

Lexa glanced over her shoulder, a small smile playing on her lips. "You need breakfast," she said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "And the baby does too. Sit."

Clarke rolled her eyes fondly but obeyed, sliding into a chair at the small dining table. A ceramic mug, filled with tea and a perfect swirl of cream, was waiting for her. It was a small detail, but it spoke volumes about Lexa's attentiveness. "You're spoiling me," Clarke murmured, wrapping her hands around the warm mug.

"I intend to," Lexa replied without looking up, her voice holding a quiet certainty that sent a shiver down Clarke's spine.

Soon, a tall stack of pancakes was placed in front of her, with fresh fruit meticulously arranged on the side. Clarke raised an eyebrow, a teasing glint in her eyes. "Okay, this is ridiculous. You're trying way too hard to earn girlfriend points."

Lexa set down the spatula and finally met her eyes, her gaze steady and serious. "I'm not trying. I already want to spend the rest of my life doing this."

Clarke froze, the fork halfway to her mouth. The words from last night about moving in, about their future, echoed between them. But here, in the bright light of morning, surrounded by the simple comfort of coffee and pancakes, they felt heavier, more real, more consequential.

"You mean moving in."

"Yes," Lexa said, sliding into the chair across from her. She leaned forward, her forearms resting on the table. "I didn't just say it because it was late and we were wrapped up in each other. I meant it. I want to be with you in every way, Clarke. I don't want there to be mine and yours, I want there to be ours."

Clarke fiddled with her fork, her eyes darting down to the pristine white plate. "It still feels big. Like I'm barely managing my studio, I'm thinking about stepping back from the company, I'm about to have a baby... and now we're adding living together to the mix."

The list felt overwhelming when she said it out loud, a cascade of responsibilities that threatened to swallow her whole.

Lexa reached across the table, catching Clarke's hand gently. "Then we'll take it one step at a time. No rushing. No pressure. Just... let me be there. Let me help." Her thumb brushed over Clarke's knuckles, a small, grounding comfort. "I want to be where you are. Wherever that is."

Clarke's throat tightened with emotion. She set her fork down and squeezed Lexa's hand back. "You're making it very hard to say no, you know that?"

"I hope so," Lexa teased, though her eyes remained warm and patient.

Clarke sighed, leaning back in her chair, a soft surrender in her posture. "Okay. We'll try it. But don't blame me when you realize I take up half the closet and all the blankets."

"I'll live," Lexa said solemnly, though her smile gave her away.

The breakfast that followed was lighter, filled with easy laughter and shared glances. Clarke teased Lexa for the way she cut the fruit into perfectly uniform cubes, a testament to her meticulous nature. Lexa, in turn, smirked when Clarke devoured half the stack of pancakes on her own, a silent acknowledgment of the strength she was building.

By the time they cleared the dishes, Clarke felt a quiet sense of certainty settling over her. Later, Lexa drove them back to Clarke's apartment. The place was a beautiful reflection of Clarke's inner world, cluttered in a way she always complained about but never truly fixed. Canvases leaned against the walls, a half-finished painting sat on the easel, and Raven's forgotten sweater was draped over the arm of the couch. It was lived-in, chaotic, and uniquely hers.

"Home sweet home," Clarke muttered as she unlocked the door.

Lexa stepped in behind her, her gaze sweeping over the space. Her eyes softened as she took in the art that filled every corner, a visual history of Clarke's creative soul. "It already feels like you," she said quietly.

Clarke glanced back at her, her heart swelling with affection. "If we're going to make this work... it's going to have to feel like you too."

Lexa smiled faintly. "Then let's start with a drawer."

Clarke laughed, setting her keys down. "A drawer? That's your big move-in step?"

"For now," Lexa said, pulling her close with a smirk.

"One drawer. And maybe some closet space. If you're feeling generous."

Clarke leaned into her, her lips brushing Lexa's jaw. "We'll see how good you behave first." The words were playful, but the look in her eyes was a silent promise of a future built together, one drawer at a time.

The apartment, usually a canvas of creative chaos, felt different with the recent changes. After a morning of moving, packing boxes were stacked neatly in the corners of what would soon become the baby's room.

The early afternoon sun slanted through the living room window, casting long, golden rectangles across the hardwood floor. Exhausted but content, Clarke and Lexa finally collapsed onto the couch..

"Movie?" Clarke's voice was a soft hum of fatigue.

Lexa simply nodded, reaching for the remote. They settled on a classic comedy, the familiar dialogue a comfortable background to their thoughts. Lexa rested her arm along the back of the couch, and Clarke tucked herself into her side, a deep sigh of contentment escaping her lips. The day's earlier whirlwind of activity had faded, replaced by the quiet intimacy of their shared space.

As the film played, their conversation meandered. They talked about the day's progress, the unexpected difficulty of disassembling furniture, and the surprisingly emotional weight of packing away Clarke's old canvases.

"I still can't believe we're doing this," Clarke said, her voice barely a whisper. "Building a life, a home. It feels both massive and completely natural."

"That's because it's both," Lexa replied, her gaze fixed on the screen but her focus entirely on Clarke. "It's a massive step, but it's the most natural thing in the world to want to build it with you."

They fell into a comfortable silence, the movie's soundtrack filling the quiet. As the credits rolled, Clarke's stomach rumbled, a sudden, loud sound that made them both laugh.

"Someone's hungry," Lexa said, her hand resting gently on Clarke's belly.

Clarke groaned, sitting up. "Starving. And I have the most ridiculous craving."

Lexa was already standing. "Name it. I'm a woman on a mission."

"It's silly," Clarke started, a blush creeping up her cheeks. "I want pickles and ice cream. The sweet, sour, salty combination... it's all I can think about."
Lexa's smile was genuine. "Challenge accepted."

The closest grocery store was a quick drive, but the search for the specific items Clarke craved turned into a surprisingly detailed quest. Lexa went down the pickle aisle, a dozen varieties staring back at her. Dill? Sweet? Kosher? She pulled out her phone and texted Clarke a picture of the shelf.

Lexa:
Which ones? The ones in the red jar? Or the green lid?

Clarke's response was immediate.

Clarke:
Green lid! And get the chunky ones, not the spears!

Next was the ice cream aisle, a frozen wonderland of flavors. Chocolate? Vanilla? Strawberry? Clarke had only said "ice cream." A new text went out.

Lexa:
What flavor?

Clarke:
I don't know! Just... something that will go well with pickles.

Lexa stood in front of the freezer, an unusual combination of confusion and determination on her face. She pulled up Raven's number. The phone rang once before Raven answered, her voice laced with amusement.

"What's up, commander?"

"Weird question. A simple answer will suffice; I am not in the mood for one of your games." Lexa said, looking at a list of ingredients.

"Who hurt you?" Raven asked with mock sympathy.

"Raven..."

"Just get to the point already. What's wrong?"

"What ice cream flavor do you think pairs well with pickles?" Lexa's voice was flat, betraying no emotion.

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line, followed by a sudden burst of laughter. "What do you take me for, Woods? Do I look like your grandmother?"

"Of course not," Lexa retorted without missing a beat. "You are far too ugly to have passed down such attractive DNA."

"You really are a total bitch when Clarke's not around," Raven said, the laughter still audible in her voice. "But I would go with vanilla."

"Okay that's everything, I'll call you later." Lexa chose a creamy vanilla. It seemed like the safest bet. After all, what could possibly pair with pickles? She paid for her bounty and hurried back to the car.

Back at the apartment, Clarke was waiting on the couch, wrapped in a blanket. Lexa presented her with the bag of goods, a triumphant look on her face.
Clarke pulled out the pickle jar with a giggle. "You got the right ones! I knew you'd get the right ones."

Lexa retrieved a bowl and two spoons. She scooped out a generous portion of vanilla ice cream, then watched with a mixture of amusement and concern as Clarke took a bite of pickle and then a spoonful of ice cream.

"Oh my God," Clarke said, her eyes widening. "It's... perfect."

Lexa sat beside her, simply watching as Clarke enjoyed the strange concoction.

"I'm glad we decided to do this first," Clarke murmured, her voice a low rumble. "Instead of jumping straight into the crib."

Lexa's thumb stroked the back of Clarke's hand. "We have the rest of the day for that. A few hours of stillness felt necessary."

A soft, contented sigh escaped Clarke. "Necessary is an understatement. My mind has been racing for weeks. Every time I think I have a handle on something, another question pops up."

"Like what?" Lexa asked gently, her focus shifting from the screen to Clarke.

Clarke paused, organizing her thoughts. "Like, did we get enough newborn diapers? Are we going to need a second bassinet? And what about the car seat, did we install it correctly? It just feels like there's a manual for this that I never got, and everyone else is just... winging it."

Lexa's quiet chuckle filled the space. "We are all winging it, Clarke. That's the secret. No one is born with a manual. We'll figure it out as we go." She shifted slightly, pulling Clarke closer. "We have everything we need. We've done the research, we've bought the essentials. The rest we'll learn from experience. And we'll learn it together."

Clarke lifted her head to look at Lexa, a small, grateful smile on her lips. "I know. It's just... the weight of it all. It feels so big, so permanent."

Lexa nodded, her expression serious. "It is. But that doesn't mean it has to be a burden. It can be a foundation. A new beginning." She pressed a kiss to Clarke's forehead. "You're a natural at this, you know. I see the way you read every article, the way you talk to the doctor, the way you already anticipate its needs. You're going to be a wonderful mother."

Clarke leaned back against Lexa, her heart swelling with warmth. "So are you," she whispered. "You're so calm and grounded. You make me feel like we can handle anything."

They fell into a comfortable silence, the movie's faint dialogue filling the space. The movie ended, and Clarke finished eating, but they remained still, savoring the moment.

"Okay," she said, stretching languidly. "I think I'm ready to tackle that crib now."

Lexa's eyes twinkled. "Are you sure? We could just order takeout and forget about it until tomorrow."

"No," Clarke said with a determined smile, a new energy coursing through her veins. "Let's build it. I want to see the nursery come to life."

Lexa sat up, giving a nod of approval. "Alright then. Let's do this."

The box containing the crib sat in the middle of the nursery floor like an intimidating beast. Clarke stood with her hands on her hips, eyeing it as though sheer determination could will it into shape.

"This doesn't look so bad," she said, already trying to pry open the cardboard.

Lexa crouched beside her, carefully tearing at the tape instead of Clarke's impatient ripping. "You say that now, but in an hour we'll be missing screws and blaming each other."

Clarke shot her a grin. "So basically a test of our relationship?"

"Exactly," Lexa deadpanned, though there was the faintest twitch at her lips.

They spread the pieces across the floor: wooden slats, rails, mysterious panels that Clarke swore didn't even belong to a crib. Lexa unfolded the instruction manual, scanning it with her usual seriousness.

Clarke plucked it from her hands. "Oh no. You are not going full CEO mode on this. We're winging it."

Lexa gave her a look so flat Clarke nearly laughed. "We are not winging the thing that will hold our baby."

"Our baby?" Clarke echoed, heart squeezing. The words slipped so easily from Lexa, and Clarke didn't even have the energy to tease, she just leaned in and kissed her quickly before sitting back with a soft smile. "Fine. You can be in charge of... quality control. I'll be in charge of creativity."

"Meaning you'll try to skip steps."

"Meaning I'll make this fun." Clarke stuck her tongue out, grabbing one of the rails.

The first half-hour went surprisingly smoothly, Lexa read out steps, Clarke tightened screws (sometimes in the wrong direction, much to Lexa's horror), and they both managed not to kill each other. Then came the part where the base refused to line up with the side panels.

"You're not holding it straight," Lexa said, bracing one side with her knee.

"I am holding it straight! You're the one twisting it." Clarke's voice was muffled behind the panel.

"Clarke, it's literally at a forty-five degree angle—"

"Then adjust your end!"

"I'm adjusting! You're fighting me."

"You're fighting me!"

There was a tense beat, then Clarke burst out laughing, setting the screwdriver down. Lexa blinked at her, the corners of her own mouth betraying her before she sighed and chuckled too.

"We're hopeless," Clarke said between giggles, wiping her forehead.

Lexa shifted closer, brushing a strand of hair from Clarke's face with a tender thumb. "We'll figure it out. That's kind of our thing, isn't it?"

Clarke stilled, smile softening. She nodded. "Yeah. We do."

With renewed determination (and less bickering), they finally got the base in place. Lexa crouched to double-check the screws, her hair falling into her eyes. Clarke leaned against the half-built crib, watching her with an affection she couldn't hide.

"You know," Clarke said thoughtfully, "if we can survive crib assembly without killing each other, we can probably survive anything."

Lexa looked up at her with that quiet, steady gaze that always undid her. "That's the plan."

By the time the crib stood upright, solid and real, Clarke was sitting cross-legged on the floor, exhausted but smiling. Lexa stood back, arms crossed, inspecting it like a general who'd just won a war.

"It's perfect," Clarke whispered, running her fingers along the rail. "This is real now, isn't it?"

Lexa crouched beside her, resting a hand over Clarke's on the wood. "It's always been real," she said softly.

Clarke leaned into her shoulder, heart full. "Yeah. But now it has a crib."

Lexa kissed her temple, smothering her with a few more playful pecks until Clarke swatted at her, laughing.

The crib stood proudly against the wall, finally assembled after their comedic battle. They left the nursery and went into Clarke's room. She sprawled on the bed, one hand resting on her belly, the other draped lazily over the pillow. Lexa sat beside her, leaning on one elbow, just watching Clarke with that steady warmth that always made her feel both safe and undone.

"You're staring," Clarke teased, eyes closed.

"I'm admiring my work," Lexa said, tone mock-serious.

"Which work?"

Lexa hummed. "You both."

Clarke peeked one eye open, a smirk tugging at her lips. "Smooth."

"I try." Lexa shifted closer, pressing a kiss to Clarke's temple, then another to her cheek. She lingered, just brushing her lips over Clarke's skin, not rushing anywhere.

Clarke sighed, content in the warmth of the evening, but something restless stirred beneath it. Her chest ached faintly, tender in that way it had been for weeks now, every brush of fabric across her nipples sparking something low and insistent inside her. She shifted closer to Lexa, seeking the solid comfort of her body pressed against her own, but the ache didn't fade. If anything, it sharpened. Her body buzzed, hormones pulling her in directions she no longer tried to deny.

When Lexa's hand skimmed across her ribs in a slow, absent caress, Clarke caught it. Instead of letting the touch drift away, she pressed it firmly over her breast.

Lexa stilled instantly, pulling back just enough to catch her eyes. "Clarke—"

"It's okay," Clarke whispered, her cheeks burning but her voice steady. Her chest rose and fell beneath Lexa's palm, quickening with every second the touch lingered. "They're just... really sensitive lately. Hormones. And I want you to."

Lexa swallowed, restraint written in every line of her face. Her green eyes darkened with desire straining against the tight leash she always held. "If you're sure—"

"I'm sure." Clarke's words left no space for doubt. She tightened her hand over Lexa's, keeping her right there. "I like when you touch me there."

Lexa gave in, fingers flexing slowly against the soft weight of Clarke's breast, her thumb brushing across the lace of Clarke's bra. Even that small stroke made Clarke gasp, her back arching instinctively. She clung to Lexa's shoulder, whispering against her lips, "Please—don't stop."

Lexa leaned in and kissed her. Hungry now, her restraint fraying with each sound Clarke made. Her hand kneaded gently before slipping under the lace, skin to skin. When her thumb dragged across Clarke's nipple, Clarke moaned outright, her hips jerking forward without her permission.

"Lexa," she gasped, shuddering under the sensation. "God, I can't—"

"You don't have to," Lexa murmured against her neck, her voice rough, undone. She pinched lightly, then soothed the sting with soft circles, watching Clarke's face break open with need.

Clarke tugged at her shirt with shaking hands, pulling it higher, needing to be bare. Lexa helped her, slipping the bra off entirely, and the cool air made Clarke's nipples pebble instantly. Lexa's mouth was there in the next heartbeat, hot and wet and devastating as she closed her lips around one.

Clarke cried out before she could stop herself, biting her lip hard. She clamped a hand over her mouth, body writhing beneath Lexa as her tongue circled her, sucking with just enough pressure to make Clarke feel like she was unraveling.

Her other nipple was teased between Lexa's fingers, her body alight with sensation, hypersensitive, everything amplified by pregnancy's grip on her hormones. She couldn't stay still, hips rocking up against Lexa's stomach, desperate for friction.

Lexa groaned against her, the vibration making Clarke gasp again. Her chest heaved, sweat beading at her hairline. And then she felt it, hard and insistent between Lexa's thighs, pressed right against her own hip.

Clarke reached down, bold despite her trembling, cupping Lexa through her sweats. Her palm felt the thick outline straining against the fabric, hot and twitching under her touch.

Lexa shuddered violently, dropping her forehead into Clarke's neck with a broken curse.

"You're hard," Clarke whispered, breathless, almost reverent. She squeezed lightly, making Lexa buck against her hand. "God, Lexa... I want you inside me."

Lexa's entire body tightened, her breath ragged as she fought for control. "Clarke—fuck—are you sure? With—" Her hand ghosted protectively over Clarke's belly, her love and fear both there in the gesture.

Clarke covered it with her own, pressing down firmly. "Yes. I'm sure. Please."

The plea undid her. Lexa kissed her hard, desperate now, hands sliding down Clarke's sides as if to memorize every inch. She pushed her sweats down just far enough, freeing her length, flushed and heavy against Clarke's skin.

Clarke gasped at the feel of it, of her, hot against her thigh. Her own panties were already damp, clinging to her, her body begging for more.

Lexa pressed into her, sliding just along her folds through the lace, teasing. Clarke whimpered, her back arching, her chest pressed high against Lexa's mouth.

"Shh," Lexa murmured, kissing her nipple again as if to soothe her. "We have to stay quiet."

"Then make me," Clarke whispered, biting her lip, her eyes dark with need.

Lexa growled softly at the challenge, shifting her hips until the head of her length pressed against Clarke's entrance. She pushed the lace aside, inch by inch, then slid into her slow, careful, deep.

Clarke gasped, every nerve ending sparking, her nails digging into Lexa's back. She felt stretched, filled, her body welcoming her despite the sensitivity.

"Fuck," she moaned into Lexa's mouth, their lips crashing together to swallow the sound.

Lexa stayed still for a moment, trembling as she fought the urge to move too fast. She cupped Clarke's breast again, soothing, grounding, her thumb brushing over the peak until Clarke squirmed beneath her.

"Move," Clarke begged, her voice broken, needy. "Please, Lexa, I need you."

Lexa obeyed, pulling out just enough before thrusting back in, deep and slow. Clarke bit into her shoulder to keep from crying out, her body clenching around her, milking her already.

Their rhythm built, measured at first, then harder, faster as Clarke's hips lifted to meet her, chasing the friction. Her breasts bounced with every thrust, and Lexa's mouth returned to them, sucking and biting gently until Clarke was nearly shaking apart.

Every motion made Clarke's belly shift slightly, and Lexa's hand was always there steadying her, grounding her even as she drove into her with deep, relentless strokes.

Clarke could barely breathe. The sensation of Lexa filling her, the stimulation on her nipples, the heat building in her core, it was too much, too sharp, too overwhelming.

"I'm—fuck—I'm gonna—" Clarke stammered, clinging to her, her whole body taut as a bowstring.

Lexa groaned into her ear, hips snapping harder. "Come for me, baby."

Clarke broke, her orgasm crashing through her with violent intensity. She clamped down around Lexa, muffling her scream into Lexa's mouth as she trembled and shook.

Lexa thrust through it, her own climax tearing through seconds later, spilling deep inside her as she buried herself to the hilt. Her groan was low, guttural, muffled against Clarke's neck.

They stayed locked together, panting, trembling, trying not to wake the house with the sounds of their release.

Clarke's body was still trembling, her thighs quivering as the aftershocks ripped through her. She could feel Lexa pulsing inside her, still hard, still thick, buried deep where she needed her most. The room smelled like heat and sweat and sex, the air heavy with it.

And Clarke realised with a shiver that she wasn't satisfied. Not really. Her body buzzed, still aching, greedy for more. Pregnancy had made her insatiable, every nerve wired too high, every touch sparking fire under her skin.

She tightened around Lexa deliberately, her nails dragging down her back. "Don't stop," she whispered, voice raw but certain.

Lexa groaned, burying her face in Clarke's neck, trying to summon restraint when her body was already strung tight. "Clarke—"

"Again," Clarke demanded, breath hitching as she rolled her hips, grinding against Lexa's length. "I want you again."

Lexa cursed under her breath, pulling out slowly before slamming back in, harder this time. Clarke's hand flew to her mouth to stifle the cry, her eyes squeezing shut as pleasure sparked hot and sharp through her overstimulated body.

"Fuck," Lexa hissed, gripping her hips, her self-control unraveling as Clarke clenched and writhed beneath her. "You're so tight—so fucking wet—I can't—"

"Yes," Clarke gasped, her hand slipping away from her lips as the words tore out of her. "Yes, Lexa, don't stop—God, you feel so good—"

Lexa captured her mouth in a kiss to silence her, swallowing every moan as she pounded into her, deep and fast, their bodies slapping together in a rhythm that had the bed creaking softly beneath them.

Clarke's breasts bounced with every thrust, her nipples hard and aching, begging for more attention. Lexa's hand slid up, fingers pinching one before sucking the other back into her mouth, tongue circling relentlessly until Clarke arched off the bed with a muffled scream.

"Shh," Lexa warned in a growl, though her own breath was ragged and desperate. She thrust harder and faster, chasing the sounds that Clarke couldn't quite hold back. “Easy baby. Breathe for me.”

Clarke dug her heels into the mattress, lifting her hips higher to meet every deep stroke. Her belly shifted between them, a reminder of everything they were creating together, but in this moment all she could think about was the stretch, the fullness, the way Lexa was hitting so perfectly inside her she thought she might lose her mind.

“Argh! Fuck—lex”

She was close again, impossibly fast. Her body was hypersensitive, trembling with every stroke of Lexa's cock, every flick of her tongue against her swollen nipple.

But then Lexa pulled out in one slow drag that made Clarke's nails claw helplessly at her shoulders. Before Clarke could protest, Lexa gripped her hip, turned her, and pressed her chest down into the mattress. Clarke gasped into the sheets, her belly cushioned carefully against the bed, her ass arching high as Lexa nudged her knees apart.

"Lexa—" she whispered, breathless, but whatever plea she meant to voice was lost when Lexa slid back inside her in one smooth, deep thrust.

Clarke cried out, muffled by the sheets, her hands gripping fistfuls of fabric. The angle was different now, sharper, deeper, hitting her so perfectly she thought she'd come undone again already.

Lexa's hands framed her hips, holding her steady as she drove into her with a rhythm that was steady at first, then faster, harder, rougher, each thrust pulling a helpless moan from Clarke's throat.

"God, Clarke..." Lexa groaned, her voice broken, as if she were the one unraveling. "You feel so fucking good—"

Clarke's body shook, her breasts bouncing with every thrust, nipples grazing against the sheets, oversensitive and sparking lightning through her. The mix of sensations was overwhelming, Lexa's cock deep inside her, the fabric scraping her tender breasts, Lexa's hands gripping her so firmly it bordered on bruising.

She pushed back into every thrust, desperate, her sounds muffled against the mattress. "Harder," she pleaded, barely audible. "Please, Lexa—harder—"

Lexa lost the last of her restraint. Her hips slammed against Clarke's ass in a relentless pace, skin slapping, sweat dripping down her temples as she gritted her teeth to stay quiet. The bed rocked beneath them but neither cared.

Clarke was spiraling fast, her body a live wire. Every thrust pressed against that perfect spot, every rough movement sparking through her until she thought she'd break apart.

"I'm gonna—fuck—I'm gonna come again," Clarke gasped, nails raking down Lexa's back hard enough to leave marks.

Lexa groaned against her chest, thrusting deeper, harder, her own control slipping. "Do it. Come on me again, Clarke. Soak me."

The command pushed her over the edge. Clarke screamed into the sheets as her orgasm tore through her, violent and consuming, her thighs shaking, her body clenching so tightly around Lexa it nearly undid her instantly.

Lexa swore sharply, losing her rhythm, her cock jerking inside Clarke as she spilled deep again, her whole body shuddering as she collapsed over her back.

They stayed that way for long, breathless moments, Clarke pinned beneath her, Lexa's cock still buried, both of them shaking from the intensity.

They collapsed together again, sweat slicking their skin, their bodies tangled and trembling. Lexa stayed buried inside her, too sensitive to move, too drunk on Clarke's heat to pull away.

Clarke panted beneath her, nails still digging into her back, lips parted, eyes glazed. She looked wrecked, ruined, completely undone, and she had never looked more beautiful.

Lexa kissed her roughly, possessive and unsteady. "You'll be the death of me."

Clarke smirked weakly, her body still twitching with aftershocks.

Chapter Text

They stayed tangled in the sheets for a long while, both of them dazed and heavy-limbed. Clarke was the first to stir, stretching like a cat, groaning at the soreness blooming between her thighs.

Lexa immediately pushed up on one elbow, concern flashing in her eyes. "Did I hurt you?"

Clarke's lips curved into a sleepy, satisfied smirk.

Lexa's laugh was low, relieved, and she kissed her, lingering and warm. Then she pulled away and said, "Don't move."

Clarke watched her slip out of bed, naked, flushed, damp hair falling wild around her shoulders, and padded into the bathroom. A moment later she returned with a warm towel, gently cleaning Clarke up, her touch tender and respectful.

"You don't have to," Clarke murmured, cheeks pinking, but Lexa only shushed her softly.

"I want to." She pressed a kiss to Clarke's knee, then her stomach, then her lips again before discarding the towel and sliding back into bed beside her.

Clarke melted into her arms, but Lexa wasn't done fussing. She rolled Clarke onto her stomach, straddled her hips, and began working her thumbs into the tight knots along her back.

Clarke let out an embarrassingly loud groan. "God, don't stop."

Lexa grinned against her skin. "Wasn't planning to." She kneaded her shoulders, her touch firm but soothing, kissing along Clarke's spine in between strokes. "You carry so much tension here. Probably from glaring at me at work all the time."

Clarke swatted at her blindly, but her giggle gave her away. "Shut up."

Lexa chuckled and leaned down, whispering into her ear, "Say you love me and I'll add oil next time."

Clarke turned her head, meeting her eyes with a mischievous grin. "I love you. Now get the oil."

Lexa laughed so hard she nearly lost her balance, but the words, the ease and honesty in Clarke's voice settled deep in her chest, warm and grounding.

Later, after Clarke was boneless and relaxed, Lexa pulled her back against her chest, hands spreading over her belly protectively. She pressed soft kisses there, murmuring, "You've got the best mama in the world, little one. And I'm going to love you both more than anything."

Clarke blinked up at her, eyes stinging with emotion. "You're too good to us," she whispered, cupping Lexa's jaw to kiss her slow and deep.

Lexa only smiled against her lips, her forehead resting against Clarke's. "No. You two are everything. That's all."

The silence of the apartment was broken only by the hum of the refrigerator. It was nearly two in the morning when Clarke's eyes snapped open, a groan escaping her lips as a familiar, intense sensation twisted her stomach. It wasn't just hunger; it was a specific, unyielding demand for something she didn't have. Her mind fixated on one thing: nachos. Not just any nachos, but a greasy, cheesy, jalapeño-laden platter of them.

Next to her, Lexa stirred, instantly alert to the movement. "Clarke?" her voice was a low rumble in the darkness.

"I need nachos," Clarke said, her voice strained with the urgency of her craving. She pushed a hand through her hair, frustration mounting with every second. "Cheesy, greasy, with jalapeños on top. And we don't have them. This is your fault, by the way."

Lexa blinked, the confusion evident in her expression. "My fault?"

"Yes," Clarke insisted, her tone sharper than she intended. The hormones were a tempest inside her, making every minor inconvenience feel like a betrayal. "You're always here, you're practically living here, and you didn't think to stock up on nacho ingredients? What kind of girlfriend—"

She stopped abruptly, her cheeks flushing with heat. The word, a truth she had been holding back, had slipped out.

Lexa's eyebrows raised slightly, but she quickly masked her reaction. "So... I'm a bad almost-girlfriend because I failed to predict you'd want nachos at two in the morning?"

Clarke let out a frustrated sigh, collapsing back onto the pillows. The mix of intense craving and self-consciousness was overwhelming. "Yes! Obviously! Ugh, I hate everything right now."

Lexa leaned over, her hand gently brushing a stray strand of hair from Clarke's forehead. "You don't hate me," she murmured, a hint of amusement in her eyes.

"I might," Clarke grumbled, though a small smile betrayed her.

Lexa's quiet laugh filled the air before she sat up. "Alright. I'll take care of it. Stay here."

Clarke's confusion was immediate. "What do you mean 'take care of it'? Lexa, it's two a.m., nothing is open."

"Trust me," Lexa said, already pulling on a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie. "I know a place."

Before Clarke could argue further, Lexa was out the door. Clarke sat in the quiet, empty space where Lexa had been, feeling a complex mix of emotions. The frustration was still there, a dull ache of hunger, but it was now overshadowed by a different feeling. Lexa hadn't been annoyed; she had simply acted.

The slip of the word "girlfriend" hadn't caused her to flinch. She had just... gone to get the nachos.
An hour later, the apartment filled with the rich, inviting scent of melted cheese and spicy jalapeños. Clarke, her body exhausted and her mind still a little fuzzy with sleep, watched as Lexa placed a large paper container on the bed. It was a holy relic, a testament to a late-night quest.

Clarke sat up in bed, a paper container balanced on her lap like a sacred offering. Lexa sat on the edge of the bed, watching with a quiet intensity.

"I love you so much," Clarke mumbled, a wave of emotion making her throat tight.

"And you're welcome," Lexa said softly, leaning in to press a kiss to Clarke's temple. She nudged the container closer. "Eat before you start blaming me for the tide coming in, too."

Clarke laughed, the sound muffled by a mouthful of nacho. The frustration and hunger from earlier were dissolving as quickly as the cheese. "Thank you for this, you're actually insane for letting me bully you."

Lexa smiled, a gentle, knowing look on her face. "No. I'm in love. There's a big difference."

"You're ridiculous," Clarke mumbled, already shoveling a chip laden with cheese and peppers into her mouth. She tried to maintain her annoyed facade, but the taste was too good. "Going on a two a.m. nacho run just to satisfy my ridiculous cravings, not many people would do that."

Lexa smirked, leaning back on her hands. "Someone had to save the world from your hormonal rage."

Clarke narrowed her eyes. "That was not a rage. It was a very specific, very important need."

"It was a level of need that could only be satisfied by a specific nacho establishment," Lexa conceded, a hint of laughter in her voice. "The one with the tiny, surly old woman who glares at everyone."

Clarke froze, a chip halfway to her mouth. "You went to Mrs. Petrova's? At two in the morning? She hates everyone. She probably tried to fight you."

"She did," Lexa said with a casual shrug. "She told me I was 'disrespecting the sanctity of her kitchen' by showing up after midnight. I told her I was on a mission of vital importance and that if I didn't get these nachos, a very hangry pregnant woman would be the end of us all."

Clarke choked on a bite of nacho, a fit of giggles shaking her shoulders. "You did not say that."

"I did," Lexa insisted. "She just looked at me for a long moment, then sighed and started making them. Said I was just like her son, always 'making trouble at all hours.'"

Clarke laughed until her sides hurt, a wave of relief and pure, unadulterated happiness washing over her. "So you're her son now?"

"Apparently. She told me to tell you that if you're going to crave something, 'at least crave something with substance.' I think she was talking about the jalapeños."

Clarke shook her head, still grinning. "I can't believe you. You faced down Mrs. Petrova for a craving."

Lexa reached out and wiped a stray smear of cheese from Clarke's chin. "I'll do it again if I have to. Now eat before you start blaming me for the stock market crashing."

Clarke took another bite, the warmth of the nachos spreading through her. She had been angry, hungry, and a little embarrassed by her outburst, but now, sitting here with the delicious food and Lexa's amused presence, she felt completely at peace. She was in a good place. It was a crazy, cheesy, perfect kind of place.

"What are you thinking about?" Lexa asked, her voice a low murmur that seemed to fill the quiet apartment. She had finished her own portion of the nachos and was now simply watching Clarke, who had slowed her frantic pace of eating.

Clarke chewed thoughtfully, her eyes a little hazy with contentment. "I'm thinking about how my dad would've gone on a quest like this for my mom. When she was pregnant with me, she craved pickles and whipped cream. At the same time. He said he had to bribe the night manager at a 24-hour convenience store with a twenty just to get them to sell him a whole jar of pickles at three in the morning." She smiled, the memory a warm comfort.

Lexa chuckled softly, reaching out to brush a crumb from the corner of Clarke's mouth. "So it runs in the family. The demanding cravings, I mean."

Clarke swatted playfully at her hand. "Hey! It's a special kind of love, the kind that will get you pickles at three a.m. and nachos at two a.m. It's... it's the kind of love that says, 'I will do anything for you, even if it makes me look insane.'"

Lexa's thumb stroked her cheek, her eyes soft and serious. "I would."

The simple sincerity in her voice made Clarke's heart do a little flip. She leaned into the touch, feeling a rush of emotions that had nothing to do with pregnancy hormones and everything to do with the woman in front of her. "I know," she whispered, her voice a little thick.

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, the only sounds the rustle of the paper container and the quiet hum of the refrigerator. The clock on the wall read 3:15 a.m., but time felt irrelevant. The world outside the apartment, with its demands and its chaos, had faded away. There was only this room, this moment, and the unspoken promises in their eyes.

The paper container, now empty except for a few greasy crumbs, sat on the nightstand. Clarke had drifted off to sleep with her hand still resting on Lexa's chest, the rhythmic rise and fall a perfect lullaby. The last thing she remembered was the soft press of Lexa's lips against her forehead and a quiet whisper of "Goodnight, my love."

She woke hours later, the morning light filtering through the blinds. The bed was empty beside her, the sheets cool where Lexa had been. A faint ache in her stomach reminded her of the previous night's drama, and a wave of mortification washed over her. She had been... a lot.

The hunger, the hormones, the demanding tone, it was all a blur of embarrassment. She had been unreasonable, and Lexa had been nothing but kind.
Dragging herself out of bed, Clarke pulled on one of Lexa's oversized shirt and shuffled toward the kitchen.

The smell of something savory and delicious hit her before she even rounded the corner. Lexa was standing at the stove, a spatula in her hand, her hair a little messy, a small, content smile on her face as she flipped something in a pan.

"Morning, sunshine." Lexa said, glancing over her shoulder. Her voice was calm and cheerful, with no hint of lingering annoyance.

Clarke winced, padding toward her and wrapping her arms around her midsection, feeling small and apologetic. She couldn't bring herself to meet Lexa's eyes. "Don't call me that. I was a complete monster last night."

Lexa finally turned, spatula in hand, eyes sparkling. "You were mildly terrifying, yes. But also very cute."

Clarke buried her face in her hands. "I yelled at you about nachos."

"You did," Lexa agreed, fighting a grin. "You also blamed me for not having jalapeños in your fridge. Which, I'll admit, I never once thought to stock."

Clarke peeked at her through her fingers, cheeks flushed. "I was mean. And I may have... called you my girlfriend."

Lexa tilted her head, smirk tugging at her lips. "Yes. You did. And then you devoured the nachos I heroically acquired for you."

"Heroically," Clarke repeated, rolling her eyes, though her chest warmed.

Lexa turned off the stove and came over to her, gently prying Clarke's arms from her body before wrapping her own around her. "You okay?"

"Yeah. I... I'm really sorry about last night," Clarke said, her voice barely a whisper. She finally looked up, her eyes pleading for understanding. "I was a monster. You went out at two in the morning for me, and I was horrible."

Lexa's smile was gentle. "You weren't horrible. You were hungry. And pregnant. Those are two very powerful forces, Clarke. I get it." She pulled back and took Clarke's hand, leading her to the small kitchen table. "Sit."

Clarke melted against her, pressing her forehead to Lexa's chest. "You're too good to me."

"I know. But I like reminding you." Lexa kissed the top of her head, grinning into her hair. "And for the record, you can call me your girlfriend any time you want."

On the table were two plates of food. Scrambled eggs, perfectly cooked, a side of crispy bacon, and what looked like buttered toast. A mug of hot chocolate sat beside one plate, and a glass of milk beside the other.

"I made you breakfast," Lexa said, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. "I figured you might be hungry again. It's a different kind of hunger than the nacho one, though. More... substantial."

Clarke felt a lump form in her throat. The gesture was so simple, so thoughtful, and so completely undeserved. "Thank you," she said, her voice trembling slightly.

Lexa sat across from her and simply watched as Clarke took a bite of the eggs. The food was perfect, a warm comfort that eased the knot of shame in her stomach.

"I love you, you know," Lexa said, her voice quiet but firm. "Last night didn't change that. In fact, it just... solidified it. I knew then, without a doubt, that there's nothing I wouldn't do for you and our baby. Even if it means battling Mrs. Petrova at two in the morning."

Clarke's eyes filled with tears, a mix of relief and overwhelming love. She reached across the table and took Lexa's hand, squeezing it tight. "I love you, too. More than I could ever say."

"You're staring," Lexa teased.

Clarke lifted her fork in mock defense. "I'm appreciating the effort."

Lexa smirked, but there was something else there too. Something quiet and tentative that Clarke pretended not to notice. She wanted to, she ached to reach across the table and just say it outright: Be my girlfriend. Officially. Stop hovering in the in-between. But her stomach growled again, saving her from blurting anything out.

"You're lucky the baby demands constant snacks," Clarke muttered, "otherwise I'd still be sulking."

"My daughter is already my favorite ally," Lexa said smoothly, crouching down to press a soft kiss to Clarke's belly before standing again.

Clarke bit her lip hard, throat tight. She wanted to say so much, but instead she rolled her eyes and shoved another bite of toast into her mouth.

The moment was a quiet promise, a reassurance that they were a team. It didn't matter what crazy cravings or emotional outbursts came their way. They would handle it together. The simple breakfast, made with love, was all the proof Clarke needed.

A sudden, insistent pounding on the front door startled both Clarke and Lexa. Clarke, who had been savoring the last of her toast, looked up, a frown of confusion on her face. "Who on earth...?" she mumbled, glancing at the clock. It was still early.

Lexa, who had been sipping her coffee, simply set her mug down and headed for the door, a look of resigned amusement on her face. She opened it to reveal Raven, leaning against the doorframe, a mischievous grin on her face.

"Morning, lovebirds," Raven said, waltzing past Lexa and into the apartment as if she owned the place. She made a beeline for the kitchen, her eyes immediately zeroing in on the remnants of breakfast.
"God, do you two rehearse this stuff? Or are you just naturally disgusting all the time?"

Clarke turned and threw a kitchen towel at her, while Lexa just smirked proudly.

"Nachos for dinner, a full breakfast spread in the morning," Raven said, shaking her head in mock disappointment as she rummaged through a cabinet for a mug. "You two are starting to get predictable. What's next? Matching sweaters?"

"You're always complaining about being third wheel. Congratulations, this is the price you have to pay for getting us together." Lexa teased.

"Dont make me regret helping your cowardly ass, Woodson!"

Clarke couldn't help but laugh, the morning's embarrassment momentarily forgotten. "Hey, Raven," she said, happy to see her friend.

"Don't 'hey, Raven' me," Raven retorted, pouring herself a cup of coffee. She took a sip and shuddered theatrically. "This is a poor excuse for caffeine. You should let me take over the coffee-making duties."

Lexa leaned against the counter, a small smile on her face. "Some of us have standards."

"Oh, I'm sure you do," Raven shot back, her grin widening. "I just saw the aftermath of the nacho apocalypse, and let me tell you, your standards seem to be on a case-by-case basis. Did you really go on a two a.m. nacho run for her?"

Clarke's face went crimson. "It was a craving," she said defensively. "A very specific craving."

"A craving that only the brave, the bold, the slightly insane would fulfill," Raven teased, turning to Lexa. "I'm impressed, Heda. I didn't think you had it in you. Did you have to fight anyone for them?"

Lexa's smile remained, but her eyes held a spark of challenge. "Let's just say a certain elderly woman with a spatula learned a new level of respect."

Raven threw her head back and laughed. "I knew it! You're a keeper, Lexa. A real, certified keeper. Clarke, you've found a good one." She winked at Lexa, who simply rolled her eyes.

Raven plopped into a chair dramatically, snagged a piece of leftover toast and pointed a fork at Lexa. "Seriously though, Woodson. How do you not have an official label yet? You're carrying her cravings at two a.m. like some love-struck UberEats driver. That's girlfriend behavior."

Clarke nearly choked on her bite, glaring at Raven. "Raven."

But Lexa only smirked, sliding a fresh slice of toast onto Raven's plate. "Don't worry. I'm working on it."

And Clarke's stomach flipped, because she knew Lexa meant it.

"So, as a reward for your valiant efforts," Raven was scrolling her phone between mouthfuls of toast when her face lit up. "You two are coming to a party tonight. Lincoln texted, Miller's hosting something low-key at his place. Monty, Nylah, whole crew. And a lot of people you don't know."

"A party?" Clarke asked, a hint of fatigue in her voice. "Raven, I'm not sure. I'm a little tired."

"Nonsense," Raven said dismissively. "You're not tired, you're just not properly motivated. Besides, it will be fun. And it's a good excuse for you two to get out of this apartment. The smell of nachos is starting to cling to the curtains."

Lexa finally spoke up, her voice a calm counterpoint to Raven's energy. "A party sounds... manageable." She looked at Clarke, a silent question in her eyes.
Clarke considered it for a moment.

"That's the beauty of it," Raven countered, wagging her fork. "You sit. You snack. You laugh at all the drunk idiots. And—" she shot Lexa a sly grin, "—your doting... whatever we're calling her, will be there to guard you like a very hot bodyguard."

Lexa arched a brow but didn't take the bait. "If Clarke wants to go, we'll go."

Raven groaned. "Ugh. You're impossible. Just say yes, Griffin. Miller will have food. Real food. Not just pizza."

A party was the last thing she felt like doing, but the thought of a night out, a change of scenery, and a break from the relentless pregnancy-related emotions was surprisingly appealing. Plus, there was no arguing with Raven when she had her mind set on something.

Clarke looked between them, the way Raven's eyes were sparkling with mischief and Lexa's calm, unreadable mask that she was starting to realize wasn't as impenetrable as it seemed. There was hope there. And patience. And the tiniest flicker of excitement, like Lexa wanted to be part of Clarke's world outside of stolen nights and private mornings.

"Fine," Clarke said with a sigh, a small smile playing on her lips. "We'll go. But if I get cranky, you're both carrying me home."

Raven's triumphant grin widened. "Excellent. Be ready by eight. And Lexa, don't even think about wearing a hoodie. You're coming to a party, not a vigil."

Lexa leaned closer, brushing her fingers over Clarke's hand under the table, subtle but steady, and Clarke felt her cheeks warm.

Raven pretended to gag. "God, you two are going to make Miller puke with how sappy you are."

8 p.m.

The moment they stepped over the threshold into Miller's apartment, the world shifted. It was a tangible, sensory experience, the low, bass-heavy thrum of music vibrating through the floorboards, the thick, humid air smelling of assorted takeout and warm bodies, and the cacophony of dozens of conversations and bursts of laughter creating a living wall of sound.

The small space was packed, people spilling off of couches and leaning against every available surface, a human tapestry woven together by the easy familiarity of long-standing friendships.

Almost immediately, Clarke was enveloped. Nylah, her face bright with genuine joy, navigated the crowd with practiced ease and folded Clarke into a hug that was as solid as it was warm. Her hand went straight to Clarke's belly, a casual, unthinking gesture.

"Look at you," Nylah cooed, her voice full of soft wonder. "You're absolutely glowing."

Clarke's laugh was a little self-conscious, a little flattered. It was a new feeling, this casual, public acceptance of the changes her body was undergoing.

Raven, ever the pragmatist with a sharp wit, leaned in conspiratorially. "That's pregnancy sweat, not glow," she stage-whispered, a wicked grin spreading across her face.

Lexa, who had been a step behind, her hand hovering near the small of Clarke's back, felt a familiar tension tighten her jaw. It was a minuscule, barely perceptible movement, but it was there. She hung back, a silent observer in the midst of the chaos. It wasn't the attention on Clarke that bothered her, not truly.

It was the easy, casual intimacy of it all, the way people who had known Clarke longer, who had a shared history with her, could simply touch her, claim a piece of her with a hug or a kiss on the cheek. Lexa, in contrast, was still navigating her own space in this world. She was the one who shared quiet, stolen moments and soft kisses behind closed doors, still adjusting to the public reality of their relationship, to being a part of Clarke's life outside of their private sanctuary.

Lincoln, always a gentle and protective presence, was the next to arrive. He carefully pulled Clarke into a half-hug, treating her like she was the most precious cargo in the world. "How's she treating you?" he asked, his gaze settling on her stomach with a mix of curiosity and warmth.

"Like she owns me," Clarke deadpanned, her tone earning a chorus of laughter from those gathered around her. The easy friendship of the group was a well-oiled machine, and Clarke was the charismatic centre of it.

Lexa remained rooted to her spot, hands tucked into the pockets of her jacket, her entire posture a testament to a quiet, controlled tension. Every instinct she possessed urged her to step forward, to stand between Clarke and the rest of the world, to claim her as her own.

Raven, who had an uncanny ability to read a room and the people in it, caught the look on Lexa's face and smirked. "Relax, Commander," she said, her voice a low, teasing rumble. "Nobody's stealing your girl."

Lexa shot her a sharp look that was meant to be a warning, but Raven just snickered and pushed a can of seltzer into her hand. "Here, loosen up. It's a party, not a battleground."

After that, the night dissolved into a comfortable, easy chaos. Raven and Monty became embroiled in a heated debate over the merits of different playlists, Miller started an impromptu dance-off in the middle of the living room, and Nylah, with a mischievous glint in her eye, roped Clarke into showing off her.
'baby bump dance moves.'

Clarke, flushed and laughing, actually did it. She swayed her hips, her hands on her belly, a deliberate, exaggerated wiggle that had the whole room howling with laughter.

Lexa's lips parted slightly, her eyes fixed on Clarke, a complex mix of emotions swirling within her. She was torn between a feeling of profound awe at this unfiltered, joyful display and the intense, prickling urge to go to her, to drag her back to the safe, quiet space of the couch where no one else could touch her, laugh with her, or simply soak in her warmth.

When Clarke finally stumbled back, breathless and with a grin that could have lit the entire city, she collapsed onto Lexa's lap, her body a soft, heavy weight. "Don't look at me like that," she teased, her voice a low murmur.

"I can't help it," Lexa murmured back, her voice thick with an emotion she didn't know how to name. Without a moment's hesitation, she pressed her lips to Clarke's hairline, a tender, possessive gesture that she didn't care who saw.

"Gross!" Miller shouted from across the room, followed by Raven's exaggerated gagging noises.

Clarke only giggled, tucking herself closer against Lexa's chest, a silent invitation to get lost in the moment. Lexa sat there, the tension in her shoulders slowly easing. She was still a warrior in her own world, still clad in a suit of armor that she wore with a kind of second nature. But here, in this room, with Clarke in her lap and laughter all around her, she was starting to wear it differently. Not as a shield against the world, but as a part of the person who now, for the first time, felt like she owned it all.

Miller clapped his hands together, his voice cutting through the hum of the party with the authority of a self-appointed ringleader. "Alright, everyone, circle up!" he announced, a mischievous glint in his eye. "The music's great, the food's almost gone, and I think we're all relaxed enough now for a classic. Who's in for a round of truth or dare?"

A low murmur of agreement rippled through the group. Some people, like Monty, looked hesitant, but Raven was already grinning.

"You know I'm in," she said, leaning forward eagerly.

Clarke, still nestled comfortably in Lexa's lap, looked up at her with a questioning gaze. "What do you think?" she mouthed, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

Lexa's lips curved into a slight smile. She had never played a game like this, her life having been filled with far more serious pursuits. But the sight of Clarke's eager expression, and the relaxed atmosphere of the room, made her feel a surprising sense of willingness. She simply shrugged, a silent permission.

Miller's eyes landed on them, a smirk spreading across his face. "Alright, Commander, you're up first. Truth or dare?" he challenged, his voice full of playful bravado.

Lexa's gaze remained steady. "Truth," she said, her voice clear and measured.

A collective sigh of disappointment went through the group. "Boring!" Raven complained, but Miller just chuckled.

"Fair enough," he said, and then his grin turned into a look of genuine curiosity. "What's the one thing you're most afraid of?"

Lexa's gaze remained steady, a practiced mask of composure. The question hung in the air, a different kind of challenge than any she was used to facing. The room fell quiet, all eyes on her, and Clarke, from her place on Lexa's lap, felt the tension and instinctively reached up to lightly trace a pattern on her jaw with her thumb. It was a silent, private reassurance.

"Loss," Lexa said, the word a simple statement of fact, devoid of any theatricality.

A hushed beat of silence followed. It was a truth so raw, so honest, that it took the playful air out of the room for a moment. Miller looked genuinely taken aback, a flicker of understanding passing through his eyes before he quickly recovered.

"Okay," he said softly, a new note of respect in his voice. He didn't push for more. "Fair enough. Your turn, Commander. Pick someone."

Lexa's eyes scanned the room, a small, predatory smile touching her lips. They landed on Raven, who immediately tensed.

"Raven," Lexa said, her voice a low purr. "Truth or dare?"

Raven, who had been expecting this, scoffed. "Dare, obviously. I'm not a coward."

To be continued...

Chapter Text

"I know," Lexa replied, the smile growing. "I dare you... to go the rest of the night without using a single word that starts with the letter 's'."

A collective groan went around the room. It was an impossible challenge. Raven's eyes widened in disbelief, then narrowed in a way that promised a future reckoning. She pointed a finger at Lexa.

"You're... you're a monster," she managed to say, carefully avoiding the forbidden letter.

Lexa just chuckled, a rare, genuine sound that made Clarke's heart do a little flip. "My turn to watch," she said, settling back, her arm wrapped securely around Clarke.

"Okay, okay," Roan wheezed, barely catching his breath. "My turn. Nylah, Truth or dare?"

The group immediately started chanting: "DARE! DARE! DARE!"

Nylah shook her head, still flustered, but she smirked. "Fine. Dare."

Monty grinned like a cat with cream. "I dare you to whisper something dirty into Ontari's ear. Something that will make her turn red."

Everyone lost it.

Nylah's lips curved mischievously. She walked over to Ontari, grabbed her by the shoulder and leaned in close. Whatever she whispered made Ontari's ears go pink immediately, her jaw tightening as her gaze darted away.

"Holy shit," Miller said, eyes wide. "She actually did it."

Ontari cleared her throat, forcing composure. "Unnecessary," she muttered, but her blush betrayed her.

Nylah smirked proudly, returning to her spot. "Your move, Raven."

Raven twirled her finger in the air. "Alright, alright. New round. This time, no cowardly truths unless you're ready to embarrass yourself in front of everyone."

Natalie leaned forward on her floatie, grinning. "Then I pick dare."

"Good girl," Raven purred. "I dare you to—" she paused for dramatic effect, "—kiss the person to your left."

Natalie glanced left. Straight into Lincoln's very expectant face.

Everyone howled.

"Oh, you're loving this," Natalie muttered, but she cupped his cheeks and kissed him anyway. A proper one, wet and loud enough that Raven gagged.

"Ugh, you two are disgusting," Miller groaned, splashing them.

"Jealous," Nat shot back.

Lincoln just smirked. "I'm not complaining."

"Okay, okay, my turn," Natalie said, still grinning. Her eyes flicked toward Clarke. "Blondie. Truth or dare?"

The whole pool instantly erupted in: "DARE! DARE! DARE!"

Clarke narrowed her eyes. "You guys are evil." Then she smirked. "Fine. Dare."

Natalie's grin turned downright wicked. "I dare you to make out with Lexa for ten seconds. But—" she raised a finger, "—no hands."

The room exploded again.

Clarke nearly spit out her drink. "O."

Lexa raised a brow, calm as ever, but her green eyes gleamed with challenge. "You're really going to let them win?" she murmured, voice low and tempting.

Clarke groaned. "Fine."

They leaned in, mouths meeting in a slow, deep kiss. Clarke instinctively reached up for Lexa's face but yanked her hands back with a frustrated groan, making the group cackle. Lexa carefully placed her cup of water down, ignoring the clatter that sounded throughout the room, her hands lifting to cradle the sides of Clarke's face pulling the girl into a deeper kiss.

Lexa kissed her deliberately slow, her lips curved in smug satisfaction as she nipped at Clarke's bottom lip with her sharp teeth, sucking hard on the soft flesh to force a moan from Clarke's lips, before swiping her tongue along the tender flesh to soothe the ache. Lexa tore her mouth away from Clarke's lips with a groan, her hands clutching the side of Clarke's face, her eyes hooded and heavy.

When Lexa finally pulled away, breathless, Miller shouted, "That was TEN SECONDS? Felt like an eternity!"

Raven fanned herself dramatically. "I need holy water."

Clarke shoved Lexa away, laughing, her face on fire. "I hate all of you."

"Uh-huh," Raven said, pointing. "Your turn, Griffin."

Clarke scanned the group, smirking, then locked eyes with Raven. "Truth or dare?"

"Dare. Always dare."

Clarke grinned. "I dare you... to let Miller give you a hickey. Right now. Somewhere visible."

The group lost their minds. Miller's jaw dropped. "Wait, seriously?"

"Do it," Raven ordered, shoving her neck toward him.

"Raven, you're insane—"

"DO IT."

Miller finally leaned in, biting down gently, sucking until a mark bloomed on her collarbone. Everyone screamed and splashed, chanting his name while Raven threw her arms up like a champion. "Badge of honor, baby."

"Unbelievable," Lexa muttered, shaking her head with a smile.

"Alright, Miller's turn," Raven said.

Miller smirked wickedly, turning toward Lexa. "Truth or dare?"

The group roared with anticipation.

Lexa's eyes glinted. "Dare."

"Perfect," Miller said. "I dare you to whisper the dirtiest thing you've ever said to Clarke... but in her ear right now. And Clarke has to confirm to the group if it's true or not."

Clarke's jaw dropped. "Miller!"

The pool went feral. Everyone screamed, cheering, banging the water.

Lexa just leaned over to Clarke and whispered something that made Clarke's entire body flush scarlet. Her mouth dropped open, her face in her hands as she wheezed helplessly.

"WELL?!" Raven demanded, practically falling off her cushion.

Clarke groaned into her hands, muffled. "...It's true."

The room erupted.

Raven was cackling so hard she was crying. Monty muttered, "Oh my god, I need brain bleach."

Lexa sat back, smug as a queen, wrapping her arm lazily over Clarke's shoulder. "Satisfied?"

"No!" Clarke shrieked, still beet red. "You're all awful."

The game continued, a mix of absurd dares and revealing truths. Nylah was dared to do an interpretive dance to a song she hated. Lincoln admitted his most embarrassing childhood moment was accidentally gluing his hand to his hair. The laughter and groans that filled the apartment felt like a physical thing, weaving the disparate threads of friendship into a tighter, warmer whole.

When the game finally wound down, Clarke was the last one to be chosen. Miller's eyes met hers. "Alright, princess. Truth or dare?"

Clarke considered it for a moment, her thumb still stroking the line of Lexa's jaw. She looked at the faces of her friends, at the warm, chaotic familiarity of it all. "Truth," she said, a smile on her face.

Miller nodded, his expression softening. "What's the best part about being you, right now?"

The question hung in the air, a simple prompt that held so much weight. Clarke didn't hesitate. She turned her head and looked straight at Lexa, her eyes shining with unshed tears of pure, unadulterated happiness.

"This," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. She didn't have to say anything else. Everyone in the room understood.

Lexa's breath thudded, her arm tightening around Clarke. It was a truth so profound and so intimate that it felt more daring than anything else that had been said all night. The room erupted in a chorus of happy sighs and supportive shouts, and in the middle of it all, Clarke and Lexa were a small, quiet universe, held together by a truth that was stronger than any game.

After a short break and change of pace, the game picked up where it left off, but now with spin the bottle, a forgotten relic of a long-ago party, spun with a sudden, wobbly grace. It slowed, the label blurring before it finally pointed its neck directly at Clarke. The whole group erupted, a mix of cheers and playful groans, banging on the table like they were back in some carefree, pre-apocalypse life.

Clarke rolled her eyes, a good-natured smile on her face. "Alright, alright, I'm playing," she said, taking a sip from her can of seltzer. "Truth."

Raven's smirk was instantaneous and predatory. "Have you ever had a crush on someone here?" she asked, the question hanging in the air with a mischievous glint.

A chorus of laughter, gasps, and fake scandalized noises filled the room. Clarke's cheeks immediately flushed a warm pink. The question, simple as it was, held a certain weight. She hesitated, her eyes flicking across the circle of faces, a silent search for an answer. Her gaze passed over Monty, Nylah, Lincoln, before landing on one person: Miller.

Miller, who had been laughing, suddenly groaned and hid his face in his hands. "Oh my god," he moaned, his voice muffled. "We were literally kids, Clarke!"

"Middle school doesn't count!" Monty retorted, still laughing.

Clarke's grin widened, the truth bubbling up, and she couldn't lie. "I can't. He was my first crush. He brought me juice boxes every day."

More laughter followed, but a subtle change came over Lexa. Her jaw tensed almost imperceptibly, and she leaned back against the couch, the casual, easy posture of a moment ago shifting into something guarded. Her hand, which had been resting on her knee near Clarke's thigh, twitched, a centimeter away from touching her.

The whole exchange was harmless, a memory from a different life, childish even. But hearing Clarke confess a past attraction to someone who was still here, still an active part of her life, laughing with her, sharing these intimate memories, it was a feeling Lexa couldn't articulate. It scratched at something raw inside her, a feeling she wasn't used to: the possessive sting of jealousy.

Raven, with her razor-sharp observational skills, noticed it, of course. She shot a sidelong glance at Lexa and her smirk only deepened.

The game continued, a steady rhythm of absurd dares and surprisingly honest truths. Ontari was dared to do an interpretive dance to a song she hated, Roan had to admit his most embarrassing childhood moment was accidentally gluing his hand to his hair, and Miller had to reenact one of his middle school moves.

He stood up, mock-dramatic, and held out an invisible juice box to Clarke. "For you, milady."

Clarke's laughter was a cascade of pure, uninhibited joy. She nearly doubled over, accepting the fake juice box as if it were a priceless offering, her eyes sparkling with tears of mirth. The sight of her, so completely at ease and happy, made a slow, irrational burn bloom in Lexa's chest. It was a feeling that was part possessiveness, part a new, uncomfortable kind of hurt.

When Clarke finally collapsed back against the couch, still giggling, she leaned into Lexa without a moment's thought, seeking the familiar comfort. Lexa's arm went around her instantly, claiming the space, a silent, powerful assertion. She pressed a possessive kiss to Clarke's temple, not a casual, soft peck, but a firm, anchoring claim.

The teasing "awws" from the group were met with a blank stare from Lexa. Her jaw, which had been tight, only relaxed once Clarke reached up and entwined their fingers, her thumb brushing soothingly over Lexa's knuckles, a silent promise.
Clarke looked up at her then, her eyes warm and knowing. Lexa knew she had noticed, and the shared, silent understanding was a balm.

The bottle spun again, a blur of green, and came to a stop, pointing directly at Lexa.

"Ohhh," Raven cackled, rubbing her hands together with glee. "Finally. Truth or dare, Commander Serious?"

Lexa arched a brow, outwardly calm, her arm still snugly around Clarke. "Truth," she said, her voice even.

Raven's grin was wolfish, and she didn't hesitate. "Fine. Who in this room do you think Clarke would have ended up with if she hadn't met you?"

A collective gasp went through the group, followed by a mix of groans and cheers at the audacity of the question. Clarke turned crimson, her eyes wide as she smacked Raven's leg. "Raven!" she hissed.

Lexa's face barely shifted, but her eyes flicked, quickly, almost too fast to be seen, to Miller, then Monty, then even Nylah before they returned to Clarke. The pause was enough for Raven to howl with laughter. "Oh my god, she actually considered it!"

"I did not," Lexa said, her tone a flat deadpan, but her grip on Clarke's hip tightened ever so slightly.

The game escalated from there. Monty was dared to text his mom something wildly inappropriate, Lincoln had to dance on the table, and Miller was forced to let Raven draw something obscene across his forehead with eyeliner. The energy in the room was electric with laughter and release. Then, the bottle landed on Clarke again.

Clarke groaned, hiding her face in her hands. "You guys are going to kill me."

"Dare!" the group roared in unison.

Clarke peeked between her fingers. "Dare," she said, a new confidence in her voice, determined not to risk another intimate truth.

Nylah, catching the mood, smirked. "I dare you... to sit on Lexa's lap until the next round."

The room howled. Clarke laughed nervously, already shaking her head. "Oh, come on—"

"Rules are rules!" Raven sing-songed, egging it on, clearly enjoying the chaos.

"Oh my god," Monty muttered. "This is indecent."

Clarke groaned. "You're all perverts."

"Sit down, Griffin!" Raven howled.

Lexa arched a brow, utterly unfazed, though Clarke could see the glint of hunger in her eyes. "Well?" she asked smoothly.

"You people are evil," Clarke muttered, but she climbed over, straddling Lexa. Lexa's hands immediately slid to her hips, possessive and steady.

The group screamed.

"This is torture," Clarke hissed under her breath, squirming.

Lexa leaned in, lips brushing her ear. "For who?"

Clarke slapped her chest lightly, her face blazing.

"Alright, my turn," Monty piped up quickly, cheeks red. "Nylah. Truth or dare?"

"Dare," Nylah said confidently.

Monty smirked. "I dare you to—" he paused dramatically, "—lick a shot of tequila off Raven's stomach."

"WHAT?!" Raven shrieked.

"DO IT!" Clarke screamed.

Nylah just grinned and went for it, much to everyone's shrieking delight. Raven flailed, laughing and cussing as Nylah tipped the lime between her teeth after.

Clarke buried her face in Lexa's neck, groaning. "Why did we agree to this game?"

Lexa's lips brushed the top of her hair. "Because you like chaos more than you admit."

When Clarke leaned back into her after the chaos settled, Lexa kissed her hair, not playfully, but with a fierce, quiet intensity. The message was clear.
Clarke noticed. Raven noticed. Even Lincoln probably noticed.

And Raven, of course, had to stoke the fire. "Careful, Griffin," she teased, her voice a low purr. "Your girlfriend's looking like she might challenge Miller to a duel for that one."

Clarke flushed, looking between Raven's smug grin and Lexa's carefully controlled expression. Without a word, she squeezed Lexa's hand, a silent but powerful reminder: I'm yours.

Lexa didn't reply out loud, but her thumb began to rub slowly over Clarke's knuckles, a quiet assurance. Her gaze never left Clarke's face, and in their shared look, all the noise and chaos of the party faded away. All that mattered was the quiet truth held between them.

After another round, the bottle slowed and wobbled, then stopped on Clarke.

Raven immediately rubbed her hands together like a cartoon villain. "Finally. Truth or dare, Blondie?"

Clarke groaned, tossing her head back. "Why do I feel like I'm about to regret this?"

Ontari smirked. "I dare you to kiss Nylah. And not some peck. A real kiss."

The room gasped and then exploded with laughter and shouts of encouragement. "Oooh!" "Do it!" "We knew this game would get messy!"

Nylah's brows shot up, but her smirk matched Ontari's. "I mean... if you're game, Griffin."

"WHAT?!" Clarke sputtered, her eyes darting to Lexa.

Everyone leaned forward, waiting for the explosion. But Lexa just sat there, still as a statue, green eyes sharp as glass.

"Oh my god, she's gonna murder us all," Monty whispered, half-hiding behind Miller.

Clarke bit her lip, heat crawling up her neck. She froze for a second, eyes flicking instinctively toward Lexa. The CEO's face was carved from stone, her expression unreadable, but the rigid line of her jaw told Clarke everything.

Raven cackled, waving her hand. "Come on, Griffin. Rules are rules. Let's see some action."

Clarke chewed her lip, caught between irritation at Raven and the heat of everyone's eyes on her. Nylah leaned in, soft and bold at the same time, her hand brushing Clarke's arm. Clarke swallowed.

Then she closed the gap.

The kiss was supposed to be quick, just enough to satisfy the dare and move on. But Nylah kissed like she meant it, confident, enticing, and when Clarke didn't pull back immediately, it deepened. Her fingers slid into Clarke's hair, and Clarke caught up in the spark and the dark, kissed her back harder than she meant to.

The room erupted. Whistles, cheers, someone pounding the table. "Damn!" "Get it, Griffin!"

By the time Clarke pulled back, breathless and laughing nervously, the group was still howling. Nylah sat back smug, lips slightly swollen, eyes glinting with challenge.

But Lexa, Lexa was silent. Her hand that had been resting on Clarke's thigh was gone, curled instead into a white-knuckled fist on her knee. Her eyes were dark, locked on Clarke, her control unraveling at the edges.

Raven, of course, noticed immediately and leaned over to Miller. "Oh, she's so not okay with that," she whispered loudly enough for half the group to hear. Miller choked on his drink trying not to laugh.

"Oh, you're dead," Lincoln cackled, splashing water at Clarke. "Griffin, you just poked a very scary bear."

Clarke tried to hide her face. "It was just a dare!"

Lexa's voice was velvet steel. "We'll discuss it later."

Clarke's laugh faltered. She glanced sideways at Lexa and caught the storm brewing behind her calm mask. For the first time since the game started, Clarke's stomach twisted, not from nerves, but from the weight of Lexa's jealousy pressing hot and heavy between them.

And when Lexa finally spoke, her voice was low, even, but cutting through the laughter like glass.

"Whose turn is it now?"

The group went quiet for a beat, the tension suddenly obvious.

The game went on, a chaotic symphony of laughter and playful arguments. The bottle spun, dares grew rowdier, and secrets spilled forth, leaving everyone howling. But for Lexa, the joyous noise felt distant, muffled by a growing tension in her own body.

She sat back on the couch, her shoulders stiff, a stark contrast to the relaxed forms of her friends. To anyone else, she probably looked like she was simply observing the scene with her usual calm detachment. But Clarke, who knew every subtle shift in Lexa's demeanor, could feel the energy radiating from her, the quiet, simmering anger, the way her gaze studiously avoided Clarke's face unless absolutely necessary.

Every part of her body was a fortress, a subtle but effective wall.

When Clarke, in a moment of absentmindedness, reached for her drink, her hand brushed against Lexa's knee like it always did, a casual, instinctive gesture born of their shared intimacy. This time, however, Lexa didn't shift closer. She didn't even react. The hand that normally found Clarke's thigh, or intertwined with her fingers without a second thought, stayed clenched in her lap. The absence of that simple, comforting touch was a physical ache in Clarke's chest.

"Truth or dare, Lincoln?" Raven's cackles cut through the air, thankfully pulling the attention away from the charged silence beside Clarke.

Lincoln groaned, and the group erupted into another round of teasing. But Clarke's focus stayed on Lexa, whose attention was fixed on the game with an almost desperate intensity.

Clarke leaned in, her voice low and laced with concern. "You okay?"

Lexa's reply was clipped and sharp, a single syllable. "I'm fine." But her eyes didn't meet Clarke's, fixed instead on the spinning bottle as if it held the only thing in the room worth seeing. It was a rejection, as small and sharp as a splinter, and it burrowed into Clarke's heart.

When Clarke finally excused herself for the bathroom, a desperate need for a moment of quiet, Lexa rose almost immediately and followed. Clarke's heart gave a hopeful leap. She paused, expecting Lexa to follow her inside and talk, to close the distance she had so suddenly created. But Lexa just waited outside the door, arms crossed, her posture less like a partner and more like a bodyguard. When Clarke emerged, Lexa's voice was low and steady, but devoid of warmth.

"Everything alright?"

"Yes," Clarke said softly, feeling a strange mix of confusion and guilt, as if she were to blame for this sudden chill between them.

"Alright." That was it. No kiss to her temple, no teasing smirk, just a curt acknowledgment before Lexa turned on her heel and guided Clarke back to the group.

The rest of the night carried on, but for Clarke, the joyous atmosphere had soured. She felt the distance like a physical wall Lexa had erected between them. Lexa's touches were absent, her words economical, and her actions, though still protective, were stripped of affection. She still made sure Clarke had something to drink, that she was comfortable, and that no one pushed her too hard with the dares.

But every gesture was careful, measured, and stripped of the easy intimacy that defined them. Clarke hated it. She hated this quiet, withdrawn version of Lexa, a version of her that felt a million miles away.

When they finally left, Lexa held the door open, walked slightly behind her, protective as always but silent. And as they stepped out into the cool night air, Clarke's heart sank with a new, painful realization. Lexa wasn't just jealous. She was deeply, fundamentally hurt. She had built her walls not just as a defense against others, but against the pain Clarke had unknowingly inflicted. Lexa's hurt meant Lexa retreating, and she had already put herself on the other side of a wall Clarke couldn't seem to reach.

The ride home was quiet, a stark contrast to the thrumming energy of the party they had just left. The silence in the car was heavy, a noticeable thing that filled the space between them. Clarke kept glancing at Lexa, but Lexa's eyes were fixed on the road, her expression unreadable. Clarke wanted to reach out, to bridge the distance, but the coldness she'd felt all night was still there, a wall she couldn't break through.

When they got back to the apartment, Lexa's behavior didn't change. She was a ghost in their own home, moving through the rooms with a quiet efficiency that was both familiar and heartbreakingly foreign. She made a beeline for the kitchen, not to get a snack or a drink, but to pull out a bottle of water for Clarke from the refrigerator.

She placed it on the counter with a quiet thud, and Clarke's heart sank a little further. The gesture was a remnant of their affection, but it was mechanical, a habit stripped of its warmth.

"Is there anything else you need?" Lexa asked, her voice flat, not looking at Clarke as she began to meticulously wipe down the counters.

"Just you," Clarke wanted to say. Instead, she just shook her head, feeling a lump form in her throat.

Lexa went about the apartment with the same detached focus, gathering Clarke's things from the living room, putting stray blankets back on the couch. Every movement was precise, careful, but completely devoid of the usual care. This wasn't the Lexa who would pull her into a hug after a long night, who would kiss her temple and murmur about how beautiful she was. This was a stranger performing an act of service.

Later, as Clarke was getting ready for bed, Lexa came into the room with a small, neatly folded pile of laundry. It was the baby's clothes, washed and dried and now placed on the corner of the dresser. She had also filled a humidifier and set it up next to the bed. It was all so thoughtful, so incredibly caring, but she did it all without meeting Clarke's eyes.

Clarke finally couldn't take it anymore. She walked up to Lexa, her hand reaching for hers. Lexa flinched almost imperceptibly, her hand pulling back just as Clarke's fingers were about to touch hers.

"Lexa, please," Clarke whispered, her voice cracking with emotion. "Talk to me."

Lexa's eyes, when they finally met Clarke's, were a mixture of pain and anger. It was a rare glimpse into the turmoil she was hiding. She didn't say anything, didn't move. She just stood there, her body a rigid line of unspoken hurt.

Clarke finally took a shaky breath, letting her hand fall to her side. Lexa was distant, and there was nothing she could do to fix it tonight. The distance was a wall, and Lexa had made it clear that she wasn't ready to let Clarke in. She was a provider, a protector, making sure all of Clarke and the baby's needs were met. She was still in love, that much was obvious in the silent, loving gestures she was making, but she was hurt, and that hurt was a deep chasm between them.

Chapter Text

The next morning was a cold, gray echo of the night before. Clarke woke to the familiar hum of the city, but the warmth she usually found in the bed next to her was gone. The space where Lexa should have been was empty, the sheets cold to the touch.

She found Lexa in the kitchen, already dressed in a sharp black suit, a steaming mug of herbal tea in her hands. She looked as perfect and unapproachable as the CEO she was, every line of her body a testament to control and composure.

Lexa didn't look up from her tablet when Clarke entered. The usual morning ritual of a shared hug, a mumbled good morning, and the easy back-and-forth about their schedules was replaced by a sterile, professional silence. Clarke's heart ached. She got a cup of tea and sat at the kitchen island, watching Lexa, a lump forming in her throat.

Lexa, for her part, went about her morning routine with the same detached efficiency. She made sure Clarke had her prenatal vitamins and a bowl of oatmeal. She had already packed Clarke's work bag with her laptop and a neatly packed lunch since she hated the cafeteria food. The gestures were all there, but they were robotic, stripped of any affection.

Lexa set the lunch on the counter with a quiet thud, her eyes never meeting Clarke's.

"I have a meeting at eight," Lexa said, her voice a low, clipped statement. "The car will be here at seven-thirty."

Clarke's stomach clenched. The company car was usually a treat, a shared ride that allowed for a few extra moments of stolen intimacy. Today, it felt like an order, a way to ensure they arrived at the same time without having to speak to each other.

"Okay," Clarke whispered, the word feeling too small for the chasm between them.

She went to take a shower and get dressed, her mind racing. The simple task of putting on her work clothes felt heavy, burdened by the unspoken tension. When she came back out, Lexa was standing by the door, tablet in hand, a silent sentinel waiting for the car. Clarke put on her shoes, and as she stood up, she looked at Lexa, her heart in her eyes.

"Lexa, please. We can't keep doing this," she pleaded. "I miss you."

Lexa's expression didn't change. She just nodded once, her gaze still fixed on the screen in her hands. "I'm here, Clarke," she said, her voice flat and even. "I'm not going anywhere."

But to Clarke, it felt like she already had. Lexa was present, providing for her, protecting her, and making sure she had everything she needed for their jobs at Woodson Enterprises. But she was gone, her heart and mind retreated to a place where Clarke couldn't reach. Not in the way Clarke desperately needed her to be.

The silence of the apartment followed them to Woodson Enterprises. The car ride, already tense, felt even colder within the sterile professionalism of the company vehicle. Lexa was all business, her tablet in hand, her face a mask of stone. Clarke, seated beside her, felt the chasm between them widen with every mile.

The familiar skyscrapers of the city seemed to mock her, each pane of glass reflecting the image of a perfect, unapproachable CEO and her silent, lonely partner.

Once inside the building, the air of tension thickened. The usual flurry of morning greetings from employees seemed to bounce off Lexa's impenetrable calm. She moved through the open-plan office with her usual authority, but the little, intimate gestures were gone. She no longer reached for Clarke's hand to give it a quick squeeze as they passed a crowded workspace. She didn't lean in to whisper a private joke. Lexa was a commander in every sense of the word, but not Clarke's. She was just Lexa, the CEO.

Clarke went to her own desk, the weight of the night pressing down on her. She felt like a new hire again, trying to navigate the currents of an unfamiliar office. Just as she was about to sit down, Lexa's assistant appeared at her desk.

"Ms. Woods asked me to bring you this," the assistant said, placing a warm travel mug on her desk. "She said it's your usual."

Clarke's heart gave a hopeful flutter. It was her favorite, chamomile tea with a touch of honey. A small, familiar comfort in the midst of this storm. But as she took a sip, she noticed something else. A small container of fresh-cut fruit and a protein bar were tucked beside her laptop. Lexa had gone to the trouble of getting them, but she hadn't brought them herself.

The gesture was a painful reminder of her silent affection, a love that was now being expressed through a detached intermediary. Just then, Raven hobbled by, her eyes sharp. She pulled up a chair and lowered her voice.

"What's going on with you two?" she asked, her gaze flicking between Clarke and Lexa's closed-off office door. "The tension is so thick I could use it as a paperweight."

Clarke sighed, feeling the weight of the hurt settle in her shoulders. "I don't know," she whispered, the honesty a relief. "It's like she's here, but she's not. She's taking care of everything, but she won't even look at me."

Raven's expression softened. "She's hurting, Clarke. We all saw it last night. She doesn't know how to deal with that kind of insecurity. She's a warrior, not a lover. The only way she knows how to handle a wound is to retreat and put on her armour."

All morning, Lexa's presence was a distant shadow. She scheduled a video conference with a team in London, and Clarke saw her on the screen, her gaze distant, her words precise. But even through the screen, Lexa's care was evident. She paused the meeting to instruct her assistant to get Clarke's desk chair adjusted to be more ergonomic for her pregnancy.

Later, she sent an email with an updated project timeline and a note to Clarke to take an early lunch. Every gesture was a testament to her devotion, but it was all delivered through a wall of cold, professional distance.

Clarke looked down at the mug of tea and the small container of fruit on her desk. She knew Lexa loved her. She could feel it in every measured, careful action. But she also knew that Lexa was hurting, and that hurt had built a wall between them that no amount of tea or fruit could break.

Even when Clarke lingered later with her lunch, Lexa didn't join her like she always did. She stayed in her office, door cracked but uninviting, her voice low on calls, her attention focused anywhere but Clarke.

And though Lexa was still attentive in the barest ways, her eyes flicking to Clarke's water bottle to make sure it wasn't empty, her hand hovering at the small of Clarke's back when someone brushed too close in the hallway, everything else was absent.

By late afternoon, the silence from Lexa's office became a physical weight. Clarke couldn't stand it anymore. She got up from her desk, the mug of cold tea a painful reminder of Lexa's distant care. She walked to Lexa's office, the glass wall a transparent barrier between them. She knocked softly and waited.

"Come in," Lexa's voice was as precise and controlled as ever.

Clarke entered, closing the door behind her. Lexa was at her desk, her gaze fixed on the screen, a mountain of files and reports surrounding her. She didn't look up.

"Hey," Clarke said softly, her voice wavering slightly. "Can we talk?"

Lexa finally looked up, her expression unreadable. "We are talking, Clarke. Is there something you need? A change of project? An adjustment to your hours?"

The professional detachment was like a punch to the gut. "No, not about work," Clarke said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "About us. What's happening? Please, just tell me what I did."

Lexa leaned back in her chair, a sigh escaping her lips. "Nothing is happening, Clarke. I am at work. We are at work. I am doing my job, and you are doing yours." She was speaking in a calm, even tone, but her eyes held a storm. "I am ensuring you have everything you need. What more is there to discuss?"

"You're acting like a stranger," Clarke said, a tear threatening to spill over. "I know something is wrong. Please, don't shut me out. I need you."

Lexa's mask of composure finally broke. A flicker of raw pain crossed her face, so quick Clarke almost missed it. "You don't understand," Lexa said, her voice a low, pained whisper. "I have to be this way, Clarke. I have to protect myself."

"From what?" Clarke asked, her heart breaking. Lexa finally looked at her, her eyes filled with a hurt so profound it took Clarke's breath away.

"From the idea that someone else could make you happier," she said, the words a confession. "That I'm not enough. That one day, you might realize I was just a temporary stop on your way to them. I have to protect my heart from that truth."

The room was silent, the air thick with unspoken emotions. Lexa's vulnerability was a rare and precious thing, and it shattered Clarke's heart. Lexa was still hurt, but for the first time since the party, the wall between them had a crack in it.

Clarke stepped forward, closing the remaining distance between them. She reached out, her hand gently covering Lexa's on the desk. Lexa flinched at the touch but didn't pull away.

"You're not a temporary stop, Lexa," Clarke said, her voice soft but firm. "This isn't just a crush, and I'm not going to leave. I'm having your baby. This is real."

The mention of the baby, of their shared future, caused Lexa's face to crumple for a second. The mask of the CEO was gone, replaced by the raw vulnerability Clarke had been aching to see. But just as quickly, the wall went back up.

"I know," Lexa said, her voice barely a whisper. She looked at Clarke's hand on hers, but she still didn't intertwine their fingers. "I know. But I still need to... to process this. I can't... I need space, Clarke."

The words hung in the air between them, sharp and painful. Clarke felt her heart clench. Space. A word that, to Lexa, meant retreating into her shell, pulling the drawbridge up and leaving Clarke on the other side.

The office door swung open, and Raven walked in, a look of pure exasperation on her face. She took one look at the scene, Clarke's tear-filled eyes, Lexa's rigid posture, and let out an exasperated sigh.

"Oh, for God's sake, Woods," Raven said, her voice echoing in the quiet office. "Stop being so difficult."

Lexa's head snapped up, her expression a mix of surprise and annoyance. "Raven, this is a private conversation."

"The whole office can feel the tension," Raven retorted, her gaze softening as she looked at Clarke. "And you are both hurting, so it's my problem too."
She looked at Lexa, her eyes holding sympathy. "You can't just shut everyone out, Lexa. Not this time. You're not alone anymore."

She pointed at the door. "You and I are going for a walk. Right now. You can either walk out on your own two feet, or I will drag you out by your ridiculously expensive suit jacket."

Lexa opened her mouth to argue, but the look on Raven's face was unyielding. Lexa sighed, a long, weary sound, and pushed her chair back. She stood up, her eyes meeting Clarke's for a brief moment. The apology was silent, but it was there. She walked toward the door, her shoulders still stiff.

Raven moved to the side, allowing Lexa to pass. She then turned to Clarke, her voice low. "Go rest, Clarke. You've done enough. Let me handle this."

Clarke nodded, a fresh wave of tears blurring her vision. She watched as Lexa and Raven walked out of the office, the two of them a study in contrasts, Lexa's straight-backed poise beside Raven's no-nonsense hobble. They were a bizarre pair, but for the first time all day, Clarke felt a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, Raven could get through to her.

Raven didn't say anything at first. She just led Lexa out of the building and onto the crowded sidewalk, her keys making a rhythmic sound that cut through the city noise. She navigated through the crowds of people with practiced ease, turning toward a quiet park a few blocks away.

Lexa walked silently beside her, hands still in her pockets, her shoulders a rigid line. It wasn't until they were seated on a bench under the shade of a large oak tree that Raven finally spoke.

"You're being an idiot, you know that right?" Raven's voice was low, devoid of its usual teasing lilt.
Lexa didn't reply. She simply stared at the ground.

"Lexa," Raven said, her tone softening slightly. "What is this? You're shutting her out. You're shutting everyone out. You know that's not how this works. You're having a baby together. You can't just... go into battle mode every time something scares you."

Lexa's head snapped up, her eyes flashing with a familiar anger. "This isn't 'battle mode,' Raven. This is me protecting myself. Clarke has a history with these people. She trusts them. She's easy with them in a way she's never been with me. They have a past I can't be a part of. What if she realizes that she's happier with someone who gets all that? With someone who doesn't have a past of... of what I have a past of?"

Raven sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Lexa, listen to me. She's not a prize to be won. You're not in a competition. What you and Clarke have is real. It's not a battle. It's a partnership. And right now, you're the only one fighting. You're fighting the very thing you're supposed to be celebrating."

She paused, letting the words sink in. "That 'past' you're so worried about? It's not something to be jealous of, Lexa. It's the foundation of the person you love. Those are the people who will have your back when you need them. They're her family. And now, they're part of yours."

Lexa looked away, her expression a mix of pain and shame. "I know," she whispered, the words so quiet Raven almost didn't hear them. "I know. But when I saw them, laughing with her, touching her, I just... I felt so small. Like I didn't belong."

Raven reached out, placing a hand on Lexa's rigid shoulder. "Lexa, you belong with Clarke. Not because of a dare or a game or a crush she had in middle school. You belong with her because she chose you. And she keeps choosing you. You're having a baby, for God's sake. That's a bigger commitment than a million juice boxes."

A small, choked laugh escaped Lexa's lips. She finally looked at Raven, and for the first time since the party, the CEO mask was completely gone. She was just Lexa, vulnerable and afraid, and a little lost.

"Now, let's go back," Raven said, a slight smile on her face. "And you can go talk to her. Really talk to her. Not with a wall between you."

Lexa and Raven walked back to the office in silence, but this time, the quiet wasn't tense. It was contemplative. Lexa's shoulders were less rigid, and her gaze, no longer fixed on some distant point, was turned inward. When they reached the Woodson Enterprises building, Raven clapped her on the back.

"Now, go on," she said, her voice gentle. "Go get your girl."

Lexa nodded once, a silent thanks, and headed for Clarke's office. She found Clarke wasn't there, she was in a meeting. Lexa decided to wait in her office in the meantime.

The office emptied in a slow, deliberate cadence, each departing employee a final, soft echo of the day's frantic energy. Phones silenced one by one, keyboards fell quiet, and the muffled thud of bags being slung over shoulders became the only rhythm left. Goodbyes were hushed, carrying a weary finality down the long hallway.

By the time Clarke's computer screen went black, the building was shrouded in a profound quiet, broken only by the hum of the fluorescent lights above her desk and the single shaft of light spilling from Lexa's office across the hall.

A heavy ache settled in Clarke's chest. It was a familiar, unwelcome guest she'd been carrying all day, the leaden weight of an unspoken silence, a silence sharper and more brutal than any argument they'd ever had. With a quiet sigh, sad and resigned look, she padded down the hall, her flats making no sound on the polished concrete floor.

The door to Lexa's office was slightly ajar, a beacon of light in the dimness. As she drew closer, she could hear the faint, irritated rustle of papers inside. Clarke paused at the frame, leaning against it, and watched the woman she loved. Lexa's head was bent low over a file, her posture unnaturally rigid, a tense knot of muscle in her shoulders and a hard line to her jaw. She was a fortress of a woman, but right now, she looked fragile and guarded.

"Are you ever going to talk to me?" Clarke asked softly, the question a whisper in the vast, empty space.

Lexa's pen stilled mid-sentence. For a long, painful moment, she didn't move, didn't even look up. The air in the room thickened with unspoken things. When her eyes finally lifted to meet Clarke's, they were tired and shadowed, a weariness etched deep in their emerald green depths.

"We're talking now," she said, her voice flat, devoid of any warmth. It was a wall, and Clarke felt it keenly.

"That's not what I mean, and you know it," Clarke said, pushing off the doorframe and stepping fully into the office, closing the door behind her. It was a deliberate, final sound. "You haven't looked at me all day, Lexa. You're... distant. Cold. And it's absolutely killing me."

Lexa's breath hissed out through her nose. She set her pen down with a quiet finality, her hands settling on the desk, gripping the edge. "Maybe that's the point," she said, the words a quiet blow.

Clarke's breath hitched. "The point?"

"Clarke," Lexa began, her voice tight, "you were dared to kiss Nylah, and you did. And maybe I shouldn't care because it was a stupid, meaningless game. But I watched you. And you kissed her like... you kiss me."

Her throat worked as she swallowed hard, her gaze darting away as if the memory was too painful to hold. "I can't get that image out of my head."

Clarke's mind reeled. "Lexa—"

"No," Lexa's voice broke, sharp with a raw, unexpected pain. "I hate that it makes me jealous, because I don't want to be that person. I don't want to cage you or tell you what you can and can't do. But the truth is, Clarke," she faltered, the confession finally spilling out, "I love you. I love you so much that watching you with someone else... it wrecked me. And now every time I look at you, I feel this knot in my chest that I can't shake."

The words hung heavy in the air, a raw, exposed nerve. Lexa's face was a study in hurt, the sharp edges of her control giving way to a desperate vulnerability that made Clarke's heart ache. She crossed the room in two steps, standing directly in front of the desk.

"You think I wanted that kiss?" Clarke whispered, her own eyes burning with the sting of unshed tears. "You think I want anyone but you?"

Lexa's silence was her answer, her jaw clenched, her stillness louder than any word. Clarke sank to her knees, bringing herself to eye-level, forcing Lexa's guarded green eyes to meet hers. "I was dared. It wasn't me making a choice. And yes, maybe it got carried away for a second, but do you honestly believe anyone else compares to you? Because if you do, then you're not seeing what I see."

Lexa's breath hitched. "Clarke—"

"No," Clarke pressed on, her voice cracking with emotion. "I love you. Do you hear me? I love you. It's you, and only you. I want you, not Nylah, not anyone else. And if you think for one second that some stupid dare changes that, you're out of your mind."

For a long, tense moment, Lexa just stared at her, her hands still white-knuckled on the edge of the desk, her expression unreadable. Then, the tension in her shoulders finally released, and she sagged, the fight draining completely out of her. "I was so angry," she admitted, her voice low and broken, "not at you. At myself. For not trusting. For not saying anything. For... for caring this much. It terrified me."

Clarke's heart ached and then softened. She reached forward, her hand gentle, and slowly, carefully, unlaced Lexa's fingers from the desk, entwining their hands together. "Then don't push me away," Clarke said, her thumb stroking Lexa's knuckles. "Don't punish me for something that doesn't matter. If you're scared, tell me. Don't shut me out."

Lexa looked down at their joined hands, her thumb brushing over Clarke's knuckles in a familiar, comforting rhythm. Slowly, her walls began to crumble. Her green eyes, glistening now with unshed tears, finally lifted back to Clarke's.

"I'm sorry," she started, the words feeling too small for the vastness of her emotions. "I'm so sorry, Clarke. I was an idiot. A complete and total idiot."

Clarke's eyes welled up with tears. "I thought you were angry with me."

Lexa took a deep breath, the words finally tumbling out. "When I saw you and Miller, and Nylah, and Lincoln... so comfortable, so easy with each other... I felt a panic I haven't felt since I was a child. I felt like an outsider, like I was watching a life I could never truly be a part of. And I felt a jealousy so irrational and so ugly, I didn't know how to handle it."

Lexa reached out, her hand gently touching Clarke's cheek. "The only way I know how to deal with fear and pain is to put up a wall. To shut it all down. It's what I've always done. But it's not fair to you. It's not fair to us."

Clarke cupped Lexa's cheek, her thumb stroking gently. "I know. And I forgive you. But you have to promise me something."

Lexa leaned into her touch, desperate and vulnerable. "Anything."

"Promise me you won't run from me when things get hard," Clarke said, her voice firm. "Because we're in this together. You and me. Always."

Lexa's throat worked as she swallowed, then she nodded, her voice steady even as her eyes shone. "I promise."

Clarke's tears finally spilled over, and Lexa, with a tenderness she hadn't shown since the night before, wiped them away with her thumb.

"My past is what it is," Lexa continued, her voice thick with emotion. "But it doesn't have to define our future. You and I... we're a team, Clarke. We're in this together. And I promise, I will never, ever let my fears put a wall between us again."

She leaned in, her forehead resting against Clarke's. "Please," she whispered. "Tell me you can forgive me."

Clarke's own hand rose, covering Lexa's on her cheek again. "There's nothing to forgive," she said, her voice choked with emotion. "I love you, Lexa. All of you. Even the parts that are still figuring things out."

Lexa's eyes fluttered closed for a moment, a wave of relief washing over her. She pulled Clarke in for a long, tender hug, a silent promise to break down every wall she had ever built. The hug was the most honest apology of all. It was Lexa's way of saying, I am here. I am with you. And I'm not going anywhere

Clarke pulled away and leaned forward, pressing her forehead against Lexa's. For the first time all day, she felt them breathe together again, hearts syncing back into rhythm.

Lexa had always been steel. Her entire life had been a masterclass in control and composure, every emotion carefully folded and tucked away behind a facade of discipline. But now, sitting here in her office, with Clarke's hands warm against her skin and her voice so steady and certain, that careful wall of hers finally cracked.

Her chest rose and fell unevenly, her breaths short and shallow. Her lips parted as if to speak, but no sound came out. A deep, agonizing tremor went through her body, and then her face crumpled, the last vestiges of her control draining away. She buried her face against Clarke's shoulder, her arms wrapping around Clarke's waist with a desperate, crushing grip, as if afraid she would vanish. It broke Clarke's heart and filled it all at once.

"I don't... I don't know how to do this," Lexa admitted, her voice muffled and ragged against Clarke's blouse. "I don't know how to love someone this much without ruining it. I'm terrified every second that I'll lose you, Clarke. That I'll mess it up. That I'll hurt you like I just did."

Clarke's heart ached with a profound tenderness. She stroked Lexa's hair gently, her fingers sinking into the soft waves at the back of her neck, an anchor in the storm of Lexa's emotions. "Lexa... look at me."

It took a moment, but eventually, Lexa lifted her head. Her eyes were red, wet, and raw, exposed in a way Clarke had never seen. In that unguarded vulnerability, Clarke felt a wave of love so fierce it took her breath away. She had never loved her more than in this exact moment.

"You're not going to lose me," Clarke said firmly, her own voice thick with emotion, but her conviction unwavering. "You're not going to ruin this. We're both figuring it out. We're both scared. But you don't have to be perfect. You just have to let me in."

Lexa blinked hard, a single tear sliding down her cheek. Clarke wiped it away with her thumb, leaning in close. "I want all of you, Lexa," Clarke whispered. "Even the scared parts. Even the jealous parts. I don't need the polished CEO version. I just need you."

That was the final blow. Lexa let out a shaky, almost broken laugh, pressing her forehead against Clarke's again as more tears slipped free. "You're everything I never thought I'd deserve," she confessed, her voice thick with emotion. "And it terrifies me, because if I lose you..." She shook her head, unable to finish the thought.

"You won't," Clarke promised, holding her tight. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

For a long moment, they just held each other in the quiet office, the space feeling both vast and impossibly small. Clarke's arms were still wrapped around Lexa, and she could feel the steadying beat of Lexa's heart against her own. Lexa's shoulders, so tense just moments ago, had finally softened. She didn't have to be the CEO, the leader, the person with all the answers. Here, in this private bubble, she could just be Lexa, vulnerable, flawed, and deeply in love.

Finally, Lexa pulled back, her eyes still red-rimmed but a faint, genuine smile touching her lips. "I really messed that up, didn't I?" she said, her voice a little hoarse.

Clarke smiled back, her thumb stroking Lexa's cheek once more. "We'll get better at it. Together."

Lexa's hand came up to hold Clarke's against her face. She closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the warmth of the touch, the quiet assurance in Clarke's words. "I promise I'll talk to you next time. No more walls."

"No more walls," Clarke agreed softly, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to Lexa's forehead. "you're terrible at hiding it when you're jealous."

Lexa's brows shot up, but Clarke's smirk was already blooming.

"I don't know what you mean," Lexa said, her tone defensive but not sharp.

"Oh, come on," Clarke teased, nudging her with her hip. "That night at the bar when we first met? You looked like you were about to wage war because of one little dare."

Lexa exhaled through her nose, the corner of her mouth twitching. "It wasn't little," she muttered. "It was you. With someone else." Her eyes flicked away, as though even the memory burned. "I don't... handle that well."

Clarke tilted her head, softening. "Lexa, I'm pregnant with your baby. We live in each other's pockets. I think you've claimed me pretty thoroughly."

That wheedled a faint smile out of her, but Lexa still didn't look entirely convinced. Clarke reached out, hooking her finger into the belt loop of Lexa's trousers to tug her closer.

"Hey," she said, more serious now, "you don't need to be jealous. It's you. It's only ever going to be you."

Lexa searched her face, quiet, almost unsure of what to do with the reassurance. Clarke could feel the way her walls wanted to rise, the instinct to mask it all, but Clarke wasn't letting her this time.

"You're mine," Clarke whispered, brushing her lips against Lexa's jaw in a kiss that was more tender than heated. "And I'm yours. Got it?"

Lexa's throat bobbed as she swallowed, and when she nodded, it wasn't her usual controlled, stoic movement, it was small and almost shy. "Got it."

"Good," Clarke said with a grin, pulling back just enough to meet her eyes. Then, after a beat, she added playfully, "Though you do look kind of sexy when you're all jealous and broody."

Lexa groaned, tipping her head back like she'd just lost a battle. Clarke laughed, sliding her arms around her waist and hugging her close.

"I swear you enjoy torturing me," Lexa muttered into her hair.

"Absolutely," Clarke said smugly. "Perks of being with the boss."

That made Lexa chuckle finally, low and genuine, the sound vibrating against Clarke's chest. She kissed Clarke's temple and murmured, "Then I suppose I'll just have to let you get away with it."

"Damn right," Clarke replied, grinning as she hugged her tighter.

The office door clicked open without so much as a knock.

"Please tell me you two didn't just christen the desk," Raven's voice carried across the room, sharp and amused.

Clarke jumped slightly, pulling back but not releasing Lexa completely. "Raven!" she hissed, cheeks heating.

Raven just sauntered in, unapologetic grin in place. "What? Don't look at me like that. I work here too. Besides..." She smirked, eyes flicking between the two of them. "I was just checking to see if Commander Barbie was still sulking about the whole Nylah thing."

Lexa's shoulders tensed immediately, jaw flexing. "I wasn't sulking," she said tightly.

"Oh, right," Raven drawled, perching on the edge of a chair like she owned the place. "Because glaring daggers at Nylah all night and then brooding in the corner totally didn't scream sulking."

Clarke pinched the bridge of her nose, fighting laughter. "Raven, don't—"

But Raven was already in full swing. She leaned forward, eyes glinting mischievously at Lexa. "Honestly, though? You should've seen her face, Clarke. Nylah would've gone for it if you weren't already..." She gestured vaguely between them with a wicked grin. "...claimed."

Lexa's nostrils flared, green eyes darkening. "Nylah is not going for anything. Not now. Not ever."

"Oh, protective much?" Raven teased, clearly enjoying herself far too much. "I'm just saying, she looked like she'd happily steal Clarke out from under you if you ever slip up."

"Raven," Clarke warned, but she was already biting her lip to keep a smile from spreading.

Lexa's glare could have burned holes through steel. "Clarke isn't going anywhere. And neither is Nylah if she values her life."

Raven laughed so hard she almost doubled over. "God, you're fun to mess with. Clarke, you better keep her. She's like a guard dog who reads Shakespeare."

Clarke shook her head, torn between exasperation and affection as she reached to squeeze Lexa's arm. "She's mine," she said firmly, directing it toward both of them.

That earned her a quiet but possessive look from Lexa that Raven immediately caught. "See? Territorial," Raven said, pointing at Lexa like she'd won the argument. "Admit it, you're jealous and it's cute as hell."

Lexa rolled her eyes heavenward, muttering something under her breath, but Clarke caught the way her lips twitched like she was fighting a smile despite herself.

Raven leaned back in the chair, arms folded smugly over her chest. "So, let me get this straight. Big, bad CEO Barbie can handle billion-dollar deals, investor meltdowns, and managing a whole company... but one close friend with a nice smile sent you into a jealous spiral?"

Lexa's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Raven." Her voice was low, a warning.

But Raven only smirked wider. "What? I'm just saying, if Nylah had leaned in two seconds longer, you'd have stormed across that circle and carried Clarke out caveman-style. Admit it."

Clarke pressed her lips together to stifle a laugh, but her shoulders shook. "Raven..." she tried, half scolding, half amused.

Lexa's glare shifted to Clarke, betrayed. "You're enjoying this."

"I'm not!" Clarke lied unconvincingly, her grin betraying her.

"Oh, she definitely is," Raven cut in smoothly. "Honestly, Clarke, I think you should test it. Next time we're out, just... you know, let Nylah flirt a little, see if Lexa combusts. Could be fun."

Lexa slammed her pen down on the desk with a sharp clack. Her jaw was tight, her green eyes flashing like a storm about to break. "I assure you, there will be no testing," she bit out, each word clipped.

Raven whistled low, clearly delighted at having poked the beast. "God, you're scary when you're jealous. If I were Nylah, I'd run for the hills."

"Then perhaps you should follow her," Lexa snapped, voice cool but sharp enough to cut glass.

Clarke finally burst into laughter, unable to hold it back anymore, which only fueled Raven's triumph. "See? She's feral. Clarke, you've got her wrapped around your finger."

Lexa turned to Clarke, still bristling, but softened just enough at the sight of her giggling. "You find this funny?" she asked, deadpan, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of warmth under the simmering jealousy.

Clarke grinned, leaning her head on Lexa's arm. "A little."

Lexa exhaled slowly, trying to calm herself before she actually snapped. Raven, of course, wasn't done. She leaned forward again with a mischievous grin.

"You know, Woodson, it's kinda hot how you look like you're planning Nylah's murder. Protective girlfriend vibes. Oh, wait! not official girlfriend yet, huh? Should I warn Nylah she's got a window?"

Lexa's head snapped toward Raven so fast Clarke thought she might actually lunge across the desk.

To be continued...

Chapter Text

The room felt heavy with unspoken tension, thick and palpable. Lexa's jaw was a rigid line, her stare laser-focused on Raven, her eyes sharp and cold enough to shatter glass. The rhythmic tap-tap-tap of her fingers on the mahogany desk was the only sound, each beat a punctuation mark on her barely restrained rage. It was the same kind of quiet that had made entire boardrooms fall silent in her presence.

Raven, however, seemed utterly immune. She leaned back in her chair, a smirk playing on her lips. "Wow," she drawled, her voice a low hum. "She's really about to..."

"Raven." Clarke's voice, though gentle, cut through the space like a razor. She stepped closer to Lexa, her hand finding the back of her chair. "Stop pushing her."

Raven's eyebrows rose in feigned innocence. "What? I'm just stating the obvious. You should see her face right now. It's like she's about to declare a one-woman war on Nylah."

"No," Clarke said, a small, knowing smile on her lips. "You've poked the bear enough."

Lexa's shoulders remained stiff, her eyes still clouded with a mixture of jealousy and frustration. Clarke leaned in, her lips brushing against Lexa's temple. It was a simple, grounding touch, but it worked. The tension in Lexa's body slowly began to recede, a long, slow exhale escaping her lips as Clarke stayed close.

"You don't have to get worked up," Clarke murmured softly, her words meant for Lexa alone. "You've got me. You're stuck with me, so stop glaring like you're about to declare war."

Lexa turned her head toward Clarke, the storm in her eyes softening just a fraction. "She's infuriating.".

Clarke's grin widened as she pressed another kiss to Lexa's jaw. "She's Raven. And Nylah is not a threat." Her hand squeezed Lexa's shoulder. "You're the one I love. Okay?"

A quiet surrender came over Lexa, the tightly wound string inside her chest finally loosening. A tiny, almost sheepish smile touched her lips as she realized how absurdly worked up she'd been.
Across the room, Raven groaned, dramatically covering her face with her hands.

"Oh my god, gross. Did I really just third-wheel a live rom-com moment? You two are disgusting."

Clarke laughed, staying tucked against Lexa's side. "Serves you right for trying to mess with her."

"Yeah, yeah," Raven muttered, though her smirk betrayed her satisfaction. "Fine. I'll back off... for now."

Lexa finally leaned into Clarke, her hand finding Clarke's on her shoulder, lacing their fingers together. Her voice was a low rumble, meant only for Clarke. "Thank you."

Clarke smiled against her skin. "Always."

Raven groaned again and waved her hands as if shooing them away. "Okay, okay, truce. I'll stop poking the green-eyed beast before she eats me alive."

Clarke chuckled softly, but Lexa only arched a brow, still unimpressed. Raven sighed dramatically.

"Fine. I'll admit it, I might've pushed too far. But in my defense..." she smirked, leaning back in her chair, "...you two are ridiculously easy targets. It's like handing me a loaded Nerf gun and telling me not to pull the trigger."

Clarke shook her head with a laugh, while Lexa muttered under her breath, "You enjoy chaos too much."

"Exactly," Raven said brightly, then tipped her chin toward them, her eyes twinkling. "Speaking of chaos, you might wanna crack a window in here. The office still smells like sex."

Clarke's jaw dropped, a hot flush spreading across her cheeks. "Raven!"

Lexa's ears went pink, but she tried to keep her composure. "You—"

Raven was already on her feet, grabbing her bag. "Don't act shocked, Griffin. You two practically fogged the place up last week. Air freshener exists for a reason." She winked, backing out the door. "Anyway, I'm heading out before I make myself gag on the PDA. By the way, I'm proud of you Lex. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

The door shut behind her, leaving a profound silence in its wake. Clarke buried her face in her hands, laughing despite herself. "I hate her sometimes."

"You love her," Lexa said dryly, her arm slipping around Clarke's waist to pull her close as they both stood.

"Maybe," Clarke teased, leaning into her. Then her stomach growled, loud and insistent. Clarke winced. "Okay, maybe I love her a little less right now, because she reminded me I haven't eaten in hours."

Lexa pressed a kiss to her temple, her lips tugging into a smile. "Then let's fix that. Dinner?"

"God, yes." Clarke sighed dramatically, letting Lexa lead her toward the elevator. "You're feeding two of us, remember. And one of us is a bottomless pit."

Lexa's hand rubbed lightly over her belly as they walked. "And one of us is proud to take care of both of you."

Clarke glanced up at her, her heart swelling at the sincerity beneath Lexa's teasing. "You're disgustingly sweet sometimes, you know that?"

Lexa smirked, tugging her closer. "Only for you."

The restaurant Lexa selected was not her typical choice. It was a warm, softly lit space with a quiet hum of conversation and low music. The golden light created an intimate atmosphere. Clarke noticed Lexa had chosen a corner booth, a spot that offered a degree of privacy from the main dining area.
Clarke slid into the booth first and began to remove her scarf. Lexa sat across from her, her green eyes periodically glancing up.

"You're staring," Clarke said after they had placed their orders. Clarke ordered a pasta dish, while Lexa chose a lighter option.

Lexa's lips curved into a small smile. "I can't help it. You have a certain luminescence."

Clarke's cheeks felt warm despite her playful eye roll. "Is that the pregnancy glow, or the 'I'm about to eat a large plate of carbs' glow?"

"Both," Lexa said, her voice serious, and Clarke laughed.

The food arrived quickly. Clarke ate with a noticeable appetite, while Lexa's pace was more deliberate. She sipped her wine and listened as Clarke talked about various topics, including a new invention idea from Raven and a parenting book her mother had sent her.

Midway through the meal, Lexa became quiet. Clarke noticed the shift immediately. "Okay. What's on your mind? You're doing the thing."

Lexa blinked. "The thing?"

"The thing where you go silent and start analyzing something." Clarke put down her fork and leaned forward. "Talk to me."

Lexa's fingers traced the rim of her glass. A moment of hesitation passed before she looked up, her gaze steady and focused.

"I have been giving a lot of thought to our situation," Lexa began slowly. "To how we have progressed from a point where we could barely be in the same room without friction, to now. We are here together. And I have developed a deep affection for you."

Clarke's focus shifted from her meal. Lexa reached across the table and placed her hand over Clarke's. "I have not historically been focused on labels. But I have realized I want this one. I want to be able to state that you are mine, without any reservation."

Clarke's throat felt dry.

Lexa's thumb brushed across Clarke's knuckles as she continued in a low, steady voice. "Clarke Griffin, will you be my girlfriend?"

The question was simple, but its weight and the sincerity behind it made Clarke's eyes feel warm. A disbelieving laugh escaped her, and she covered her mouth with her free hand. "You're acting uncharacteristically nervous."

Lexa raised an eyebrow, a small smile at the corner of her lips. "Is that a yes?"

Clarke squeezed Lexa's hand. "Of course it is a yes."

She leaned across the table and kissed Lexa. It was a brief and certain kiss, and Clarke only pulled back when she heard a polite cough from the waiter nearby. She hid a grin behind her glass of water as Lexa wore a small, satisfied smirk.

"You had to do this in a public place?" Clarke muttered.

"I wanted to ensure there were witnesses," Lexa said quietly, a look of quiet triumph in her eyes. "That way you cannot change your mind."

Clarke laughed, shaking her head. She reached across the table and laced their fingers together. "You are an unexpected person. And I love even more for that."

Lexa squeezed her hand. "Yours. Always."

The silence that fell over the table after Clarke's words felt different, no longer a space filled with tension but one of peaceful contemplation. Clarke picked up her fork again, twirling the pasta, a small, content smile playing on her lips. Lexa watched her, a quiet focus in her gaze.

"So," Clarke said, her voice soft, "you're really just going to sit there and watch me eat?"

Lexa's lips twitched. "It's... entertaining."

Clarke chuckled, shaking her head. "You're lucky I'm starving. If I were a little less hungry, I'd insist you eat something."

"I'm content," Lexa replied simply, her hand still holding Clarke's. "I've had all I need."

The words, so gentle and sincere, made a warmth spread through Clarke's chest. She looked up from her plate and met Lexa's eyes. "Okay, I'm going to blush if you keep that up."

Lexa only squeezed her hand, her expression unreadable. "Good."

They fell into a comfortable rhythm after that. Clarke finished her meal, occasionally glancing up to see Lexa still watching her, a soft, possessive look in her eyes. The waiter came and went, clearing their plates, and the restaurant's background noise seemed to fade into a distant hum.

"I can't believe Raven," Clarke said, a small laugh escaping her as she leaned back in her chair. "She's already trying to name the baby. She says she has a list of 'futuristic, badass names.'"

Lexa's lips curved into a genuine smile. "I can only imagine. What's on the list?"

"Oh, you don't want to know," Clarke groaned, covering her face with her hands. "But the one she was most excited about was 'Sentry.' Like, a robotic guard."

"Sentry," Lexa repeated, her voice thoughtful. "It has a certain... strength to it."

Clarke peeked through her fingers, an incredulous look on her face. "You're not actually considering it, are you?"

"No," Lexa said quickly, a hint of amusement in her eyes. "Not seriously. But I can't say I'm surprised by Raven's creativity."

A waiter approached their table, holding two dessert menus. Lexa took them, handing one to Clarke. "Are you ready for something sweet?"

Clarke's eyes lit up. "Oh, yes. I have been craving something decadent all day." She scanned the menu, her brows furrowed in concentration. "What do you think? The chocolate lava cake, or the lemon tart?"

"I think you should get whatever you truly want," Lexa said.

"And you?" Clarke asked, glancing at her. "Are you going to get anything, or just watch me eat that too?"

Lexa smiled. "I'll get a coffee. I've had a lot on my mind."

Clarke's face softened, and she reached across the table to cover Lexa's hand with her own. "Are you okay?"

"I'm more than okay," Lexa said. "I'm... happy."

The desserts arrived shortly after. Clarke's eyes widened at the sight of the lava cake, and she dove in with a happy sigh. Lexa watched her for a moment, then took a slow sip of her coffee.

"There's something I want to ask you," Lexa said, her voice low.

Clarke looked up, a bit of chocolate on the corner of her mouth. "What is it?"

"I know we just... made things official," Lexa began, reaching over to wipe the chocolate off Clarke's mouth and then sucked her finger clean. "but I'd like to take you on a proper date."

Clarke's expression was a mixture of surprise and genuine delight. "You're asking me on a date?"

"I am," Lexa confirmed. "A real one. Where I pick you up, we go somewhere we've never been, and I can have you to myself for the entire night. No work. No Raven." She gave Clarke a soft smile. "Just us. What do you say?"

Clarke swallowed the bite of cake in her mouth, her eyes shining. "Yes. Absolutely yes."

Lexa's shoulders relaxed, and a genuine smile lit up her face. It was a rare smile, one that reached her eyes and made them crinkle at the corners.

"Good," she said, her voice filled with quiet relief. "I'll plan something."

Clarke picked up her fork again, her heart feeling so full she thought it might burst. The chocolate cake tasted even better now, a perfect ending to a perfect meal.

"This is nice," Clarke said softly, looking around the intimate restaurant. "You're nice."

Lexa didn't respond with words, but the way she reached across the table and interlaced their fingers together under the flickering candlelight was more than enough.

After they finished their desserts, Lexa settled the bill and they walked out into the cool night. The valet brought Lexa's car around, sleek and polished in the restaurant's soft outdoor lights. Clarke was leaning against her, shoulder pressed into Lexa's side while they waited, her hand still tucked securely in hers.

When the keys were handed over, Lexa walked Clarke to the passenger side first, opening the door for her. Clarke laughed softly, amused. "You know, now that we're official, you don't have to keep trying to impress me with the whole 'gentleman CEO' thing."

Lexa leaned one hand against the doorframe, her eyes soft as they lingered on Clarke. "It's not an act."

Clarke blinked, momentarily speechless. Then, to cover the rush of warmth in her chest, she grinned up at her. "You're so sappy."

Lexa bent down enough that her lips brushed Clarke's cheek, her voice low. "Only for you."

Clarke slid into the seat quickly, cheeks flushed, muttering, "Ridiculous."

By the time Lexa circled the car and slid into the driver's side, Clarke was already fiddling with the radio. She hummed to herself, flipping past stations, until she landed on something upbeat and cheesy from the early 2000s.

"Oh, this one!" Clarke exclaimed, immediately turning the volume up.

Lexa winced faintly at the tinny beat but said nothing, only pulling the car smoothly out of the lot.

Clarke glanced at her sideways, smirking. "Don't tell me you're too serious for guilty pleasure songs."

Lexa kept her eyes on the road, mouth twitching. "I never said that."

Clarke gasped dramatically. "Lexa Woodson has guilty pleasures? Tell me right now."

Lexa hummed, thoughtful, and then deadpanned: "Power ballads."

Clarke laughed so hard she had to grab her stomach. "Oh my God, you? Singing along to some dramatic '80s anthem in the shower?"

Lexa glanced at her briefly, entirely unruffled. "Yes."

Clarke's jaw dropped. "Wait, you're not even denying it?"

"I told you," Lexa said evenly, turning onto a quieter street. "I don't lie to you."

That answer shut Clarke up for a moment, though she was grinning helplessly as she sank back into her seat. The baby kicked then, a sharp, firm little thud against her ribs, and she let out a small gasp.

Lexa's hand immediately left the gearshift, reaching across the console to rest over Clarke's bump. Her eyes flicked from the road to Clarke, checking. "You okay?"

Clarke caught her breath, nodding. "Yeah. Just... energetic tonight, I guess." She softened, watching the way Lexa's fingers spread protectively, reverently, over her. "She likes your voice, you know."

Lexa's brow furrowed faintly. "How do you know that?"

"Because every time you talk near me, or read something out loud, she kicks. Like clockwork." Clarke smiled, a little teary despite herself. "She already knows you."

For a moment the car was quiet except for the hum of the road beneath them, the soft strains of the cheesy pop song in the background. Lexa swallowed, her thumb brushing over Clarke's belly in small, careful circles.

"I want her to," Lexa murmured. "I want her to know me."

Clarke reached over, covering Lexa's hand with her own. "She will. She already does."

They stayed like that until the next red light forced Lexa to pull her hand back. Clarke immediately leaned into her side, tugging at her sleeve, whining playfully, "Ugh, you're so responsible. Just hold my hand and drive with the other one. Isn't that what girlfriends are for?"

Lexa gave her a look that was equal parts amused and incredulous. "That is not safe, Clarke."

Clarke huffed, pretending to pout. "Fine. But only because you're the boss. My boss. And my girlfriend. Double the power."

Lexa shook her head, but her lips betrayed her with a smile she couldn't quite suppress.

When they pulled up at a red light again, Clarke leaned over the console without warning, tugging Lexa's jaw gently and pressing her lips against hers. It was quick, messy, more laughter than anything else, but when she pulled back, her smile was mischievous.

"There. Payment for your safe driving."

Lexa raised a brow, though her voice was faintly hoarse. "That hardly seems fair."

Clarke smirked. "Good thing you're taking me home then. You'll get more if you're lucky."

Lexa made a low sound in her throat that made Clarke giggle all over again, her hand immediately darting back to Lexa's on the console, twining their fingers together.

The city was a different world now, quieter, more serene. They walked hand in hand toward the car, the silence between them now feeling like a shared secret.

"So," Clarke said. "what does a 'proper date' with Lexa Woodson entail?"

Lexa leaned down, her lips brushing the back of Clarke's hand. "You'll have to wait and see. It's a surprise."

"You're full of surprises, aren't you?"

"Only for you."

The drive from the restaurant to Clarke's apartment in Williamsburg was a quiet one. The city's energy was different at this hour, a softer hum replacing the earlier frenetic pace. Streetlights and building windows cast a warm, hazy glow on the pavement, and the car's interior was a small, intimate bubble of silence.

As they approached Clarke's building, Lexa slowed the car, pulling over to the curb. The vehicle came to a gentle stop, the engine's low rumble fading to a quiet thrum. The apartment building's facade, with its distinctive brickwork and large windows, was familiar.

Lexa turned in her seat, her gaze steady on Clarke. A quiet moment passed between them, a shared breath in the stillness of the car. The street outside was calm, with only the occasional passerby and the distant wail of a siren. Clarke sat there, looking at her, eyes soft but mischievous.

"So... first car ride as girlfriends. How'd I do?" she teased.

Lexa turned toward her fully now, the shadows of the dashboard lights painting her features in sharp, beautiful lines. "Perfect. Because it was with you."

Clarke groaned, covering her face with her free hand. "You're impossible."

Lexa leaned in, close enough that her breath warmed Clarke's skin. "And yet, you love me."

Clarke peeked at her through her fingers, smiling despite herself. "Yeah. I do."

Lexa's hand rested on the gear shift, her fingers occasionally brushing against Clarke's, a light, grounding contact that spoke more than words could.

"Thank you for tonight," Clarke said softly, her voice a little husky. "It was perfect."

"I'm glad," Lexa replied, her voice equally low. She reached out, her fingers gently tracing the line of Clarke's jaw. "Get some rest. And... I'll call you tomorrow."

Clarke leaned into the touch, a small, genuine smile on her face. "You better."

She didn't want the night to end, didn't want to break the spell that had been cast over them. But she knew they had to. With a final, lingering look, Clarke's hand rested on the door handle.

"Goodnight, Lexa."

"Goodnight, baby."

Clarke stepped out of the car, the cool night air a sudden contrast to the warmth of the vehicle. She stood on the curb, watching as Lexa's car remained for a moment. Lexa rolled down the passenger window slightly, a small wave before the window went back up.

The car pulled away from the curb, its taillights glowing red as it merged into the stream of traffic and disappeared around the corner. Clarke lingered for a moment, a smile playing on her lips before she turned and walked toward her building. The night was late, but the city was still alive, and so was she.

Meanwhile, Lexa's drive across the bridge to her Manhattan penthouse was different. The city lights exploded into a dazzling spectacle of steel and glass, and the quiet contemplation of the drive to Williamsburg was replaced with the vibrant, undeniable energy of Manhattan. The roads were busier here, the taxis a blur of yellow, the city's pulse a palpable force.

She stepped out of the elevator into the quiet stillness of her home, the only sound the soft hum of the air conditioning. She walked to the window, gazing out at the vast, glittering expanse of the city. The lights of the city below seemed to stretch on forever, a testament to the endless motion and life of Manhattan. She stood there for a long time, the city's reflection a silent companion in the glass.

The night was a different kind of quiet here, a peaceful solitude that was a welcome end to a perfect evening. Lexa's lips curved into a small, private smile as she remembered the quiet warmth of the restaurant, the shared laughter, the feel of Clarke's hand in hers. The city lights twinkled like a million tiny stars, and for the first time in a long time, Lexa felt that she was exactly where she was meant to be.

Clarke's apartment was quiet, the only sounds the faint hum of the refrigerator and the gentle whir of the city's ventilation systems. Clarke sat on her couch, a half-empty glass of water on the coffee table. She scrolled through her phone, a small, private smile on her face.

Clarke:
Home safe. You?

A few minutes passed before her phone buzzed with a response.

Lexa:
Just got in. Manhattan traffic is always a joy.

Clarke:
You were supposed to be the one who could beat it. What happened to the CEO in you?

Lexa:
The CEO is currently very tired and content

Clarke laughed to herself, the sound a soft puff of air. She typed a quick reply.

Clarke:
You're a dork.

Lexa:
And yet, you agreed to be my girlfriend.

Clarke:
Don't get cocky, Woodson.

Lexa:
Too late.

Clarke put her phone down, shaking her head. The simple exchange made her feel lighter than she had in days. She picked it up again, a new message from Lexa popping up.

Lexa:
On a more serious note... I'm glad we had this talk.

Clarke:
Me too. I'm glad we're us. Officially.

Lexa:
Me too. I've been wanting to make this official for a long time.

Clarke:
Why now? Why did you choose tonight?

Lexa:
I was going to wait, but then Raven started poking the bear, and I realized I was just tired of waiting. I wanted to be able to say you're mine. And I wanted to give you this.

A photo came through, a close-up of a tiny, delicate necklace with a small, silver compass charm.

Clarke:
Lexa... What is that?

Lexa:
A reminder that no matter where you go, I'll always be with you. And a small bribe to make sure you agree to a second date.

Clarke felt her eyes sting. She couldn't believe Lexa had gone to such lengths. The vulnerability in her gesture was overwhelming.

Clarke:
You are unbelievable.

Lexa:
In a good way, I hope.

Clarke:
Yes. In the best way.

Lexa:
Good. Now get some rest. You have a long day tomorrow.

Clarke:
What about you?

Lexa:
I have a long night of dreaming about my girlfriend.

Clarke's cheeks flushed, and she put her phone down, a wide, goofy grin on her face. She closed her eyes, the image of the necklace and Lexa's text messages playing on a loop in her mind. It was a perfect ending to a perfect night. She knew she would be dreaming about Lexa too.

The quiet of Lexa's penthouse was broken by the soft ping of her phone. It was a new text from Raven.

Raven:
So, you're officially a taken woman now, huh? About time.

Lexa sighed, a small smile playing on her lips. She had known Raven would text her about it eventually.

Lexa:
I assume Clarke told you.

Raven:
Please. The girl is glowing. She practically jumped through the screen. So, what's the plan? Dinner again?

Lexa:
This is very special, I want her to know how special she is to me. I need your assistance.

Raven:
My assistance? I'm sensing a plot. What are you up to, Woodson?

Lexa:
I need to know Clarke's favorite things. Things to do, not things to eat.

Raven:
Oh, I see. You're trying to impress her with a well-planned date. Smart

Lexa:
Don't tell her.

Raven:
My lips are sealed🤐 So, what do you want to know?

Lexa:
Start with a few things she loves doing. Things she would want to do on a date.

Raven:
Let's see... She loves art. You could take her to a museum. Or maybe a gallery. She loves live music. The smaller, more intimate venues are her favorite. She also loves to explore. She would be happy just wandering around a new neighborhood, finding a new cafe.

Lexa:
That's helpful. Thank you.

Raven:
Don't thank me yet. I'm just getting started. She also loves to see new things. The Brooklyn Bridge at sunset is one of her favorite views. And she loves to be near the water. A walk along the pier, maybe?

Lexa:
I appreciate this. I'm not going to forget this.

Raven:
Good. You owe me. Now, can we talk about how long it took you to make this happen?🕵️‍♀️

Lexa:
Raven.

Raven:
No, seriously. Everyone could see you two were meant to be. Clarke was a mess for the few hours you weren't talking to her. You were... well, you were a grumpier version of yourself

Lexa:
I'm not a grump.

Raven:
Whatever you say, Boss Lady. But I'm glad you finally pulled your head out of the sand. You're good for each other

A few minutes of silence passed before Raven's phone pinged again.

Lexa:
Thank you.

Raven:
Anytime. Now go plan the perfect date. Don't mess this up🙄

Lexa:
I won't.

Lexa put her phone down, a small smile on her face. The advice from Raven was helpful, but the final words from her were even more so. Lexa knew this was a new chapter, one that she was excited to start.

The next morning...

The next morning at Woodson Enterprises, the atmosphere felt charged with a new, quiet energy. The office was bustling with the usual pre-work hum, but a subtle change hung in the air, a sense of contentedness that radiated from two specific individuals.

Lexa, the CEO, was in her office, a faint smile gracing her lips as she reviewed a document. Her usual stoic composure was softened, her focus sharper, yet somehow more relaxed. The change was so subtle that only those who knew her best would notice.

Clarke arrived a few minutes later, her face alight with a happy glow. She greeted a few colleagues on her way to her desk, her steps lighter, her posture more confident. It was clear she was having a good morning. As she sat down, a new email popped up on her screen.

It was from Lexa, with the subject line, "Morning Checklist." The body of the email was a bulleted list:

Water bottle filled?
Snacks packed? (Specifically, the ones you mentioned craving)
Back support cushion in place?
Any new aches or pains I should be aware of?

Clarke laughed softly to herself, a flush of warmth spreading through her cheeks. She quickly typed a response.

Clarke: Yes, yes, yes, and no. Everything is perfect.

Lexa: Good. And if you need anything, don't hesitate to ask.

Clarke: I know. Thank you.

A few minutes later, Raven walked over to Clarke's desk, a knowing smirk on her face. "So, you're looking a little... glowy this morning," she said, leaning against the desk. "Anything you want to tell me?"

"You already know," Clarke said, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"I know, but I want to hear the official version," Raven said, her grin widening. "Did my advice help? Did you two finally make it official?"

"It happened," Clarke confirmed, her voice low. "And you're not getting any more details."

"Fine, be that way," Raven said, but she didn't look disappointed. "So, what's with the grin? Did Lexa finally get her act together and satisfy your frustrations?"

"That's classified," Clarke teased, typing a few lines of code.

Raven rolled her eyes. "Oh, so now you wanna be secretive. You know, I'm almost happy for you. Almost."

The two of them continued to talk for a few minutes, their conversation light and easy. After Raven left, Clarke looked at her computer screen again, a tiny smile on her face. A new email from Lexa had arrived.

Lexa: I've moved our meeting with the board to 3 PM. You have a break until then. Make sure you take a walk and get some fresh air.

Clarke smiled. The attention to detail, the constant care, it was all so new and so wonderful. She felt a sense of peace that she hadn't felt in a long time. She knew that even in the midst of her busy work day, she was being looked after.

Later that afternoon, a gentle knock came at her office door. It was Lexa. She held a small cup in her hand. "I brought you some tea," she said, her voice soft. "It's chamomile. It's supposed to be calming."

Clarke's heart fluttered. "Thank you," she said, taking the cup from Lexa's hand. Their fingers brushed, and a tiny jolt of electricity shot through her.

"How are you feeling?" Lexa asked, her eyes searching Clarke's face.

"I'm fine," Clarke said, her voice a little shaky. "Better than fine."

Lexa's lips curved into a small smile. "Good." She lingered for a moment, her gaze dropping to Clarke's midsection before she looked back up at her face. "I'll see you in the boardroom."

As Lexa walked away, Clarke watched her go, a warm, fuzzy feeling spreading through her. She was loved, and it was the most incredible feeling in the world.

The conference room at Woodson Enterprises was a study in modern corporate design. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a view of the Manhattan skyline, and the long, polished mahogany table reflected the soft, recessed lighting. Around the table, a dozen executives were already seated, their laptops open and their expressions serious. The air was charged with a noticeable energy of high-stakes business.

Lexa walked into the room, her presence commanding immediate attention. The quiet hum of conversation ceased as she took her place at the head of the table. She nodded a greeting to the group, her face a mask of professional calm. The subtle warmth from her earlier interactions with Clarke was gone, replaced by the cool, focused demeanour of a CEO.

Clarke followed her in, carrying a large binder and a tablet. She moved with a practiced efficiency, taking her seat a few chairs down from Lexa. She placed her materials on the table, her posture straight and attentive. She was a key part of these meetings, and her contributions were always valued.

The meeting began. Lexa's voice, usually so low and soft in private, was now clear and authoritative as she laid out the agenda. She spoke of quarterly projections, market analyses, and a new venture into sustainable technology. She fielded questions with precision, her responses confident and well-informed.

Clarke, meanwhile, was fully engaged. She took notes, referred to data on her tablet, and offered insights when prompted. She was a valuable asset to Lexa and to the company, a fact that was clear to everyone in the room.

The meeting was a whirlwind of numbers, strategies, and industry jargon. The dynamic between Lexa and Clarke was strictly professional, a testament to their ability to compartmentalize. Their previous personal conversation was a world away from the professional environment of the board room.

A short while later, after the board meeting concluded, Lexa found Clarke and Raven in the breakroom. The room was bright and functional, with a coffee machine, a few vending machines, and a couple of small tables. Raven was sitting at one, a bag of chips open on the table, while Clarke was pouring a cup of tea.

Lexa walked over to them, a subtle shift in her demeanor. The professional composure from the boardroom was replaced by a quieter, more relaxed presence. She picked up a cup from the counter and poured herself a coffee.

"The meeting went well," Lexa said, her voice a calm statement. "Good work, Clarke."

Clarke looked up from her tea, a small smile on her face. "Thanks. You too."

Raven crunched on a chip. "Yeah, yeah, you're both brilliant. We get it." She looked at Lexa. "What, are you just going to stand there and stare at your coffee? Come on, sit."

Lexa pulled up a chair and sat at the table with them, the act itself a small departure from her usual routine. Raven, ever the instigator, immediately picked up on it.

"Look at you," Raven said, a playful smirk on her face. "Taking a break with the common folk. What gives, Boss Lady? Did you forget how to function without a board meeting?"

"I am simply taking a break," Lexa replied, her tone even. "It's a necessary part of the workday."

Raven snorted, but a few seconds later, she saw Lexa's eyes flick to Clarke's stomach. A mischievous glint appeared in Raven's eyes.

"So," Raven said, leaning forward. "Did you two get a chance to discuss names yet?"

Lexa's gaze immediately snapped to Raven, a silent warning in her eyes. Clarke, however, laughed and shook her head.

"Raven, no," Clarke said, a small blush on her cheeks. "We're not there yet."

"What? It's a valid question," Raven said, feigning innocence. "I just want to make sure you're not going with my suggestion of 'Sentry.'"

Lexa took a slow sip of her coffee, her gaze unwavering. "We are not."

Raven shrugged. "Just trying to help. Anyway, I should get back to it. Don't want to get yelled at by the Boss Lady." She winked at Clarke. "You two have fun with your little break."

After Raven left, the quiet returned to the table. Lexa set her cup down and looked at Clarke. "Are you feeling all right?"

"I'm fine, Lexa," Clarke said, her voice soft. "I'm just tired."

"You should take a few minutes," Lexa said, her voice calm and even. "I can handle the rest of the day if you need a break."

Clarke's hand rested on her midsection. "Thank you. But I'll be okay. I just need a moment."

Lexa's eyes softened, a gentle acknowledgment of Clarke's needs. The two sat in comfortable silence for a while, a shared quiet that spoke volumes without a single word. It was a simple moment, a quiet break in a busy day, but it held a depth that only they could understand.

"What's on your mind?" Lexa's voice was soft, pulling Clarke from her thoughts.

Clarke looked up from her tea, a playful glint in her eyes. "Our date."

Lexa's lips curved into a small smile. "What about it?"

"I want to know what we're doing," Clarke said simply, her hand resting on her belly. "You're all secretive about it."

"It's a surprise," Lexa replied, her gaze steady.

"A surprise? You're a CEO, not a magician. You can't just wave a wand and create a date out of thin air."

"You'd be surprised," Lexa said, her voice a low, amused rumble. "I'm a woman of many talents."

Clarke laughed, shaking her head. "I'm not so sure about that. I think you're just enjoying this too much."

"I am," Lexa admitted, her eyes twinkling. "So, what are you hoping we'll do?"

"I don't know," Clarke said, a small, genuine smile on her face. "Anything with you. That's all that matters."

Lexa's heart swelled. She reached across the table, her hand finding Clarke's. "I'm glad to hear that. But I can assure you, it will be a date you'll never forget."

Clarke squeezed her hand. "I believe you."

They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the shared quiet a testament to their newfound relationship. Lexa's phone buzzed with a notification, and she glanced at it, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes before she set it back down.

"Everything okay?" Clarke asked, her brow furrowed.

"Everything's perfect," Lexa said, her gaze returning to Clarke's. "Now, drink your tea. We have a busy afternoon ahead of us."

Chapter Text

The air in Clarke's apartment was thick with a mixture of nervous anticipation and the subtle, lingering scent of her perfume. She stood in front of her full-length mirror, adjusting the simple but elegant black dress for the tenth time. It was a perfect choice, not too formal, not too casual, and it draped over her body in a way that made her feel both beautiful and comfortable. She was a little out of her element. Dating was a new, exciting, and slightly terrifying frontier, and she wanted to get it right.

A quiet knock at the door broke her concentration. Her heart skipped a beat. She took a deep breath, smoothing her hands over her dress one last time before she walked to the door and opened it.

Lexa was standing there, a bouquet of white lilies in her hand. She was wearing a tailored charcoal suit with an open-collared black shirt, a choice that was both sophisticated and surprisingly casual. Her green eyes, which had been so sharp and focused in the boardroom, were now soft and full of a gentle, quiet admiration.

"Hi," Lexa said, her voice a little huskier than usual. She extended the bouquet. "These are for you."

"Thank you," Clarke said, her voice a little breathless. She took the lilies, their cool petals a stark contrast to the warmth of her hand. The gesture was so simple, so thoughtful, that it made her chest ache with a kind of quiet joy.

Lexa stepped inside, letting the door close behind her. She looked around the apartment, her gaze taking in the comfortable, lived-in space. "You look beautiful, Clarke."

Clarke's cheeks flushed, and she smiled. "You don't look so bad yourself, Woodson."

Lexa's lips curved into a genuine smile, one that reached her eyes. "Shall we go?"

Clarke nodded, placing the lilies in a vase on her kitchen counter before grabbing her small clutch. Lexa offered her arm, a gesture that felt both old-fashioned and perfectly right. Clarke took it, and they walked out of the apartment together.

The ride in Lexa's black town car was smooth and silent. The city lights blurred into streaks of color as they drove, the world outside a vibrant canvas. The car smelled faintly of leather and Lexa's cologne. Clarke felt a sense of calm and a thrill of anticipation. She glanced at Lexa, who was looking ahead, a quiet focus on her face.

"So," Clarke began, "are you going to give me any hints at all?"

Lexa's lips twitched. "No. It's a surprise."

"I know, I know," Clarke said with a small sigh, but she couldn't hide the smile in her voice. "But what if I don't like it?"

Lexa turned her head to look at Clarke, her expression serious. "Then we'll leave and find something you do like. There's nothing in this city that I can't change for you."

The sincerity in her voice was so profound that it took Clarke's breath away. She leaned back in her seat, a soft, content smile on her face. The drive continued in comfortable silence, the city unfolding before them as they moved toward an unknown destination.

The town car pulled to a stop in front of the Whitney Museum of American Art in Manhattan's Meatpacking District. The building, a striking mix of concrete and steel, rose against the evening sky. Its asymmetrical shape and large windows gave it a modern, almost industrial feel. Lexa got out and opened the door for Clarke, who stepped out onto the wide, open plaza.

The plaza itself was bustling. People were milling about, laughing, and taking photos. The air was filled with a low hum of conversation and the distant city sounds. In the distance, the lights of the High Line, a park built on a raised section of old railway tracks, twinkled like a string of jewels.

"The Whitney," Clarke said, a look of genuine surprise and delight on her face. "I've been wanting to come here forever, but I've never made the time."

"I know," Lexa replied, a small, knowing smile on her lips. She had done her research, thanks to Raven. "I thought we could start here. They have a new exhibit on contemporary sculpture I thought you'd appreciate."

They walked hand in hand toward the museum's entrance, their quiet conversation a stark contrast to the lively energy of the plaza. The massive, dark gray door swung open, and they stepped into the quiet, cool, and spacious lobby. The museum was a world away from the city noise, a sanctuary of art and contemplation.

They spent the next few hours lost in the art. Clarke moved from piece to piece with a quiet reverence, her eyes alight with discovery. She pointed out the intricate details of a massive metal sculpture, her voice filled with a genuine excitement. Lexa watched her, a soft, content smile on her face. She loved seeing Clarke this happy, this free.

"It's incredible," Clarke said as they stood in front of a large, abstract painting. "The colors, the texture... it's all so alive."

"It is," Lexa agreed, her gaze fixed on Clarke, not the painting.

Clarke turned to face her, her eyes twinkling. "You're doing it again," she teased.

"I can't help it," Lexa said, her voice a low murmur. "You're my favourite work of art."

Clarke's cheeks flushed, but she didn't look away. The two stood in the middle of the museum, surrounded by incredible art, but their entire world was centred on each other.

Clarke and Lexa continued to explore the museum. They moved through the spacious galleries, the quiet hush of the building a stark contrast to the city outside. Clarke's face was a study in concentration as she absorbed each piece of art, her eyes taking in every detail.

She pointed out the intricate brushstrokes on a landscape painting and marveled at the way a sculpture seemed to shift in the light. Lexa, for her part, mostly observed Clarke. She was content to stand back and watch as Clarke engaged with the art. The sight of Clarke's genuine enthusiasm was a sight to behold.

As they moved through the museum, they came upon an exhibit dedicated to a series of photographs from the 1960s. The photos were black and white, depicting ordinary moments in time, people waiting for a bus, a couple walking in the rain, children playing in a park. Clarke stopped in front of one, a photograph of a woman sitting alone at a diner counter. The woman's expression was one of quiet contemplation, her gaze fixed on something out of frame.

"She's a universe all her own," Clarke whispered, her voice filled with a quiet reverence. "You can feel the weight of her life in that one moment."

Lexa stood beside her, looking at the photograph. She saw the lines of the woman's face, the way her hands were folded on the counter. She saw what Clarke saw.

"I think you see the universe in everything," Lexa said quietly.

Clarke's head turned to look at her, her eyes soft and vulnerable. "Maybe I do. It's a lot to take in."

"I know," Lexa replied, her voice filled with understanding.

They spent another hour in the museum before the crowds began to thin and the museum announced its closing time. They walked out into the cool night, the air fresh and crisp. The city lights were a brilliant sea of color, and the High Line glowed in the distance. They walked for a while, their hands linked, a comfortable silence settling between them.
The walk ended at a small, dimly lit jazz club.

The music was a smooth, melodic hum, and the air was filled with the subtle scent of old wood and something sweet. Lexa led them to a small, secluded table in a corner, and they sat down, a quiet intimacy settling between them. They ordered drinks and listened to the music, the soft notes of the saxophone filling the space around them.

"I love this," Clarke said, her voice a low murmur. "I haven't been to a jazz club in years."

"I thought you would like it," Lexa replied.

They talked for a while, their conversation easy and fluid. They spoke of the art they had seen, the music they were hearing, and the quiet moments they had shared. The world outside the small club was a distant hum, a separate reality that had no bearing on the world they had created.

After a few hours of soaking in the soulful atmosphere of the jazz club, they decided it was time for dinner. The night air had grown cooler, but a comfortable buzz from the music and their conversation lingered. Lexa held the door open for Clarke, and they stepped out onto the sidewalk, the city lights seeming to hum in rhythm with the fading melody.

"I have a feeling you have another surprise planned," Clarke said, her voice filled with a mix of playful accusation and genuine excitement.

"I might," Lexa replied, a hint of a smirk on her face. "Though this one is a bit less formal. I figured a night like this called for something a little more... comfortable."

Lexa led her through a few winding side streets, the noise of the main avenues fading into a distant murmur. They passed by small, independent shops with glowing windows and restaurants spilling soft light onto the pavement. The city felt like a secret to be discovered, and Clarke loved the feeling of being led by someone who knew its quiet, hidden corners.

They arrived at a small, unassuming Italian restaurant. Its exterior was a simple brick facade with a red awning and a single, glowing light hanging above the door. Inside, the space was warm and inviting, with checkered tablecloths, candles flickering in glass holders, and the rich, comforting scent of garlic and tomato sauce. The place was bustling, filled with the happy noise of people enjoying good food and company.

"This is perfect," Clarke said, her eyes wide with delight. "It's exactly what I wanted."

Lexa smiled, a look of genuine relief on her face. "I'm glad. I hoped you would."

They were shown to a small table in the back, tucked away from the main thoroughfare. The waiter brought them a basket of warm bread and a bottle of sparkling water.

"So," Lexa began, leaning forward slightly, her voice low and intimate against the backdrop of the restaurant's cheerful noise, "tell me what you're really thinking."

Clarke's gaze softened, her hand reaching across the table to cover Lexa's. "I'm thinking that I've never been on a date like this before. It's... perfect. You've thought of everything."

"I wanted to," Lexa said, her thumb stroking the back of Clarke's hand. "You deserve a night that's all about you. No work, no distractions. Just us."

The conversation flowed easily from there. They talked about the art they had seen, the music, and the little details of their day-to-day lives that they rarely had time to share. Clarke spoke about her excitement for the baby's arrival, and Lexa listened with an intensity that made Clarke feel like she was the only person in the world.

As they ate their pasta, Lexa watched Clarke, a quiet, adoring look on her face. Clarke, for her part, was entirely at ease, laughing and gesturing with her fork as she recounted a ridiculous story about Raven. The night was a perfect mix of quiet intimacy and joyful connection, a new beginning for them both.

After their finale stop of their date, Lexa drove them to Clarke's apartment. She killed the engine, but Clarke didn't move right away. She was sitting sideways in her seat now, facing Lexa with that silly grin plastered across her face, the kind that made her cheeks ache but she couldn't fight it.

"You know," Clarke said, drawing out her words dramatically, "this was a pretty successful first date as official girlfriends."

Lexa's lips tugged upward as she unbuckled her seatbelt. "You mean our fiftieth date."

Clarke wagged a finger at her. "Technicality. Last night was the fourth time you actually asked me."

"Semantics," Lexa said, but there was no heat to it. Her hand brushed over Clarke's thigh briefly before she reached for her own door.

Clarke sighed. "You ruin all my fun."

Lexa looked at her, amused. "Do I?"

Clarke paused, then burst out laughing, pushing her door open. "Okay, fine, maybe you don't."

By the time they reached the elevator, Clarke was leaning heavily against Lexa's arm, not because she couldn't walk but because she liked the way Lexa adjusted without complaint, always tucking her in closer, always steady. Lexa balanced the leftover takeout bag in one hand, Clarke's keys in the other, like she was born for this rhythm.

Inside the elevator, Clarke rested her head against Lexa's shoulder, humming. "So now that we're official, does that mean I get girlfriend privileges?"

Lexa pressed the button for Clarke's floor. "Such as?"

Clarke grinned against her shoulder. "Stealing your hoodies permanently."

"You already do."

"Not officially," Clarke said, poking her side.

Lexa arched a brow. "And what about my privileges?"

Clarke looked up at her slyly. "Depends. What's on your list?"

Lexa didn't answer right away. Her eyes softened, her jaw flexed just faintly like she was holding something back. "Coming home to you. Every night."

Clarke's grin faltered, replaced by something deeper, warmer. She swallowed and tightened her arm around Lexa's. "Yeah. That's... that's definitely on the list."

The elevator dinged before Clarke could get too teary-eyed, and Lexa guided her out with a small hand at her back. Clarke was fumbling with her keys at the door until Lexa plucked them gently from her fingers, unlocked it with ease, and stepped aside like it was habit.

"You know, this is getting suspicious," Clarke teased as she kicked off her shoes once they were inside. "You open doors, carry food, keep my keys. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were trying to move in."

Lexa's mouth twitched. "Maybe I am."

Clarke turned, startled, but Lexa was already heading toward the kitchen with the food. She stared after her, heart doing that wild uneven thing it always did when Lexa casually dropped something enormous into conversation like it was nothing.

By the time Clarke followed, Lexa had already set everything out neatly on the counter. "Sit," she said, pointing to a stool. "I'll make plates."

Clarke rolled her eyes but obeyed, chin propped in her hand as she watched Lexa move around her kitchen like she belonged there. And maybe she did.

"You know," Clarke said slyly, "girlfriend privileges also include feeding me."

Lexa glanced up, deadpan. "You're perfectly capable of using a fork."

Clarke gasped, clutching her chest. "Wow. Harsh. And here I thought you were trying to woo me."

Lexa came around with a plate anyway, sliding it in front of her, then leaned down and pressed a kiss to her hair. "Consider yourself wooed."

Clarke melted a little, grinning at her plate as she picked up her fork. "God, I love you."

They ate together, Clarke rambling about Raven's latest ridiculous TikTok idea and Lexa listening with that half-smile that was entirely hers. Lexa teased her about eating too fast, Clarke accused Lexa of ordering too much food that they had to take the rest home, and by the time they were full, Clarke was leaning into her again, content and sleepy. When Lexa suggested heading upstairs to relax, Clarke agreed instantly.

The bedroom door clicked shut behind them, the soft thud sealing the night away from the rest of the world. Clarke barely had time to relax before Lexa was on her, back pressed against the door, lips crashing into hers with the force of hunger long restrained. The kiss was searing, mouths colliding in heat and want. Clarke opened instantly, parting for her, and Lexa took full advantage, tongue sliding into her mouth, tasting, claiming.

Clarke moaned into the kiss, her hands flying up to grip the back of Lexa's neck. Lexa pressed harder, one hand cupping Clarke's jaw while the other slid down her side, finding her thigh and hitching it up around her hip. The angle pressed Clarke against the door with delicious friction, her dress riding up, and Lexa growled low in her throat at the feel of her.

"You've been driving me crazy all night," Lexa whispered against her lips, nipping her bottom one before sucking it into her mouth. Clarke shivered violently, her chest heaving.

"Then do something about it," she challenged, breathless but defiant.

Lexa's answering smirk was dark, dangerous. "Oh, I plan to."

She grabbed Clarke's wrist, tugging her toward the bed with an authority that had Clarke's pulse pounding in her ears. Lexa spun her around before she could climb on, pressing her against the edge of the mattress and kissing her again. Her tongue tangled with Clarke's, slow at first, then faster, matching the rhythm of her own hips grinding forward into Clarke's ass. Clarke gasped when she felt Lexa's cock, already hard, straining against her pants.

"Feel that?" Lexa rasped into her ear, biting the lobe just enough to sting. "That's for you. All for you."

Clarke whimpered, her knees almost buckling, but Lexa caught her, spinning her so she landed on her back on the mattress. Lexa crawled up after her, predatory and sure, settling between her thighs. Clarke's chest rose and fell fast, her dress still clinging to her. Lexa's hands slid up her torso slowly, palms burning through the fabric until they found her breasts. She squeezed gently, thumbs brushing over her nipples through the lace of her bra.

Clarke arched up instantly, a cry breaking from her lips. Her nipples were so sensitive that the touch went straight to her core.

Lexa grinned wickedly. "Oh, you like that, don't you?" She circled her thumbs again, harder this time, watching Clarke's face twist with pleasure.

"Yes," Clarke gasped. "God, yes, don't stop—"

Lexa pinched them suddenly, a sharp tug, and Clarke let out a broken moan, back arching beautifully. Lexa leaned down and took her lips again, tongue thrusting past Clarke's lips, dominating the kiss while her hands tormented Clarke's breasts, palming, rolling and teasing until Clarke was panting into her mouth.

"Say it," Lexa growled against her lips. "Say who owns this body."

"You," Clarke whispered, barely coherent, hips writhing against nothing.

Lexa's hand slid lower, dragging the hem of Clarke's dress up over her thighs, baring her lace panties. She cupped Clarke's pussy through the fabric, feeling how drenched she already was. "Fuck, Clarke... you're soaked."

Clarke whimpered, biting her lip, eyes glazed. "Lexa... please—"

Lexa shoved the dress up and over Clarke's head, stripping her bare to bra and panties. She yanked the bra down, exposing Clarke's breasts, and immediately latched onto a nipple, sucking hard while she rolled the other between her fingers. Clarke cried out, fisting the sheets, her whole body arching under the relentless attention.

Lexa pulled back, lips glistening, eyes dark. "I could spend all night right here, sucking these pretty tits, watching you fall apart."

Clarke's response was a desperate whine, her thighs rubbing together.

Lexa chuckled, low and cruel. "But I think you need more."

She hooked her fingers into the sides of Clarke's panties and dragged them down slowly, kissing the inside of her thighs as she went. Clarke's pussy was already glistening, slick and swollen with need, and Lexa groaned at the sight.

"You're perfect," she whispered reverently, before licking a slow stripe up Clarke's folds.

Clarke's hands shot to Lexa's hair, yanking hard, a sharp cry tearing from her throat.

"Fuck!"

Lexa's tongue worked her expertly in broad strokes, teasing flicks and circling her clit just enough to drive her wild but not enough to push her over. Clarke squirmed on the bed, panting and begging, her legs trembling.

"Please, Lexa, more. don't tease me, please—"

Lexa smirked against her pussy. "You beg so pretty."

She plunged two fingers inside Clarke, curling them perfectly while her mouth latched onto her clit. Clarke screamed, hips bucking wildly, her walls clenching around Lexa's fingers. Lexa worked her ruthlessly, tongue and hand moving in sync, dragging her closer and closer until Clarke shattered with a loud, broken moan.

Her orgasm crashed through her, leaving her trembling and boneless, sprawled across the sheets. Lexa kissed her inner thigh before crawling up her body, kissing her mouth with the taste of herself still on her tongue. Clarke moaned into the filthy kiss, clutching Lexa's face with shaking hands.

Lexa pulled back just enough to whisper against her lips: "I'm not done with you."

Clarke's eyes fluttered open, pupils blown, but her lips curled into a wicked smile. "Good. Because now it's my turn."

She shoved Lexa onto her back, straddling her hips in one fluid motion. Lexa looked up at her in shock, then pure hunger. Clarke kissed her hard, tongue plunging deep, biting her lip before pulling back just to see Lexa's chest heave.

"You've been in charge all night," Clarke whispered, grinding down against Lexa's cock through her pants. "Now you're mine."

Lexa groaned, hands flying to Clarke's waist. "Clarke—fuck—"

Clarke unzipped her pants and freed her cock, hard and glistening. She wrapped her hand around it, stroking once, slowly, watching Lexa's face twist in pleasure. Then she guided it to her entrance, teasing the tip against her slick folds.

"Clarke," Lexa warned, voice rough, desperate.

Clarke smirked, leaning down to kiss her again, deep and filthy. "Beg for it."

Lexa groaned into her mouth, her control unraveling. "Please... ride me. Please."

That was enough. Clarke sank down onto her in one smooth motion, gasping as Lexa stretched her open, filling her completely. Her head fell back, a moan breaking free. "Oh... fuck."

Lexa's hands gripped her thighs, watching her take her in, eyes wide with awe. "God, Clarke... you feel so fucking good."

Clarke started to move, slow at first, rolling her hips, grinding down against Lexa's cock until they both cried out. She leaned forward, kissing her hard, tongues colliding, teeth clashing, before pulling back to ride her harder.

Every thrust, every grind sent sparks through her. Lexa's hands roamed everywhere, her breasts, her waist, her ass, unable to stop touching her. Clarke clawed down Lexa's chest, leaving red marks, her own moans growing louder with every movement.

"Fuck, Lexa... yes... just like that," Clarke panted, riding her harder, faster.

Lexa thrust up to meet her, pounding into her now, and Clarke screamed, nails digging into her shoulders.

They lost themselves in it, filthy kisses, gasps, curses, bodies slamming together until Clarke shattered again, her orgasm ripping through her with a cry of Lexa's name. Lexa followed almost instantly, spilling deep inside her with a groan that shook through her chest, clutching Clarke to her as they both came undone.

Clarke still trembled from the aftershocks, her forehead pressed to Lexa's chest, sweat cooling between their bodies. Their breathing was ragged, uneven, neither ready to let go just yet. Clarke could feel Lexa still hard inside her, twitching faintly, her cock pulsing deep in her soaked pussy. The realization sent a shiver of renewed arousal through her.

She lifted her head slowly, catching Lexa's dazed but hungry gaze. That look, dark green eyes blown wide with desire, jaw tight, lips kiss-bruised, made Clarke's stomach clench with want.

"You're not done, are you?" Clarke whispered, her voice hoarse but dripping with challenge. She gave a deliberate roll of her hips, slow and tight, and Lexa groaned, her head falling back against the pillows.

"Fuck, Clarke..." Lexa's voice was wrecked, but her hands gripped Clarke's ass hard, fingers digging into her skin. "You're going to kill me."

Clarke smirked, leaning down to kiss her deeply, tongues tangling, messy and hot. She pulled back just far enough to bite her bottom lip before letting it go with a wet snap. "Good. Then die inside me."

Lexa's laugh was more like a growl. In one swift motion, she flipped them, Clarke gasping as her back hit the mattress, Lexa looming over her now, still buried deep inside. Clarke's legs spread wide instinctively, heels digging into the sheets, the stretch of Lexa filling her again making her cry out.

"Fuck—yes—" Clarke moaned, nails raking down Lexa's back.

Lexa braced one hand beside Clarke's head and gripped her thigh with the other, pushing her leg high to open her even wider. She pulled out almost completely before slamming back in with one hard, deliberate thrust. Clarke's scream echoed in the bedroom, her entire body arching.

"God, you're so tight," Lexa panted against her ear, thrusting again, harder this time. "So wet—fuck, Clarke, I can feel you clenching around me."

Clarke could barely form words, her mouth falling open in broken sounds. "Yes—yes, don't stop, please harder."

Lexa gave her exactly that. Her hips snapped forward in a relentless rhythm, cock driving deep into Clarke with every thrust. The wet sounds of their bodies filled the room, joined by Clarke's desperate moans and Lexa's guttural groans.

"Look at you," Lexa growled, pulling back enough to watch her cock slide in and out of Clarke's dripping pussy. "So greedy. You're taking me so well."

Clarke's face burned, her pussy tightening around her at the filthy words. She grabbed Lexa's face, dragging her down into another hungry kiss, tongues clashing, her teeth scraping against Lexa's lip until she moaned into her mouth.

Lexa's hand left Clarke's thigh and moved up, finding her breast. She pinched Clarke's sensitive nipple hard, twisting it, and Clarke's body arched violently, a cry ripping out of her throat.

"Lexa! Oh, fuck—"

Lexa smirked against her neck, biting down just hard enough to leave a mark, before sucking the spot deep into her skin. "You love when I play with theme. Makes your pussy so tight."

Clarke whined, nodding desperately, words tumbling out incoherent. Lexa gave her no mercy, thrusting faster, pounding her into the mattress while her hand tormented Clarke's nipple. Clarke writhed beneath her, body caught between pain and pleasure, and it was exquisite.

Suddenly, Lexa slowed, pulling her cock out almost entirely before sliding it back in achingly slow, grinding her hips until Clarke was squirming.

"Don't you dare stop," Clarke gasped, her nails clawing at Lexa's shoulders.

Lexa grinned darkly, leaning down until their lips almost touched. "Then tell me who owns this pussy."

Clarke's eyes fluttered, her chest heaving. "You do," she whispered.

Lexa slammed into her hard, swallowing her scream with a punishing kiss.

"Say it louder," she commanded, her thrusts steady and deep.

"You do!" Clarke cried, voice breaking. "Fuck—Lexa—it's yours. All yours."

"Good girl," Lexa growled, her pace snapping back to ruthless, driving into her so hard Clarke thought she might split in two.

The orgasm built fast, fierce, unstoppable. Clarke's legs shook, her body bowing off the bed, nails raking deep red lines down Lexa's back. "I'm—fuck—I'm gonna—"

"Come for me," Lexa demanded, her thumb suddenly pressing against Clarke's clit, circling hard. "Now, Clarke. Let me feel you."

That was it. Clarke shattered with a scream, her walls clenching violently around Lexa, dragging her over the edge too. Lexa groaned loud and raw, burying herself deep as she came, spilling inside her in hot pulses. Their bodies convulsed together, sweat-slick and trembling, locked in the violent beauty of release.

When Clarke finally collapsed against the bed, her chest heaving, Lexa slumped on top of her, still buried deep, their breaths ragged in sync. Clarke tangled her fingers in Lexa's damp hair, pulling her into a slow, messy kiss, tasting the ruin of them both.

"Fuck," Clarke whispered when they finally broke apart, her voice wrecked. "That was... insane."

Lexa smirked tiredly, kissing her nose. "Round three?"

Clarke laughed breathlessly, though her pussy still twitched around Lexa's softening cock. She kissed her again, lips slow and tender this time. "Give me ten minutes... then I'll ride you until you beg."

Lexa chuckled low in her throat, pulling Clarke into her arms, kissing her temple. "Deal."

Chapter Text

Clarke let out a weak laugh against Lexa's chest. "Are you serious?"

Lexa kissed the corner of her mouth, voice a low in her ear. "I told you I wasn't done."

She slid out slow, making Clarke whimper at the loss, and rolled off the bed just long enough to tug Clarke by the hips, flipping her over onto her stomach. Clarke's face hit the pillow with a surprised gasp, her hair a wild halo around her, but before she could speak, Lexa's hands spread her thighs wide and pulled her up onto all fours.

"Oh, fuck," Clarke breathed, arching instinctively, her back curving into something sinful.

Lexa knelt behind her, eyes devouring the sight. Clarke's ass lifted, perfect and round, her pussy glistening, already begging for her. Lexa groaned low in her throat, dragging her hands over Clarke's hips, squeezing, spreading, admiring. "You look so fucking good like this," she rasped. "Like you're mine to take."

Clarke shivered, glancing over her shoulder with a smirk, cheeks flushed. "Then take me."

Lexa didn't need to be told twice. She leaned in, tongue flicking over Clarke's folds, licking up her arousal before plunging in deep. Clarke jolted forward, her elbows buckling, a broken moan tearing from her lips.

"Oh my god, Lexa!"

Lexa licked her like she was starving, tongue dragging slow up her slit before circling her clit, sucking it between her lips. Clarke's thighs trembled, her body rocking back into Lexa's face, desperate for more friction.

"Fuck—don't stop—" Clarke moaned, fisting the sheets in front of her.

Lexa pulled back with a wet sound, smirking as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "Don't worry, I won't." She lined her cock up, the thick head sliding through Clarke's soaked folds, teasing and pressing, but not entering yet.

Clarke whimpered, trying to push back. "Lexa, please—"

Lexa smacked her ass lightly, the sound sharp in the quiet room. "Patience," she murmured. Then, with one slow and deliberate thrust, she buried herself inside Clarke all at once.

Clarke screamed into the pillow, her whole body jolting forward, walls clenching tight around the thick stretch.

"God, yes—deeper—"

Lexa gripped Clarke's hips hard, pulling her back against every thrust. Her pace built quickly, sharp and punishing, the wet slap of skin against skin echoing through the bedroom.

"Listen to you," Lexa growled, leaning over Clarke's back, her cock driving into her with every word. "Moaning like you can't get enough of me."

Clarke's voice was broken, desperate. "I can't—I can't! oh fuck, don't stop, please—"

Lexa reached forward, tangling her hand in Clarke's messy blonde hair, pulling her head back just enough to kiss the side of her neck, biting down enough to make Clarke cry out. "That's right. Take it."

Clarke's body shook, tears pricking her eyes from the intensity, but her pussy clenched harder around Lexa, milking her cock. "Yes, god, yes—I'm yours—fuck, Lexa—"

Lexa smirked against her skin, her pace relentless now, driving into her over and over, her abs tightening with each deep thrust. "Say it louder."

Clarke's voice cracked with a scream. "I'm yours!"

"Again." Lexa slammed harder.

"I'm yours! Fuck—I'm only yours!"

Lexa let go of her hair, hands finding Clarke's waist, using it like leverage to slam into her with precision. Her cock hit Clarke's sweetest spot again and again until she was incoherent, drooling against the pillow, her body a trembling mess of pleasure.

"Lexa—I'm—god—I'm gonna—" Clarke's words dissolved into cries, her thighs shaking violently.

Lexa reached around her, fingers finding Clarke's clit, rubbing it hard and fast while she fucked her deep. "Come on, Clarke. Come for me. Make a mess all over my cock."

That was it. Clarke shattered, screaming Lexa's name, her body convulsing as her orgasm ripped through her. Her pussy clamped down so tight Lexa almost lost it instantly.

"Fuck—Clarke—" Lexa groaned, her thrusts stuttering as she spilled inside her again, her cock twitching, pumping hot release deep into Clarke's body. She collapsed forward onto Clarke's back, their sweaty skin sticking together, both of them gasping, wrecked and trembling.

Clarke dropped fully to the mattress, legs shaking, face buried in the pillow. "Jesus Christ..." she panted.

Lexa kissed the back of her shoulder, pulling out slowly before collapsing beside her, dragging her close. "You okay?"

The room was heavy with sex, the air thick, sheets damp, their skin slick. Clarke thought her body couldn't possibly take another wave. Her legs still trembled from the brutal pace Lexa had set, her throat raw from crying out, but when she shifted closer, she felt Lexa's cock hardening again against her thigh.

Clarke groaned and laughed breathlessly at once, burying her face in Lexa's chest. "You're impossible."

Lexa smirked, running her fingers through Clarke's messy hair before tugging her head back to meet her gaze. Her eyes were dark, feral. "And you love it."

Clarke's smirk melted into a shiver. "...Yeah. I fucking do."

Clarke thought she was spent. Her legs still trembled, her pussy still dripping from being fucked into the mattress, but Lexa wasn't finished. Not even close. She kissed Clarke deeply, almost tender at first, their tongues sliding slow, a shared hum between them. Clarke melted into it until Lexa pulled away suddenly, eyes burning.

"On your feet."

Clarke blinked. "What?"

"Up." Lexa's voice was firm, commanding. No room for argument.

Lexa didn't explain. She grabbed Clarke's wrist, tugging her off the bed with a force that sent Clarke stumbling on shaky legs. Something in Clarke's stomach flipped. She obeyed, wobbling slightly until Lexa steadied her with a hand at her hip. Clarke stood naked, flushed and panting, watching Lexa rise like a predator closing in on prey.

Lexa pressed forward, walking Clarke backward until her spine hit the cool wall. Clarke gasped at the sudden chill against her overheated skin, her nipples pebbling instantly and her arms instinctively wrapping around Lexa's shoulders.

Lexa's hand trailed down, pinching one hard enough to make Clarke's knees buckle.

"Lexa—fuck—" Clarke moaned, back arching.

"You're not done until I say you're done," Lexa growled against her mouth before crushing their lips together again.

Clarke moaned into the kiss, her nails clawing at Lexa's back. "Fuck, you're insane," she gasped when Lexa bit her bottom lip hard, then soothed it with her tongue.

"You love it," Lexa shot back, pressing her cock against Clarke's thigh.

Clarke shivered, the thick length hard and hot against her skin, already twitching with need. "Yeah," she whispered, breathless and wild. "I fucking love it."

"Shh," Lexa hushed her, leaning in to kiss her deeply. Their tongues slid together, wet and hungry, Lexa's teeth nipping Clarke's lip before she dragged her mouth down to her neck. She sucked hard, biting just enough to make Clarke gasp. "You're mine. I want you to remember that every time you look in the mirror."

She hooked one of Clarke's thighs up around her waist, pressing closer, her cock sliding through Clarke's soaked folds without entering. Clarke whimpered, rocking her hips against it, desperate for friction.

"Please," Clarke gasped, burying her face against Lexa's neck. "Please, Lexa, fuck me."

Lexa grabbed Clarke's jaw, forcing her head back until their eyes locked. Her voice was low, sharp, the kind that made Clarke's core clench. "Beg properly."

Clarke's lips trembled, her pride warring with her need. But Lexa's cock grinding against her slit made her break fast. "Please, Lexa. Please fuck me. I need you inside me. I need it hard. fuck, I need you."

Lexa smirked, lips ghosting hers. "Good girl. Now jump."

Clarke obeyed, wrapping her legs around Lexa's waist. Lexa caught her easily, hands gripping her ass, holding her pinned against the wall. Clarke whimpered at the raw strength in the gesture, her body caged, helpless in the best way.

Lexa lined up, the head of her cock sliding through Clarke's soaked folds again, smearing her wetness everywhere. Clarke's hips bucked helplessly, chasing the stretch she craved.

"Please, Lexa—"

Lexa kissed her hard, teeth clashing, before pushing inside with one brutal thrust. Clarke screamed into her mouth, nails digging so hard into Lexa's shoulders they'd leave marks.

"God—yes—fuck me—" Clarke begged, head falling back against the wall. Her cry echoed off the walls, her nails digging into Lexa's back as she was pinned between wall and body, impaled on every thick inch.

"God—yes—fuck!"

Lexa pulled back and slammed into her again, harder, the wall rattling with the force. Clarke's breasts bounced with every thrust, her nipples dragged against Lexa's chest, sending shocks of sensitivity shooting through her.

"You take me so fucking well," Lexa growled in her ear, pounding into her mercilessly.

"Yes! Yes!" Clarke cried, her voice breaking as her body quivered against the wall.

Lexa kissed her roughly, tongue shoving into her mouth, claiming every part of her. When she pulled back, a thin string of spit connected them, and Clarke whimpered at how filthy it felt.

Lexa's hand dropped between them, fingers finding Clarke's clit, circling it fast and cruel. Clarke bucked violently, her pussy clenching around Lexa's cock like a vice.

"Oh fuck—I'm gonna—I'm—"

Lexa growled, setting a savage rhythm, slamming her cock into Clarke deep and fast, the wall shaking with each thrust. Her hands moved and squeezed Clarke's ass, pulling her down against every snap of her hips, the sound of their bodies obscene in the quiet room.

"Look at you," Lexa panted, lips dragging down Clarke's throat, sucking hard enough to bruise. "So needy. So wet. Hold it for me, baby."

"Fuck" Clarke screamed, body shaking with each relentless thrust. "I can't —fuck, Lexa, I can't hold it for long."

Lexa's cock drove into her over and over, each stroke hitting her deepest spots until Clarke was sobbing from the overwhelming pleasure. Her nipples rubbed against Lexa's chest with every movement, sending sparks through her already raw body.

Lexa shifted slightly, angling her hips, and Clarke nearly lost her mind when the thick head of her cock slammed directly against her g-spot.

"Oh—fuck—right there—don't stop, please—right there—"

Lexa's teeth scraped against her jaw as she thrust harder, deeper, grinding into the spot until Clarke was convulsing around her cock. "I'm gonna make you come all over me, Clarke. You're not coming down until I feel you gush."

Clarke's head thrashed against the wall, cries spilling from her lips uncontrollably. She clawed at Lexa's back, desperate, overwhelmed. "I can't—fuck—I can't—"

"Yes, you can," Lexa snarled, biting her earlobe. Her pace grew feral, slamming into her with brutal precision, her cock stretching Clarke to the brink, each thrust driving her cock so deep Clarke saw stars. "Come all over me. Make a mess for me."

Clarke shattered, her pussy clamping so hard around Lexa's cock it nearly forced her over the edge instantly. She screamed Lexa's name, body trembling violently, wetness spilling down her thighs as her orgasm ripped through her.

Lexa groaned low and guttural, driving into her harder, faster, until she spilled inside Clarke again, pumping her full with hot release. Her forehead pressed to Clarke's, both of them shaking, gasping for air, their skin slick with sweat.

Clarke clung to her desperately, legs still wrapped tight around her waist, as if letting go would mean crumbling to the floor. They stayed pressed against the wall, bodies trembling, skin slick, breaths ragged. Clarke's head dropped onto Lexa's shoulder, her lips pressing lazy kisses to her damp skin.

"Fuck," Clarke breathed, her voice wrecked. "You're gonna break me."

Lexa smirked, kissing her swollen lips, still buried inside her. "Good. Then you'll know who you belong to."

Clarke laughed weakly, nipping at Lexa's jaw. "Don't worry, you've ruined me for anyone else."

Lexa smiled against her skin, finally easing her down. The world was still humming in Clarke's veins, her body trembling in the aftermath. Her skin was flushed, damp with sweat, marked by Lexa's teeth and hands, her pussy still aching and filled. She should have felt wrecked, which she did, but more than that she felt safe.

Lexa carried her back to bed like she was fragile, lowering her gently onto the sheets. Clarke immediately reached out, her fingers catching Lexa's wrist before she could pull away.

"Stay," Clarke whispered, her voice raw, hoarse from all her cries and moans. Her blue eyes were wide and glassy, still swimming with the haze of sex but softened now with something more vulnerable.

Lexa's lips curved into a small smile. "I wasn't going anywhere."

She climbed into bed beside her, and Clarke instantly curled into her side, pressing every inch of her body against Lexa's. She hooked a leg over her waist, buried her face in her neck, and clung like she couldn't get close enough.

Lexa tightened her arm around her, fingers stroking Clarke's damp back, her other hand threading through her tangled blonde hair. She pressed soft kisses to Clarke's hairline, to her temple, to the faint mark on her cheek where the wall had pressed too hard.

Clarke hummed, content, but her voice wavered with need when she whispered, "Don't let go of me."

Lexa's chest ached at the plea. She tilted Clarke's chin up, brushing her lips tenderly. "Never."

Clarke sighed, eyes fluttering closed, but her hands kept roaming and tracing lazy patterns across Lexa's stomach, clinging to her arm, curling back up into her hair like she was afraid Lexa would vanish. Much like Lexa, Clarke too was always like this after sex, even if she was better at hiding it: clingy, needy, soft in ways she rarely allowed herself to be otherwise.

Lexa adored it.

She pulled the blanket higher over them and shifted so Clarke was half on top of her, resting perfectly against her body. "You're shaking," Lexa murmured.

Clarke gave a weak laugh, kissing the spot just beneath Lexa's collarbone. "You wore me out. Can't feel my legs."

Lexa chuckled, pressing her lips to Clarke's forehead. "That was the idea."

Clarke pouted faintly, lifting her head to meet her gaze. "You're not allowed to tease me now. I need my cuddle quota."

Lexa smirked but tightened her hold, rubbing her thumb soothingly across Clarke's hip. "Then cuddle you get."

"This is my favourite part," she murmured.

Lexa kissed her temple. "What part is that?"

"The part where we're just us." Clarke tilted her head back enough to meet her eyes. "No employees, no Raven making fun of us, no one daring me to kiss anyone else. Just me and you."

Lexa's face softened completely, and she ducked her head to press a slow kiss to Clarke's lips. It was lingering and warm, more about reassurance than heat, but when Clarke made a small, content sound against her, Lexa deepened it just briefly before pulling back.

Clarke smiled, half-asleep already. "Yeah. That part."

Lexa brushed her thumb along Clarke's cheek. "Good. Because that's the only part I care about."

Clarke blinked slowly, snuggling back into her. "You're so sappy," she teased again, but her voice was fading with exhaustion, her body sinking into Lexa's warmth.

Lexa only held her tighter, one arm cradling her protectively as if it were the easiest thing in the world. And maybe it was. For a while, they just lay there, Clarke's fingers drawing soft circles on Lexa's chest, Lexa's hand smoothing up and down Clarke's back in a steady rhythm. Their breathing synced, their heartbeats falling into the same cadence.

Finally, Clarke whispered, almost shyly, "You make me feel so loved when you take care of me like this."

Lexa swallowed, her hand pausing on Clarke's back before pulling her even closer. She kissed her hair, her temple, her lips in quick succession. "That's because you are, Clarke. Every second. During, after... always."

Clarke's throat tightened, her eyes prickling. She kissed Lexa softly, slow and lingering, tasting all the sweetness after all the fire. Then she tucked herself back into her chest, murmuring, "Good. Because I'm never letting you go."

Lexa smiled against her hair, holding her tighter, their bodies entwined in a knot of warmth and devotion. "Then we're even."

Clarke had been on the edge of sleep, tucked safely against Lexa's chest, when Lexa's thumb brushed lazily across her arm. It was such a small, thoughtless thing, but it grounded her, tugging her back from the haze.

"Hey," Clarke mumbled, eyes still closed.

"Hmm?"

Clarke's lips curved. "Don't stop. Feels nice."

Lexa hummed quietly, obediently letting her hand continue its slow path. "You're spoiled."

"Mm. Privileges." Clarke cracked one eye open, just enough to catch the faint arch of Lexa's brow. "Remember?"

Lexa chuckled low in her chest. "Right. Privileges." She bent to press a kiss to Clarke's hairline. "I'll allow it."

"You're in a good mood," Clarke teased, rolling slightly so she could look up at her properly.

Lexa's expression softened, no defenses, no hesitation. "I'm allowed to be. You're mine now."

The words landed somewhere deep, making Clarke's stomach swoop. She tried to hide it with humor. "God, you say it like you've been waiting years."

Lexa tilted her head, eyes steady. "Haven't I? Sure felt like it to me."

For a second, Clarke couldn't even think of a comeback. She swallowed instead, cheeks warm. "Well... I guess you'll have to get used to me being around all the time."

"Guess so." Lexa's tone was maddeningly even, but her hand tightened ever so slightly on Clarke's hip.

Clarke smirked, emboldened. "Even when I hog the blankets?"

Lexa didn't miss a beat. "Especially then."

Clarke let out a small laugh and burrowed closer again, pressing her face into the hollow of Lexa's neck. "You're ridiculous."

"You love me."

"Mmhmm." Clarke's lips brushed faintly over her skin. "More than ridiculous."

For a while they just lay like that, exchanging soft kisses, quiet little comments that were half jokes, half confessions. Clarke asked Lexa if she ever thought they'd get here, really get her, and Lexa admitted she hadn't dared to hope this much. Clarke teased her about her over-serious answers, Lexa teased back about Clarke being unbearably sappy when she was tired.

At one point, Clarke lifted her head, chin resting on her hand as she studied her. "You know," she said mischievously, "Raven's going to roast you alive tomorrow."

Lexa blinked. "Why?"

"Because you're so obviously in love with me. You'll never survive her commentary." Clarke grinned.

Lexa gave her the most unimpressed look she could muster, though the corner of her mouth betrayed her. "I've survived boardrooms full of sharks, Clarke. I think I can survive Raven Reyes."

Clarke giggled, shoving at her shoulder. "You say that now, but she practically ate you up last night."

Lexa caught her hand before she could pull it away, bringing it to her lips for a kiss. "I don't care."

Clarke's heart squeezed, and she let her hand linger against Lexa's jaw, thumb brushing lightly over her cheek. "God, you're dangerous when you're sweet like this."

"Dangerous?" Lexa murmured, tilting closer.

Clarke nodded solemnly. "Mm-hmm. Irresistible, actually."

Lexa kissed her then, slow and lingering, a promise more than anything else. When she pulled back, Clarke was smiling against her lips, tired and happy and utterly undone.

She collapsed back against her chest, voice already drowsy again. "Don't let me fall asleep too fast. I wanna remember tonight."

Lexa tucked the blanket up around her, holding her as if the world outside didn't matter. "Don't worry. I'll remember it enough for both of us."

And Clarke did fall asleep then, but not before whispering one last, slurred, "Love you."

Lexa stayed awake longer, her hand stroking Clarke's back in slow circles, eyes tracing the ceiling but mind full of nothing except the weight in her arms, the steady rhythm of Clarke's breathing, and the quiet thrill of finally, finally being able to call her hers.

Morning crept in slowly, soft gold light bleeding through the edges of the curtains. The house was still, quiet except for the occasional hum of the refrigerator downstairs and the steady rise and fall of two bodies tangled together in the sheets.

Clarke was the first to stir. Not fully awake, not ready to face the day, just shifting slightly and blinking against the light before letting out a soft sigh. Her head was still on Lexa's chest, her fingers splayed over the smooth skin of her stomach. She could feel Lexa's steady heartbeat beneath her ear, and it lulled her like a lullaby.

She thought maybe she could fall back asleep like this, but when she tried to move even just an inch, Lexa's arm clamped around her waist.

"Don't you dare," Lexa muttered, her voice gravelly with sleep.

Clarke's lips curved against her skin. "You're awake."

"Half," Lexa admitted, eyes still shut, pulling Clarke closer until she was practically draped across her torso. "But awake enough to know you were trying to escape."

Clarke laughed softly, her hair tickling Lexa's chest. "I wasn't escaping. I was adjusting."

"Mhm," Lexa hummed, not convinced, her lips brushing Clarke's hairline. "You're mine this morning. No adjusting, no moving. Just here."

Clarke melted, her heart twisting at the possessive tenderness in her tone. She pressed a kiss to Lexa's sternum, then another, then another like little stamps claiming her right back. "Fine," she murmured between kisses, "but only because I like the way your skin feels in the morning."

Lexa cracked an eye open at that, amused. "Do you now?"

Clarke propped her chin on Lexa's chest, her messy blonde hair falling across her face, her blue eyes still heavy with sleep but bright. "Mhm. Warm. Solid. And even smells like me." She buried her face back against her, inhaling dramatically. "Definitely mine."

Lexa chuckled, the sound rumbling through Clarke's body where she lay pressed against her. "You're ridiculous."

"I love you too much not to be," Clarke shot back, her lips ghosting along the curve of Lexa's jaw.

Lexa tilted her head, catching her mouth in a slow, unhurried kiss. Their lips moved lazily together, tongues brushing just enough to tease but not ignite. Morning kisses were soft, a little clumsy, filled with warmth instead of fire. Clarke sighed into it, her fingers threading into Lexa's bed-tousled hair, tugging her closer when Lexa tried to pull back.

"More," Clarke whispered, greedy and needy.

Lexa gave her exactly that. She rolled them until Clarke was on her back, Lexa hovering above, her hair falling forward to brush against Clarke's cheeks. She kissed her again, deeper this time, sucking gently on Clarke's bottom lip until Clarke gasped and arched up into her.

When they finally broke apart, both breathing a little heavier, Clarke pouted up at her. "You're clingier than me this morning."

Lexa smirked. "Impossible."

Clarke's eyes softened as her fingers traced the sharp line of Lexa's jaw. "I love when you're like this. When you can't get enough of me."

Lexa kissed the tip of her nose, then her forehead, then the corner of her lips. "Clarke, I'll never get enough of you. Not in the mornings. Not at night. Not ever."

Clarke's throat tightened, her eyes misting, and she clung tighter, arms wrapping around Lexa's neck, legs curling around her waist. She didn't even care that they were still naked under the sheets, skin damp and marked from last night; if anything, it only reminded her how much of each other they'd claimed.

"Stay like this all day," Clarke whispered.

"Gladly," Lexa chuckled and lowered her forehead to hers, their noses brushing. "But I have a meeting in three hours."

"Cancel it."

"Clarke..."

"Cancel it, Woodson. You're my pillow now." Clarke said, glaring up at her dramatically. "And don't even think about slipping away for a shower."

Lexa smirked, leaning down to press a kiss to Clarke's messy hair. "You're bossier in the morning than I remember."

"That's because I'm in my second trimester and this is the first time in weeks I've actually slept through the night without your hand rubbing my back like some kind of magic human melatonin." Clarke's voice was muffled against her chest.

Lexa shook her head but her smile gave her away. "Magic human melatonin, huh?"

"Exactly. Don't you dare argue with a pregnant woman." Clarke's fingers trailed lazily down her ribs, making Lexa's breath catch for just a second before she stilled again, utterly smug. "See? I win."

Lexa pretended to sigh, though her arm tightened around Clarke protectively. "Fine. You win."

Clarke shifted just enough to grin up at her. "God, you're whipped."

Lexa's lips twitched. "Don't push your luck."

"I already did," Clarke teased, nuzzling back into her. "And you like it."

They lay there, wrapped in each other, alternating between lazy kisses and whispered promises, letting the world outside wait. Clarke traced invisible shapes on Lexa's back, little hearts and spirals, while Lexa rubbed soothing circles into Clarke's hipbone. Every so often one of them would murmur I love you, unprompted, and the other would answer with a kiss.

And though the morning light kept growing stronger, spilling across the floor and sheets, neither of them moved. Not for coffee, not for breakfast, not for anything. Because in that bed, in each other's arms, they already had everything they needed.

Eventually, the morning light grew too bright to ignore, cutting through the curtains in sharp lines. Clarke squinted against it, groaning, and buried her face deeper into Lexa's chest.

"We should probably get up," she mumbled, though she made no effort to move.

Lexa tightened her arm around Clarke's waist, her lips pressing against her hair. "Not happening."

Clarke tilted her head just enough to look at her, smirking. "So you'd rather stay in bed and stink together?"

Lexa grinned, finally opening her eyes fully. "If it's with you? Absolutely."

Clarke rolled her eyes, pushing at her shoulder. "Come on, Commander Clingy. Shower with me."

That got Lexa's attention. She let Clarke wriggle out of her arms, but only so she could follow. Clarke slipped off the bed, the sheet trailing down her body until it pooled at her feet, leaving her gloriously bare in the morning light. Lexa's gaze darkened, hungry even after everything last night had wrung out of them.

Clarke caught the look, biting her lip as she padded toward the bathroom. "Don't just stare," she teased over her shoulder. "Join me."

Lexa was off the bed in seconds.

The bathroom quickly filled with the hiss of water against tile, steam beginning to curl around them as Clarke stepped under the spray. The heat rolled over her skin, washing away the remnants of the night before, but it wasn't the water that made her sigh, it was Lexa's arms sliding around her waist from behind.

"You're so annoying," Clarke murmured, leaning back against her, eyes closed.

Lexa kissed along the damp curve of her shoulder, her voice low against her ear. "You love it."

They lingered there, letting the water cascade over them, hands roaming but not rushing. Lexa's palms smoothed up Clarke's stomach, deliberately brushing just beneath her breasts before settling at her hips. Clarke's fingers tangled with Lexa's where they rested, grounding herself in the sensation of being held.

At some point, Clarke turned in her arms, tilting her face up for a kiss. The steam made everything hazy, their lips slick and warm, tongues sliding together with lazy precision. Clarke nipped at Lexa's lip, making her growl softly, and then pressed closer until water was streaming down both their backs in rivulets.

By the time they finally pulled apart, breathless and flushed, Clarke laughed. "We're supposed to be getting clean."

Lexa smirked, brushing wet hair from Clarke's cheek. "We are. Just... in my own way."

They washed each other slowly, methodical yet intimate, Lexa's large hands gliding over Clarke's arms and shoulders, Clarke trailing suds across the hard planes of Lexa's stomach, each touch purposeful. It wasn't about necessity. It was about closeness.

When they finally stepped out, dripping and flushed, Clarke grabbed a towel and dabbed it across Lexa's chest before working down to her stomach. Lexa caught her wrist before she could go lower, smirking. "If you keep that up, we'll never make it to brushing our teeth."

Clarke raised a brow, smug. "Maybe that's the point."

Still, they eventually wrangled themselves into towels and leaned over the sink, shoulders brushing as they brushed their teeth. Clarke spat and rinsed, catching Lexa's reflection in the mirror. Toothbrush hanging from her mouth, hair damp and curling, Lexa still looked unfairly gorgeous.

Clarke nudged her with her hip. "You even make this look hot. It's annoying."

Lexa spit, rinsed, then turned her head just enough to catch Clarke's eyes in the glass. "And you make it impossible not to kiss you."

Clarke grinned around a mouthful of mint, leaned sideways, and kissed her toothpaste-flavored. They both laughed into it, messy and unromantic, but somehow perfect anyway.

The steam still clung to their skin as they padded back into the bedroom, towels wrapped around their bodies. Clarke tugged hers tighter at the chest, rummaging through a dresser drawer until she found a pair of panties and a soft, oversized shirt.

She had just hooked the waistband of her panties around her hips when Lexa was suddenly there behind her, fingers splaying against the bare skin of her stomach. Clarke startled, only for her breath to hitch immediately after as Lexa's mouth brushed the damp curve of her shoulder.

"Lexa..." she warned softly, though it came out more like a plea.

"I can't help it," Lexa murmured against her skin, her voice low and heavy. "You're standing here looking like sin in lace, smelling like soap and steam. You expect me to just... put on jeans?"

Clarke smirked at her own reflection in the mirror across the room, biting her lip. "That's exactly what I expect."

Lexa ignored her. Her hand slid lower, fingers teasing the elastic band of Clarke's panties, just enough to make her squirm. Clarke let out a soft gasp, one hand braced on the dresser, her other covering Lexa's wrist as if to hold her there.

"You're insatiable," Clarke whispered, her head tipping back against Lexa's shoulder.

"You make me this way," Lexa growled, teeth catching Clarke's earlobe before her tongue soothed the sting.

Clarke's knees went weak at the sensation, her thighs instinctively pressing together. Her towel slipped off, leaving her panties and nothing else. Lexa's eyes dropped, hunger sparking as she trailed her hand upward, cupping one breast and teasing her nipple until Clarke arched into her touch with a whimper.

"Lexa..." Clarke's voice was barely audible, trembling between resistance and surrender.

"Say you don't want this," Lexa whispered hotly against her neck, her hand rolling Clarke's nipple between her fingers.

Clarke groaned, shaking her head. "I can't."

"Then don't stop me."

Lexa turned her quickly, pinning Clarke back against the dresser, the wood cool against her heated skin. Their mouths collided into a hungry and messy kiss. Clarke bit Lexa's lip, earning a guttural sound from deep in her chest.

Clarke's hands scrambled for Lexa's towel, tugging it loose until it dropped to the floor, leaving Lexa gloriously bare. She ran her palms over Lexa's stomach, down lower, fingers wrapping around her cock with practiced ease. Lexa's breath hitched against her mouth, hips jerking involuntarily into Clarke's grip.

"Fuck, Clarke..." she hissed, her forehead pressing against Clarke's as their mouths stayed a breath apart.

Clarke stroked her slowly, deliberately, her blue eyes glittering with mischief. "You really can't keep your hands off me, can you?"

Lexa's jaw tightened, her hand slipping between Clarke's thighs, finding her already slick and throbbing. Her lips curled into a smirk. "No. And neither can you."

Clarke whimpered, her body betraying her as she rocked into Lexa's touch, her own hand faltering for a moment on Lexa's length. Their breathing tangled, sharp and unsteady, the line between getting dressed and losing themselves again obliterated in seconds.

"Lexa..." Clarke gasped, her nails digging into Lexa's shoulders. "Bed."

Lexa shook her head, her voice dark and commanding. "No. Right here."

Her hand pushed Clarke's panties down in one motion, and Clarke let out a desperate sound as Lexa lifted her effortlessly onto the dresser. The edge dug into Clarke's thighs, but all she could feel was the way Lexa pressed against her hard and throbbing, unrelenting.

Clarke pulled her mouth to hers again, kissing her with everything she had, messy and deep, her words breaking between gasps. "God, I love when you take control."

Lexa groaned into her mouth, lining herself up with Clarke's slick entrance, her breath ragged. "Then hold on tight."

Lexa's cock nudged against her, slick with Clarke's arousal, her hand steadying Clarke's hips on the edge of the dresser. Clarke's breath hitched, her body practically trembling with need. Her nails dug into Lexa's shoulders, lips bruised from their kiss.

"Say it," Lexa growled, her voice low and commanding. "Say you want me to fuck you right here."

Clarke's chest heaved, her eyes glassy and her body begging for it, yet instead of surrendering, she let out a breathless laugh. "You know what I really want?"

Lexa froze, her brow furrowing as Clarke leaned in and pressed a feather-light kiss to her lips, then her jaw, then down to her throat. For a second, Lexa thought she was about to cave, about to whisper it into her skin. But Clarke slid her hands to Lexa's chest, gave her a gentle push back and hopped off the dresser with surprising ease.

Her panties were still tangled around one ankle as she bent to step out of them, but instead of crawling back onto Lexa's cock, she padded toward the dresser drawer, tugging one of Lexa's shirts over her head.

Lexa stared at her, dumbstruck, still hard and dripping, the towel long forgotten on the floor. "Clarke." Her voice was dangerous, warning and thick with unspent need.

Clarke turned, shirt swallowing her body, and smirked. "I'm starving."

Lexa blinked, incredulous. "You can't be serious."

Clarke raised her brows innocently, padding toward the door with her hair damp and tangled, her cheeks flushed, and her thighs still trembling. "Dead serious. Baby says food first."

Lexa dragged a hand down her face, groaning as her cock twitched angrily between them. "You're killing me."

Clarke blew her a kiss as she walked out, calling over her shoulder, "You'll survive, Commander. Maybe."

Left standing there, naked, dripping, and throbbing, Lexa let out a sharp laugh, shaking her head in disbelief. She'd gone to war with less frustration than this, but she had no doubt Clarke knew exactly what she was doing.

And Lexa also knew one thing with bone-deep certainty: Clarke was going to pay for this later. She stood frozen in the bedroom, chest still heaving, cock hard and aching, Clarke's laugh echoing in her ears as she disappeared down the hall. For a long second, Lexa tried to breathe through it, willing her body to calm. It didn't.

Her hand dropped to her length almost without thought, wrapping around the base with a firm squeeze. She groaned low in her throat, resting her other palm against the dresser for balance. Her strokes were rougher than usual, urgent and almost angry, chasing a release Clarke had left her starving for.

"Fuck... Clarke..." she hissed, her eyes squeezing shut as the image of her lover flashed behind her lids, her swollen lips, the teasing smirk, the way her body had been wet and ready and then walked away.

It didn't take long. With a sharp gasp and a strangled curse, Lexa came hard into her own hand, spilling across the polished wood of the dresser. She bent forward, catching her breath, the aftershocks shuddering through her thighs. But the orgasm didn't soothe her, it only sharpened the frustration. It wasn't Clarke. It wasn't enough.

Lexa cleaned up quickly, dragged on a pair of sweatpants, and stalked toward the kitchen, still simmering.

Clarke was perched on a stool at the counter, drowning in Lexa's shirt, her legs bare and swinging lazily as she worked her way through a plate of scrambled eggs she'd whipped together. She looked up at Lexa with that same knowing smirk, a fork halfway to her lips.

"Feel better?" she asked sweetly, voice dripping with mischief.

Lexa narrowed her eyes at her, pulling open the fridge a little harder than necessary. "You think you're funny."

"I think I'm satisfied," Clarke said with a shrug, shoveling another bite into her mouth. "Can't say the same for you."

Lexa slammed a pan onto the stove, yanking out eggs, bacon, and bread with clipped motions. Clarke giggled, watching her pace the kitchen like a storm contained in four walls.

"You're mad," Clarke sing-songed, licking a bit of egg from her fork.

Lexa didn't look at her, cracking eggs into the pan with practiced precision. "I'm not mad. I'm..." She exhaled slowly, jaw flexing. "...patient."

Clarke tilted her head, biting her lip to hide her grin. "Patient, huh? Is that what we're calling jerking off in the bedroom now?"

Lexa turned then, slow, deliberate, her green eyes sharp with dark promise. Clarke's laughter faltered for just a moment as that look cut through her, hot enough to make her thighs press together under the counter.

Lexa smirked, satisfied at Clarke's shift in posture, before turning back to flip the eggs. "Eat while you can, Clarke."

Clarke swallowed hard, her fork pausing midair. Then, unable to help herself, she grinned wide. "Guess I'll need the extra calories."

Lexa's laugh was low, dangerous, and entirely unamused.

The kitchen filled slowly with the sounds of morning: the hiss of bacon against the hot pan, the faint pop as fat met metal, the rhythmic scrape of a spatula. The air smelled rich with salt and grease, mixing with the faint steam still clinging to Clarke's damp hair.

She sat at the counter with her plate, one knee bent on the stool, Lexa's oversized shirt sliding off her shoulder as she forked another bite of eggs into her mouth. Her eyes didn't leave Lexa, who moved about the stove with controlled efficiency.

"Mm," Clarke moaned around a mouthful, just loud enough to be obnoxious. "God, this is good."

Lexa's jaw flexed, her green eyes flicking toward her briefly before returning to the pan. "You're mocking me."

Clarke licked her fork clean, smirking. "I'm appreciating breakfast. Don't be so sensitive."

Lexa didn't answer. She set a second plate down a little harder than necessary, slid the bacon onto it, then grabbed bread and popped it into the toaster with sharp, precise movements.

Clarke propped her chin in her hand, studying her lover like a cat watching prey. Lexa's sweatpants hung low on her hips, her damp hair curling at the ends, her shoulders still faintly flushed from earlier. Clarke bit her lip, fighting a grin.

"You're sulking," she sing-songed.

Lexa shot her a look over her shoulder that could have stripped paint from the walls. Clarke giggled and took another bite.

"You think this is a game," Lexa said evenly, her voice low, dangerous.

Clarke swallowed and leaned forward on her elbows, the smirk widening. "Of course it's a game. And I'm winning."

The toaster popped, loud in the quiet room. Lexa retrieved the bread, buttered it with sharp strokes, and set everything down in front of Clarke. The plate clinked hard against the counter, making Clarke jump slightly before she laughed.

"Careful, Commander, you'll crack the plate."

Lexa leaned down close, so close Clarke could feel her breath ghost across her cheek. "Keep running your mouth," she murmured, her voice dark velvet, "and I'll make sure it's too swollen to use later."

Clarke's fork clattered against her plate, her face flushing deep red. Her thighs pressed tighter together, heat flooding her belly, but she forced a laugh. "Promises, promises."

Lexa smirked and sat down across from her, deliberately calm as she dug into her own food. Clarke ate more slowly now, her appetite torn between hunger and desire, her eyes darting constantly to the way Lexa's tongue darted out to lick bacon grease from her bottom lip.

Clarke rolled her eyes but felt her chest warm anyway. She tries pulling her knees up awkwardly before realizing the bump made that position impossible. She groaned and flopped forward onto the counter dramatically. "Pregnancy ruins everything."

Lexa reached over without looking, smoothing her hand across Clarke's hair in absent affection. "It doesn't ruin everything. Just your ability to sit like a gremlin."

Clarke's laugh was muffled against her folded arms. "I miss being a gremlin."

"You're still one," Lexa said dryly, flipping a pancake with military precision. "Just a tired, beautiful and breakfast-demanding gremlin."

"Mm." Clarke peeked up at her through messy hair. "You think I'm beautiful right now?"

Lexa's expression softened instantly, though she kept her eyes on the pan. "Especially right now."

Heat rushed to Clarke's cheeks, and she tried to cover it with sarcasm. "God, you're disgustingly good at this."

"Breakfast?"

"Flirting. Making me feel like I didn't just drool on you in my sleep for eight hours."

Lexa chuckled, stacking the rest of crispy bacon onto a plate. "You did, by the way."

Clarke gasped. "Rude."

"I thought it was cute," Lexa countered easily, sliding the plate toward her. "Eat before the baby protests."

Clarke narrowed her eyes at her, but her fork was already in her hand. The bite melted on her tongue, and she groaned so dramatically that Lexa actually laughed out loud, the kind of laugh that cracked her careful composure wide open.

"Do you forgive me? For leaving you hanging." Clarke mumbled around her mouthful.

Lexa shook her head but didn't argue. She poured herself coffee, watching Clarke eat with a softness she couldn't quite mask.

Halfway through her second helping, Clarke leaned back with a satisfied sigh, patting her stomach. "God, I love being pregnant. I can eat like a horse and you can't say anything."

Lexa arched a brow, chewing. "Who said I ever would?"

"You'd just give me a look," Clarke countered, pointing her fork at her. "That judgy, silent 'Commander' look."

Lexa smirked faintly, sipping her coffee. "You read too much into my silences."

Clarke snorted. "You weaponize them."

Their banter carried on like that for a while, Clarke teasing and Lexa holding the line, calm but edged, a storm brewing beneath her restraint. Every once in a while Clarke would shift in her stool, her bare legs brushing together under the hem of Lexa's shirt, drawing Lexa's gaze before she forced it back to her food.

Just when Clarke leaned across the counter, about to push one more button too many, the front door swung open without warning, and her voice carried down the hall before she even appeared. "Don't mind me, just your friendly neighborhood third wheel—"

Clarke nearly choked on her orange juice, sitting bolt upright as Lexa stiffened in her chair.

"Yo, you two up?" Raven's voice rang through the house before her footsteps carried her into the kitchen.

Raven appeared in the doorway, dark hair wild, grease smudged across her cheek, her phone clutched tight in her hand. She took one look at the scene, the plates of food, Clarke swimming in Lexa's shirt, Lexa glaring like she'd just been interrupted mid-battle, and smirked.

"Oh my god. You two are so gross. Do you wake up like this every morning?" Raven said, leaning against the doorframe. "Looks like someone got very thoroughly laid last night."

Clarke sputtered, turning pink as she tugged the hem of the shirt lower over her bare thighs. "Raven!"

"What?" Raven shrugged, completely unfazed. "You're glowing, she looks like she hasn't slept, and you're both eating enough bacon to kill a small army. I can put two and two together."

Lexa pinched the bridge of her nose, exhaling slowly through her teeth. "Raven, why are you here?"

Raven waved her phone like a weapon. "Because drama. Monty and Miller blew up my group chat with some bullshit about Ontari and Nylah getting into it last night, and guess who got stuck in the middle? Yours truly." She plopped into a chair, snatching a piece of bacon off Lexa's plate. "So now I need to debrief over coffee."

Clarke sighed, half embarrassed, half relieved at the interruption. "You seriously just barged into our house for gossip?"

Raven grinned. "And breakfast. Obviously."

Clarke waved her fork in her direction. "We wake up like normal people by the way. Lexa just likes playing domestic goddess."

Lexa rubbed her temple, muttering under her breath, but got up anyway to pour Raven a mug. Clarke caught her eye across the counter, the faintest smirk tugging at her lips again. Even with Raven sitting right there, she couldn't help it, the tension between them was still humming, sharp and alive.

And Lexa's look back promised one very clear truth: Raven's interruption had only bought Clarke time. Nothing more.

"Stop eye fucking in front of me, please and thank you!"

Lexa arched a brow at Raven, deadpan. "Do you want breakfast or not?"

Raven smirked. "See, that's the kind of threat I can get behind. Yes, Woodson, feed me."

Clarke hid a grin behind her fork as Raven slid onto the stool next to her, immediately stealing a piece of bacon from Clarke's plate. Lexa sighed like she'd expected it, grabbing another plate for Raven anyway.

"You're lucky Clarke thinks you're funny," Lexa muttered.

Raven snorted. "No, I'm lucky Clarke's in love with you. Otherwise she'd realize she could do way better than this grumpy, broody billionaire chef thing you've got going on."

Clarke choked on her bite, laughing, while Lexa just gave Raven the kind of long-suffering look that made Clarke laugh harder.

It was nothing extraordinary, breakfast and teasing, the sound of Raven's laughter bouncing off the walls, but Clarke felt the weight of it in her chest, how precious and fragile it was. This was what safety felt like. This was home.

And sitting there, fork in hand, with Lexa's hip pressed against her shoulder and Raven heckling them mercilessly, Clarke realized she didn't want this to ever end.

Raven had eaten two pieces of bacon and was halfway through her third when Clarke finally swatted her hand away.

"Go bother your own kitchen," Clarke said, laughing as Raven licked syrup off her fork without remorse.

"Can't," Raven shot back. "My kitchen doesn't come with free entertainment in the form of two sapphic lovebirds trying to pretend they're not disgustingly obsessed with each other."

Clarke groaned, dropping her head against Lexa's arm. "She's never going to stop."

Lexa, remarkably, didn't even flinch. "I've accepted that she lives here now," she said flatly, sliding her own half-finished plate across to Clarke. "Eat."

Raven grinned around her fork. "See? She knows who's boss."

"Mm-hm." Clarke nudged Lexa's side with her elbow, soft and affectionate. "Don't let her fool you, she's still the bossiest."

Clarke barely made it through cleaning her plate before the weight of food and fatigue dragged at her.

Raven cackled, clearly pleased with herself, but Clarke only shook her head and pushed back from the counter. "Okay, I need to lay down again before the carb coma takes me out."

"Don't let her fool you," Raven muttered, sipping her coffee. "She loves having the excuse to nap. Pregnancy perks."

Lexa gave her a quiet look but didn't rise to the bait, brushing a strand of blonde hair from Clarke's temple. Clarke's lips parted on a sigh, already getting annoyed.

Lexa was already standing, offering her hand. "Upstairs?"

Clarke nodded gratefully, fingers slotting into hers. "If I don't get horizontal in the next three minutes, I might cry."

Raven saluted them with her fork. "Don't mind me, I'll just finish your leftovers and judge you from afar."

"Bye, Raven," Clarke called over her shoulder as Lexa guided her toward the stairs.

By the time they reached the bedroom, Clarke flopped dramatically onto the bed and groaned into a pillow. "I'm enormous. Like an actual whale."

Lexa leaned on the doorframe, watching her with that small, secret smile Clarke was starting to recognize, the one that meant she found her ridiculous and beautiful in equal measure. "You're not enormous."

"Yes I am," Clarke argued, voice muffled. "I'm basically a pancake with legs."

Lexa's laugh was quiet, low. She crossed the room and sat beside her, smoothing a hand over Clarke's back. "You're carrying our child, Clarke. You're... luminous."

Clarke cracked an eye open, sceptical. "Luminous?"

"Yes," Lexa said simply, leaning down to kiss the crown of her head. "Even when you're grumpy. Even when you're threatening to cry over pancakes."

Clarke huffed, but the smile that tugged at her lips betrayed her. "You're lucky I love you."

"I know." Lexa's voice softened as she stretched out beside her, propping her head on one hand. "And I'm lucky you love me back."

For a while, they didn't talk. Clarke curled closer, Lexa's hand resting on the swell of her belly, their breaths syncing as if it were the most natural thing in the world. The morning sunlight slanted across the room, warming the sheets, and Clarke let herself drift in that fragile peace.

It wasn't until later when Raven's laughter floated faintly up from the kitchen and Clarke thought she heard her phone buzz on the nightstand, that she realized the world outside hadn't stopped just because she and Lexa had found their little cocoon.

But for now, she ignored it, burrowing closer against Lexa's chest, unwilling to let the quiet go just yet. The buzz came again, insistent this time. Clarke groaned into Lexa's shoulder.

"Tell me that's not mine."

"It's mine," Lexa murmured. Her hand didn't move from Clarke's belly, her thumb still tracing small circles over the thin fabric of Clarke's shirt.

Clarke tilted her head up, suspicious. "You're ignoring it."

"Yes."

"Lexa..." Clarke pushed herself up on one elbow, her hair falling into her face. "What if it's important?"

"If it's truly important," Lexa said evenly, "they'll call." She reached over, slid the phone off the nightstand, and flipped it face-down without even looking at the screen. Her expression didn't change, but Clarke noticed the subtle tension in her jaw, the way her shoulders had gone just slightly stiff.

It wasn't the first time she'd seen it.

Clarke settled back against her, watching her profile carefully. "You've been getting a lot of those lately."

Lexa hummed, noncommittal. "It's nothing unusual."

"Mm." Clarke narrowed her eyes, not buying it, but she let it go for the moment. Her hand drifted to cover Lexa's where it rested over her stomach. "You don't have to protect me, you know."

Lexa's gaze finally met hers, and Clarke felt that familiar ache in her chest, the one that came whenever Lexa looked at her like she was both the most fragile and the most precious thing in the world.

"I want to," Lexa said softly.

Clarke's throat tightened. She leaned in, pressing a kiss to her jaw, lingering there. "I know. But you don't have to do it alone."

For a while, the only sound was their breathing, the quiet hum of the city outside their window. Clarke could feel Lexa's heartbeat under her palm, steady but faster than it had been before the phone buzzed.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Clarke asked gently.

Lexa shook her head, brushing a strand of hair from Clarke's cheek. "Not now. Later, maybe."

It was the most she would give, but it was enough to let Clarke know her instincts weren't wrong. Something was happening. Something Lexa didn't want to bring into this room, into their fragile little bubble.

Clarke swallowed, torn between pushing and letting it go. In the end, she kissed her instead, soft and lingering. "Okay. Later."

Lexa kissed her back, almost too firmly, as though to anchor herself. When they pulled apart, her forehead rested against Clarke's. "You make it harder to keep secrets, you know."

"Good," Clarke whispered. "Then maybe you won't keep them."

Lexa's laugh was low and rueful, but Clarke felt her relax under her touch. They lay there in silence until Clarke's stomach betrayed her with a loud growl, breaking the tension.

Lexa smirked, easing back. "Still hungry?"

"No." Clarke's cheeks flushed. "Baby's demanding a long nap."

"I'll go warm some tea up." Lexa sat up, already reaching for the hoodie she'd tossed on the chair earlier.

But Clarke caught her wrist before she could stand. "Stay. Just a little longer. Please."

Lexa hesitated, then nodded, lying back down and pulling Clarke against her once more. The phone buzzed again on the nightstand, screen lighting up briefly before going dark. This time, neither of them looked.

Clarke tried to ignore the way the phone's vibration seemed louder in the quiet room, like it was demanding attention neither of them wanted to give it. She tucked herself tighter against Lexa instead, determined not to let some stupid device ruin their morning.

Still, she couldn't shake the unease.

"Lexa?" she murmured after a while, her voice soft against the hollow of her throat.

"Mm?"

"Are you... happy?"

The question hung in the air. Clarke hadn't meant to blurt it out, but pregnancy had stripped away her filter in so many ways. She needed to know especially now with the phone buzzing and Lexa's shoulders stiff, with whispers of old insecurities sneaking in.

Lexa didn't answer right away. She tilted her head back against the pillow, her green eyes fixed on the ceiling, as though weighing her words.

Clarke's chest tightened. "You don't have to lie to me."

Lexa finally looked down at her, her expression softening. "I am happy, Clarke. More than I thought I'd ever be."

Clarke blinked hard, throat thick. She wanted to believe it, no, she did believe it. But she couldn't ignore the way Lexa's fingers kept brushing against her palm, restless, like she was fighting some invisible current.

"Then why do you look like you're holding your breath every time that thing buzzes?" Clarke whispered.

Lexa closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them again, she kissed Clarke's forehead, lingering there. "Because I want this," she said quietly, "you, us, so badly that I don't want anything else intruding on it. Not right now."

Clarke exhaled shakily, her fingers fisting in Lexa's shirt. She wanted to push, to demand answers, but Lexa's voice carried that rare edge of vulnerability that stopped her.

"Okay," Clarke whispered instead.

Lexa let out a breath, her shoulders loosening. "Thank you."

They stayed like that until Clarke's hunger finally won out, dragging them back into the rhythm of their morning.

Chapter Text

The afternoon light filtered into the apartment, painting stripes across the living room floor and catching the dust motes dancing in the air. On the couch, Clarke was out cold, a soft exhalation leaving her lips with each gentle rise and fall of her chest. The small swell of her belly, covered by a knitted blanket, was a quiet testament to the life growing within her. Her hand was tucked just beneath it, a possessive, comforting gesture even in sleep.

Lexa stood over her for a long moment, watching the slow, even rhythm of her breathing. She reached out, her fingers hovering for a second before she gently tucked a stray strand of blonde hair behind Clarke's ear. Clarke stirred, a soft hum escaping her, and Lexa felt a familiar, protective ache deep in her chest. She pulled the blanket up to cover Clarke's shoulder before she finally walked away, a ghost of a smile on her lips.

As Lexa stepped back into the kitchen, the scent of coffee and stale toast hung in the air. Raven was perched on a stool at the island, her feet up on another, nursing a mug of coffee. She watched Lexa approach, a wry smirk on her face. Without a word, she gestured to the empty stool across from her.

"She's out," Lexa said, her voice a low murmur.

Raven took a slow sip of her coffee, her eyes never leaving Lexa. "I can see that. You know, you're looking at her like she's the last slice of pizza at a party and you're guarding it with your life."

Lexa's lips twitched, but she didn't respond. She just leaned against the counter, her arms crossed over her chest.

"Seriously, Lex," Raven continued, her tone more serious now. "You've still got this look... like you're on patrol. Constantly on edge. Like the second you relax, something bad's gonna happen."

Lexa exhaled slowly, her gaze drifting toward the hall before returning to Raven. "I'm not on edge."

Raven scoffed. "Please. You're wound tighter than a spring. You think I don't notice? I see the way you look at her. Like you're afraid she'll break if you don't keep a hand on her." She paused, her voice softening. "This isn't a war, Lex. It's just... life. And that's the scariest part, isn't it?"

Lexa's shoulders slumped slightly, a rare admission of vulnerability. "It's not a war I know how to fight," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "There are no tactics. No strategies. One wrong move, and everything could... unravel."

Raven's expression was unreadable. She just watched Lexa, her eyes sharp and knowing. "Yeah," she said finally, "trust is harder than a battle plan. You can't control it. You just have to... let go."

A long silence stretched between them, filled only by the low hum of the refrigerator. Lexa looked down at her hands, her knuckles white where they gripped the edge of the counter.

"She deserves someone who isn't always waiting for the next disaster," Lexa said, the words heavy with a quiet pain.

"And you think that's not you?" Raven asked, her voice calm and even.

Lexa didn't answer right away. She just shook her head, a small, defeated gesture. "Why would you ask me that?"

"Lexa," Raven said, her voice softening. "It's obvious. You still act like you've got to hold the whole damn world on your shoulders just to keep her safe. Like if you put one wrong foot, she'll disappear. That's not how love works, you know? Clarke chose you. She chose you with all your walls and all your defenses. She chose you because she saw the real you. The part that's already willing to give up everything just for the chance to keep her safe."

"I know. But... you know my parents didn't raise to be anyone's partner. I was raised to be strong. To be in control. Vulnerability was a liability."

Raven's smirk faded into something gentler at the mention of Lexa's childhood. "Yeah, well... Clarke doesn't give a damn about all that. She wants you. Not the warrior act, not the walls. You."

Lexa finally met her gaze, her green eyes full of a raw and complicated emotion. "That part is easy," she admitted. "The fighting. The guarding. But what about the quiet moments? The moments when she's exhausted, and sick, and scared? What if she needs something I can't give her? She deserves someone... softer. Someone who doesn't carry all this—" she gestured vaguely, as if at the invisible weight always dragging at her.

Raven slid off the stool and walked over to stand in front of Lexa, her expression serious. "Lexa," she said simply. "You think you are broken, but you are not. That's not what Clarke sees when she looks at you, she doesn't see something that needs fixing. She sees the hand that reaches for her, the one that holds on. She sees the way you let her in, piece by piece, even when it terrifies you."

Rave sighed in annoyance of how poorly Lexa viewed herself, before continuing. "You are not 'softer,' you're stronger. Strong enough to need her, too. And when she's exhausted, sick, scared or crying over a burnt piece of toast... What she'll need most is you. Not a fairy tale. Just you."

Lexa's jaw tightened, her eyes unwavering. "That is a hard thought," she admitted, though the admission was a quiet struggle. "To believe that who I am is... enough. But you say she sees me for who I really am, and perhaps that is all I have to give her. All I have to give us, and maybe that's enough."

Raven nodded slowly, a ghost of a smile touching her lips as she held Lexa's gaze. "You don't need to learn to be enough, Lexa. You already are." she said. "And honestly? I trust you with her, more than I thought I would. You're a good person, Lexa. You care more than anyone I know about the things you love. Don't let your past convince you otherwise. You're enough. You just have to believe it."

Clarke entered the living room with a blanket wrapped around her, her eyes sleep-ridden as she settled onto the couch, wanting to be close by. Lexa's eyes flickered toward the living room, a silent acknowledgment of the woman who had somehow, in some impossible way, broken through all her defenses. She let out a slow, steadying breath, and when she looked back at Raven, a faint, genuine smile touched her lips.

"Thanks, Raven," she said, the words quiet but sincere. "That almost sounded like a compliment."

Raven just nodded, then turned and walked back to the island, picking up her coffee mug. "Yeah, yeah," she muttered, a small smile on her face. "Don't get used to it."

A low chuckle escaped Lexa's lips, a sound so rare it surprised even Raven.

"Duly noted," Lexa said, the tension in her shoulders finally easing. "Duly noted."

Raven leaned back, lips pursing. She didn't fill the silence this time. She just let it hang, watching Lexa with those sharp, unflinching eyes until the weight of it eased enough for Lexa to breathe again.

"I know you're not used to this kind of fight," Raven said finally, her tone softer. "Just... trust. It sucks."

Lexa's mouth curved faintly at that. "Trust is harder than running a company."

"Tell me about it," Raven muttered, tipping the mug back for a sip. She set it down with a small clink, her eyes narrowing at Lexa again. "But for what it's worth? You're doing good. Clarke's happy. And honestly? That's more than half the battle won right there."

Lexa studied her for a long moment, the green of her eyes unreadable. "You're loyal to her."

Raven rolled her eyes, though her smirk betrayed her. "Obviously. She's my best friend. But don't twist it. I've got my eye on you, too. You hurt her, and I'll—"

Lexa raised an eyebrow, waiting.

Raven faltered, then huffed a laugh. "Okay, fine, I probably couldn't take you in a fight. But I could make your life miserable. Sabotage your coffee. Rewire your car stereo so it only plays polka. That kind of thing."

"I don't doubt that one bit."

The tension shifted then, not gone but softened, replaced with something almost companionable. Raven leaned forward, elbows on the counter, still studying her like she was a puzzle worth solving.

"You know," Raven said slowly, "you're not as scary as you pretend to be."

Lexa's brow lifted. "A dangerous assumption."

Raven grinned. "Nah. I can see it. You're a softie. Clarke's cracked you wide open, and now you're screwed."

Lexa didn't answer, but her gaze slid again toward the living room. Clarke had shifted in her sleep, curling tighter into the blanket, her lips parted in a peaceful dream. Lexa's entire body softened just looking at her.

And when Lexa's mouth curved into the faintest, most unguarded smile, Raven sat back with a victorious grin. "Called it."

Raven drummed her fingers lightly against her coffee mug, the grin softening but not fading entirely. "See? You smile when you look at her. Dead giveaway. You can play stoic all you want, but Clarke has you wrapped around her little finger."

Lexa's lips twitched, but her gaze dropped back to her mug. "Perhaps."

"Not 'perhaps.'" Raven leaned forward, her eyes sharp, unrelenting. "Definitely. And honestly? That's good for her. You both deserve someone who makes you feel safe. Someone who would..." Raven hesitated, her voice shifting from playful to serious, "...fight like hell to keep you safe."

Lexa lifted her eyes then, green steady, heavy with meaning. "That, I can do."

Raven nodded slowly. "Yeah. I figured. But it's more than fighting, you know? It's the boring stuff too, like late nights, arguments over nothing. It isn't just glowing smiles and belly rubs. Clarke's gonna need you when she's sobbing over burnt toast or throwing up her dinner."

"I'll be there," Lexa said without hesitation. Her voice didn't rise; it didn't need to. The conviction in it was solid, like steel.

Raven studied her a moment longer, then leaned back in her chair, exhaling. "Good. Because she deserves someone who won't run when it gets messy."

The words lingered, quiet but pointed. Lexa didn't flinch, though something in her eyes flickered. A memory, an old wound. She looked away, her jaw tightening briefly before she forced her hand to relax on the mug.

"You think I'll run," Lexa said after a long pause. It was not accusing, just stating.

Raven's lips pressed together. "I think... people have run from her before. And it messed her up. I just don't want to see that happen again."

Lexa let that settle between them, her face unreadable. Then, slowly she inclined her head. "I won't."

Something in her tone made Raven believe her, not because of the words, but because of the weight behind them. "Look, I'm not saying you've got it all figured out. None of us do. But don't you dare sit there and think Clarke deserves better than you. She chose you. And Clarke Griffin doesn't choose lightly."

The low hum of the refrigerator was the only sound in the tense silence of the kitchen. Lexa now stood at the counter, her gaze locked on the living room where Clarke was curled under a blanket, asleep. The sight of Clarke's peaceful, trusting form was a paradox to Lexa, a constant reminder of the profound, terrifying vulnerability she had allowed into her life.

Raven watched the subtle changes in Lexa's posture, the way her shoulders were less a fortress and more a burden.

"You really love her, don't you?" Raven's voice was low, stripped of its usual bravado. It wasn't a question, but a simple statement of fact.

Lexa turned her head slowly, meeting Raven's gaze. The usual shields in her green eyes were gone, replaced by a raw, complicated depth. "To say 'I love her' feels too small," she said, her voice a low murmur. "It's more like... a constant and undeniable force that shapes the landscape of my very being. She brought the color, the light, and the melody. I can't imagine a world that isn't filled with the echo of her."

The words were so unguarded, so fundamentally honest, that they settled in the air between them, heavy and irrefutable. Raven swallowed, the usual witty retort dying in her throat. She simply nodded, a new respect dawning in her eyes. "Damn, Shakespeare," she muttered, her voice a bit rough. "Guess you're in deep."

A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched Lexa's lips. "I am," she admitted, the words free of any shame or hesitation. It was a new kind of victory for her, this quiet acceptance. She felt a burden ease, a weight she hadn't realized she was carrying finally shifting.

Raven's smirk returned, though it was softer now, with a genuine warmth in her eyes. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the counter.

"Okay," she said after a beat. "Then maybe I don't have to rewire your car stereo to play polka. For now."

A low, genuine chuckle escaped Lexa, a rare sound that made Raven's grin widen. "Duly noted," Lexa said, the tension in her shoulders finally easing as she let a small part of the weight she carried drop.

The kitchen fell silent again, but it was a different kind of quiet now. It was not a silence of tension, but of understanding. Raven watched Lexa, the woman who had once been an enigma, now just a person, vulnerable and deeply in love. It was a profound connection they shared, now shared by the love for Clarke, the woman who had, in her own quiet way, managed to heal them both.

Raven pushed her chair back, stretching until her joints popped. "Well," she said, glancing toward the living room where Clarke was still out cold, "she's not waking up anytime soon. Pregnancy naps are like comas."

Lexa's lips curved faintly, but she didn't move her eyes from Clarke.

Raven lingered in the doorway, mug in hand. "For what it's worth..." Her voice dropped a notch, the edge fading. "You don't have to keep proving yourself to me. Or anyone else. Clarke already picked you. That's the only vote that counts."

Lexa turned her head slowly, meeting Raven's gaze. She inclined it just slightly, not quite a nod, but acknowledgment. "Thank you."

Raven smirked again, softer this time. "Don't make me regret saying that."

Lexa huffed a quiet laugh, the sound tugged at Raven's lips too. She tipped her empty mug toward her. "Alright. I'm out. Don't let her sleep too long or she'll be cranky when she wakes."

"Noted," Lexa murmured.

Raven slipped on her jacket and headed for the door, her voice trailing over her shoulder. "Later, Commander."

When the door clicked shut, silence filled the house again. Lexa stayed where she was for a moment, the echo of the conversation still heavy in her chest. Then she rose, padded quietly into the living room, and lowered herself onto the edge of the couch.

Clarke stirred just faintly, curling instinctively toward her, one hand brushing against Lexa's thigh even in sleep. Lexa covered it gently with her own, her thumb stroking the back of Clarke's fingers. The house was still, the air warm with the smell of coffee and toast, and for the first time all morning, Lexa let herself breathe deeply.

Just them again. And that was enough.

Clarke woke slowly, as if surfacing from underwater. The first thing she felt was warmth, the heavy, steady warmth of a hand covering hers, thumb stroking absent circles across her skin. The second was presence. Lexa's presence, solid and grounding, seated on the edge of the couch beside her.

Her lashes fluttered open. The afternoon light was softer now, the sun angled differently through the curtains, painting the room in pale honey. For a moment, Clarke stayed still, watching Lexa's profile. The sharp line of her jaw softened by the light. The faint shadows beneath her eyes. The way she sat perfectly still, as though afraid to disturb her.

"Hey," Clarke whispered, her voice rough with sleep.

Lexa's eyes flicked to hers immediately, and the faintest smile curved her lips. "Hey."

Clarke stretched, groaning a little as her muscles protested. Pregnancy naps always left her feeling like she'd been dropped into a different century. "How long was I out?"

"An hour. Maybe a little more." Lexa brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, her fingers lingering a second longer than necessary. "You needed it."

Clarke hummed, curling closer, sliding into Lexa's side like it was the most natural thing in the world. Lexa shifted without hesitation, letting Clarke press her cheek against her shoulder, draping an arm around her. Their bodies fit together like puzzle pieces, familiar and inevitable. Clarke breathed in the clean, woodsy scent of her, grounding herself in it.

"You always watch me when I sleep?" Clarke teased lightly, her lips brushing Lexa's shirt.

"Only when you look this peaceful," Lexa murmured back, pressing a kiss into Clarke's hair.

Clarke tilted her head up, catching Lexa's gaze. The way Lexa looked at her, steady and unguarded, with something so vast and tender it made Clarke's chest ache, was enough to undo her. "You love me," she said softly, almost in wonder.

"More than I can explain," Lexa admitted without hesitation. There was no joke, no deflection. Just truth.

Clarke's throat tightened. She cupped Lexa's face, thumb brushing her cheek. "I don't ever want you to forget earlier. That I left you... hanging." A faint smirk tugged at her lips, but beneath it was sincerity. "I don't like knowing I frustrated you."

Lexa's brow arched. "You don't?"

"Not when I can fix it." Clarke pushed up, straddling Lexa's lap before the other woman had a chance to protest. Her knees pressed into the couch cushions, hands framing Lexa's jaw. She leaned down, kissing her slow at first, then deeper, tasting the lingering coffee on her lips. Lexa inhaled sharply, hands instinctively gripping Clarke's hips, fingers digging into the curve of her waist as though anchoring herself.

Clarke's tongue slid against hers, teasing, coaxing, the kiss turning molten. She ground against Lexa just enough to make her breath hitch, pulling back only to murmur against her lips, "See? Much better than leaving you frustrated."

Lexa's eyes darkened, her chest rising and falling quickly beneath Clarke's hands. "Clarke..." Her voice was low, warning, but frayed at the edges.

Clarke smiled wickedly, pressing another lingering kiss to her throat, feeling the rapid beat of her pulse beneath her lips. "You taste like you've been waiting for me."

Lexa's grip on her tightened, a faint groan slipping from her as Clarke shifted again, heat sparking where their bodies pressed together. For a moment, Lexa let herself drown in it, in Clarke's warmth, her scent, the way she gave herself over so completely. She tilted her head back, eyes fluttering shut, and Clarke caught the expression: unguarded, undone, utterly hers.

Gods, she was beautiful.

But just when the kiss deepened again, when Clarke's hand slid under the hem of her shirt, Lexa forced herself to pull back, breaking the kiss with a sharp breath. Her forehead pressed against Clarke's, her hands firm on her hips as if holding her in place. "We can't," she said, voice rough.

Clarke blinked, dazed. "Can't? Why not?"

Lexa exhaled, her lips brushing against Clarke's as she tried to steady herself. "Because we have to go grocery shopping."

Clarke pulled back just enough to look at her, incredulous. "Seriously?"

"Yes." Lexa's smirk returned, faint but undeniable, though her eyes were still blown wide with desire. "We're out of half the basics. And if I let you distract me, we'll end up eating dry cereal and mustard for dinner."

Clarke groaned dramatically, dropping her head onto Lexa's shoulder. "You're impossible."

"And you're dangerous," Lexa countered, kissing her temple. She slid Clarke gently off her lap, smoothing her hair back from her flushed cheeks. "If I didn't love you so much, I wouldn't stand a chance of ever saying no."

Clarke looked up at her then, something soft and devastating in her expression. She cupped Lexa's face again, pressing a tender kiss to her lips, not heated this time, but certain. "I love you too."

Lexa's chest tightened, overwhelmed by how fiercely she meant it, how it radiated from Clarke's every word and touch. She brushed her thumb over Clarke's lower lip, memorizing the curve of her smile, the way her eyes lit up even after a nap, even after frustration. Gods, she thought, she could spend a lifetime loving this woman and still be undone by her every day.

"Come on," Lexa whispered, forcing herself to move, to stand, to offer her hand. "Let's go get food before I forget why we left this couch."

Clarke laughed, slipping her hand into Lexa's, their fingers interlocking as if they'd always been meant to. The world outside could wait; for now, it was them, sunlight, and the easy rhythm of love filling the space between them.

And for Lexa, that was everything.

The transition from the warm cocoon of the couch to the outside world was a reluctant one. Clarke dragged her feet a little, still pouting about Lexa's timing, but she let herself be tugged along by the hand as Lexa guided her toward the car. The early autumn afternoon had a softness to it, the air cool enough for Clarke to burrow into Lexa's jacket when she opened it up and draped it around her shoulders before they left.

By the time they reached the grocery store, Clarke was alert again, energy returning after her nap, and Lexa looked every bit like a soldier about to embark on an unfamiliar battlefield. She stopped at the entrance, gaze sweeping over the automatic doors, the hum of carts being wrangled together, the fluorescent light spilling into the parking lot.

"You've never been in a grocery store before?" Clarke teased as she pulled a cart loose from the stack.

Lexa tilted her head, the corners of her mouth quirking faintly. "No. At the estate, deliveries were handled. And in the city... there were services."

Clarke blinked at her. "You mean... every single grocery trip in your entire life has been outsourced?"

"Yes." Lexa said it without shame, though there was a flicker of self-awareness in her tone. Then, with that dry humor Clarke was still learning to recognize, she added, "I suppose today will be... educational."

Clarke grinned, wheeling the cart forward. "Oh, you're in for it."

The automatic doors slid open, and Lexa's eyes widened slightly as the store unfolded in front of her: neat aisles stretching long and symmetrical, the smell of produce and bread mixing with a faint chemical tang, background music floating over the hum of refrigerators. She scanned the space instinctively, noting exits, crowd patterns, even the placement of the cameras above. Clarke laughed under her breath.

"You're casing the place."

"I'm observing," Lexa corrected, steering the cart with both hands as though testing its weight. "This is... organized chaos."

Clarke leaned against the cart, amused. "Wait until we hit the cereal aisle. That's when the real chaos starts."

They began in produce. Clarke rattled off her list, plucking apples and cucumbers with practiced efficiency. Lexa hovered close, watching her check firmness, turning items over in her hand.

"You're testing them," Lexa observed, brow furrowing.

"Yes. You don't just grab the first thing you see. You pick the good ones." Clarke handed her an apple. "Here. Try it."

Lexa turned it over in her palm, studying it as though it were a weapon she'd never held before. She squeezed gently, pressed the skin with her thumb. "This one passes inspection."

Clarke's laugh rang out, bright and unrestrained. She dropped the apple into the bag and leaned over to kiss Lexa's cheek. "You're ridiculous."

"You're the one entrusting me with your produce," Lexa countered smoothly, though a faint blush crept up her neck at Clarke's public affection.

"You grab some broccoli and a head of lettuce," Clarke instructed, her eyes scanning the different leafy greens.

Lexa hesitated. "A 'head' of lettuce? What is a 'head'?"

Clarke turned to face her, her face a mask of feigned shock. "You're the CEO of a multi-billion dollar company and you don't know what a head of lettuce is?"

Lexa's jaw tightened slightly. "My company provides tech, Clarke. We don't deal with... leafy vegetables."

Clarke snorted, then reached over and grabbed a large, crisp-looking head of iceberg lettuce. "This is a head," she said, holding it up like a trophy. "And it's not even the right kind." She put it back and grabbed a different one, a look of pure delight on her face. "Looks like I'm going to have to teach you everything."

As they made their way to the meat department, Lexa's struggle only intensified. She pushed the cart with a determined grimace, her shoulders squared as if bracing for an attack. Clarke watched her, a mix of amusement and affection in her eyes.

"You're a natural at this," Clarke said, her voice laced with playful sarcasm. "I bet you negotiate for a lower price."

Lexa's brow furrowed. "I don't. That would be... undignified."

"Right, because struggling with a shopping cart is a pinnacle of dignity," Clarke teased. She reached out and placed her hand on top of Lexa's, guiding the cart with a gentle pressure. "Just let go a little, Lex. It's not a battle. It's just a trip to the store."

Lexa's hand relaxed under Clarke's, and she finally let herself be guided. The tension in her shoulders began to dissipate. She still looked a bit out of place, but a flicker of a smile played on her lips as she watched Clarke, her eyes full of a quiet warmth. Maybe this wasn't so bad after all. As they moved deeper into the store, Clarke's cravings began dictating detours. She paused at the bakery, staring longingly at a display of glazed donuts.

"Clarke..." Lexa's voice carried warning and indulgence all at once.

"Don't you dare tell me no," Clarke shot back, already reaching. "The baby wants it."

Lexa arched a brow but didn't argue, instead taking the box from her hand and placing it gently in the cart. "The baby," she repeated, lips twitching. "Convenient."

Clarke smirked. "You love me anyway."

"God help me, I do," Lexa murmured under her breath, but the way she brushed her hand over Clarke's back, protective even in the middle of a brightly lit aisle, left no doubt.

"Okay, so," Clarke said, a mischievous grin playing on her lips as she handed Lexa the list. "now wee need pasta. And sauce. And... a dozen eggs. The organic ones. No, not those. The ones in the brown cartons."

Lexa stared at the list, then at the sprawling shelves of pasta. The sheer number of choices was bewildering. She pushed the cart forward, its wheels squeaking in protest, a sound that grated on her nerves. She picked up a box of spaghetti, examining it with the focused intensity she usually reserved for a boardroom presentation.

"Wait, those are whole wheat," Clarke said, reaching over to put the box back. "We need regular." She picked up a different box and tossed it into the cart.

Lexa just watched, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes. "This is inefficient," she murmured, more to herself than to Clarke.

"Inefficient?" Clarke laughed, the sound bubbling up from her chest. "Lexa, it's a grocery store. We're not launching a hostile takeover. Just... relax."

The dairy section was next, and Clarke tossed yogurt into the cart while explaining brands and flavors. Lexa asked questions like she was conducting an interview: "Why this one? What makes it better than the others? Does it matter if it's organic?" Clarke rolled her eyes but answered, secretly delighted at how invested Lexa was in something so ordinary.

They hit the cereal aisle last, and true to Clarke's warning, it was chaos: walls of bright boxes, cartoon mascots, options stacked three deep. Lexa stopped dead, staring at the sheer assault of color. "This," she said flatly, "is excessive."

Clarke giggled, tugging her toward the shelves. "Pick one."

Lexa looked at her like she'd been asked to dismantle a bomb. "On what basis?"

"On whatever basis you want." Clarke leaned close, her voice conspiratorial. "Think of it as a test of character."

Lexa's eyes narrowed. She studied the rows with grave seriousness, eventually reaching for a box of plain, whole-grain cereal.

Clarke groaned. "That's your pick? Really?"

"You said any basis," Lexa reminded her.

"But that's so boring." Clarke grabbed a box of cinnamon crunch cereal and dropped it in alongside Lexa's choice. "Balance," she declared.

Lexa shook her head, but the small smile tugging at her lips betrayed her amusement. By the time they reached the checkout, the cart was piled higher than either of them expected. Clarke leaned against it, exhausted but satisfied, while Lexa helped unload with methodical precision. When the cashier rang up the donuts, Lexa slid them across the belt with something like reverence.

Outside, the sun was starting to dip, shadows stretching long across the parking lot. Lexa loaded the bags into the trunk, careful not to crush anything. Clarke leaned against the car, watching her with a smile she didn't bother to hide.

"You're staring," Lexa said without looking up.

"Can you blame me?" Clarke murmured.

Lexa straightened, closing the trunk. She stepped in close, her body heat seeping through Clarke's jacket, one hand tucking hair behind her ear. "Yes," she whispered. "Because if you keep looking at me like that, I'll forget we're in a parking lot."

Clarke's breath hitched, her smile softening into something tender. "Maybe that's not the worst thing."

Lexa kissed her then, brief but sure, before pulling back with a husky chuckle. "Home. Before I make a spectacle of myself."

Hand in hand, they climbed into the car, the mundane bags of groceries between them and the kind of love that made even errands feel extraordinary.

The ride back was quiet in the best way, Clarke humming under her breath to the faint music on the radio, Lexa's hand resting casually on her thigh as if it belonged there, her thumb brushing in slow, steady arcs. The trunk was heavy with their spoils, and the back seat was dotted with bags Clarke insisted on keeping up front: fresh bread, fruit, and, most importantly, the box of donuts already cracked open.

By the time they pulled into the driveway, Clarke had powdered sugar dusting the corner of her mouth. Lexa glanced at her, lips twitching.

"What?" Clarke asked, defensive around her half-finished pastry.

"Nothing." Lexa leaned over, thumb swiping the sugar away before Clarke could react. She brought it to her mouth with deliberate slowness, tasting it. "Sweet," she said simply, her voice low enough that Clarke's stomach fluttered.

Clarke cleared her throat, forcing herself not to melt on the spot. "Unload the groceries, Commander, before I eat the rest of the donuts without you."

Inside, the house smelled faintly of paint from the nursery, still holding the echoes of their previous morning. They carried the bags in together, Clarke directing traffic while Lexa adjusted to the idea of unpacking.

"Fridge things first," Clarke instructed, tugging cartons of milk and yogurt from the bags.

Lexa followed her lead with an intensity that made Clarke laugh. She handled everything with precision, stacking containers, lining jars neatly, as though the fridge were another battlefield to order.

"You know this isn't an armory, right?" Clarke teased, watching as Lexa aligned the row of eggs with military precision.

Lexa shot her a look but didn't break stride. "Efficiency makes things easier later."

"You're ridiculous."

"You are the one who agreed to date me."

Clarke rolled her eyes, but the smile pulling at her lips gave her away. She stepped behind Lexa, sliding her arms around her waist, cheek pressed between her shoulder blades. "Yeah," she murmured. "I really, really did."

Lexa stilled for half a second, then covered Clarke's hands with her own. Her voice was softer when she spoke again: "Then don't distract me, or the bread will end up with the cleaning supplies."

Clarke laughed and released her, letting her finish. Together they filled cupboards and shelves, the domestic rhythm strangely soothing. Clarke moved slower than usual, her body reminding her of its limits, but Lexa was there at every turn reaching for the higher shelves, taking heavier bags without being asked, brushing a hand over her hip when she passed by.

When the last bag was emptied, Clarke flopped onto a stool at the counter, watching Lexa wipe down the surface like she'd been doing this all her life instead of for the first time.

"So," Clarke said, resting her chin in her palm, "what do you want for lunch?"

Lexa paused, considering. "What are the options?"

Clarke gestured toward the array of fresh food. "We've got half the store here. Sandwiches? Salad? Something simple?"

Lexa tilted her head, thoughtful. "Sandwiches. But... not too simple. Teach me."

"Teach you?" Clarke grinned, pushing herself up. "Lexa, it's a sandwich, not woodworking."

"All skills are worth learning," Lexa said gravely, though her mouth curved.

So they set to work. Clarke pulled bread from the bag, setting out vegetables, cheese, and cold cuts. Lexa stood beside her like a student in training, watching each step with intent seriousness.

"You spread the butter first," Clarke explained, demonstrating with a slice.

Lexa took her own knife, mirroring her movements. "Even coverage," she muttered, as if cataloguing the process.

Clarke bit back a laugh. "Sure. Even coverage. Then comes the layering." She stacked lettuce, tomato, and slices of turkey.

Lexa copied her exactly, pausing to align the edges. Truth be told, Lexa did know how to make a sandwich, she was not that stupid. She just enjoyed spending extra time with Clarke, and found it cute when she was excited to teach Lexa stuff. Not to mention, liked when Clarke was in control;)

Clarke shook her head, amused. "You don't have to make it symmetrical, you know."

Lexa glanced at her, eyes sharp. "Yes, I do."

Clarke giggled, leaning in to steal a quick kiss while Lexa was distracted. The knife wobbled in her hand, but she steadied it easily, narrowing her eyes.

"Unfair tactics," she murmured.

"life's not fair," Clarke quipped back, licking tomato juice from her thumb.

The banter stretched into comfortable silence as they finished. Lexa plated both sandwiches, sliding one toward Clarke with an almost formal gesture, like she was offering her more than just lunch. Clarke accepted, warmth spreading in her chest.

They ate at the counter, shoulders brushing, Clarke occasionally reaching over to steal a bite of Lexa's more symmetrical creation.

"Do you like it?" Lexa asked after a while, watching her closely.

Clarke swallowed, nodding. "I like us making it."

That softened Lexa's face in a way that always undid Clarke, her composure cracking and love spilling through. She leaned over, brushing crumbs from Clarke's cheek, then kissed her slow and deliberate, tasting bread and butter and tomato on her lips.

Clarke melted into it, hands curling into Lexa's shirt. The kiss deepened, unhurried but full of heat, the kind of kiss that said more than words could manage. By the time they pulled back, Clarke's breath was shaky, her sandwich forgotten on the plate.

"You keep looking at me like that," Clarke whispered, "and we're not leaving this kitchen."

Lexa's eyes darkened, thumb stroking along her jaw. For a moment it seemed like she'd give in, the air between them charged and heavy. Then she chuckled low in her chest, pressing her forehead to Clarke's.

"Later," she murmured. "If I start now, I won't stop. And you need to eat."

Clarke groaned, half-frustrated, half-delighted. "You're impossible."

"Patient," Lexa corrected softly, brushing one last kiss over her lips.

The afternoon sunlight slanted across the counter, catching in Lexa's hair, painting her in gold. Clarke looked at her then, really looked, this woman who had never set foot in a grocery store, who treated sandwich-making like a tactical exercise, who was learning and choosing and loving with every small step.

God, she thought. She's mine. And for the rest of the meal, Clarke couldn't stop smiling.

Chapter Text

After their lively sandwich-making session, the kitchen lingered with the inviting aroma of fresh-baked bread and the earthy scent of coffee grounds, while the air was infused with the warmth of shared laughter. Clarke, feeling pleasantly full, stretched her arms high above her head until her spine released with a soft crack, a groan escaping her lips in sheer contentment.

"That good?" Lexa asked, her posture relaxed against the counter, arms comfortably folded, a hint of intrigue in her eyes.

"Better than good. You might have a future as a sandwich artisan if this whole CEO thing doesn't pan out," Clarke teased, sliding off the stool, her tone light, infused with warmth.

A faint smile played on Lexa's lips, a subtle curve that deepened her features. "A fallback plan, then."

As Clarke moved to gather their plates, Lexa was quicker, deftly snatching the plate and glass from Clarke's grasp with a practiced efficiency that showcased her decisive nature.

"I've got it," Lexa asserted, her tone leaving no room for argument.

"Lexa—" Clarke started, ready to protest.

"You cooked." Lexa was unyielding, her voice firm yet gentle, as she turned on the tap, rinsing the dishes with the kind of quiet focus that she devoted to every endeavor.

Clarke leaned against the counter, captivated by the graceful way Lexa moved in the domestic space. There was something mesmerizing about her presence, like she was harmonizing with a rhythm she was destined to master. Not commanding. Not strategizing. Just... existing. Washing dishes with sleeves rolled up, a loose curl slipping from behind her ear to frame her face.

A swell of emotion rose in Clarke's chest, almost achingly full, as she realized this was what she wanted most: not grand gestures or meticulously crafted plans, but this, watching the woman she loved stand at the sink, building a life together one dish, one grocery trip, one tender touch at a time.

By the time Lexa wiped her hands on a towel, Clarke was smiling so brightly that Lexa tilted her head, curiosity etched across her face.

"What?" Lexa asked softly, the question laced with a touch of concern.

"Nothing," Clarke replied, shaking her head, her heart racing. "Everything."

Lexa studied her thoughtfully for a long moment before leaning in, brushing a feather-light kiss over Clarke's temple. There was no need for further words; some truths were too profound to articulate.

"Come," Lexa said, tugging gently at Clarke's hand. "Help me with the pantry."

"The pantry?" Clarke echoed, amusement dancing in her voice.

"You said groceries need to be stored properly."

Clarke snorted, her laughter breaking the serene atmosphere. "Lexa, that's not an operation. You just shove things where they fit."

Lexa's brow furrowed, feigning scandalization. "Chaos," she muttered, a hint of humor in her tone.

Clarke erupted with laughter, letting Lexa lead her away.

The pantry was a modest walk-in, tucked discreetly off the kitchen, currently half-empty but brimming with clutter that Clarke was almost embarrassed to acknowledge. Boxes leaned at precarious angles, cans stacked haphazardly, and spices found themselves crammed into corners as if in hiding.

Lexa halted at the doorway, surveying the chaotic scene with an intensity usually reserved for assessing enemy territory.

"This is unacceptable," she declared, her voice low and serious.

"Relax, General," Clarke replied, leaning against the doorframe, a playful smile tugging at her lips. "No one's grading us."

"Still." Lexa rolled her sleeves back up, muscles in her forearms tensing as she began to pull the disarray off the shelves. "We'll make it right."

Clarke attempted to protest but was caught in a wave of laughter so contagious that it consumed her. "You're reorganizing the pantry? Right now?"

"Yes." Lexa glanced back, green eyes sparkling with determination. "If I leave it this way, it will bother me."

Shaking her head, but unable to resist the charm of the moment, Clarke stepped forward to assist, handing Lexa jars and cans with a smile. Before long, they found themselves sitting on the kitchen floor, surrounded by small islands of neatly categorized items: grains, canned goods, sauces, and baking supplies. Lexa moved with the precision of a seasoned tactician, stacking cans in perfect rows and aligning boxes with meticulous care.

Clarke leaned back against the wall, absentmindedly resting her hand on her stomach. "You do realize she's going to wreak havoc on your system as soon as she's able to crawl in there, right?"

Lexa froze, a jar of peanut butter suspended mid-air, then turned to Clarke, vulnerability flickering in her gaze.

"Then I'll teach her how to put it back," she responded simply, the sincerity in her words catching Clarke off guard. It wasn't merely about the pantry.

Drawing closer, Clarke brushed her knee against Lexa's as she handed over a box of pasta. "You're really good at this, you know."

"At organizing pantries?" Lexa asked, a playful challenge rising in her brow.

"At building a life." Clarke's voice softened, steady and sincere.

Lexa held her gaze, searching for an unspoken affirmation. Gently, she placed her hand over Clarke's on her stomach, the warmth of her palm sending shivers through Clarke, anchoring her to the moment.

"I want to build it right," Lexa confessed, her voice low but fervent. "With you. For her."

Clarke enveloped Lexa's hand with her own, squeezing softly. "You are."

The silence that enveloped them was far from empty; it thrummed with the fullness of shared dreams and deeper connections. Eventually, Lexa leaned in, resting her forehead against Clarke's in a soft, intimate gesture. "You should rest," she murmured with a gentle authority.

Clarke smirked, her eyes still closed, savoring the moment. "Are you sure you're not nesting? Because this feels suspiciously like nesting."

Lexa let out a quiet laugh, pulling back just enough to meet Clarke's gaze. "If I am, I blame you."

With playful resolve, Clarke kissed her, quick and sweet, before nudging the peanut butter jar back into Lexa's hand. "Finish your mission, Commander."

By the time the pantry almost resembled an editorial spread from a glossy lifestyle magazine, gleaming rows of pasta arranged like disciplined soldiers, jars meticulously lined up by height creating a visual symphony, and boxes aligned at precise angles, Clarke had nestled herself against the cool wall, one hand resting gently on her belly, while the other absently spun a half-empty jar of honey on the polished floor.

Lexa crouched nearby, surveying her handiwork with a quiet pride that was both endearing and comically intense. There was still stuff left to organise. Clarke couldn't help but chuckle, her gaze drifting up to meet the fierce focus in Lexa's eyes.

"You know," Clarke said playfully, "with skills like that, you could probably launch a second career as a pantry stylist."

Lexa arched an eyebrow in playful skepticism, but before she could muster a witty retort, Clarke's phone buzzed undoubtedly on the countertop, disrupting the serene moment. She sighed, reluctantly forcing herself upright to snatch it. The screen brightened, revealing Raven's name.

"Raven," Clarke greeted warmly, easing back down onto the floor with a contented sigh. "Hey."

The vibrant sound of Raven's voice, crackling with energy even through the speaker, electrified the kitchen air. "Hey yourself! How was you nap? Did Lexa manage to burn the house down yet?"

Clarke laughed, the sound light and airy. "Energising, and not yet. Though she has just turned the pantry into a fortress of organization."

From her corner of the room, Lexa muttered, "You're welcome," as she stood, returning a jar of peanut butter to its rightful place on the shelf.

Raven snorted through the line, her amusement palpable. "Of course she did. I can practically hear the labels being alphabetized from here."

Leaning back against the wall, Clarke felt a smile stretch across her face as she settled in. "What's going on? You sound... I don't know, restless?"

"That's because I am," Raven admitted, her tone turning slightly exasperated. "I've hit a new low in my sex life. Want to help me filter through my Tinder disasters?"

Clarke perked up with a spark of excitement. "Oh, absolutely! Send me the screenshots."

Lexa paused momentarily, ears perking up at the mention of dating app chaos, though her back remained turned as she meticulously adjusted a row of soup cans.

Within moments, Clarke's phone buzzed again, this time inundated with images: a chaotic collage of profile pictures, quirky bios, and the comical wreckage of Raven's dating endeavors. Clarke giggled, scrolling through the flood of images as Raven narrated her misadventures.

"Okay, first contender," Clarke announced, opening a photo featuring a woman wearing wraparound sunglasses and grinning widely, a fish dangling precariously from her hand.

Raven groaned audibly. "Why do they always have fish? Like, congratulations, you killed dinner. Do you want a medal?"

Clarke snorted so hard that she nearly dropped her phone, her laughter bright and infectious. "Hard pass. That's a definite zero."

From the pantry, Lexa chimed in, her voice measured but audible: "Fish should be cleaned before being presented."

Clarke turned her head with raised eyebrows, amusement dancing in her eyes. "Noted, Commander."

Raven erupted into laughter from the other end. "Oh my god, is she listening in? This is gold."

"She's pretending she's not," Clarke said, grinning, "but yes, she's clearly taking notes."

Lexa remained silent, but the faint pink that crept along her ears suggested otherwise. Clarke scrolled down, her thumb dancing across the screen. The next profile displayed a man leaning against a flashy sports car, posing as if the vehicle were an extension of his identity. His bio read 'CEO in the streets, gamer in the sheets.'

Clarke gagged dramatically. "Absolutely not. Negative ten!"

Raven let out a dramatic groan. "But Clarke, don't you want to ride off into the sunset in his leased Lamborghini?"

Clarke laughed so hard that tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. "Please. If someone starts with their car, it means their personality's probably in the glove compartment."

Lexa's shoulders shook slightly as she lined up flour and sugar, struggling to suppress a grin.

The next contender flashed onto the screen, a woman smiling radiantly in a cozy bookstore, her profile attractively minimalistic.

Clarke tilted her head, her interest piqued. "She's actually... cute."

Raven sighed in resignation. "Yeah, but read the fine print."

Clarke scrolled further. "'Looking for someone to co-parent my three cats, attend Harry Styles concerts, and never question my astrology memes.'" Clarke laughed heartily. "Okay, I'd swipe right for friendship, but not romance."

Lexa glanced over momentarily, mentally filing away Clarke's amused reaction to astrology memes as if it were top-secret information.

The subsequent series of profiles was a cringeworthy parade, blurry bathroom mirror selfies, men flaunting shirtless gym pics, and bios filled with emojis that Clarke was unable to decode. She and Raven roasted each one with relentless fervor, their laughter dancing through the air like a buoyant melody.

"Okay, but this one," Clarke said, tapping on a profile featuring a guy posing with a sword in what appeared to be a backyard. "Tell me this isn't a dealbreaker."

Raven groaned dramatically. "Oh, it's definitely a dealbreaker. The sword is never ironic."

Clarke erupted into giggles, the image sparking her imagination. "Can you imagine bringing him to Friendsgiving and he unsheathes his blade for the turkey?"

"God," Lexa muttered under her breath, shaking her head, but the faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

After nearly half an hour of unabashed laughter and playful critique, Clarke finally set the phone down, her cheeks flushed and her chest still heaving with residual giggles.

"That was the best workout I've had in weeks," she declared. "My face hurts."

"Glad I could entertain," Raven replied dryly, though Clarke could hear the smile blossoming in her voice. "Thanks, princess. I needed that roast session."

"Always," Clarke said warmly. "And hey, there's someone out there. We just need to find the one who doesn't lead with fish or swords."

Raven chuckled, her spirit lifted. "Here's hoping. Otherwise you and Miss Broody over there will have to live without my infectiousness personality if I decide to move states."

"Are you seriously threatening us with a good time? Who needs hell when we have you." Lexa teased.

"Fuck you, Woodson! Clarke, I'll let you get back to nesting with Commander Pantry over there. Talk soon?"

"Talk soon." Clarke hung up, her grin lingering as she placed the phone on the counter, feeling the comfort of shared laughter resonate in the vibrant air of their newly organised kitchen.

Lexa emerged from the pantry, arms crossed defiantly, her face schooled into a mask of neutrality that barely concealed the flicker of amusement in her keen eyes. "That seemed... lively," she remarked, a hint of curiosity lacing her tone.

Clarke tilted her head, her expression playful as she caught the subtle glint of interest that danced behind Lexa's gaze. "You were listening in, weren't you?"

With an arched brow, Lexa replied, "I was simply nearby."

"Mhm," Clarke said knowingly, her lips curling into a teasing smile. She stepped closer, her hands finding their way to Lexa's waist, fingers splayed possessively. "Anything you'd like to... take notes on?"

Instead of responding, Lexa leaned down, drawing Clarke into a slow, deep kiss that seemed to dissolve the space between them. Each moment stretched, rich with unhurried intimacy, leaving Clarke breathless when they finally pulled apart.

Lexa's thumb brushed tenderly over Clarke's cheek, her expression softening. "Only that I will never hold a fish in a profile photo," she declared with a hint of amusement.

Clarke chuckled, her forehead resting against Lexa's. "Good. Because you'll never need a profile. You're stuck with me now."

"Gladly," Lexa murmured, capturing Clarke's lips in another kiss, one that spoke volumes without words.

The living room was bathed in a warm, golden light that draped everything in a soft glow. The late afternoon sun poured through the sheer curtains, casting playful stripes of sunlight across the plush couch. Clarke tugged on Lexa's hand, coaxing her down beside her, a silent insistence that Lexa eventually surrendered to with a quiet exhale, her long frame sinking into the depths of the couch.

Clarke curled into Lexa's side, her head resting comfortably against the curve of Lexa's shoulder as her fingers traced the hem of Lexa's sweater, as if it were a natural extension of their intimacy. Without a second thought, Lexa adjusted herself, one arm wrapping warmly around Clarke's shoulders while her other hand found the gentle swell of Clarke's stomach, grounding and reassuring.

The background was filled with the soft thrum of the television, where a cooking competition played out, two contestants frantically chopping vegetables under the watchful eye of a dramatic narrator amplifying the stakes.

"You know," Clarke murmured, her voice drowsy and hazy, "you'd win this. Hands down."

Lexa glanced at the screen where a man was struggling with a pepper, his movements almost comical in their ineptitude. "It doesn't seem difficult," she replied, the corner of her mouth lifting.

Clarke's smile widened, mischief in her eyes. "That's because you approach food like it's a battle strategy."

"Perhaps," Lexa conceded, her thumb absent-mindedly stroking the soft fabric of Clarke's shirt, the action soothing in its rhythm.

Time slipped by in a slow, luxurious pace, filling the space between their breaths with tranquility. Clarke's body melted deeper into Lexa's, her legs curling up as she nestled closer, letting her eyelids drift closed even while the TV flickered in the background. She could feel the steady, reassuring beat of Lexa's heart beneath her cheek, each thud anchoring her in comfort beyond what words could express.

Lexa pressed her lips gently to the top of Clarke's hair, lingering as if trying to memorize the sensation of warmth that radiated from her. Her fingers brushed softly against Clarke's temple, tucking a stray curl back into place. "Comfortable?" she asked in a low voice.

"Mhm," Clarke hummed, her voice low and almost purring. "You make the best pillow."

This elicited the faintest smile from Lexa, a soft huff of amusement escaping her lips as she savored the sweetness of the moment. "A CEO reduced to furniture," she teased gently.

Clarke cracked one eye open, smirking playfully up at her. "The best kind of furniture." With that, she pressed a lazy kiss to Lexa's collarbone before settling back against her, cheek resting against her chest once more.

Minutes drifted by in a cocoon of silence, interrupted only by the sound of sizzling pans and the distant applause of the audience on TV. Clarke's hand wandered idly, tracing soft patterns on Lexa's side, the motion soothing, hypnotic in its repetition.

At some point, Clarke began to laugh softly, not in reaction to the screen but simply at the overwhelming warmth surrounding them. "This is so... normal," she whispered, the word hanging in the air like a gentle promise.

Lexa tilted her head slightly, curiosity evident in her gaze. "Normal?"

"Yeah," Clarke replied, her eyes fluttering open, a smile blooming on her face. "The TV on, no crises, no... drama. Just us." She shifted to meet Lexa's gaze, her expression softening further. "I didn't realize how much I needed this until right now."

Lexa's gaze deepened, her green eyes capturing the last golden strands of sunlight filtering into the room. "Nor did I," she admitted, her voice low and sincere. She brushed her thumb delicately under Clarke's chin, tilting her face upward just enough to share a slow, sweet kiss.

The kiss lingered, a gentle exchange that required nothing more than their shared presence. When they finally parted, Clarke rested her forehead against Lexa's, her eyes closed once again, a tranquil smile still playing on her lips.

They lingered in that moment until Clarke shifted, laughter bubbling up again as one of the contestants on screen managed to set their pan on fire. "Okay, maybe you wouldn't win," she teased, poking Lexa's side playfully.

Lexa raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk forming. "You doubt me?"

Clarke giggled, her laughter light and infectious. "Just saying, you've never cooked under pressure with ten cameras on you."

Lexa's smirk widened. "I would adapt."

"Of course you would," Clarke replied warmly, planting another kiss on the corner of Lexa's mouth.

Outside, the world dimmed slowly, shadows stretching like languid dancers across the room, but neither of them made a move to break the spell. The show played on unnoticed, their laughter fading into another comfortable silence. Lexa stroked Clarke's arm in soothing lines, while Clarke dozed lightly against her chest, the two of them enveloped in their own small universe.

Dinner could wait. For now, this moment was everything.

As the final rays of sunlight dissolved into the horizon, the house was enveloped in a tranquil twilight blue, casting a serene ambiance over everything. It was in this soft, lingering dusk that Clarke finally stirred against Lexa's chest, her body stretching like a languid cat, arching until her spine emitted a satisfying pop. Her shirt crept up slightly, revealing a delicate sliver of skin, a sight that caught Lexa's gaze instinctively. She quickly averted her eyes when Clarke glanced back, a faint flush creeping up her ears, betraying the discipline she'd tried to maintain.

"We should probably start dinner," Clarke mumbled, her voice a gentle whisper, though her body showed no intention of moving from the warm cocoon of Lexa's embrace.

In response, Lexa's hand glided down Clarke's back in smooth, deliberate strokes, each touch unhurried and soothing. "We could," she replied softly, the words laced with a teasing warmth, "or..." She tilted her head slightly, locking her steady gaze onto Clarke's, the intensity causing Clarke's heart to quicken. "We could shower first. Together."

Clarke raised an eyebrow playfully, her lips forming a teasing smile. "Together, huh?"

Lexa maintained her composed demeanor, but the rhythmic circle of her thumb against Clarke's hip revealed her underlying eagerness. "Efficient," she said with a straight face, attempting to sound serious. "Water conservation."

Clarke let out a light laugh, her amusement brightening the dim room as she pushed herself up, positioning herself straddling Lexa's lap. "You're terrible at pretending this is about efficiency." Her grin widened, mischief dancing in her eyes as she leaned in closer, her nose brushing tantalizingly along Lexa's jaw. "You just want me naked."

Despite her best efforts to remain undisturbed, Lexa's breath faltered, the tension in the air palpable. "Is that a crime?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Depends how you plead," Clarke murmured, her lips grazing just beneath Lexa's ear, sending ripples of longing through both of them.

In that moment, the careful facade Lexa had upheld began to slip. Her hands, which had been resting innocently against Clarke's thighs, tightened their grip, sliding upward with a reverent slowness until they framed Clarke's waist. The rhythm of Lexa's heart was loud in her ears, reverberating against Clarke's lips as she trailed soft kisses down the elegant line of her neck, each one igniting sparks of electricity between them.

Clarke managed to free herself, but Lexa's hand closed around her wrist before she could even stand.

"Where do you think you're going?" Lexa's voice was low, and dangerous in that way that made Clarke's stomach flip.

"Bathroom," Clarke answered, though her tone betrayed her, already shaky and already affected.

Lexa's eyes raked down her body, bare skin glowing, hair mussed from sleep, the swell of pregnancy making her look even softer, even more irresistible. Clarke's lace panties were the only thing she had on since she got hot. A mistake. Because Lexa couldn't look away.

"You think I'm letting you walk away from me?" Lexa tugged her back toward the couch, pulling her down into her lap, lips crashing against hers before Clarke could even protest.

Clarke whimpered into the kiss, her mouth instantly parting, tongue seeking Lexa's. Lexa took command, sliding her tongue past Clarke's lips, claiming her mouth in a heated duel. Teeth clashed, lips sucked, a hungry, desperate mess of a kiss. Clarke bit down on Lexa's lower lip, and Lexa growled, deep and primal, thrusting her tongue back into Clarke's mouth until she whimpered in surrender.

"God, you taste sweet," Lexa muttered, lips dragging down her jawline, teeth scraping her neck.

Clarke's head fell back, already panting with arousal, her hips rolling down instinctively against Lexa's hardness still straining in her briefs. The friction made her gasp, her nails digging into Lexa's shoulders.

"Lexa, please—"

"Not yet." Lexa's voice was steel, commanding, even as she tugged Clarke's panties aside and pressed her fingers against her slick folds. "You left me aching this morning. You're going to pay for that."

Clarke moaned, thighs clenching around Lexa's hand. She was soaked and already dripping, already trembling with need.

"Sensitive?" Lexa teased, pressing her thumb lightly to Clarke's clit. Clarke jolted at the action, gasping loud.

"Yes—fuck, yes," Clarke panted, her whole body shivering. "Please don't tease—"

But Lexa ignored her pleas, dragging her fingers slowly up and down Clarke's slit, deliberately avoiding her entrance, deliberately brushing over her clit just enough to make her legs quake.

Clarke grabbed at her shoulders, desperate. "Lexa—please, inside—"

"You don't get to beg yet." Lexa's lips curved into a cruel smirk before she lifted Clarke's shirt up and leaned forward to suck her nipple into her mouth through the thin lace. Clarke cried out, body jerking while her hands flew to Lexa's hair.

"Gods—Lexa—" She couldn't breathe, couldn't think. Her nipples were hypersensitive, every flick of Lexa's tongue sending shocks straight down to her core.

Lexa bit lightly, then soothed with her tongue, switching to the other breast, tugging the shirt up to get it off and the lace down to bare Clarke completely. After, her mouth latched, sucking harder, rolling the bud between her teeth while her hand worked the other breast, pinching, teasing, relentless.

Clarke was trembling, grinding helplessly against Lexa's thigh now, wetness soaking through the fabric. "Please, Lexa, I need you—"

Lexa pulled back, her lips glistening and eyes dark with desire. "You'll get me when I decide you've earned it."

Clarke whimpered, utterly undone, her pussy aching, clit throbbing with every heartbeat.

Finally, Lexa shoved her pants and briefs down and freed herself, her dick thick and hard, flushed with need and dripping with precum. She gripped Clarke's hips, lining herself up. Clarke gasped, looking down and watching Lexa's cock brush against her folds, glistening as it slid against her soaked entrance.

Lexa didn't push in. She teased, rubbing her tip over Clarke's clit in slow maddening circles. Clarke squirmed, her breasts bouncing with every movement grind she took, nipples still aching from Lexa's mouth.

"Gods, please—fuck me—Lexa, I need it so bad—" Clarke begged, voice cracking.

Lexa's smirk only deepened. "That's better."

And then, in one deep steady thrust, she pushed inside. Clarke cried out, her body arching and nails clawing down Lexa's back. Lexa filled her completely, stretching her, hitting that perfect spot that had Clarke's vision blurring.

"Fuck—you feel so tight," Lexa groaned, pulling back slow, watching the way her length slid out slick and shining, only to thrust back in harder, deeper.

Clarke's head fell back, her breasts bouncing with every thrust, her pussy clenching desperately around her. "Oh gods—yes, there—fuck, yes!"

Lexa slammed into her again, angling her hips until Clarke nearly sobbed from the pressure against her G-spot. Each thrust was ruthless, intoxicating and deep, pushing Clarke higher, her legs trembling around Lexa's waist.

Lexa reached down, circling Clarke's clit with her thumb while pounding into her, watching her fall apart. "Look at you: so wet, so desperate for me. Say it. Say you need me."

"I need you!" Clarke cried, gasping, tears at the corners of her eyes from the intensity. "I need you deep—fuck, Lexa—don't stop!"

Lexa grunted, thrusting harder, watching her length disappear into Clarke's pussy over and over, slick and swollen. The sight drove her wild.

"You're mine, Clarke," she growled, nipping her bottom lip, thrusts quickening. "Every part of you is mine."

Clarke moaned brokenly, her body convulsing, pleasure overwhelming her senses. Lexa's thumb pressed harder against her clit, her cock slamming her G-spot mercilessly, and Clarke shattered screaming her release, thighs clenching and walls spasming tight around Lexa.

Lexa fucked her through it, groaning, until she couldn't hold back any longer. With a guttural moan, she thrust deep one last time, spilling inside her, hips jerking against Clarke's as they came together.

They collapsed against each other, bodies slick, skin sticky with sweat. Clarke lay trembling, head buried against Lexa's neck, still pulsing from aftershocks. Lexa held her close, hands splayed over her back, grounding her even as her chest heaved.

Neither spoke for long moments, only the sound of their ragged breathing filling the room.

Lexa finally rolled her off her lap and stood, tugging her to her feet with a firm grip on her wrist. Clarke's legs were shaky, her thighs still trembling from the intensity of her orgasm, but Lexa wasn't done.

"Shower," Lexa ordered, voice hoarse, chest rising and falling with hunger still unquenched.

Clarke swallowed hard, nodding, her body obedient even though her knees were jelly. She barely had time to grab her discarded panties when Lexa pressed up against her back, one hand on her hip, the other sliding under her shirt(which she had put back on) again to squeeze her breast. Clarke gasped, arching against her touch, lips parting helplessly.

"Gods, you're still so sensitive," Lexa murmured into her ear, biting lightly at her lobe.

Clarke whimpered, nodding quickly, already clenching her thighs together. "I can't help it... you make me—"

"You make yourself this wet," Lexa cut her off, her tone dark as she slid her palm lower, rubbing over Clarke's soaked pussy. Clarke moaned loudly, nearly collapsing against the wall.

They didn't make it far. Halfway across the room, Lexa turned Clarke abruptly, crashing their lips together again. Clarke's tongue begged for entrance, desperate, needy, but Lexa denied her, biting at her lower lip until Clarke whimpered. Only then did she push her tongue inside, devouring her mouth.

Clarke clawed at Lexa's shoulders, trying to push her hoodie up, but Lexa gripped her wrists, pinning them to the wall beside her head. Their mouths were frantic, wet, hungry, Lexa dominating every stroke, every slide of tongue.

When she finally pulled back, Clarke's lips were swollen, her eyes wide with need. "Please, Lexa," she whispered, her chest heaving.

"Tell me what you want, baby." Lexa's thumb traced her bottom lip, eyes locked on her like a predator savoring prey.

"I want your cock inside me again," Clarke gasped, her voice breaking. "I need you—deep—please."

Lexa smirked. "Not yet."

Clarke groaned in frustration, only to cry out when Lexa bent down suddenly, lips latching onto her nipple. Clarke's back hit the wall as her breast was sucked hard into Lexa's mouth, teeth scraping, tongue flicking mercilessly. Her hands tangled in Lexa's hair, pulling, but Lexa only groaned against her, switching to the other nipple and biting down until Clarke nearly screamed.

"You're so sensitive here," Lexa muttered against her breast, squeezing both roughly, thumbs rolling the hardened buds. Clarke's whole body jolted with each touch, a wet ache spreading between her thighs.

"Fuck, Lexa—I can't—please, please fuck me—" Clarke's begging was breathless, desperate, her hips rolling uncontrollably.

Lexa finally released her, lips swollen, eyes burning. Without warning she hooked Clarke's thighs and lifted her easily, carrying her toward the bathroom. Clarke clung to her shoulders, panting, kissing her neck, biting at her jawline as Lexa kicked the door shut behind them.

Steam already filled the small space as Lexa turned on the shower, pressing Clarke's back to the cool tile. Clarke gasped at the temperature contrast, but her gasp turned into a sharp moan when Lexa ground her cock against her dripping folds.

"Feel how hard I am for you?" Lexa's voice was rough, thick with lust.

"Yes, god yes—" Clarke writhed, her breasts pressed between them, water starting to drizzle down her shoulders.

Lexa's groan rumbled low as she finally pushed inside in one steady thrust. Clarke screamed, her nails dragging down Lexa's back, her pussy clenching hard around the sudden fullness.

"Gods—you're still so tight," Lexa growled, pulling back to watch her cock glisten as it slid out before slamming back in, harder this time.

Clarke's breasts bounced with every thrust, water running down her skin, her nipples flushed and aching. Lexa bent her head, sucking one into her mouth again as she fucked her hard, each thrust pounding Clarke against the tiles.

"Lexa—fuck—yes, there—oh gods, deeper—" Clarke's voice broke into cries, her thighs trembling as Lexa angled her hips, hitting her G-spot with ruthless precision.

"You feel that? That's me right where you need me," Lexa groaned, thrusting harder, faster, watching Clarke's face twist in desperate pleasure.

Clarke sobbed with it, the pressure unbearable, her clit throbbing as Lexa pressed her thumb against it, circling mercilessly.

"Fuck—fuck, I'm gonna—" Clarke screamed as her orgasm ripped through her, body convulsing, walls spasming around Lexa's cock.

Lexa didn't slow down, fucking her through it, watching her breasts bounce wildly, watching her cock disappear over and over into Clarke's soaked, twitching pussy.

Clarke gasped, voice wrecked, "Yes—don't stop—fill me, Lexa—please—"

Lexa's growl was primal as she thrust deep one final time, burying herself to the hilt as she spilled inside her, hips jerking against Clarke's.

They clung to each other under the pounding water, bodies trembling, breaths ragged. Lexa's forehead pressed to Clarke's, her hand still gripping her hip, keeping her grounded.

Clarke, panting, let out a shaky laugh. "We... definitely didn't make it to the shower in time."

Lexa smirked, brushing wet hair from Clarke's face. "We made it. Just... not the way you planned."

Clarke kissed her again, slow and soft now, lips swollen but tender, as the water washed away the mess of their pleasure.

Steam swirled around them, clinging to their overheated skin. The water poured down in steady rivulets, washing away the sweat of their bodies but not the hunger that still lingered between them. Lexa held Clarke pinned against the tile, both of them panting through the aftermath of release, their lips brushing with every shaky breath.

But Clarke wasn't finished.

Not by a long shot.

As Lexa's lips parted to murmur something against her skin, Clarke tilted her head, capturing her mouth in a kiss that was sharp, commanding. Her tongue swept inside before Lexa could take control, rolling deep, purposeful, stealing the rhythm from her.

Lexa groaned, surprised, her hands tightening on Clarke's hips. Clarke smiled into the kiss, biting at her bottom lip until Lexa hissed. "My turn," she whispered against her mouth, her voice sultry and sure.

Lexa's eyes darkened, that familiar heat sparking, but she didn't fight it. She loved this side of Clarke, the side that didn't just give in but took.

Clarke slid down slowly, wet hair plastered to her flushed face, her mouth tracing over Lexa's collarbone, biting at the curve of her breast before dropping lower. Lexa's length, still half-hard, twitched under Clarke's teasing gaze. Clarke smirked, licking her lips before wrapping her hand around it, stroking lazily, deliberately.

"Gods, Clarke—" Lexa's head fell back against the tiles as her cock thickened in Clarke's hand, water streaming down her chest.

Clarke kissed the head softly before taking it into her mouth, her tongue swirling around the tip, sucking with deliberate pressure. Lexa gasped, hips jerking, one hand slamming against the wall for balance as the other tangled in Clarke's hair.

"You taste so good," Clarke murmured between licks, her voice vibrating against Lexa's length. She sank deeper, hollowing her cheeks, her nails scraping lightly over Lexa's thighs as she bobbed her head.

Lexa growled low, every muscle in her abdomen trembling. "Clarke, fuck—god, your mouth—"

But Clarke pulled back with a wet pop, wiping her lips with the back of her hand. Her smirk was wicked. "Not done yet."

She stood slowly, pressing her slick body against Lexa's, grinding her soaked pussy over the length of her cock. The friction had them both groaning, their nipples brushing, breasts bouncing lightly with the movement. Clarke leaned in, kissing her deeply again, tongue demanding, biting at her lip before pulling away.

"Sit." Her voice was sharp, commanding in a way that made Lexa's knees weak.

Lexa obeyed instantly, lowering herself onto the built-in shower bench, water cascading over her shoulders. Clarke climbed over her, straddling her thighs, guiding Lexa's cock to her entrance.

"Clarke—" Lexa's voice broke, but Clarke pressed a finger to her lips.

"Shh," Clarke whispered, brushing her swollen tip against her soaked folds. "This time, I'm using you."

Lexa groaned, almost undone from just the words. And then Clarke sank down, slow and deliberate, inch by inch until Lexa was buried to the hilt inside her.

"Fuck," Clarke moaned, head falling back, nails digging into Lexa's shoulders. The stretch was overwhelming, exquisite, water pouring over her back, dripping from her nipples as her breasts bounced slightly with the motion.

Lexa's eyes fluttered shut, then snapped open, watching every detail, the way Clarke's pussy clenched around her cock, the way her stomach rose and fell with every breath, the way her breasts shifted and bounced as she started to move.

"Gods, Clarke, look at you riding me—fuck—" Lexa's hands gripped Clarke's waist, grounding herself as Clarke rolled her hips slow at first, grinding down hard against her pelvis.

Clarke moaned, circling her hips deliberately, hitting her own clit with each movement. "You like watching me fuck you, don't you?" she teased, her voice breaking with pleasure.

"Yes," Lexa groaned, biting her lip, her cock twitching inside Clarke. "God, yes—you're so fucking beautiful—"

Clarke set a pace, bouncing harder now, her breasts bouncing with every rise and fall, water dripping from her nipples as she rode Lexa with ease. Her moans grew louder, sharper, echoing off the tile.

"Fuck—yes—right there—" she gasped, angling her hips to grind down against Lexa's cock, each thrust hitting her G-spot dead on. The pressure built fast, unbearable, her clit throbbing as her slickness coated Lexa's cock.

Lexa's jaw dropped, unable to tear her eyes away from the sight of her cock disappearing over and over into Clarke's tight, desperate pussy. "You're gonna make me come—"

"Not before me," Clarke demanded, grabbing Lexa's chin, forcing her to look into her eyes as she rode harder, wetter, faster. Her voice was ragged, commanding. "Be a good girl and wait for me."

The words alone nearly tipped Lexa over, but Clarke's body did the rest. Her thighs shook, her nails clawed at Lexa's back, and then she shattered, screaming Lexa's name as her orgasm ripped through her, her walls clenching hard, milking her cock mercilessly.

Lexa couldn't hold back, she thrust up into her once, twice more before spilling deep inside her and groaning Clarke's name like a prayer, holding her tight as they both shook apart.

Clarke collapsed against her, panting into the crook of her neck, her body trembling but satisfied. Lexa held her close, one arm around her back, the other stroking her soaked hair as the water cascaded over them.

When Clarke finally pulled back, her lips curled into a lazy, proud smile. "Am I forgiven now?"

Lexa kissed her softly, reverently, despite the fire still buzzing under her skin. "You literally have me wrapped around your finger, Clarke."

Clarke laughed breathlessly, pressing her forehead to hers. And in the steam and spray of the shower, they stayed wrapped together, sated and tangled, water washing away everything but the heat that bound them.

The sharp edges of their pleasure slowly ebbed, leaving only the sound of rushing water and the warmth of their bodies pressed together. Clarke stayed nestled against Lexa's chest, her breathing ragged but steadying, her lips brushing lazily against damp skin.

Lexa kissed the top of her head, still catching her breath. "God, Clarke... you'll be the death of me."

Clarke let out a husky laugh, tilting her head up just enough to meet her lips for a slow, lingering kiss. "Mmm. You love it."

"I do." Lexa smiled against her mouth, brushing their noses together. "More than I can say."

For a while, they didn't move, just let the water run over them as if it could wash away time itself. Clarke finally shifted, sliding off Lexa's lap and standing on shaky legs, the steam clinging to her flushed skin. Lexa's hands automatically steadied her, protective even in afterglow.

Clarke gave her a teasing grin. "Relax. I can stand without falling over."

"Not when your legs are trembling like that," Lexa countered, rising with her.

Clarke leaned back against the tile, letting Lexa grab the body wash. Lexa's hands were firm but gentle as she lathered Clarke's shoulders, then slid down her arms, kneading lightly as she went. Clarke sighed, closing her eyes, savoring the care in every touch.

When Lexa's hands brushed over her breasts, Clarke arched into it with a mischievous smirk. "Careful. You'll start something again."

Lexa's low chuckle vibrated in her chest. "You say that like it'd be a bad thing." Still, her touch softened, her thumbs rubbing lightly over Clarke's sensitive nipples without pushing her further. She lowered her mouth, pressing kisses across Clarke's collarbone instead, reverent, tender.

Clarke tangled her fingers in Lexa's wet hair, guiding her back up. "My turn."

She took the soap, running it across Lexa's chest, then her shoulders, slow and deliberate. Her hands lingered, not just washing but exploring, tracing every line of muscle, every curve of her. Clarke bent to kiss the droplets trailing down Lexa's sternum, her lips grazing damp skin.

Lexa's eyes fluttered shut, her breath catching, but she let Clarke take her time.

By the time Clarke slid her soapy hands down Lexa's abs, she was grinning. "I could get used to this view."

Lexa smirked, brushing wet strands from Clarke's face. "It's all yours."

They finished rinsing each other off between soft kisses and playful squeezes, laughter mixing with the hiss of water. At one point, Clarke pressed her slippery body full against Lexa's, kissing her until they were both giggling, water streaming down their faces.

Eventually, Lexa reached around her to shut off the shower, both of them reluctant but smiling. Clarke stepped out first, grabbing a towel, wrapping it around her swollen belly and breasts with a little huff.

Lexa followed, towel slung around her and immediately bent to press a kiss to Clarke's damp hair.

"Come back to bed with me?" Clarke whispered, her voice low, tender now instead of teasing.

Lexa's smile softened. "Always."

And with that, they padded out of the bathroom together, steam curling out behind them, their laughter echoing down the hall as the morning light waited to greet them.

Chapter Text

The bedroom lay shrouded in a soft, dim light when they padded in, the faint tendrils of steam lingering in the air, wafting from the bathroom down the hall. The curtains hung partially drawn, allowing the last whiffs of twilight to spill into the room, casting a muted glow that enveloped everything in a dusky warmth. They slipped into their pajamas, and with a sense of eager respite, Clarke climbed onto the bed, wrapping herself in the blanket like a delicate cocoon. The mattress yielded beneath her weight, and the crisp, clean scent of freshly laundered sheets mingled with the lingering aroma of their bodies, still slightly damp from the shower.

Lexa paused momentarily at the edge of the bed, her gaze fixed on Clarke as she burrowed into the comforter, a soft, tired grin gracing her lips. In that ordinary moment, Lexa's heart tightened with an ache of longing, so simple yet profoundly perfect. She slid into the warmth beside Clarke, instantly drawing her into her embrace, the blanket enveloping them both in a shared sanctuary of warmth.

Clarke let out a soft, contented hum, resting her cheek against the gentle curve of Lexa's collarbone. "Mmm. Warm," she murmured, her voice muffled yet laced with ease.

"You're still damp," Lexa teased, her tone light, brushing a wayward curl from Clarke's forehead with tender fingers.

"Don't care," Clarke replied, her voice a lazy whisper as she nestled closer. "You're warm enough for both of us."

A smile crept across Lexa's lips that she couldn't suppress. She tilted her chin down, resting it atop Clarke's head, inhaling the mingling scents of soap, steam, and the unmistakable essence of Clarke. Her fingers found their place beneath the blanket, tracing gentle, lazy paths across Clarke's back, not with desire this time, but in a language of comfort. A touch that spoke words unspoken, assuring her: I'm here. I'll always be here.

For a while, the room was filled with a serene silence, punctuated only by the rhythm of their breaths synchronizing and the gentle creaks of the house settling around them. Clarke's hand wandered idly, her fingers dancing at the hem of Lexa's shirt, brushing against the band of her sweatpants in lazy, aimless circles. It was an instinctive gesture, a simple craving for closeness.

Eventually, Clarke tilted her head up, her eyes heavy-lidded yet luminous in the soft light. "You know what's weird?" she asked, the curve of her lips teasing.

Lexa shifted slightly, their eyes locking. "What's that?"

"This," Clarke said, a small smile unfurling on her lips. "Not the sex. Not the... pregnancy stuff. Just... this. Laying here, doing nothing, and feeling completely—" she trailed off, searching for the perfect word, "—full."

Lexa's chest tightened at the depth of that sentiment. She pressed her lips against Clarke's forehead, lingering there as if to anchor the moment. "It isn't strange to me," she admitted quietly. "It feels like... how it should be."

Clarke's gaze softened in response. "I love you." With purposeful tenderness, she reached up and traced her thumb along Lexa's jawline, her smile lazy and affectionate. "Do you ever get tired of me saying that?"

"Never," Lexa replied without a hint of hesitation, her voice ingrained with the weight of truth.

Clarke grinned and adjusted her position, sprawling more fully across Lexa's body, their legs tangling together as the blanket slipped slightly, revealing the delicate curve of her bare shoulder, still glistening faintly from the shower. Lexa's hand moved instinctively to caress it, her thumb tracing the gentle hollow of Clarke's shoulder blade.

"Careful," Clarke teased softly, a playful lilt in her voice. "If you touch me like that, I might just fall asleep right here."

"Then sleep," Lexa murmured, her voice a soothing balm.

Clarke shook her head, pressing a soft kiss to the base of Lexa's throat. "Not yet. I like this too much."

Lexa's chest rose and fell steadily below Clarke, the rhythm of her heartbeat a reassuring presence. She continued to stroke Clarke's back in long, sweeping motions, her palm warm and steady against the gentle curve of her spine. Clarke's breathing began to even out, though her eyes remained open, soaking in the rare stillness that enveloped them.

As her hand slipped lower, brushing against the gentle slope of her stomach, a soft curve that held a world of potential, Lexa's touch faltered for just a heartbeat. Clarke noticed and placed her hand over Lexa's, guiding it gently.

"She's in there," Clarke whispered, her voice a hushed reverence in the dim glow of the room. "Growing. Every day."

Lexa swallowed hard, her thumb gliding softly across Clarke's skin, an echo of wonder in her voice. "I know." Each word felt charged, filled with a raw reverence. "I think about her every time I look at you."

Clarke blinked up at her, her eyes shimmering with emotion in the twilight haze. "That's... terrifyingly sweet."

Lexa smiled faintly, her lips brushing against Clarke's temple with a tenderness that conveyed her heart's truth. "You terrify me. Both of you. Because I don't know how I got so lucky."

Clarke's throat tightened at the declaration, and she burrowed closer, pressing her face into Lexa's chest as if seeking refuge. "Lexa, if you keep talking like that, I really am going to cry."

Lexa chuckled softly, her arms tightening around Clarke, grounding her in the warmth of their shared space. "Then cry. I'll hold you."

Clarke didn't truly cry, not in the way words would describe, but she did sniffle softly, laughing at herself as she wiped her hand across her damp cheek. Lexa pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of her head, murmuring something in Trigedasleng that Clarke didn't understand but felt deeply nonetheless. The melody of Lexa's voice was enough.

Time slipped by, cocooning them in an embrace of love and warmth. Eventually, Clarke shifted, leg draping more fully over Lexa's hip, her body a soft weight against her.

"You know what this is?" Clarke asked softly, her words thick with sleep.

Lexa tilted her head, curious.

"This is the part where I tell you we're not getting up to make dinner," Clarke mumbled, eyelids drooping as she surrendered to the heaviness of sleep.

Lexa's lips curved into a smile as she tucked the blanket higher around them, whispering, "Then we'll just stay here a little longer."

And so they stayed, tangled, warm, content. The world could wait. For now, there was only Clarke's soft breath against her chest, the weight of her body curled around hers, and the quiet certainty that there was no place Lexa would ever rather be.

About two hours after their quick nap, Clarke wriggled free from the sanctuary of blankets, playfully tugging Lexa along by the hand. "Come on," she urged, still a touch drowsy but driven by a deep-seated hunger that eclipsed her desire to stay cocooned in bed. "If I don't get chicken tikka soon, I might actually perish."

Lexa raised an arched brow, allowing herself to be guided. "Clarke...why are your cravings so life-threatening."

Clarke shot her a playful glare over her shoulder. "You have no idea. It's either this, or I start weeping over an Oreo commercial again."

Lexa laughed softly, brushing her thumb across the back of Clarke's hand as they approached the kitchen counter. She watched intently, absorbing Clarke's effortless movements through the kitchen, a rhythm so natural it seemed choreographed. Clarke's flair for cooking was evident, and Lexa felt an unfamiliar urge bubbling within her, the desire to learn every step of this culinary dance.

"Okay," Clarke said, placing a sturdy cutting board in front of her along with a sharp knife. "We're starting with the chicken. Dice it into bite-sized pieces. But be careful, if they're too small they'll dry out."

Lexa picked up the knife with a sense of purpose, her grip steady but her cuts measured, almost methodical in their precision. Clarke leaned against the counter, a contented grin spreading across her lips as she observed. "Of course you'd chop chicken like you're on a military mission."

"Precision matters," Lexa retorted, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Clarke couldn't resist stealing one of the neatly cut pieces, dropping it into the marinating bowl. "See? Just the right size." She reached up on her tiptoes to press a quick kiss to Lexa's cheek before returning to her own task, mixing yogurt with lemon juice, crushed garlic, fragrant ginger, and a medley of spices. The aroma filled the kitchen almost immediately, warm cumin, smoky paprika, and the sharp zing of ginger creating an inviting symphony of scents.

Lexa paused mid-cut, her nose quivering in appreciation. "That smells..." She searched for the right word, land finally settled on, "irresistible."

"Dangerously good," Clarke corrected playfully, licking yogurt from her finger. "Here, taste." She extended her finger toward Lexa, who leaned down obediently, her lips encircling Clarke's finger. Clarke's breath caught at the flicker of surprise in Lexa's eyes. "See? Totally worth the mess."

With the marinated chicken set aside to rest, Clarke moved to the stovetop, where she expertly measured out basmati rice, rinsing it under cool water until it ran clear. "Your turn," she said, handing Lexa a gleaming saucepan. "Two parts water, one part rice. A pinch of salt. Don't overthink it."

Lexa followed the instructions meticulously, casting a glance at Clarke as if seeking her approval. Clarke leaned in closer, peering into the pot, before smirking with satisfaction. "Pass. You might just be a natural."

Lexa leaned down, brushing her lips across Clarke's temple, a gesture filled with affection. "I have an excellent teacher."

From that moment, they moved in perfect synchrony; Clarke sautéed onions until they shimmered with a golden hue, while Lexa lingered nearby, enchanted by the spice jars, turmeric, garam masala, coriander. Clarke explained each spice with enthusiasm, sprinkling them in with an artistic flair, encouraging Lexa to stir. The air grew thick with heat and aroma, evoking a delicious warmth that made Clarke sigh in sheer bliss.

"Oh, it smells like heaven. I need it now," she exclaimed, her eyes bright with anticipation.

Lexa shot her an amused glance. "Patience."

Clarke nudged Lexa with her hip, a playful grin on her face. "Easy for you to say. You're not the one battling cravings."

When the chicken finally hit the pan, sizzling as it met the spiced onion base, Clarke let out a blissful sigh that resonated with the delicious anticipation in the air. Lexa stirred carefully, ensuring each piece was evenly coated while Clarke hovered nearby, spoon in hand. She dipped it into the bubbling sauce, blew softly on it, and offered it to Lexa first.

"Tell me it's good," Clarke said, her eyes wide with eagerness.

Lexa tasted the tantalizing mixture, savoring the warmth and the rich, tangy flavor of tomatoes intertwined with the spices. She swallowed, then turned to Clarke, her hand gently cradling Clarke's jaw as she kissed her slowly and intentionally, right there by the stove. Clarke melted into the kiss instantly, her fingers curling around Lexa's wrist in a silent acknowledgment of their connection.

"That good?" Clarke asked breathlessly when Lexa pulled back, her cheeks flushed.

"That good," Lexa confirmed, a teasing smile playing on her lips.

By the time the sauce thickened and the rice steamed to fluffy perfection, the kitchen had transformed into their vibrant playground. Clarke playfully swiped a smear of sauce onto Lexa's nose, erupting in laughter until Lexa caught her around the waist and kissed the playful gesture off her lips.

They indulged in sneaked spoonfuls, and during one moment, Clarke burned her tongue, yelping in surprise. Lexa, ever calm, pressed a glass of cool water into her hands, exhibiting quiet patience. Every step of their culinary adventure was punctuated by little gestures, lips brushing a hand at the small of Clarke's back, a soft kiss to her hairline, their laughter intertwining with the fragrant notes wafting through the warm kitchen.

When they finally plated the meal, golden chicken swimming in a fragrant masala sauce, rice fluffy and steaming, Clarke's eyes practically sparkled with delight. She perched cross-legged on the counter instead of the table, pulling Lexa close between her knees.

They shared bites, spoonfuls mingling, while Clarke hummed in contentment with each mouthful. "Best thing I've ever tasted," she declared, her voice rich with satisfaction.

Lexa leaned in, brushing her lips against Clarke's sticky-sweet mouth. "Agreed."

And there, in the hum of the kitchen with the smell of spice hanging heavy and laughter still lingering in the air, dinner wasn't just dinner. It was love, messy, playful, filling them both in ways that had nothing to do with food at all.

Clarke laughed every time Lexa leaned in for "just one more taste," and Lexa didn't even pretend to be ashamed about it, she liked it better this way, their mouths sharing the same spoon, the same rhythm.

By the time the last grains of rice were scooped up, the kitchen smelled of spice and warmth, and both of them were flushed, partly from the heat of the food, partly from the quiet joy of cooking together. Clarke slid down from the counter, her toes curling against the cool tile as Lexa caught her waist and stole a final kiss before setting the plates in the sink.

"Leave them," Clarke said quickly when Lexa reached for the sponge. "They can wait."

Lexa tilted her head. "It'll only take a moment."

Clarke looped her arms around Lexa's middle and swayed against her, stubborn as always. "But I want you to myself right now."

And just like that, the dishes were forgotten.

They padded into the living room, Clarke tugging Lexa's hand, their steps lazy from the meal. The TV was still on, muted, the earlier cooking show replaced by some sitcom rerun. Clarke flopped onto the couch with exaggerated exhaustion, stretching until her shirt rode up and a sliver of her belly peeked out. Lexa's gaze lingered there a beat too long before Clarke reached for her, tugging her down beside her with a grin.

Lexa settled into the corner of the couch, stretching her long legs out, and Clarke curled against her instantly, fitting herself into the curve of Lexa's body like it was designed for her. Clarke pulled the throw blanket over them and burrowed in, her cheek pressed to Lexa's chest, the sound of her heartbeat louder than the television.

For a while, they didn't speak. Clarke traced idle patterns on the back of Lexa's hand, her movements lazy, affectionate, as though she needed the physical reminder that Lexa was there. Lexa tilted her head, resting her cheek against Clarke's hair, eyes drifting closed. The world was quiet but for the flicker of the TV and the steady rhythm of their breathing.

"Full?" Lexa murmured after a long stretch of silence.

"Completely," Clarke mumbled into her shirt. "But if you put a bowl of ice cream in front of me, I'd still find room."

Lexa smiled faintly. "Noted."

Clarke tilted her face up, her grin playful. "See? You're learning already." She punctuated the words with a kiss to Lexa's jaw before sinking back against her chest.

It was the kind of late evening Clarke had always wanted but never quite dared to believe she could have: domestic, safe, warm. The smell of spices still lingered in the air, clinging to their clothes, mixing with the faint scent of soap and detergent from the laundry basket near the corner. Everything was ordinary, blissfully and beautifully ordinary.

Eventually, though, Clarke's gaze drifted across the coffee table, where a pile of unopened mail still sat. The sight tugged her stomach in a different direction than the food had, a twist of something heavier, something she'd shoved aside from sometime now.

Lexa noticed the shift instantly. "What is it?"

Clarke hesitated, then sighed softly. "The letter... from my mom."

Lexa's hand stilled where it had been tracing circles on her arm. "You opened it?"

"Not yet." Clarke sat up a little, pulling the blanket with her, suddenly restless. Her fingers toyed with the edge of the envelope, the handwriting on the front neat and familiar. Just looking at it sent her back years, arguments in the kitchen, slammed doors, that tight disappointed look on her mother's face whenever Clarke mentioned girls or Art school.

Lexa shifted with her, not pushing, just steady beside her. "Do you want to read it now?"

Clarke's throat felt dry. She hadn't known if she wanted to at all. But Lexa's calm, quiet presence grounded her, and eventually she nodded. "Yeah. I think I should."

Her hands trembled just slightly as she tore the envelope, pulling the folded letter free. The paper was thick, the ink a little shaky, as though written slowly. Clarke's eyes skimmed the first lines, and her breath caught.

Flashback: two days earlier.

The envelope wasn't marked with a return address. Just her name: Clarke Griffin, scrawled in a careful, shaky handwriting she hadn't seen in over a year. The sight of it was a punch to the gut. It felt like a ghost, a remnant of a past she'd long since buried, a time she wasn't sure she wanted to revisit.

She found it on the entryway table that evening, a foreign object among the familiar junk mail and a pamphlet for prenatal yoga. Lexa must've brought it in with the rest of the mail, her mind likely on a thousand other things. She probably hadn't noticed the distinct lack of a return address or the careful, shaky script.

But Clarke did. The moment her eyes caught that familiar loop in the "C," her pulse jumped. The small, innocuous envelope felt heavy in her hand, as if it were weighted with the unspoken words and years of silence. Her fingers hovered over the seal, trembling with a mixture of curiosity and dread. She couldn't bring herself to open it, to read the words that could be a shallow apology or a further rejection.

It was the not knowing that was a kind of torture. The small, innocuous envelope felt like a physical representation of all the grief she had tried to move on from. This letter felt like an invasion, a disturbance of the fragile peace she had finally found. She just stood there, clutching the envelope, the memory of her father's smiling face flashing in her mind, followed by the image of her mother's closed-off expression at his funeral

The air in the apartment was heavy with the scent of rain, a gentle drum against the windowpane that seemed to echo the beat of Clarke's own heart. She stood frozen in the doorway of the nursery, the small envelope a fragile weight in her hand. Her father's death had been six years ago, a brutal, sudden car crash that had shattered her world just before she started college. He'd been her anchor, her biggest champion, and the one who saw her completely. The anniversary of his passing was always a fresh wound, a day when the grief felt as sharp and raw as the moment she got the news.

That moment, the phone call from her mother, the sterile coldness of the hospital waiting room, was a memory she carried like a stone in her chest. She had been seventeen, a bright-eyed girl ready to take on the world, a world her father had always told her was hers for the taking.

She remembered him, his laugh echoing in the house, the easy way he'd throw an arm around her, the countless hours they spent in his art studio, his quiet, steady presence as she painted. He was the one who encouraged her to draw outside the lines, to be her truest self.

Lexa was a quiet presence in the room, her brow furrowed in concentration as she wrestled with the mobile for the baby's crib. She didn't have to see the letter or hear Clarke's voice to know something was wrong. She looked up, her expression changing instantly from frustrated to concerned. Her eyes found Clarke, and her gaze softened, a quiet, knowing question in their depths.

"Hey," Lexa said, her voice low and gentle. "You okay?"

Clarke's hand trembled, the paper rustling softly. She looked down at the envelope, the messy, familiar handwriting of her mother a ghost from a past she had tried so hard to bury. Six years of silence, six years of her mother shutting her out after her coming out and pursuing the arts, after her father's death. This letter felt like a cruel joke.

She remembered the night she met Lexa, the anniversary of her father's death. She had been a wreck, sitting in a quiet corner of a bar as her friends mingled, a single drink in front of her. The grief had been suffocating. It was Lexa who had approached her, a silent, comforting presence who had just sat with her, not asking questions, but simply being there. She had offered a quiet strength that Clarke desperately needed. That night, a night of profound loss and sadness, had become the beginning of everything.

Lexa, sensing Clarke's distress, moved toward her, her movements calm. She reached out, not to take the letter, but to gently touch Clarke's arm.

"What is it?" Lexa asked, her eyes falling on the letter. She didn't press for details, just waited.

Clarke finally spoke, her voice barely a whisper. "It's from my mother."

Lexa didn't flinch, but her face became a mask of studied neutrality. She didn't look at Clarke, but at the letter, her gaze steady and unreadable. The silence between them was thick with unsaid things. Lexa knew Clarke's history with her mother, the years of estrangement, the agonizing grief that followed her father's death. This letter was a sudden, unwelcome crack in the foundation of the life they had built together.

Clarke's eyes filled with tears, a sudden, overwhelming release of all the grief and anxiety she had been holding inside. She didn't want to break down, not here, not now, but she couldn't stop the quiet sobs that shook her body.

Her face crumpled, tears streaming down her cheeks as she let out a sob that seemed to come from the very depths of her soul. She wasn't just crying about the letter; she was crying for the little girl who lost her dad, for the daughter who lost her mom, for all the years of pain and silence. It felt like her father had just died all over again.

Lexa didn't say anything. She just pulled Clarke into her arms, holding her tight as Clarke's body was wracked with sobs, a silent anchor in a storm of emotion. Clarke buried her face in Lexa's shoulder, the paper a crumpled mess in her hand. The smell of Lexa's clothes, a faint mix of clean laundry and her own unique scent, was a powerful comfort, a tangible reminder of the beautiful life they were building together.

"It's okay. We'll face this together." Lexa murmured, her hand gently stroking the back of Clarke's head.

"I can't," Clarke choked out, the words a raw whisper against Lexa's skin. "I—I can't—I can't even b—bring myself to visit his grave. I can't do that, Lexa."

Lexa just held her tighter, her hand still gently stroking the back of Clarke's head. "I know," she whispered. "I know." She didn't try to fix it or offer empty platitudes. She just held her, a silent anchor in the storm of Clarke's grief. She let Clarke cry for the father she lost, for the mother she never really had, and for the little girl who was still holding on to all that pain.

She knew Clarke had to face this on her own terms, and that the letter was a part of that journey. But for now, all that mattered was being there, a steady, loving presence to remind Clarke that she wasn't alone, not anymore. That even in the face of old wounds, she had found a new, real family.

Clarke knew this was one thing she had to face alone. The grief was hers, the trauma hers. The letter was a reminder of a time that was a lot more painful than the idyllic life she had now. She couldn't let it touch the life she had with Lexa, couldn't let that past contaminate this future. She had to decide how to respond to this ghost from a life she had long since left behind. For now, she would just hold the letter, and let Lexa hold her. It was enough.

As the afternoon light had begun to fade, and the nursery was awash in the soft, gray light of dusk. The rain had slowed to a gentle patter, a quiet accompaniment to Clarke's ragged breaths as she clung to Lexa. She had cried herself out, the raw, heaving sobs giving way to a quiet, deep ache. Lexa held her, her arms a solid, unmoving comfort.

"I miss him," Clarke whispered, the words a ghost of the little girl who had lost her dad. "I miss him so much."

Lexa's thumb stroked the back of her head, a slow, steady rhythm. "I know," she murmured. "I'm so sorry, Clarke."

Clarke finally pulled back, her eyes red-rimmed and exhausted. The letter, crumpled and damp with her tears, was still clutched in her hand. She looked at it, then at Lexa, a profound sadness in her gaze. "It was his anniversary, five months ago" she said, her voice barely a whisper.

Lexa's eyes softened with a familiar understanding. "That was the night we met," she said quietly.

Clarke nodded, a small, sad smile on her face. "I was a mess. You just... helped me forget even if it was for a while."

"I knew that look," Lexa said, her voice laced with empathy. "The kind of pain that's too big for words. I'm glad I found you that night."

Clarke's gaze traveled from Lexa's face to the crib in the corner, the half-finished mobile hanging over it. She thought about her father, about how he would have loved this. He would have been a doting, proud grandfather, teaching their little girl how to draw, how to see the world with a curious eye. He would have been there for all of it.

A fresh wave of sorrow washed over her, but this time, it was laced with a bittersweet joy. She was building this life, a family, a future, with the person she met on the night her past almost destroyed her.
She looked back at the letter, then at Lexa. "I don't know what to do," she admitted, her voice thick with emotion.

Lexa took her hand, her touch warm and firm. "You don't have to do anything right now," she said. "You don't have to open it. You don't have to read it. It's okay to just...be with it for a while."

Clarke nodded, the truth of Lexa's words settling over her like a warm blanket. She wasn't ready to face the past, not yet. But she was ready to be in the present, here in this quiet room, with the person who was her future. She put the crumpled letter in her pocket and leaned her head on Lexa's shoulder.
She wasn't alone anymore. She was with the person who had found her on the darkest night of her life and had shown her the way to the light.

End of flashback.

To be continued...

Chapter Text

Clarke,

My hands have been shaking all morning, trying to write this. I don't know where to start. How do you even begin to apologize for a lifetime of silence?

I'm sorry. I'm so deeply, painfully sorry for what happened after your father died. I was so consumed by my own grief, by this monster of a hole in my chest, that I couldn't see you. I didn't see you drowning because I was already underwater myself. I should have been your anchor, and instead, I let go of your hand. That was a choice I made, even if it didn't feel like one at the time.

I remember so many moments. I remember you trying to talk to me about your pain and me just... shutting down. I remember the way your eyes looked so lost, and I just turned away. I was so scared of falling apart that I let you think you had to be alone. I let fear dictate everything, and it cost me my daughter.

But the worst of my failures, the one that keeps me awake, was the night you told me about Anya Rife. You were standing in the kitchen, your voice a fragile whisper, and I heard it all, Clarke. I heard the bravery, the terrifying hope, the plea for acceptance. And I let my own archaic, stupid fear of what people would say drown out your confession. I made a joke and changed the subject. I made your true self feel like a burden, like a secret, instead of a magnificent part of you to be celebrated. I was cruel in my cowardice, and I inflicted pain when all I should have offered was my open arms. I am so sorry for making you feel shame for the simple, beautiful act of loving someone. I denied you the fundamental right to your own life and your own joy.

Clarke swallowed hard and her vision blurred as she read further. The letter was a desperate, fumbling apology for everything that had been said and done, and a gut-wrenching admission that she had chosen her grief over her daughter.

This wasn't the polished, perfect message she might have imagined. It was messy and raw, just like the wound it was meant to heal. Her mother admitted she'd been wrong, that fear and bitterness had consumed her after her father's death and cost her Clarke. She admitted she had been silent when Clarke needed her voice, absent when Clarke needed a home. And worst of all, when Clarke needed support for the shame the world continued to place on her for simply loving someone.

I can't promise to undo the past. I can't magically fix the person I was. But I can tell you that I've been grieving that loss for years now, the loss of him, and the loss of you. It's a constant ache. I missed your birthdays, your triumphs, and all the small moments that made you who you are now. I don't deserve to be a part of that, but I'm here now, if you'll let me try.

I won't pretend I can earn back your trust in a day, or a year. But I want to try. I want to be the person who listens without judgment, who sits with you in the quiet, who finally sees you. I want to be the mother you deserved and deserve.
I hope, someday, you can forgive me.

All my love,
Mom

A strangled, wet sound, half-sob, half-gasp, tore from Clarke's chest. Her hand flew up to clamp over her mouth, muffling the noise, but she couldn't stop the deep, uncontrollable shudder that ran through her body. She dropped the letter onto the cushion beside her as if it had suddenly become venomous.

Lexa, who had been sitting a measured distance away, reached out around her in an instant, pulling her into a tight, grounding embrace. Clarke collapsed against her, burying her face in Lexa's neck as sobs ripped from her. The tears came hot and fast, grief, anger, and a wild, terrifying relief all tangled together.

"Shh. I know, just let it all out, baby." she soothed.

One of her hands settled on the cushion inches from the discarded letter. She pondered on whether it was wise for her to read the letter while already having an idea of its contents, but nonetheless, she took the letter and read it, her face giving nothing away.

When she finished and Clarkes breathing had evened out, she set it back down, and the silence in the room stretched out, heavy and expectant. The tension in her shoulders, which had been coiled tight, eased a fraction as she finally spoke. Her voice was low, a rumble against the tense quiet.

"How are you feeling?"

Clarke pulled back just enough to look at Lexa, her eyes red and puffy. "Like... I've been holding my breath since Dad died. And now I can finally breathe," Clarke said, her voice a thin, reedy thing. "I never thought she'd... she'd actually admit it."

"It sounds like she saw you."

Clarke shook her head violently, her blonde hair whipping around her face. "No. No, it's too late. It's too easy on paper." She dragged the heels of her hands across her eyes, smearing the remnants of old mascara. "I waited years for a crumb of this. And now it's here, and I just... I want to throw it in the fireplace."

Lexa didn't try to stop her. She simply lifted a hand and let it rest on Clarke's back, a warm, anchoring weight through the thin cotton of her shirt. She began to rub small, slow circles between Clarke's shoulder blades.

"Why don't you?" Lexa asked, her tone neutral, almost a challenge.

Clarke leaned into the pressure, her breath catching. "Because then it's over. And if it's over, then I have to let go of the anger, too. And the anger... the anger has been my shield for a decade, Lexa. It's what kept me from being completely destroyed." Her voice cracked on the last word.

Lexa shifted, pulling Clarke sideways against her chest. Clarke went easily, folding into the familiar, solid shape of her body. Lexa's chin rested on the crown of Clarke's head.

"A shield can become a cage, Clarke," Lexa murmured, using the old, familiar endearment. "It kept you safe, yes. But it also kept you locked in the past, right here." Lexa gently tapped a finger against the middle of Clarke's breastbone.

Clarke didn't deny it. "I just wanted closure. I wanted an apology." Her thumb stroked the back of Lexa's hand. "It's not about her. It's about me. It's about being able to let go of the anger and the pain so I can finally breathe."

"I know. I know, baby, but someday you're gonna have to actually sit down with her. And maybe you'll even look back on this moment and wonder how differently everything would've played out."

Clarke pulled back just enough to look up, her eyes swimming. "Is it terrible of me to wish she hadn't sent the letter?" she whispered, her fingers clutching the front of Lexa's shirt like a lifeline. "This whole thing could've been avoided altogether. Tell me... what do you think I should do?"

Lexa's jaw tightened, and she looked past Clarke, her gaze fixed on the mahogany picture frame on the mantelpiece: a picture of Clarke's father. "I think you should do what your heart tells you." she confessed, the words brittle with effort. "But I won't sit here and pretend to love this. I'm trying not to be selfish, but I hate that it took her so long. I hate that I can read that letter and see how much pain she caused you, and she gets to... write it all away with an apology."

"That's not fair," Clarke countered, though the protest lacked conviction.

"No," Lexa said, turning her fierce green eyes back to Clarke. "It isn't. But neither is the truth, Clarke. The truth is, I'm afraid. I'm afraid that after all these months of having all your trust, all your time, all your you... that she will walk back in and take a piece of it. She lost you because she was still selfish enough to shame you for something very dear to you, and now she's trying to get you back, just as you're finally settled."

Clarke's heart thrummed against her ribs. This was the vulnerable, raw fear she knew lived beneath Lexa's stoic surface. She brought her hand up and cupped Lexa's cheek, her thumb wiping away a tear Clarke hadn't even realized was there—a tear that wasn't hers.

"Look at me," Clarke urged, her voice soft but steady. "There is no 'piece' of me for her to take. You don't have to share me with ghosts. Everything that matters, everything that built this life I love, you are the architect of it."

Lexa's eyes darted to the letter on the coffee table as if it were a bomb waiting to go off. "I guess a part of me is terrified that now that she's said all the right things, I'll lose you. Or lose the version of you who lets me in. Who lets me be a part of this."

"You don't have to be, because that's not going to happen," Clarke whispered, her voice a plea. "I still can't even decide what I should do with this. Should I try calling old number? But what will I even say?"

"You don't have to decide now," Lexa said, her grip on Clarke's hands steady and firm. "Take your time. You don't owe anyone anything. Not a phone call, not a letter, not a thing. But just please promise me you'll think about? She seems to be really trying."

"What if I let her in and she hurts me again?"

"Then she hurts both of us," Lexa said, a simple statement of fact. "We are in this together, remember? My heart is ours to keep. You are my greatest strength and my greatest weakness, Clarke."

That undid Clarke all over again. She pressed her forehead against Lexa's, She leaned in and kissed Lexa, not with passion, but with absolute certainty, a tired, grateful promise. When they parted, Clarke's gaze drifted to the forgotten letter, her expression one of exhausted resolve.

"I needed this. I needed to know I wasn't crazy for being angry. I needed to know she saw what she did. And now... now I have it."

"God. I'm such a mess." a tired laugh escaped Clarke. "I needed this. I needed to know I wasn't crazy for being angry. I needed to know she saw what she did. And now... now I have it."

Lexa stroked her hair back. "You're human. And that... that was a long time coming."

Clarke rested her head on Lexa's shoulder, the final knot of tension finally unwinding. "I'm going to let it sit there. I'm not going to rush. I'm going to breathe first. And then... I'm going to decide what kind of peace I want to buy with that apology. Because I don't owe her forgiveness, Lexa. I only owe myself the right to let go."

Lexa squeezed her tighter, a low, satisfied hum in her chest. They lay back down on the couch, the blanket pulled up to their chins, Clarke still clutching the letter in one hand. The TV flickered unnoticed in the background. Lexa held her close, her thumb tracing lazy circles on Clarke's arm, a silent sentinel against the ghosts.

The next morning crept in gently, the pale gold light of dawn slipping between the gauzy curtains and painting stripes across the living room where Clarke and Lexa had fallen asleep. The TV was still on, muted, casting soft flickers over their faces. The blanket had half-slipped, leaving Clarke curled into Lexa's chest, her fist still loosely clutching the folded letter as though she couldn't let it go, even in sleep.

Lexa stirred first, her body stiff from the awkward position on the couch but her mind clear the moment she registered the weight pressed against her. Clarke. Warm, breathing steadily, her curls a mess against Lexa's shirt. Lexa didn't move at first, content to lie there, memorizing the way Clarke's lips parted slightly in sleep, the tiny crease between her brows that never seemed to fully smooth even in rest.

Eventually, though, Clarke shifted, her nose brushing against Lexa's collarbone. Her eyes fluttered open, blinking against the light. She groaned softly, untangling her hand from the letter and stretching like a cat before collapsing back against Lexa's chest.

"Morning," she mumbled, her voice scratchy with sleep.

"Morning," Lexa replied softly, brushing her lips across Clarke's hairline.

Clarke tilted her head just enough to meet her gaze, a sleepy smile tugging her lips. "Did we actually sleep here all night?"

"Yes." Lexa's mouth curved faintly. "It seems we survived."

Clarke laughed under her breath, nuzzling closer. "Barely. My neck hates me."

"Then we should start the day properly," Lexa murmured, her hand stroking Clarke's back. "With breakfast. In a bed that is not a couch."

Clarke groaned again but let Lexa wheedle her upright, both of them untangling from the blanket with sleepy clumsiness. They padded toward the kitchen barefoot, Clarke trailing a step behind until she caught Lexa's hand, their fingers weaving together as if drawn by instinct.

The kitchen was cool and bright, the air still heavy with the faint spice of last night's dinner. Clarke dropped into a chair at the table while Lexa moved toward the counter, scanning the options. "What would you like?"

Clarke rested her chin in her palm, watching Lexa with an easy, affectionate smile. "Something easy," she suggested. "Eggs? Toast? Maybe fruit."

Lexa nodded, rolling up the sleeves of her borrowed t-shirt with an unnecessary, almost military precision that made Clarke's smile widen. She then approached the counter and set to work. Clarke watched, utterly charmed and slightly amused, as Lexa lined up the eggs on the counter, checked the toaster settings as though determining the optimal launch trajectory, and inspected the berries in the fridge like a field commander assessing the nutritional and tactical worth of her provisions. Lexa approached even a simple Saturday morning breakfast like a mission that could, at any moment, go sideways.

"You know," Clarke teased, her voice dropping a little as she leaned forward, "we could skip breakfast if you'd like. I know other ways we can satisfy our hunger, if you know what I mean. I'm thinking something with a little more... spice."

Lexa glanced at her, one brow arched in a look of supreme judgment. She was meticulously arranging the sliced bread into a perfect grid pattern. "Clarke," she stated flatly, "we are not pausing most important meal of the day to have sex. Not after you just traumatized Bianca over here." She motioned vaguely downward with a slight tilt of her head.

Clarke blinked, then burst into a laugh that echoed in the kitchen. "Wait, wait. Did you just call your... your penis Bianca? Lexa, you can't be serious. You named it?"

"What? I love the name Bianca," Lexa defended, her tone entirely too sincere for the topic. She picked up a frying pan and began to warm it. "It's a strong name. It means 'white' or 'pure,' which I can assure you, is a misnomer in this case, but the sound is excellent. Very regal."

"Regal? Who names their private parts, Lexa?" Clarke was struggling to keep a straight face, her shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter.

"You don't?" Lexa looked genuinely confused, setting the pan down to give Clarke her full, intense focus. "I thought it was common practice amongst ordinary people. A crucial step in domestic partnership, even. To assign a name and thus, a measure of respect."

"Raven told you that, didn't she?" Clarke asked, her voice softening with fond amusement, though she already knew the answer. She found it incredibly cute and funny whenever Lexa, who could out-strategize the most hardened business gurus, was still so clueless about Raven's elaborate, completely absurd pranks. "It sounds exactly like something she would lie about, especially to you."

Lexa let out a frustrated sigh, a sound of profound defeat that was entirely disproportionate to the crime. Once again, Raven Reyes had successfully executed a long-con prank and caught Lexa's hook, line, and sinker. You would think Lexa would be able to read her like a book by now, but no. Raven's blend of technical genius and utter childishness remained her most formidable obstacle.

Lexa turned back to the stove, her shoulders squared, refusing to meet Clarke's eye. "It is entirely possible," she began, stirring the eggs with aggressive intensity, "that I drew an incomplete conclusion based on a piece of misleading scientific evidence provided by a trusted, albeit mischievous, friend." She slammed the spatula down on the counter with a definitive clack. "But that does not mean I was fooled."

"Oh, you weren't fooled? Is that why you bought a name tag for Bianca, Lexa," Clarke pointed out gently, biting her lip to keep from laughing again. "It was on your bedside table. I just assumed you really liked the name and thought it would make a cute baby name."

Lexa stiffened. "That was for my travel cutlery set," she insisted, her voice tight, the lie thick and unconvincing. "I simply... misplaced it. And Raven did say, quite clearly, that the term 'privates' was archaic. She suggested that giving it an identifying title makes it less awkward in conversation."

Clarke threw her head back and laughed freely this time. "And you believed her!"

Lexa picked up a stack of plates and arranged them on the table with unnecessary force. "I do not see the humor, Clarke. I was attempting to adapt to your culture's confusing social mores. I was attempting to be respectful. The concept of assigning a name to a..." she gestured vaguely, unable to actually say 'penis' again "...was merely a theory that, upon testing, turned out to be flawed. A failed data point, that is all. It is not an indictment of my intelligence or my capacity to read the obvious schemes of a certain mechanic."

"Whatever you say, babe," Clarke chuckled, getting up and wrapping her arms around Lexa's waist from behind, resting her head against the silk of the t-shirt. "But next time, maybe ask me before you start assigning proper nouns to your anatomy. I could have suggested something much better than Bianca."

"The name is fine," Lexa muttered, though she was clearly already mentally composing a strongly worded text to Raven. "The problem is the context. And I maintain that the error was not mine, but Raven's for her intentional dissemination of misinformation. She should have known I would perform due diligence on the naming convention." Lexa deftly slid the scrambled eggs onto the plates, each pile perfectly symmetrical. She was not a Commander who let shame affect the quality of her breakfast.

"So you're saying you knew the whole time that it was probably a prank, but you went along with it just to prove a point about cultural research?" Clarke prompted, her lips barely touching Lexa's shoulder.
Lexa paused, placing a piece of artfully arranged toast beside the eggs. And a small, vibrant bowl of strawberries and blueberries.

It was simple, ordinary, but every element was placed with a deliberate, careful intention. She straightened up, her gaze fixed on the middle distance, adopting her most stoic Commander persona.

"Exactly," she declared, her voice firm. "It was a social experiment. To test Raven's impulse control. The fact that she was willing to allow me to proceed, knowing the eventual fallout, only proves my theory that she has the temperament of a bored chimpanzee with a soldering iron. I was simply gathering evidence."

Clarke pulled her tighter, kissing the back of Lexa's neck. "You're lucky Raven is stuck in the garage today, or she'd have an excellent retort for that."

Lexa sighed, but this time it wasn't a sigh of defeat, but of exasperation and a hint of a smile that only Clarke could feel. "It is a risk I was willing to take for science. Now," she said, finally turning in Clarke's arms to face her, her serious expression melting into something softer, "the failed data point has been secured. The social experiment is complete."

"Sure, you so cute that I almost believed your lies. You're not very good at lying, your vocabulary is the first indicator, trying to convince me with that Harvard-level vocab." Clarke whispered, kissing the back of her shoulder. "Now, about that spicier alternative to eggs..."

She gave Clarke a pointed look, her arms still resting on the table. "Clarke, you have approximately thirty seconds to cease your tempting suggestions and eat before I eat everything myself."

"You're no fun! It's a shame though," Clarke murmured, not quite letting go of Lexa's waist as Lexa walked to clear the stove, "you do look ridiculously good making breakfast. It's distracting. I almost want you to put on a tactical vest just to complete the look."

Lexa shook her head, but a faint, undeniable blush crept up her cheeks. After everything that had transpired, the weight of the letter, the tears, the fraught distance, this felt like exactly what Clarke needed: sunlight streaming across the floor, the smell of butter and eggs, and the quiet, slightly off-key sound of Lexa humming a familiar tune under her breath. It was an anchor point.

Clarke reached for Lexa's hand as they sat, their fingers intertwining. She squeezed gently, her thumb running over Lexa's familiar knuckles. "Thank you."

Lexa tilted her head, her green eyes reflecting a mild puzzlement. "For eggs? It is merely sustenance, Clarke."

"For this," Clarke corrected softly, her gaze warm and unwavering. "For being here, right now. For making this morning feel easy. For... everything."

Lexa didn't answer with words immediately. Her expression grew heavy, a shadow of the seriousness momentarily returning before she managed to shake it off. She tightened her grip on Clarke's hand, drawing it closer and brushing her thumb across Clarke's knuckles before finally leaning in to place a deliberate, reassuring kiss on Clarke's forehead.

"It's nothing really, I'm glad you're feeling better," she murmured, using the old title with a soft intimacy that stripped it of all formality.

They ate slowly. Clarke, unable to resist, snuck a few extra blueberries onto Lexa's plate when she was looking away, only to have Lexa retaliate by quietly sliding the most perfect, crisp half of her toast onto Clarke's plate after Clarke had declared herself "completely full."
The ease between them was effortless and playful, a natural rhythm stitched through with years of quiet affection.

Afterward, Clarke rinsed the dishes while Lexa handled the drying, their movements in the small kitchen fitting together like a practiced choreography. When Lexa took the final plate, a slightly chipped ceramic one, and placed it carefully on the shelf, Clarke leaned her head against Lexa's shoulder, sighing deep with contentment.

"What now, Commander?" Clarke asked, her voice a low purr.

Lexa wrapped her free arm around Clarke's waist, pulling her flush against her side. "Whatever you want, Clarke. A strategy meeting over a game of chess? A walk... to the library? Or perhaps we stay exactly where we are, and I can demonstrate my capacity for efficient inactivity."

Clarke smiled, tipping her face up, her lips hovering near Lexa's. "Efficient inactivity sounds like a truly worthy mission, babe."

Chapter Text

Two hours later, the living room floor was a war zone, and the casualties were numerous. A handful of unidentifiable screws, one slightly scuffed panel, and Lexa's legendary composure. She was kneeling on the rug in a fitted gray t-shirt and sweatpants, her posture somehow still radiating that 'goddess' energy, even as she stared down a cryptic diagram.
Pieces of a white baby dresser, the object of their current, silent friction, were spread around her like the scattered remains of an exploded puzzle.

"Hand me the instructions," Lexa's voice was unnervingly peaceful, a pitch she typically reserved for firing underperforming VPs. It was, Clarke knew, a dangerous sign.

Clarke, meanwhile, was strategically perched cross-legged beside the growing monument to parental frustration, sipping a tall glass of orange juice with a smug, almost villainous enjoyment. She held the folded, highly coveted piece of paper, the key to unlocking the mystery of the dresser, just out of Lexa's reach. "You mean these?" she asked, a smirk playing on her lips.

Lexa slowly looked up, her green eyes sharpening into laser points, yet they held a spark of fond exasperation, not true malice. "Clarke." The single word was a perfectly modulated blend of a plea and a demand.

"What? I'm helping," Clarke insisted, waving the instructions with a flourish. The crisp paper gave a dramatic, stage-like crinkle. She then offered a piece of perfectly sound, if slightly infuriating, logic. "I've clearly identified the problem, darling. You're building. I'm supervising. And besides, I've outlined a better process. Step one: argue with pregnant girlfriend." She paused for theatrical effect. "Step two: lose to said girlfriend. And we are currently approaching step three: surrender gracefully."

"Mm," was Lexa's only reply, but it was all the warning Clarke got. With a flash of speed that belied her relaxed posture, she lunged. Clarke let out an involuntary squeal, the kind that wasn't really surprised, but was definitely amused, and threw herself back, hoisting the instructions high above her head like a gold medal at the Olympics.

"Lexa, no! You can't use brute CEO force on me! This is flat-pack, not a hostile takeover!"

Lexa, however, was already too close. She pressed Clarke gently against the armrest of the couch, her forearm bracing lightly on the cushion, effectively trapping her in the most pleasant kind of pin.

"I don't need force," Lexa murmured, her voice dropping to a low, amused register that sent a predictable shiver down Clarke's spine. She effortlessly plucked the paper from Clarke's grasp, the victory sweeter for the mild effort. "I need patience. Which you were clearly testing."

Clarke narrowed her eyes in mock anger, but the corners of her mouth betrayed her, twitching upward in a smile. "You're lucky," she muttered, letting the weight of her prominent bump serve as her shield. "I'm in no condition to tackle you."

"You say that as though you'd win," Lexa countered smoothly, that gorgeous, arrogant smirk on full display. But then, as it always did, her expression softened. Her gaze flicked down to Clarke's rounded belly, and the entire high-stakes instruction-manual war evaporated. Lexa leaned down, pressing the briefest, softest kiss to the bump before pushing herself back, the CEO demeanor entirely replaced by the tender partner, and returned to her spot in front of the scattered wood.

The warmth that flooded Clarke's chest was intense, ridiculous, and unavoidable. She hated how effortlessly Lexa could disarm her, how the smallest, quietest gesture could undo her playful fury. "Cheater," she murmured, but the word was so laced with fondness it lost all sting.

They set to work after that, though work was truly a generous word for the process. Lexa's concentration was total, she was used to managing intricate logistics, and she treated this piece of furniture like a complex infrastructure project. Clarke's contribution, unfortunately, was mostly just realizing her girlfriend was dead wrong.

"Lexa, that's backwards," Clarke stated plainly, pointing a decisive finger at the long white panel her girlfriend was sliding into place with unnerving precision.

Lexa, immersed in her element, didn't even grant Clarke a glance. "It's not. The diagram clearly shows the longest edge aligning with..."

"It is," Clarke interrupted, snatching back the instructions and tapping the picture with the ferocity of a prosecutor presenting key evidence. "See? The holes for the drawer slides go on this side. Otherwise, the drawers won't just 'not fit,' they will actively rebel and shoot out onto the floor. You'll create a baby-clothes catapult."

Lexa finally paused, her brows drawing together in the tell-tale furrow of a high-achiever encountering an unexpected, fundamentally flawed design. She leaned closer, her brilliant mind attempting to reconcile her physical assembly with the infuriatingly tiny picture, then glanced at her undeniably backward handiwork.

"...Huh," she admitted, the single syllable managing to convey an entire novel of intellectual shock.

Clarke lost it. She burst into a peeling, glorious laugh, tipping backward onto the rug where she lay breathless and delighted. "Oh my god, you were so confident! You were explaining the logistics of the 'longest edge'!"

Lexa carefully set the panel down as though it might explode, refusing to look rattled by the spectacular failure of her initial judgment. Her voice remained perfectly level. "I was testing you."

"Oh, sure," Clarke wheezed through her laughter, wiping a tear of pure joy from her eye. "Testing my ability to stop you from building our child a beautiful, white, wooden dresser with upside-down drawers? And you failed my test!"

Lexa finally cracked. A reluctant, utterly adorable smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. She reached out and lightly flicked Clarke's nose. "You're insufferable."

"I love you too, especially when you are wrong."

They bickered their way through the rest of the assembly, a charming, low-level domestic warfare fueled by confusing diagrams and mounting anticipation. Clarke sat regally on the rug, playing the demanding supervisor, calling out screw sizes and panel orientations while Lexa huffed and sighed in an impressive display of mock exasperation.

Lexa, the woman who commanded global quarterly reports with ease, was now being micromanaged by her pregnant partner on the correct application of a cam lock.

"See, that's the shelf support, not the base runner, Lexa. Honestly, I thought CEOs had better spatial reasoning," Clarke would tease, folding her arms.

"I have better things to reason with than cheap particle board, Clarke," Lexa would counter without looking up, though the upward twitch of her lips gave away her amusement.

Their playful rhythm hit a sudden, serious snag when it came time to slide one of the larger drawers into its newly constructed frame. As Clarke leaned forward, intending to guide the boxy structure into place, Lexa's easy concentration shattered.

"Careful." Lexa's hand shot out, not in a lunge for the instructions this time, but closing gently yet firmly around Clarke's wrist, halting her movement entirely. The shift in tone was immediate, the playfulness replaced by the gravely serious sentinel. "It's heavy. Let me."

Clarke frowned, irritated by the sudden, physical restriction. "Lexa, it's literally a drawer. It weighs about four pounds. I can—"

"Clarke." Lexa's voice dropped, eliminating any space for protest or argument, but her eyes, deep and green, were instantly soft as they met Clarke's. The intensity there was pure, raw concern. "Please."

The sincerity was a perfect weapon against Clarke's pride. Her protest withered on her tongue, and she subsided, sinking back onto the rug with a sigh. "You're going to smother me," she muttered quietly, though the irritation had drained out of her voice, leaving only a grudging affection behind.

Lexa smoothly slid the drawer into place, the quiet thunk of wood on wood sounding ridiculously domestic, then turned back, kneeling directly in front of Clarke. "Maybe," she admitted, her gaze locked on her. "But I'd rather be overbearing than careless." Her hand lifted, fingers brushing with breathtaking lightness over the fabric covering Clarke's rounded belly. "I can't risk either of you."

Clarke's chest felt suddenly tight, her throat too thick for a response. She swallowed hard, blinking rapidly against the sudden surge of overwhelming, gooey emotion that she desperately tried to categorize as "hormones." She leaned forward until her forehead rested against Lexa's. "You're ridiculous," she whispered, the words catching on a palpable crack in her voice. "But I... I love that you're ridiculous."

Lexa offered no verbal reply, trusting actions over unnecessary words. She simply pressed a deep, steady kiss to Clarke's temple and stayed there, her hands cupping Clarke's face, holding her in a long, grounding moment of shared breath and silence. It was a silent vow reaffirmed over sawdust and a partially-built dresser.

30 minutes later, the dresser now stood in the corner of the nursery, a magnificent, if slightly wobbly, monument to their collaboration. The final act of assembly involved Lexa tightening the last screw and Clarke placing a small, crocheted elephant toy on top.

Lexa stood back, surveying the completed work. She looked down at her own hands, the hands that signed billion-dollar deals and, apparently, assembled flat-pack nursery furniture, and then at Clarke, who was now leaning against the nursing chair, completely spent but happy.

She tilted her head, her smile softening as she took in the room, the crib already positioned, the new dresser, the boxes of impossibly tiny clothes waiting to be dealt with. The nursery still wasn't technically finished, but for the first time, it didn't look like an empty guest room. It looked real.

Lexa walked over, gently pulled Clarke's utterly relaxed body into her arms, and settled her head onto her shoulder. She nuzzled the top of Clarke's hair. "I think the true test of a relationship is surviving the Allen wrench," she murmured into her ear. "We passed."

"Only because I saved you from drawer disaster," Clarke mumbled back, already half-asleep.

"Perhaps. But I didn't need to lie down afterward," Lexa teased softly, running a soothing hand over Clarke's belly. She pressed a final kiss to her forehead. "I love you, Architect of my sanity. And I'm glad our child has your knack for reading diagrams. Because clearly, I don't."

Her throat tightened again, the emotional tidal wave returning. "It's happening, isn't it?"

Lexa followed her gaze, her profile steady, but Clarke didn't miss the faint flicker of vulnerability in those sharp green eyes. "Yes," Lexa said quietly, the single word weighted with equal parts terror and devotion. "It's happening."

Clarke leaned into her side, and Lexa's arm came around her instinctively, pulling her more close. They didn't speak for a while, just stood together in the room that would soon be commandeered by a small, demanding human, a little piece of both of them. And despite the mess, the arguments, and the occasional outburst of laughter, Clarke thought she had never felt more at home.

The room still smelled faintly of the sharp tang of fresh wood and cardboard, but Clarke inhaled it like perfume. She let out a long sigh that ended with a soft, affectionate snort. "You know, if this whole CEO thing ever falls through, you could probably make a killing as a professional flat-pack furniture builder."

Lexa glanced down, thoroughly unimpressed. "It took us two hours longer than the instructions suggested."

"Yeah," Clarke teased, bumping her shoulder playfully into Lexa's side. "But we had fun. Admit it."

The faintest twitch at the corner of Lexa's mouth betrayed her. "Perhaps."

They lingered there, Clarke leaning into Lexa's steady warmth. Eventually, though, Clarke's eyes snagged on the stacked blankets near the crib, and she bit her lip with renewed purpose. "Okay," she said, drawing in a bracing breath. "Clothes next?"

Lexa nodded, ever the methodical partner. "Clothes next."

They moved back downstairs to the hallway boxes, Lexa carrying them in one at a time and Clarke lowering herself carefully onto the soft couch cushions to sort. Clarke could feel Lexa's hovering even without looking: the way her eyes subtly checked on her every few minutes, the constant, silent vigilance.

Clarke reached into the first box and pulled out the tiniest hat she'd ever seen. She stared at it, then erupted into laughter, clutching the little knit cap like it was a ridiculous secret. "Lexa. Look at this."

Lexa set down the box she was carrying, brows raised in assessment.

"This is... this is ridiculous." Clarke held it up between her fingers like highly amusing evidence. "Her head is going to fit in this? It's the size of a grapefruit."

Lexa tilted her head, assessing the logic. "Babies' heads are not as large as grapefruits."

Clarke barked out another laugh, almost tipping over onto her side. "Lexa, yes they are. Haven't you seen the ultrasound pictures? They are basically a tiny, perfectly formed skull attached to a disproportionate body. It's the whole brand!"

For the first time, Lexa looked faintly unsettled, her mind running a diagnostic check on basic biology. "That seems... disproportionate," she repeated, sounding like she was questioning a financial error.

"Oh my god," Clarke wheezed, wiping tears from her eyes. "You're the CEO of a billion-dollar company and you don't know basic baby proportions?"

Lexa's glare softened into reluctant amusement. "I've been otherwise occupied," she countered dryly. Truth was, Lexa had no intention of ever having children due to her past childhood experiences. She didn't think it wise to bring children into such a flawed world, that was until she met Clarke of course.

And she will make sure her daughter never goes through what she went through as a child. She would never even wish that on her own enemies. As for the company, she had plans(if she died) of leaving everything to Raven's children, if she ever had any. Raven was the only family she had left, along with Titus, but that's another story for another time.

Raven still has no idea Lexa secretly added her to her will in case of anything. Speaking of wills, she'll have to have it updated and make sure Clarke and her daughter were included.

Still smiling, Clarke reached for a onesie, the soft cotton patterned with tiny stars. She smoothed it out across her lap, and just like that, the laughter caught, snapping in her throat. The reality of it hit again, heavy and sharp. Someone was going to wear this. Someone who wasn't here yet, but who was already shaping their whole, messy, wonderful world.

Her hands stilled on the soft fabric. Lexa noticed immediately. She crouched down in front of Clarke, her gentle fingers brushing over her knee. "Hey," she said quietly.

Clarke shook her head quickly, blinking too fast. "It's just—" Her voice cracked, the sudden fear an unexpected, sharp knife. "It's real, Lexa. Like... she's going to be here in a few months. And I'm... I'm terrified."

Lexa's jaw tightened, not in impatience, but in deep, fierce empathy. She cupped Clarke's face, her touch steady and instantly grounding. "You're not alone," she said firmly, her voice a low, unwavering anchor. "Not for a single second."

That broke something loose in Clarke. She leaned forward, burying her face in Lexa's shoulder, the soft cotton of her t-shirt dampening with tears almost immediately.

Lexa didn't flinch. She just held her, her broad palm moving in slow, protective circles on Clarke's back. "I'll protect you both," she whispered into Clarke's hair, the words more profound, binding vow than simple comfort. "Always."

Clarke let herself stay there, soaking in the warmth and certainty until her breathing finally evened out again. She sniffled, pulling back slightly with a watery laugh. "Sorry. Hormones. Again."

Lexa shook her head, her thumb brushing a stray tear from her cheek. "Don't apologize."

They finished the box slowly after that, Clarke folding clothes with meticulous care while Lexa stacked them neatly in the dresser drawers, a perfect, silent system. Every so often Clarke would hold something up, a tiny pair of ridiculous socks, a sunhat with floppy ears, and Lexa would raise a brow or shake her head in mock disapproval. It felt utterly safe. Domestic. Like the edges of their unpredictable lives were finally softening into something solid.

When Clarke finally rose from the couch a little later, stretching her aching back with a groan that sounded suspiciously like a theatrical dinosaur, her gaze drifted toward the easel propped up in the corner of the living room.

The canvas, half-filled with broad, restless strokes of indigo and fiery ochre, waited there, a vibrant, neglected promise.

Lexa, who possessed a terrifying sixth sense for Clarke's subtle shifts in mood, followed her line of sight instantly. "You should paint."

Clarke hesitated, already feeling the familiar, overwhelming drag of mid-pregnancy exhaustion. "I don't know if I have the energy to even find my favourite brush right now."

"You don't have to finish anything," Lexa countered, stepping close. She gently tucked a stray, paint-speckled strand of hair behind Clarke's ear, her touch warm and grounding. "Just... do what you love. Even if it's only for an hour."

Clarke's heart gave a tight, affectionate squeeze. "You sound exactly like Raven."

Lexa's lips curved into a tiny, self-aware smirk. "Perhaps Raven is right, and I am simply adapting good advice."

So Clarke allowed herself to be nudged toward the easel, settling onto the stool with a sigh that instantly turned into a satisfied exhale once a familiar brush was in her hand. The weight felt right, a small anchor in a sea of change. When she dipped into the vibrant, thick paint, the first streak across the canvas pulled something open and expansive in her chest. She took a deep, unrestrained breath, painting before she even knew what she intended to create.

Behind her, she could feel Lexa moving, tidying the couch cushions, probably reorganizing the pile of folded onesies that Clarke had meticulously deemed "good enough." Clarke smiled faintly to herself. Hovering, always hovering, like an overprotective satellite.

"Stop fussing," she called over her shoulder, her voice warm with amusement.

"I'm not fussing," came Lexa's exceptionally dignified reply.

"You're absolutely fussing," Clarke countered, her brush sliding into a bold new curve of blue. "You're like a nesting hawk protecting its precious clutch of socks."

Lexa's voice was dry, laced with the slightest hint of biology correction. "Hawks don't nest."

Clarke burst into a short laugh, glancing back at her over her shoulder, a smear of ochre on her cheek. "Okay, fine. You're like a nesting... dragon hoarding its tiny treasure."

That earned her a genuine smirk, a flash of white teeth, though Lexa didn't argue further. She simply sat down instead, not too far away, crossing one leg over the other, watching quietly as Clarke lost herself to the canvas. For once, Clarke didn't mind the weight of someone's eyes on her while she painted. It felt less like scrutiny and more like safety, a silent, immovable presence guarding the door.

Soon enough the canvas began to truly come alive under Clarke's hand. Strokes of blue and ochre blended into a stormy swirl, darkening dramatically at the edges and brightening wherever she pressed her brush lightly. Her body relaxed into the familiar rhythm; even her often-tense shoulders seemed to soften as though the colors themselves were carrying away some of the weight pressing on her.

She didn't need to look back, but she could feel Lexa. The air shifted differently when she was in the room, steadier, somehow. Clarke had once teasingly called her a human gravity well, always pulling her in, and there was a weird truth to it. Lexa filled a space without crowding it, without demanding anything in return. Just... there.

When Clarke finally set her brush down to dip it into the water jar, she caught the faintest flicker of movement in the corner of her eye. Lexa had subtly leaned forward, elbows braced on her knees, studying the painting with a laser-focused concentration that was almost comical. She looked like she was analyzing an acquisition target, not an abstract landscape.

"Okay," Clarke said, not bothering to turn around. "Say it."

Lexa's tone was perfectly even, bordering on defensive. "Say what?"

"You've been staring holes into this canvas for twenty minutes," Clarke pointed out, rotating her stool slightly. "Whatever profound, CEO-level thought you're holding back, you should just say it. I won't mock you too much."

There was a pause long enough for Clarke to successfully wipe a dollop of turquoise from her palette. Then finally: "It looks... like the ocean. But... not."

Clarke snorted, tipping her head back. "Brilliant critique. Should I put that on my gallery placard?"

"I don't have the words you do," Lexa admitted, a genuinely rare confession that made Clarke's chest pull tight at the honesty. Lexa, the master of the compelling closing argument, feeling linguistically inadequate was strangely endearing.

Clarke swiveled on the stool, resting her chin on her hand, brush still poised. "You don't need words. What does it make you feel when you look at it? Not what you think you're supposed to see."

Lexa's gaze flicked between Clarke and the canvas, genuinely struggling with the prompt. Then she shook her head once, a little frustrated by the puzzle. "It feels... restless. Like it wants to move."

That startled Clarke enough that she blinked. Then, slowly, her mouth curved into a wide, triumphant grin. "That's... actually perfect."

Lexa frowned faintly. "It is?"

"Yes," Clarke confirmed, turning back to the canvas, dragging her brush through another sweep of indigo. "That's exactly what I was painting. Movement. Transition. The feeling of not being quite still. You got it."

Lexa leaned back, looking slightly flustered, as though her simple observation had carried far more weight than she'd expected.

Clarke glanced over her shoulder, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "You know, you could help me."

The suspicion on Lexa's face was immediate and magnificent. "Help you... paint?" The word sounded as foreign coming out of her mouth as "whimsical."

"Yes." Clarke was already reaching for a second brush, a smaller one. "Don't look at me like that. I won't accidentally paint your face."

"I'm not—" Lexa stopped, her lips twitching into a reluctant smile. "I don't paint. My artistic contributions peak at formatting spreadsheets."

"Not with that attitude, you don't." Clarke held the brush out toward her, handle first. "Come on. One stroke. Just to prove you survived the experience."
For a moment, Lexa only stared at the brush like it was a complex ethical dilemma. Then, with a slow, dramatic exhale, she reached out and carefully took it from Clarke's hand.

"Good girl," Clarke teased, leaning back smugly.
Lexa's eyes narrowed into playful slits, but she held her tongue. She dipped the brush cautiously into the water, then hovered it over the palette like she was analyzing the stress points on a bridge.

Clarke bit her lip to keep from laughing aloud. "You're overthinking it."

"I do not overthink."

"You absolutely do. Now commit." Clarke guided Lexa's wrist gently, dragging the brush through a line of ochre paint. "See? Nothing exploded."

Lexa gave her a flat look, but the corner of her mouth softened. She finally set the brush against the canvas, made one careful, precise stroke, and pulled back like she'd just crossed enemy lines and survived.

Clarke beamed. "Look at you. Natural talent."

"It's a line."

"It's art."

Lexa muttered something under her breath that sounded vaguely corporate but didn't hand the brush back. She studied the palette for another long moment before choosing a different color, and Clarke tried, with very little success, not to grin too obviously.

They painted like that for nearly half an hour—Clarke working in broad, fluid sweeps, Lexa adding small, precise touches that somehow gave the piece a new, elegant structure. It wasn't perfect, but it was perfectly theirs. When Clarke finally leaned back with a sigh, her stomach growled loud enough to make both of them pause in surprise. Clarke's eyes widened before she burst out laughing.

"Guess that's my cue. I need fuel."

Lexa set her brush down immediately. "What do you want?"

Clarke rubbed her belly, already imagining the glorious possibilities. "Pancakes. Or literally everything."

"You need real food, Clarke."

"Pancakes are real food."

"They are not a balanced lunch."

"Who decided that?" Clarke shot back, mock-offended at the arbitrary culinary rule.

Lexa stood, stretching out her shoulders, and gave her a look so flat it could have been used for scaffolding. "We'll compromise. Pancakes... and something with protein."

Clarke tilted her head, assessing the terms. "You're very bossy when you're worried about me."

"Someone has to be," Lexa stated, offering her a hand, steadying Clarke as she eased off the stool with a small grunt. "And you don't exactly make it easy."

Clarke rolled her eyes but didn't let go of her hand. "Fine. Pancakes and eggs. You win this round, Dragon."

Lexa pressed a firm, quiet kiss to her temple. "Better."

They made their way to the kitchen together, Clarke leaning against the counter while Lexa pulled ingredients from the fridge. It was the kind of late afternoon Clarke hadn't realized she was starving for: simple, safe, and entirely theirs. The nursery ready, the canvas drying in the corner, and Lexa moving around her kitchen like she belonged there.
And Clarke thought, not for the first time, that maybe she really did.

To be continued...

Chapter Text

Lexa cracked the first egg into a bowl with a clean efficiency that made Clarke smirk, the gesture so precise it was less "cooking" and more "executing a delicate surgical procedure."

"You're way too serious about pancakes, babe," Clarke teased, hip cocked against the sleek granite counter, arms crossed over her bump. She watched Lexa stare down a mixing bowl like it was the enemy's final stronghold.

Lexa spared her a swift, utterly unimpressed glance. Her brows, usually furrowed in deep thought about quarterly reports, were now slightly pinched over the eggs. "If I am dedicating time and effort to their creation, they will be edible, Clarke. You've witnessed my previous attempts. They resembled dense, rubbery hockey pucks."

"Oh, please. They'd be edible even if you messed them up. I'd eat a charcoal briquette if you made it for me," Clarke corrected, pulling the absolute perfect face of devoted, slightly unhinged adoration.

Lexa's lips twitched, fighting a losing battle against a tiny smile. "That's concerning, and quite frankly, fringing on nutritional self-harm." She punctuated the comment with a sharp, decisive whisk of the eggs.

"It's romantic," Clarke insisted, dramatically snatching a bright red strawberry from a prep bowl and popping it into her mouth. She chewed with exaggerated slowness, then added, her voice dropping to a sly conspiratorial whisper, "Besides, I'm eating for two. Baby says pancakes are a priority. Specifically, ones with the structural integrity of a small bridge."

A low, rumbling sound escaped Lexa's throat. It was not a happy sound. "You're using our unborn child as emotional leverage," she muttered, increasing the force of her whisking. The muscles in her forearm, muscles Clarke had always found distracting, flexed beautifully under the scrutiny.

Clarke leaned in, grinning, enjoying the tiny spike of irritation she'd managed to provoke. "Is it working?"

Lexa paused, the whisk hovering mid-air, and shot Clarke a look that was a perfect blend of exasperation and grudging admiration. The sheer absurdity of the moment was too much. Clarke couldn't help the hearty, loud laugh that bubbled out of her, warm and unrestrained.

She reached for the massive bag of flour, the kind you buy when you're deeply committed to a baking project, don't ask why, and tugged it closer. And because her coordination had abandoned her roughly five months ago, the bag tipped. Slowly, gracefully, it released a silent, spectacular puff of white dust that hung in the afternoon sunlight.

Clarke froze, eyes wide in horror. The kitchen was momentarily transformed into the North Pole. Lexa, naturally, stilled too, staring at the counter like it had just audibly whispered a dark secret about her past.

"...Oops," Clarke managed, the sound muffled as she coughed once into her hand, which immediately covered her resulting giggle.

Lexa closed her eyes briefly, visibly gathering the remnants of her impressive self-control, breathing out a slow, deliberate stream of air through her nose. "Clarke—" she began, her tone a dangerous low register.

But Clarke was already leaning over the counter, brushing her now flour-dusted hands against Lexa's black t-shirt with an air of utterly exaggerated, innocent regret. "Oh no, look what happened! You've been contaminated. It's spreading. You should probably just surrender to the mess and take off your shirt."

Lexa's head tilted slowly, like a predator who'd just realized the gazelle she was stalking had wandered into a trap. "Clarke," she warned, the single word a quiet threat.

"Lexa," Clarke mimicked her tone perfectly, her grin bright, unrepentant, and absolutely asking for trouble.

That was all the invitation needed. Lexa dipped her finger into the pristine, fluffy white mound of spilled flour, executed a lightning-fast movement, and swiped it straight down Clarke's nose. The resulting white stripe was magnificent.

Clarke gasped dramatically, hand flying to her face, a look of betrayal etched on her features. "You didn't. That was... uncalled for."

Lexa's smug, victory-laced smirk was her only response. "I did."

"You are going to regret that, Woodson," Clarke hissed, her eyes gleaming with retaliatory fire. She dipped her own finger into the flour, darted forward with surprising agility, and smeared a messy, glorious circle against Lexa's cheek before her partner could dodge.

Lexa's jaw actually dropped for a magnificent two seconds of surprise before she lunged. Clarke shrieked, the sound of her laughter spilling out of her as she scrambled around the kitchen island. "No! Truce! Truce! I rescind my previous action!"

"You started this particular war," Lexa said, her voice deep and amused, cornering her target with a terrifying, military-grade precision. Clarke tried to dart the other way, but Lexa caught her easily by the waist, tugging her flush against her flour-dusted chest. Clarke squealed, laughing so hard she could barely breathe as Lexa tapped another streak of white against her jawline.

"Okay, okay! I surrender! I submit to your superior flour-smudging capabilities!" Clarke wheezed, her cheeks aching from the sheer force of her smile.

Lexa hummed contentedly, her smirk now downright smug. She looked like she'd just won a very important battle involving stock options and flour. "That's what I thought."

Clarke tipped her head back to look at her, strands of hair falling from her messy bun, her cheeks flushed pink from the effort and the laughter. "You're so bossy," she commented, affection dripping from the words.

Lexa's hand softened immediately, the playful grip dissolving as it slid protectively over Clarke's belly, as though grounding her in the aftermath of the dust-up. "You're reckless."

"Oh please, you love it," Clarke poked gently at her chest, leaving a new, small smudge of flour there.

Lexa's lips twitched again, a silent, amused admission. "Unfortunately."

Clarke leaned up, brushing a quick, soft kiss against her mouth, tasting faintly of sugar and mischief, before pulling back with a grin. "Fortunately."

For a moment, they just stood there, cheek-to-cheek, breathing in the quiet chaos of their kitchen, the air thick with flour dust and the sweet, clean smell of strawberries and vanilla. It was so absurdly domestic, so them, that Clarke felt her chest ache with a sudden, overwhelming emotion, like she was standing inside the perfect, flour-coated life she used to only dream about.

Eventually, Lexa gave a soft, defeated sigh and turned back to the stove, muttering something low and entirely unconvincing about "grown women acting like children." But her eyes softened and darted over to Clarke every time the blonde giggled while dusting herself off.

Clarke rinsed her hands under the tap and then, opting for the best seat in the house, hopped onto the counter, legs swinging as she watched Lexa, the master chef, resume control. The pancakes came out golden, the eggs fluffy, and the kitchen a total, unmitigated mess.

Clarke insisted on carrying the plates, ignoring Lexa's protests about her "dangerous lack of balance." They ended up on the couch together, cross-legged and comfortably messy, sharing bites off each other's carefully constructed stacks.

Halfway through her second pancake, Clarke leaned back with a dramatic, satisfied groan. "Okay. Baby is satisfied. I might explode, but the tiny dictator is happy."

Lexa smirked faintly, the sight still catching Clarke's breath, and reached out to gently tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Good."

Clarke studied her, a deep, easy warmth curling in her chest. The evidence of their ridiculous kitchen battle, a distinct streak of flour, was still visible across Lexa's cheekbone. Without thinking, Clarke leaned forward and gently, slowly, wiped it away with her thumb. Lexa caught her hand before she could pull back, turning it over and pressing a soft, lingering kiss right into her palm.

The playful mood quieted, the easy banter softening and receding. Clarke felt something swell in her chest, the same profound, overwhelming thing she'd been carrying for weeks now, something too big to be contained by casual jokes.

"You're really good at this," Clarke murmured, her eyes holding Lexa's.

Lexa raised a brow, a flicker of confusion crossing her face. "At... the pancakes?"

Clarke laughed softly, shaking her head. "At all of it. Taking care of me. Us." Her fingers tightened slightly in Lexa's firm, warm grip. "You make me feel like I'm not doing any of this alone."

Lexa's eyes flickered, something unguarded and raw slipping through, quiet and profound. She squeezed Clarke's hand once. "You're not."

Clarke shifted closer until their shoulders brushed, resting her head against the comfortable strength of Lexa's shoulder. For a long, perfect while, they just sat there in the soft, afternoon light of the living room, plates empty on the coffee table, the hum of the city faint outside their window.

It wasn't perfect, the flour still dusted the counters, her feet ached, Lexa was carrying a certain weight of responsibility she didn't always talk about, but Clarke thought, with absolute certainty, that maybe this was as close to perfect as life got. And she wasn't going to let go of it for anything.

The moment of post-pancake, pre-nap bliss was violently interrupted by the cold, hard stare of reality: the kitchen looked like a baking supply warehouse had exploded inside it.

Lexa, who possessed the deeply ingrained, military-grade efficiency of someone who had never lived in a truly cluttered space, was the first to break the comfortable silence. She gently disentangled herself from Clarke and rose from the couch. She didn't so much walk as stalk to the kitchen, stopping dead in her tracks at the threshold.

"I need a moment to properly mourn the structural integrity of this room," Lexa announced, her voice flat, yet strangely resonant with profound despair. She surveyed the scene: the flour cloud had settled, leaving a fine, white, ghostly dusting over every conceivable surface, the cabinets, and the steel appliances.

Clarke giggled, stretching languidly on the couch. "It's art, babe. Minimalist, monochrome, post-battle art. See how the light hits that dusting on the blender?"

Lexa turned to face her, her hand resting heavily on the countertop, already devising a strategy. "It's a sanitation risk. I estimate the cleanup will take forty-five minutes, provided we maintain optimal task delegation and minimal distraction."

"Forty-five minutes? Pessimist," Clarke scoffed, hopping off the couch, the residual flour on her clothes puffing up in a little cloud. She picked up a sponge, dipped it in the sink, and promptly sloshed a puddle of water onto the floor. "I'm going with the 'high-velocity, less-precise' method."

Lexa closed her eyes briefly, breathing a prayer to the gods of order and stainless steel. "No. Absolutely not. Clarke, you are on dusting duty. The dry, delicate work. I will tackle the wet surfaces and floor."

"But the fun part is using the spray hose and watching the flour turn into dough-glue!" Clarke protested, dragging the phrase out like a child denied a toy.

"And then spending another hour scraping it off the grout? No," Lexa stated, her voice sharp with finality. She grabbed a microfibre cloth, which, in her hands, looked less like a cleaning tool and more like a tactical weapon. "You start with the cabinet tops. They are out of my reach, and therefore, an appropriate task for my very pregnant partner with the superior height advantage."

Clarke, though completely incapable of resisting a little dramatic flair, couldn't deny the logic. She grudgingly took the dry cloth, climbing onto a sturdy kitchen stool. The cleanup began with a tense, nearly silent efficiency. For about three minutes.

Clarke, meticulously wiping the top of a cabinet, noticed a stray streak of flour near the ceiling where the initial 'explosion' had gone vertical. An idea, terrible and brilliant, struck her. She reached up and, with the precision of a master prankster, used the flour on her cloth to draw two small, pointy cat ears above Lexa's reflection in the microwave door.

Lexa, who was currently bent over, intensely wiping the baseboards, straightened up to inspect her work. When she caught her reflection, she froze. She stared for a long, quiet moment at the ridiculous, two-pronged feline silhouette floating above her head.
A slow, dangerous smile crept onto Lexa's face. "Oh, Clarke. You really haven't learned your lesson, have you?"

Before Clarke could even yelp in response, Lexa grabbed a clean, damp cloth and, with a swift flick of the wrist, snapped it like a wet towel at Clarke's exposed shin. It made a surprisingly loud smack.
Clarke shrieked, part surprise and part genuine laughter, nearly tumbling off the stool. "Hey! That's assault!"

"Retribution for vandalism," Lexa corrected, dropping the cloth and advancing. She didn't look angry; she looked like she was having the absolute time of her life, and it was infuriatingly attractive. "You need to be reminded that this is my kitchen, and I am the resident authority on cleanup protocols."

"You're obsessed with being in charge!" Clarke teased, abandoning the stool and taking a tactical retreat around the island. This was clearly going to dissolve back into a chase, and Clarke was too high on sugar and adrenaline to care.

"And you are obsessed with turning the mundane into a high-stakes comedy!" Lexa countered, her voice rich with amusement, catching Clarke's wrist easily.

She didn't try to pin her, though. Instead, Lexa used the leverage to spin Clarke around and gently press her back against the cool surface of the pantry door. The playfulness dissolved instantly, replaced by something warm and grounding. Lexa's hands slid from her waist to her belly, a calming, solid weight.

"But I do love your comedy," Lexa admitted quietly, pressing a series of small, reverent kisses across Clarke's forehead, effectively erasing the last traces of flour. "And I love that you turn our kitchen into a war zone, because it means you feel safe enough to be ridiculous."

A/n: "our"🥹 already feeling emotional while I write this.

The sincerity caught Clarke off guard, melting the last of her resistance. She leaned into the touch, her earlier manic energy settling into a deep, contented thrum. "It's because I know you'll clean it up, you beautiful neat freak," she murmured, tipping her head back.

Lexa chuckled, the sound deep and warm against Clarke's ear. "That, too, is unfortunately true."

The cleanup resumed, slightly slower this time, but definitely more affectionate. Clarke carefully dusted, frequently leaning down to kiss the top of Lexa's head while she scrubbed under the sink. Lexa even relaxed enough to join Clarke in a shared moment of judgment over the sheer amount of dried maple syrup stuck to the fridge handle.

When the last smear of white was gone, and the counters gleamed once more, both of them stood back, exhausted and sweaty. The clock on the microwave read thirty-five minutes, a full ten minutes faster than Lexa's initial estimate.

"See? I told you we were efficient," Clarke declared, leaning against the counter and pulling Lexa in close.

"It was thirty-five minutes of actual cleaning, punctuated by a seven-minute flour-based water-boarding incident and an unnecessary feline drawing," Lexa corrected, but her eyes were soft and her arms were wrapped tightly around Clarke's waist.

"The art was essential for morale," Clarke insisted, rubbing her cheek against Lexa's shoulder. She looked down at their flour-free shirts, then back at the pristine cabinets. "This is why we work, you know. I make the glorious, terrible mess, and you bring the beautiful, comforting order."

Lexa kissed her, a deep, satisfied kiss that tasted of mint and victory over culinary chaos. "Don't push your luck, Griffin. Tomorrow, we are ordering breakfast."

Clarke grinned against her mouth. "That is what a surrender sounds like, Woodson. And I accept."

Clarke and Lexa finally retreated to the living room. Clarke was sprawled across the large sectional sofa, contentedly flipping through a book, her plate of finished pancakes resting safely on the coffee table. Lexa, however, couldn't quite surrender to the quiet peace. She was perched on the armchair, seemingly relaxed, but her posture was subtly coiled, a habit born of always anticipating the next crisis.

It was precisely during this moment of fragile calm that Lexa's phone, resting on the side table, let out a noise that sounded less like a ringtone and more like a small, highly agitated foghorn. It was the custom tone she reserved strictly for her executive assistant, indicating that whatever was happening was both urgent and probably involved a nine-figure sum.

Lexa sighed, the sound a low, suffering rumble. She glanced at the phone, then at Clarke. "Five minutes," she muttered to the device, as if it could understand the domestic truce.

"I'm timing you," Clarke said sweetly, without looking up from her book, her voice brimming with mock-sympathy.

Lexa picked up the phone, her voice instantly dropping into the cool, measured cadence of the boardroom. "Woodson."

She listened for a moment, her eyes going distant. Clarke watched her, fascinated by the rapid transformation. The playful, flour-smudging partner was replaced by the formidable CEO, the shift instant and absolute.

"No, I told him the offer was non-negotiable at that valuation. If they counter below 1.5, we walk away entirely. I don't care about their 'emotional attachment' to the legacy brand, Peter. It's an asset, not a museum exhibit," Lexa articulated, each word a carefully polished stone.

Clarke muffled a snort. Lexa had a zero-tolerance policy for corporate sentimentality. Except when it came to her, of course;)

Lexa walked a short perimeter around the armchair, her energy building as she spoke. "The Q3 reports are not going to be accepted with that level of discrepancy in the Shenzhen expenditure. Have them flag the entire supply chain route and provide an audit by Monday morning, irrespective of the time zone. No, Peter, you can't tell them it's the weekend. Tell them I asked personally."

She paused again, listening. Her gaze drifted over to the kitchen, lingering on the memory of the flour mess, and a tiny, almost imperceptible muscle twitched near her jaw.

"Look, the entire Asia team needs to understand that a potential buyout on this scale requires full compliance. We are not going to be undercut by a failure in documentation. I need the full prospectus, cross-referenced with the internal finance data, on my desk, no, on my personal tablet by the time I have my coffee tomorrow morning."

Clarke finally lowered her book. She watched Lexa pace, the authority radiating off her like heat. It was undeniably impressive, but also slightly maddening to witness the intrusion. Clarke reached out and gently snagged one of the abandoned pancakes, tearing off a piece. Lexa's eyes, laser-focused on the distant corporate battlefield, suddenly focused on Clarke. She paused mid-sentence, holding the phone away from her mouth.

Clarke chewed slowly, an innocent expression plastered on her face. "Is this the part where I get to say, 'Told you so' about the edible pancakes?" she whispered. Lexa gave a barely perceptible shake of her head, a warning more than a denial, before raising the phone again.

"Peter, I need a brief moment. Hold." Lexa lowered the phone, pinching the bridge of her nose. The transition from CEO back to weekend partner was visibly stressful, like flicking a massive circuit breaker.

"They're being ridiculous, using procedural delay tactics to try and force a lower bid," Lexa grumbled, her voice now back to its familiar, low register. "I hate weekends where people pretend a potential multi-million dollar acquisition can wait until Monday."

"They're just trying to enjoy their weekends, Lexa," Clarke pointed out, kicking her feet up onto the chaise section. "Take the win, let Peter handle the audit flagging, and call them out on Monday. You have effectively given a multinational corporation homework."

Lexa stared at the phone, then at Clarke, a war waging behind her eyes between obligation and comfort. The silence stretched for a full minute, an eternity in the corporate world. Finally, Lexa placed the phone, still on hold, face-down on the thick rug next to the chair. She let out a long, slow breath, shedding the corporate armor with the physical gesture.

"I need a complete change of focus," Lexa stated, her voice quiet. She then walked over to the couch, stepped directly over the coffee table, and deliberately curled up against Clarke's side.

Clarke grinned, wrapping an arm around Lexa's shoulders and pulling her closer. "See? Now this is optimal task delegation. I am on 'recharging' duty."

"You are on distraction duty," Lexa corrected, burrowing her face into Clarke's shoulder. "My current focus should be on the logistical nightmare of the Shenzhen documents, but it is currently centered on how comfortable this spot is." She paused, then added in a dramatic, barely audible stage whisper, "And if I can get away with a twenty-minute nap without Peter realizing I abandoned the call."

The phone vibrated insistently on the rug, a muffled buzz that Lexa ignored entirely. Clarke squeezed her tightly, resting her chin on the top of Lexa's head. "I think you deserve a nap after fighting both me and an international conglomerate before evening. The company will survive without you for twenty minutes."

"I doubt that," Lexa murmured, already sounding half-asleep. "But I'm willing to risk it."

Clarke returned to her book, occasionally stroking Lexa's hair, listening to the predictable, soft rhythm of her breathing. The vibrating phone on the rug ceased its frantic plea after a few minutes, apparently having accepted defeat. The only sound left in the apartment was the quiet turning of pages and the profound silence of a CEO, finally, off the clock.

The twenty-minute nap Lexa had requested turned into a glorious, uninterrupted two-hour stretch. When she finally stirred, it was to the gentle weight of Clarke's hand stroking her hair and the delicious, warm stillness of the evening.

Lexa lifted her head, looking immediately more rested, but still slightly disoriented. Her eyes fell on the phone, lying face-down on the rug like a discarded nuisance, and a slow, mischievous smile spread across her face. "Did I... sleep through the crisis?" she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep.

Clarke gently stroked the back of Lexa's head, still reading. "You slept through a total of twenty-eight minutes of Peter's increasingly frantic attempts to reach you. He finally sent a succinct email about 'escalating the audit to the regional VP,' which means you've successfully delegated your Sunday morning problems to someone else."

Lexa straightened up, stretching out the stiffness in her shoulders and letting out a deep, satisfied breath. The dark, corporate anxiety had lifted, replaced by a simple, physical exhaustion that felt earned. She spotted the phone on the rug and resisted the urge to check it. Progress.

"A brilliant maneuver, if I say so myself," Lexa decided, swinging her legs over the side of the chaise. "Now that my nap-time negotiation strategy has proven successful, I require fresh air. And frankly, this apartment smells faintly of maple syrup and regretful flour usage."

"Excellent plan," Clarke agreed, closing her book with a snap. "The temperature's perfect, and the walk will do us good. We can loop through McCarren Park, I need to see if the farmers market still has those amazing cider donuts."

Ten minutes later, they were stepping out of their building and onto the bustling streets of Williamsburg. The neighborhood hummed with its typical Sunday energy: the clatter of brunch cutlery spilling from sidewalk seating, the distant thump of music from a rooftop, and the vibrant collision of old-school stoop-sitters and young families with designer strollers.

Lexa, dressed in jeans and a simple leather jacket, looked considerably less like a global CEO and more like an extremely fashionable, slightly severe local. Clarke, however, wore the neighborhood with an easy comfort, her oversized, soft sweater a perfect contrast to the city's sharp edges. As they walked, Lexa immediately began to catalogue their surroundings, a habit Clarke had long found endearing and occasionally infuriating.

"Notice the efficiency of the queue for that coffee shop," Lexa observed, nodding toward a line that snaked halfway down the block. "Minimal wasted motion. Clearly they have a strong barista flow structure."

"Or they just have good oat milk lattes, Lexa," Clarke countered, gently nudging her elbow. "And stop analyzing the workflow of local commerce. You're supposed to be relaxing."

"I am simply applying optimized observation techniques to my environment," Lexa retorted, her lips twitching. "It's a natural reflex. Look." She pointed across the street. "That vintage store just received a shipment. They will raise their prices by 15% within the hour due to perceived scarcity and demand density in this radius."

Clarke laughed, looping her arm through Lexa's. "You see P&L statements everywhere, don't you? I see a couple on a first date arguing about the quality of the flannel. It's much more interesting."

"Your perspective is certainly more romantic," Lexa conceded, tightening her grip on Clarke's arm. "But mine explains the local economy."

As they entered McCarren Park, the noise of the city retreated, replaced by the shouts from the soccer fields and the delighted squeals of teenagers near the playground. The park, a vast expanse of green framed by century-old trees, was a vibrant relief.
Clarke immediately pulled Lexa toward the smaller, quieter paths that ringed the main lawn.

"This is better," Clarke sighed, inhaling deeply. "Real oxygen, not the air-conditioned, low-humidity variety from your office tower."

"The air in the office is filtered for optimal cognitive performance," Lexa defended automatically, though she too was taking a deep, calming breath.

They paused by a massive, twisting oak tree. Lexa, always looking for a purpose, began gently tracing the rough bark with her fingers.

"Do you ever just... turn it all off?" Clarke asked softly, watching her. "The analyzing. The planning. The needing to be five steps ahead?"

Lexa turned, her expression uncharacteristically thoughtful. "It's difficult. The constant anticipation is what built the company. It's what allowed me to create this life, this home, for us." She paused, then gave Clarke a rare, small, self-deprecating smile. "But yes. When I was asleep on your shoulder, the only plan I had was to not wake up."

Clarke reached up and smoothed a stray strand of hair from Lexa's temple. "Good. Let's keep that the only plan for another hour. We are on a mandatory planning holiday."

They resumed walking, their pace leisurely and synchronized. As they skirted the edge of the market area, the scent of cinnamon and powdered sugar drifted over.

"Aha. The cider donuts," Clarke declared triumphantly, her eyes lighting up. "Operation 'Optimal Weekend Satisfaction' is back on track."

Lexa, however, was distracted by a small, curious spectacle. Near a set of benches, a man was setting up an elaborate outdoor chessboard, complete with a tiny velvet rope and a sign that read, 'Challenge the Master, $5.'

"He's running a high-yield, low-effort weekend hustle," Lexa observed, slowing her pace. "He can turn three games an hour and guarantee payment whether he wins or loses, provided he draws enough traffic."

Clarke groaned. "Lexa! No. We are getting donuts. You are not going to dissect the P&L of a chess hustler."

But Lexa was already halfway there, a competitive glint in her eyes that Clarke knew meant trouble. "I am simply going to disrupt his cash flow with a quick, definitive defeat. It will be relaxing. A simple, contained problem with an easily achievable solution."

"You are going to challenge an urban chess grandmaster while wearing a $2,000 leather jacket," Clarke whispered, horrified but thoroughly entertained. "You will lose, Lexa. And I will pay the man the five dollars and record the whole thing."

Lexa turned back, her usual professional seriousness completely undercut by a mischievous smirk. "You underestimate me, Clarke. That man's opening strategy is likely based on common amateur responses. I, however, study the Sicilian Defense for stress relief. This is less a challenge and more a calculated acquisition of his five dollars."

Clarke shook her head, laughing brightly as she watched Lexa approach the table, already projecting an aura of quiet, intimidating focus. This was Lexa's true form of relaxation, engaging with a solvable problem and dominating it.

"Fine," Clarke called after her. "But if you lose, you have to buy the man his own cider donut!"

Lexa merely raised an eyebrow, a silent promise of victory hanging in the air. Clarke waited by the market, watching the exchange begin. She bought her donut, taking a blissful bite, savoring the sugar and the sunshine, and the sight of her girlfriend, the fearsome CEO, completely engrossed in a five-dollar chess match in a park. It was wonderfully, perfectly, absurdly their life.

Lexa approached the small, rickety card table with the practiced gravity of someone walking onto a stage for a shareholder meeting. The man behind the board was a local legend named Sal, a wiry, silver-haired gentleman who regarded all comers with an air of patient resignation. His sign, taped to a velvet-covered brick, still declared the $5 fee with bold, unapologetic permanent marker.

"Afternoon," Lexa said, her voice smooth and devoid of preamble, as she sized up the pieces. "I'd like to play."

Sal looked up, took in Lexa's meticulously curated Brooklyn-by-way-of-Manhattan uniform, and gave a faint, knowing smile that said, Another corporate shark hoping to flex on the weekend.

"Five dollars, miss. Pay after the game. No clocks, we play at the pace of the city," Sal informed her, gesturing to the chair.

Clarke, leaning against a nearby lamppost and taking a blissful, loud bite of her cider donut, watched the scene with a smug grin. Lexa sat down, placing her hands on the table edge, instantly in her element. This wasn't a game; it was a simplified, tangible model of a hostile takeover.

"White," Lexa stated, indicating she would make the first move.

Sal nodded, and Lexa immediately advanced her King's Pawn two squares. The game was on.

Lexa's pace was deceptive. She appeared calm, often leaning back and merely observing the other players in the park, but when her turn came, her hand moved with swift, calculated intent. She wasn't just reacting, she was playing three moves ahead, anticipating Sal's counter-strategy, the way she would a competitor's Q4 earnings call.

Sal, the master hustler, was clearly surprised by her focus. Most amateur challengers were aggressive and emotional, trying for a quick, flashy win. Lexa was relentlessly methodical.

"You play often, miss?" Sal inquired mid-game, reaching for his Knight.

"Only when I require a moment of focused, analytical calm," Lexa replied, without looking up. Her Bishop had pinned his Queen's Knight to the rook. She was already dominating the center of the board. "But I guess you can say my father taught me well."

Clarke shook her head, muttering to her donut. "Only Lexa would find total relaxation in trying to defeat an elderly man at his weekend job. It's truly beautiful."

The silence settled, broken only by the distant thwack of a tennis ball. Clarke watched Lexa's face, the subtle tension around her eyes, the familiar tilt of her head when she saw a weakness in the 'market' position.

"You're making a tactical error with the Queen's flank," Lexa eventually stated, her voice quiet but firm, not as a challenge, but as a verifiable fact, the same way she'd inform Peter of a failure in documentation.

Sal frowned, his focus deepening. He adjusted his glasses, then made his move, a desperate sacrifice of a pawn to try and break Lexa's overwhelming control over the board's central column. Lexa simply captured the pawn, then moved her rook into a position that immediately threatened Sal's King.

The game lasted eighteen minutes and four seconds, and it ended precisely the way Lexa had intended: with a devastating, inescapable checkmate. Sal, despite his initial confidence, looked genuinely startled. He tipped his King over, signalling his surrender.

"Well played, miss," Sal said, recovering quickly and offering a wry smile. "I didn't see that rook coming."

Lexa didn't gloat, only gave a crisp, businesslike nod. She pulled a crisp $100 bill from her jacket pocket, unfolded it precisely, and placed it on the table.
"For the lesson," she said, tapping the money. "But next time, lead with the Sicilian. It offers better long-term defensive equity."

Sal's eyes widened slightly at her advice. "You've been studying my playbook, haven't you?"

"I always study the opposition," Lexa replied, a rare, genuine spark of competitive satisfaction in her eyes. "Good day."

As Lexa turned and walked back towards Clarke, the blonde was beaming, clapping slowly and loudly.
"Masterful! Textbook! You've ruined that man's entire weekend hustle!" Clarke exclaimed, pushing off the lamppost. "You paid him to tell him he was playing chess wrong. That's a power move, Woodson."

"He needed a corrective action," Lexa said, unable to fully suppress a small, smug smile. She snatched the paper bag holding the remainder of Clarke's donuts. "Besides, I've just proven that my brain is still functioning at peak capacity. Therefore, my nap was justified."

Clarke leaned in, kissing the smile right off Lexa's face. "Your nap was justified because you deserve to rest, you psychoanalyst. But the chess win was a nice bonus."

Lexa slipped an arm around Clarke's waist, pulling her close as they started walking the perimeter of the park again, heading toward the main exit. "It feels good to solve a problem without having to involve a legal team."

"Now," Clarke said, tucking her hand into Lexa's jacket pocket. "We are walking past the dog park. You are forbidden from analyzing the pack hierarchy or the return on investment of personalized dog collars. You are only allowed to say 'cute'."

Lexa paused, considering the parameters. "Can I analyze the superior gait of that German Shepherd versus the Corgi?"

Clarke tightened her grip on Lexa's hand, looking up with a mock-stern expression. "One word, Lexa. Cute."

Lexa sighed, the sound entirely theatrical, and finally relented, giving in to the quiet simplicity of the afternoon. "Fine. But that Golden Retriever is, objectively, a very cute and very well-behaved asset."

Clarke just laughed, resting her head briefly on Lexa's shoulder as they walked out of the park and back onto the bustling street, her hand firmly holding the hand that had just checkmated a grandmaster, ready for the rest of their perfectly imperfect Sunday.

To be continued...

Chapter Text

They arrived back at the apartment, slightly winded but feeling infinitely refreshed, the scent of the city and grass clinging to their jackets. Lexa immediately shucked off her jacket and headed toward the kitchen, clearly planning a sophisticated beverage.

"I need iced black tea, specifically the one from the top shelf, steeped for precisely four minutes," Lexa announced, already reaching for the kettle.

Clarke, settling onto the freshly fluffed couch cushions, smirked. "And here I thought the 'analyzing' switch was off for the day."

"Tea preparation is a ritual, Clarke. Not analysis. It's the difference between art and data," Lexa countered smoothly.

It was during the quiet moment while the kettle heated that Lexa remembered the enemy she had abandoned on the rug. She bent down, retrieving her phone. The screen flashed with twenty-three notifications, mostly news alerts, but one single, ominous email from Peter.

Lexa sighed, the sound a mix of dread and amusement. "The digital leash is tight."

She opened the email. Clarke watched her face, the rapid fire of her eyes tracking the text, the subtle tightening of her lips, and knew whatever Peter had written was laced with equal parts apology and panic.

Lexa finally looked up, raising an incredulous eyebrow. "He started the email with 'My Dearest Lexa...'"

Clarke burst out laughing, clutching a pillow to her stomach. "He's terrified! I wonder what you did? Maybe went completely silent mid-demand?"

"Apparently, when I placed the phone down to prioritize my nap, Peter was mid-sentence about the importance of 'immediate executive response' regarding the Shenzhen audit," Lexa explained, trying to keep her expression serious, but a smile was fighting its way through. "He proceeded to spend the next hour thinking I had either been detained, suffered a medical emergency, or simply quit the company in a dramatic fashion."

Lexa read a snippet from the email aloud, slipping into a perfect, slightly frantic Peter impression: "'...The silence, Lexa, was deafening. I honestly feared you had spontaneously decided to buy a vineyard in Tuscany and left me with the Q3 projections. I have already contacted your security detail to confirm your location, who simply said, and I quote, 'She appears to be napping.''"

Clarke's laughter escalated until she was nearly wheezing. "He called your security detail! He thought you had spontaneously quit over an audit! That is the highest compliment a CEO can receive."

Lexa shook her head, thoroughly amused. She moved away from the kettle, now audibly whistling, and sat next to Clarke on the couch, abandoning the ritual for the moment.

"The best part," Lexa continued, resting her head against Clarke's shoulder and scrolling to the end of the lengthy missive, "is the final paragraph, where he attempts to re-establish a sense of professional control. He states that he has 'heroically stabilized the situation' and needs me to simply confirm a new directive."

Lexa read the final, formal sentence with heavy emphasis: "'Therefore, Lexa, based on your previous indication of high efficiency, I have instructed the team to deliver all audit reports to you via email by 0700 hours Monday, so you can review them before your routine 0800 executive planning session.'"

Clarke blinked, the laughter dying in her throat, replaced by a deep, protective exasperation. "He gave you extra homework for napping. He used your own efficiency against you!"

Lexa looked at the phone, then back at Clarke, the amusement fading slightly, replaced by a spark of the frustration that fueled her corporate drive. "The underlying assumption is that my time is always available for the company's immediate consumption. My efficiency is not a tool for him to leverage my off-hours."

Clarke took the phone from Lexa's hand and placed it, screen-down, on the coffee table next to her book. She then shifted until she was facing Lexa, taking her hands firmly.

"No," Clarke said, her voice dropping, instantly serious. "Your efficiency is a tool for you to be free of the company when you're here. This is non-negotiable territory, Lexa. The boundaries exist for a reason."

She tapped Lexa's chest gently. "You spent twenty minutes checkmating a chess hustler to prove a point about control, but you let Peter dictate your Sunday evening? Unacceptable, Woodson. You are going to write a very simple, very firm email right now."

Lexa's eyes softened, a quiet wave of gratitude washing over her. She knew Clarke was right, and she loved that her girlfriend could pivot instantly from playful accomplice to boundary enforcer.

"What should I say?" Lexa asked, her tone signaling that she was ready to comply.

Clarke leaned forward, kissing her cheek. "You will write: 'Peter. All reports are due at 1000 hours Monday, immediately preceding the executive review. You need to read them first. Do not send anything else until then. Enjoy your Sunday.' And then you will turn the phone completely off for the next twelve hours."

Lexa nodded, a firm, decisive movement. "That is a brilliant counter-strategy. It delegates the initial burden of review back to him, enforces the professional timeline, and provides a clear, unassailable boundary."

"Lexa, speak English please. My brain is killing me from all the sophisticated grammar." Clarke sighed dramatically.

Lexa just ignored her and picked up the phone, her hands moving quickly as she composed the email. She reread the message once, nodded in satisfaction, and sent it. Then, with a flourish, she powered the device completely down and placed it inside a deep, obscure drawer in the entertainment unit.

"There," Lexa announced, sinking back against the couch, instantly more relaxed. "The company is officially locked out. Now, where is that tea?"

With the phone silenced and tucked away, the apartment settled into a deep, comforting quiet, broken only by the gentle hiss of the cooling kettle and the faint sounds of the city outside their window. The serious tone from the email exchange had lifted, leaving behind a shared, easy contentment.

"Forget the tea, come here," Clarke said, wrapping her arms around Lexa's neck and pulling her close for a long, quiet kiss that promised no deadlines, no audits, and no more interruptions.

Lexa sank into the couch next to Clarke, immediately pulling a soft, heavy throw blanket over both of them. She wasn't just tired; she felt the satisfying ache of a day well-spent on non-corporate matters, from the physical exertion of the flour fight to the mental clarity of the chess match. She rested her head on Clarke's shoulder, exhaling slowly, letting her body fully relax against her girlfriends.

"This," Lexa murmured, her voice low and soft, entirely devoid of executive precision, "is exactly what I needed. Just quiet."

"Just quiet," Clarke agreed, adjusting her arm to cradle Lexa's shoulders, her fingers tracing soothing patterns against the fabric of her shirt. "It took a flour explosion, a chess hustler, and threatening to fire Peter, but we got here."

Lexa chuckled, the sound muffled against Clarke's sweater. "Threatening to fire Peter is merely an annual performance review strategy. It keeps him sharp." She lifted her head slightly, studying the soft light filtering through the sheer curtains. "But seriously, thank you. For forcing the break. I don't always remember how to turn off the momentum."

Clarke smiled, her expression warm and understanding. "I know. It's hard to let go of the reins when you've been holding them for so long. But the world doesn't fall apart because you take an evening off, especially not when you have a good team, even if they do panic easily."

They lay there for a long time, simply existing in the shared space, feeling the peaceful weight of the evening descend. Lexa's gaze drifted around the living room, noticing the way the shadows stretched and softened the furniture, the quiet detail of their life together.

Eventually, a new, more immediate need asserted itself, entirely unrelated to quarterly profits or tactical defense.

"I am starving," Lexa announced, the statement quiet but firm, a stark contrast to her earlier corporate pronouncements. "That singular donut was inadequate for my energy expenditure today."

"I knew it was coming," Clarke teased, tapping her fingers lightly against Lexa's arm. "So, the question is: what is the appropriate reward for successful weekend boundary enforcement?"

Lexa considered this, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "It needs to be satisfying, comforting, and require absolutely zero cooking effort. My hands feel like they should be holding a controller, not a spatula."

"We could do Thai? The place on Grand Street has great pad see ew," Clarke suggested, already reaching for the takeout menus tucked into the side of the couch.

A/n: Just so we are clear, it's Williamsburg, Brooklyn.

Lexa wrinkled her nose playfully. "No, I had Thai on Wednesday with those tedious venture capitalists. The spice level was aggressively low. I need something... deeper. Less pretentious."

"Okay, so no overpriced noodles. Italian, then? That new place near the park?"

"Too heavy. I want to feel relaxed, not immobilized," Lexa countered, her focus now fully engaged in the simple pleasure of deciding dinner. It was a fascinating window into her non-CEO brain, she applied the same thoughtful deliberation, but the stakes were just a few extra calories, not millions of dollars.

"Lexa, I'm not this picky even though I'm the one that's pregnant." Clarke said, pretending to sigh dramatically.

"I'm sorry, you are right, but," Lexa corrected, entirely serious. "Bad takeout on a Sunday night is a week-long emotional trauma."

Clarke chuckled. "Fine. How about Indian again? Specifically, the butter chicken and the garlic naan. It's warm, it's rich, and it comes with zero risk of disappointing venture capitalists."

Lexa's eyes lit up. The decision was clearly reached. "Indian is good. Yes. The butter chicken is precisely the level of deep, uncomplicated comfort I was searching for. And the naan, we should double the order of naan. We earned it."

Clarke leaned in, brushing a quick kiss against her temple. "We definitely earned it. And the baby is on board, by the way. She just did a happy little tap dance at the mention of naan."

Lexa's expression softened completely. She gently placed her hand over the spot where Clarke had felt the movement, a gesture so tender and immediate it momentarily banished any trace of the day's stress.

"Then Indian it is," Lexa said, her voice quiet and full. "Order everything. And then we are not moving from this blanket for the rest of the night."

Clarke pulled the phone closer and started tapping the screen, placing the order. Lexa simply watched her, the day's drama, all receding into the background. She was home, completely present, and perfectly content.

One hour later.

Now, with the rinse cycle running on the dishwasher and Clarke tucked into one of Lexa's ridiculously soft, oversized shirts, they finally sank into their bed. The busy noise of the city had surrendered to a muffled evening hush. The room was bathed in that soft, gentle light where the bedside lamp fought a losing battle against the deepening shadows.

Clarke immediately curled into Lexa's side, seeking the familiar warmth and solidity of her chest. Her hand settled instinctively over the familiar, rounded curve of her belly. "I'm sorry I'm such a dud lately," she mumbled into the fabric of Lexa's shirt, the guilt a familiar, low hum.

Lexa looked down, her brow furrowing slightly, her gaze tender. "You're not boring at all."

"I totally am," Clarke insisted, shifting slightly. "I fall asleep halfway through a ten-minute YouTube video, I complain about my lower back every five minutes, and I cried for twenty minutes yesterday over a dog food commercial. I'm basically useless," she finished with a weak, self-deprecating smile. Her eyes searched Lexa's, needing to see the denial reflected back.

Lexa's hand came up, her thumb brushing slowly and softly over Clarke's cheekbone. "You are literally growing a whole person. That is the exact opposite of useless."

Clarke huffed, trying to laugh it off. "Well, when you put it that way..."

But Lexa didn't offer a playful smile. Her gaze was steady, her green eyes filled with a deep, quiet affection that always made Clarke's chest feel tight. "You're everything, Clarke. You're the best part of every day."

Clarke felt her breath catch. Her chest suddenly ached with the force of her own emotion. She wanted to voice the huge wave of feeling that Lexa's simple words always triggered, but before she could, a small, sharp thump pressed distinctly outward against her stomach.

Clarke gasped, grabbing Lexa's wrist and pulling her hand down, placing her palm directly over the spot. "Wait—right there. Did you feel that?"

Lexa went completely still, her hand splayed wide across Clarke's skin, her focus total. For a moment, there was nothing, and Clarke started to doubt herself. Then another kick came, stronger this time, pressing right beneath the center of Lexa's hand.

Lexa's breath caught, a surprised sound escaping her lips. "Clarke," she whispered, the name full of awe.

Clarke watched her, her own heart hammering in her chest. Lexa looked completely overwhelmed, her eyes wide and shining with an emotion so soft, so raw, that it was nearly painful to witness.

"She's strong," Clarke whispered back, her own hand overlapping Lexa's, confirming the reality of the small, insistent presence.

Lexa nodded once, her jaw tightening as if she couldn't form words. She didn't try to speak; instead, she slowly bent her head and pressed her lips gently to the curve of Clarke's belly, lingering there in pure reverence.

Clarke's fingers instinctively slid into the hair at the back of Lexa's head, stroking slowly, gently. "She definitely likes you," she murmured, her voice trembling slightly.

Lexa finally looked up at her, and Clarke had never seen her so exposed. She wasn't the composed, untouchable woman who navigated complex situations; she was completely open, reverent, and utterly vulnerable to the depth of her own feelings.

"I honestly don't know why I get all of this," Lexa admitted softly, her voice catching just enough to twist Clarke's heart. "You. The baby. This life."

Clarke started to speak, but Lexa rushed the words out, needing to express the fear she usually kept buried. "I'll mess it up," she confessed quickly. "I've spent my entire life trying to be in control, keeping everyone at a distance, and now—" She cut herself off, shaking her head against the pillow. "You two matter more than anything else in the world. And that fact absolutely terrifies me."

Clarke pushed herself up onto one elbow, her movement deliberate. She cupped Lexa's face in both hands, forcing her to hold eye contact. "Hey. Look at me."

Lexa obeyed instantly, her green eyes swimming with the intensity of her vulnerability.

"You are absolutely not going to mess this up," Clarke said, her voice firm and steady. "Do you hear me? You don't have to be perfect. You just have to be here. With me. With her. Every day."

Lexa swallowed hard, her throat working. "But what if I fail? What if I'm not the mom she needs?"

Clarke's thumb brushed gently against her jawline. "Then we'll figure it out together, Lex. But you won't fail. You already love her so much you're shaking. And you love me."

Lexa's eyes softened completely, and a single tear slipped free before she could stop it. Clarke kissed it away without hesitation, her lips gentle against Lexa's skin.

"I love you," Clarke whispered against her cheek. "And she is going to love you even more. You're already her favorite, you know."

Lexa let out a shaky, low laugh, almost disbelieving, before pulling Clarke tight into her arms. She held her close, her face pressed into Clarke's hair, her grip fiercely protective.

They stayed like that, curled together in the quiet room, the steady beat of the baby a palpable presence beneath Clarke's skin. For the first time, Lexa's emotional walls weren't just lowered, they felt entirely gone. Clarke simply rested in the embrace, letting them both breathe in the fragile, hard-won peace they were building together.

Monday Morning.

The office looked different to Lexa that morning, though nothing had actually changed. The Woodson Enterprises tower was the same steel-and-glass monolith it always was, its lobby humming with the same measured cadence of heels on polished floors, the same faint scent of coffee and printer ink hanging in the air. But Lexa felt lighter, her shoulders looser under the weight of her blazer, her gaze softer as she stepped through the sliding glass doors.

She hadn't wanted to leave the apartment that morning. Clarke had been half-asleep when she slipped out of bed, hair tangled, one arm still thrown across the warm indentation Lexa left behind. Lexa had lingered a moment too long, pressing a kiss to Clarke's temple, then another to her still-rounding belly, before quietly forcing herself to go. She carried that image into the elevator ride now, the echo of Clarke's sleepy smile warming her more than the steaming mug in her hand.

By the time she stepped onto her floor, the CEO mask had slid into place, crisp lines, precise movements, quiet authority, but it wasn't as airtight as usual. A shadow of softness still lingered.

Lexa had returned to the office with her usual impenetrable calm, but the air around Peter was thick with nervous energy. Peter was the kind of executive who lived by protocol, and the Sunday incident had been a profound violation of his professional principles. He was waiting by her desk, holding her personal tablet with an expression that suggested it contained a ticking bomb.

"Good morning, Ms. Woodson. I... I trust you had a restful weekend," Peter began, his voice carefully neutral, yet betraying a hairline fracture of anxiety.

"It was exceptionally restful, Peter," Lexa confirmed, giving him a knowing look that made his collar suddenly feel too tight. She pulled her chair out and sat, taking the tablet.

"Right. Well, I managed to relay your request to the Asia team at 11:30 PM their time. They, ah–worked through the night. The full prospectus, cross-referenced with the internal finance data and the flagged supply chain audit, is loaded here." He gestured vaguely at the tablet.

Lexa scrolled through the summary, her face expressionless. "Excellent work. And how did you find my impromptu hold to be... handled?"

Peter swallowed, adjusting his tie. "Ms. Woodson, when the line went silent for twenty-seven minutes, I confess I was in a state of high alert. I assumed there was a security breach or perhaps a failure in the communication line." He omitted the part where he had nearly called her private security detail. "I took the liberty of immediately dispatching an encrypted email stating that you had been pulled into an unscheduled, highly confidential security briefing and would follow up at the start of business Monday."

Lexa slowly looked up from the tablet, her eyes gleaming with genuine amusement. "A security briefing? Peter, you're a genius."

"It seemed the most plausible scenario for a silent disappearance of that length, ma'am." Peter practically preened under the rare praise. "I thought it would maintain the necessary leverage without revealing—"

"Without revealing that I was debating the superior method of dealing with flour residue with my wife," Lexa finished, a hint of a smile touching her lips. She loved the sound of Clarke being her wife, perhaps one day it shall be a reality in which to celebrate. "Well done. You saved the dignity of my nap."

She tapped the summary data on the screen, her attention snapping back to business with a frightening speed. "Now, tell me why the Q3 report flagged a discrepancy of $800,000 in the Shenzhen expenditure."

Peter, relieved to be back on firm, corporate ground, launched into a detailed explanation. Lexa listened, her focus total, interrupting only to ask precise, demanding questions that cut straight to the financial core of the issue.

The intense briefing lasted fifteen minutes, with Lexa expertly dismantling and reassembling the logic behind a quarter's worth of international spending. Just as she was concluding her analysis, her office phone, the internal, non-urgent one, chimed with a distinct, cheerful jingle.

It was Clarke.

Lexa glanced at the phone, then back at Peter, whose face had gone rigid with apprehension. Lexa never took non-urgent personal calls during an internal strategic review.

Lexa picked it up on the first ring, her voice immediately softening. "Clarke. I'm in the middle of the Shenzhen audit. Is everything alright?"

"Perfectly fine," Clarke's voice chirped through the line, loud enough that Peter could definitely hear. "I just wanted to call and let you know that I found the final evidence of the weekend's flour contamination."

Lexa sighed, but there was a hint of a smile in her voice. "Where was the rogue element hiding, detective?"

"In your briefcase. Specifically, coating the bottom of your favorite Montblanc pen case," Clarke reported gleefully. "I had to wipe it down. And it made me realize something important."

"And what philosophical truth did the Montblanc case reveal?"

"That you owe me one new, flour-free pancake breakfast," Clarke announced. "And I want waffles this time. And you have to make them. Without turning the kitchen into a winter wonderland."

Peter's eyes were wide, darting between the phone and Lexa. He was witnessing a total subversion of his office hierarchy. Lexa Woodson, the ruthless CEO, was being directed by her 'wife' to make specialty breakfast items.

"Understood," Lexa replied, a note of surrender in her voice that Peter had never heard before. "Waffles. I will dedicate a full hour to that this coming Saturday. Anything else?"

"Just this," Clarke murmured, and Peter could practically hear the warmth in her voice. "Win the buyout. And try not to terrify Peter too much. Bye, babe."

Lexa smiled genuinely as she hung up the phone. She placed it back in its cradle, the domestic bubble dissipating instantly as her gaze hardened, focusing entirely on the stunned executive before her. She secretly loved pushing Peter's buttons.

"Right," Lexa said, picking up a pen and tapping it against the audit summary. "Now, Peter. Regarding the $800,000 discrepancy..." Her voice was cold, sharp, and entirely focused on the task at hand. "Did you ensure that the Asian team included a detailed explanation for why the purchase order numbers were not aligned with the initial Q3 projections, or were they too busy dealing with the fallout from the highly confidential security briefing?"

Peter snapped back to attention, the image of his boss cooing over a Montblanc pen case instantly buried under layers of corporate fear and necessity. "Y-yes, Ms. Woodson. They are on page six, section C. They cited a three percent material cost increase on the rare earth metals."

Lexa nodded, her eyes narrowed. "Good. Now, cross-reference that against the spot market rate for those metals last month. I want to know if we were fleece, Peter. And I don't care if it's lunchtime."

As the heavy door to the office closed on Lexa and Peter, the cold, hard world of corporate finance resumed. But for Peter, a tiny, unsettling seed of knowledge had been planted: that the impenetrable CEO, who could terrify entire departments with a single email, could also be instantly derailed by a demand for flour-free waffles from the person who clearly held her whole, formidable heart.

"Someone's walking lighter today," Raven drawled from where she was leaning against the glass wall of Lexa's office, tablet in hand. She looked far too amused for nine in the morning.

"Good morning to you too."

"That's one way to avoid an observation." Raven entered, shutting the door behind her. "Seriously, though. You're practically glowing. Did Clarke finally let you watch one of your boring historical documentaries without falling asleep?"

Lexa's lips twitched despite herself. "She was tired. We went to bed early."

"Uh-huh." Raven crossed her arms, grin widening. "That explains everything."

Lexa sat at her desk, adjusting a stack of reports that didn't need adjusting. She had perfected the art of ignoring Raven's prodding, but the woman had an uncanny ability to keep poking until something gave. Today, though, Lexa didn't mind as much.

Raven tilted her head, sharp eyes narrowing. "Wait a sec. Did she—oh my god." She gasped theatrically, smacking her palm against the glass table. "She kicked, didn't she?"

Lexa froze, betraying herself with the faintest stillness. Raven's grin turned victorious.

"She did!" Raven crowed, pointing a finger at her. "That's why you're walking around like someone swapped your black coffee for sunshine and rainbows. Clarke let you feel the baby, again."

Lexa's jaw tightened, though her expression softened despite her best efforts. "It's not something I feel like discussing in the office."

"Which means I'm right, boss lady." Raven plopped into the chair opposite her desk, swinging one leg over the other.

Lexa looked down at her hands, the memory of that small thump under her palm still reverberating like an aftershock. "It's... different when you feel it for yourself."

"Bet." Raven's gaze lingered on her for a moment, unusually gentle, before the sharp grin slid back into place. "Don't get too soft on me, though. You've still got a company to run."

Lexa arched a brow. "I'm perfectly capable of doing both."

"Good. Because you're gonna need both hands on deck." Raven turned her tablet around, sliding it across the desk. "Check this out."

Lexa pulled it closer, scanning the headline of an online business column. Her name leapt out immediately, bold and biting: Woodson Empire: Cracks Beneath the Surface?

The article was speculative, almost baseless, comments about her sudden "disappearances," vague mentions of "personal distractions" taking her eye off the ball. But the tone was sharp, insidious. Lexa felt her stomach tighten as she skimmed it, the faint buzz of contentment she'd carried in with her dimming around the edges.

She set the tablet down carefully. "Bellamy."

Raven leaned back in her chair, arms folded. "Most likely. He's been trying to stick a knife in you since the merger talks went south. Guess he thinks a whisper campaign will soften you up."

Lexa's jaw clenched. The name carried weight in her chest, Bellamy, with his easy charm and ruthless opportunism. He was calculated enough to wait for the right moment to strike. And her relationship with Clarke, with the baby, was the softest target she had ever had.

Raven studied her, her voice steady. "Look, I know you don't like mixing business with personal, but you need to think ahead. Clarke's art is getting noticed. She's not just going to be your girlfriend in the shadows forever. When the press puts two and two together, they're gonna drag her into this. And she's not exactly paparazzi-proof."

Lexa's fingers drummed once, sharply, against the desk before stilling. She hated that Raven was right. She hated even more the thought of Clarke blindsided, her private life ripped open because of Lexa's enemies.

"She doesn't need to be worrying about this right now," Lexa said firmly, almost too fast.

"No," Raven agreed. "She doesn't. Which means you need to get ahead of it. Figure out how to protect her, and yourself, before this turns into a wildfire."

Silence stretched for a beat. The hum of the city below pressed faintly through the glass windows.

Lexa finally leaned back, steepling her fingers. The softness she had walked in with that morning was still there, but layered now with something else, the sharp focus of a woman already calculating her next move.

Raven watched her, brow arched. "And just like that, the glow is gone. Welcome back, Commander."

Lexa's eyes flicked up, cool and unreadable. But underneath, Raven caught it: that thread of fear she rarely let anyone see.

When Raven finally pushed herself up with a stretch and a casual "Don't work yourself into a brood-fest, Boss," the office door clicked shut behind her, and the silence that followed seemed almost too loud.

Lexa leaned back in her chair, the leather creaking softly, and let her gaze drift to the floor-to-ceiling windows that made up the far wall of her office. Manhattan sprawled beyond the glass, sharp angles of skyscrapers catching the morning light, the city humming with relentless motion. On most days, it gave her a sense of control, a reminder that she had climbed high enough to see the world from above, that her discipline had carved her a place among the unshakable.

But today, the view felt brittle. Like glass about to crack.

Her eyes flicked down to the tablet Raven had left behind. The headline still glared up at her, the words insidious in their simplicity. Cracks Beneath the Surface. She hated how they stuck, not because of what they implied about her company, she knew her family's empire was solid, unshakeable, built on years of careful strategy, but because of what they might imply about her life outside the boardroom.

Clarke.

Her throat tightened at the thought of her. Clarke, half-asleep in her shirt that morning, lashes brushing her cheeks, murmuring something incoherent as she shifted to cradle her belly. Clarke, laughing at her own clumsiness when she spilled flour across the kitchen tiles. Clarke, whose honesty cut sharper than any deal Lexa had ever negotiated.

And now Clarke, unknowingly standing at the edge of a world that had teeth.

Lexa dragged a hand down her face, fingers pressing hard against her eyes until stars burst in the dark. She had spent years mastering control, control of her company, her image, her reputation. People could speculate all they wanted about her coldness, her perfection, her rumored affairs; it never touched her because she never let them close enough to find the real seams.

But Clarke was a seam. Clarke and the baby were a pulsing vulnerability right at her center.

She exhaled slowly, forcing her hand back down to the desk. For a moment she just sat there, her breathing measured, eyes fixed on nothing. Then, almost instinctively, her hand shifted to the edge of the desk, palm pressing against the wood as though it were Clarke's belly again. She closed her eyes, and in the dark behind her lids she could still feel it, that small, fierce thump beneath her hand. A kick. Proof of life. Proof of something that wasn't just hers to protect but hers to belong to.

And with it came a flood of fear.

The press didn't care about nuance. They didn't care that Clarke hadn't asked for any of this, that she hadn't chosen to be tied to a CEO with a target on her back. All they would see was a headline, a scandal to twist: Woodson Heir? Mystery Mother-to-Be? Or worse, they'd dig into Clarke's past, the parts Clarke hadn't even told Lexa yet. The parts that already seemed tender, like scars half-healed.

Her jaw locked, and she stood abruptly, pacing to the windows. Her reflection stared back at her in the glass, sharp lines of a woman who looked unshakable. But Lexa felt the crevices under the surface. She pressed a palm to the glass, staring out at the city below.

"You don't get to touch her," she muttered under her breath, as if the skyline itself were listening. "You don't get to touch either of them."

Her phone buzzed on the desk, breaking the moment. Lexa turned, crossing back with measured steps, but her pulse ticked faster when she saw the name on the screen: a board member. She let it ring twice before answering, her voice clipped, professional.

"Yes."

The conversation was brief, questions about quarterly forecasts, murmurs about investor confidence, thinly veiled references to the article already making the rounds. Lexa kept her answers precise, efficient, but she could feel the edges pressing in. Even here, the whispers were growing.

When the call ended, she lowered the phone and set it down carefully, deliberately, as though it might break if she moved too quickly. Her fingers lingered against the sleek glass for a moment before withdrawing. She needed a plan. She always had a plan. But this time, it couldn't just be about damage control for the company. This time it was about Clarke. About their daughter.

What would her parents say if they were here? They would probably be disappointed she wasn't one step ahead of this whole issue, disappointed that she had gotten distracted and let the enemy strike first and gain leverage.

Fuck!

She sank back into her chair, pulling a notepad closer. Her handwriting was neat, exacting, each bullet point pressed into the page with the weight of determination.

•    Preemptive media strategy: redirect narratives before Bellamy gains traction.

•    Increase personal security measures quietly. Clarke doesn't need to know yet.

•    Explore legal options re: press harassment.

•    Confidentiality reinforcement with hospital staff before Clarke's due date.

Her pen hovered after the last line, and for a moment she let herself falter. What she wanted to write, what her chest ached with, was simpler: Keep them safe.

She didn't write it, but she didn't need to. The words were already burned into her bones.

Leaning back, she pinched the bridge of her nose, exhaustion cutting through the steel of her resolve. She hadn't even told Clarke about Bellamy. She told herself it was to protect her, Clarke didn't need to carry that weight right now, not when she was already carrying so much. But part of her wondered if she was just repeating old patterns, hiding behind silence the way she always had.

Her mind wandered back to Clarke's voice the night before, firm and unwavering despite the tears in her eyes: You just have to be here. With me. With her.
Lexa exhaled slowly, closing her eyes. For once, she allowed herself to believe Clarke might be right. That maybe, just maybe, she didn't have to hold the entire world back on her own.

Still, as she opened her eyes again, her expression had already hardened back into steel. Belief was one thing. But preparation was survival.

And Alexandria Woodson would not let anyone, not Bellamy, not the press, not anyone, get between her and the fragile, fierce little family waiting for her at home.

To be continued…

Chapter Text

The second call came before Lexa had even finished her notes. The phone lit up again, vibrating insistently across the desk. This time the name on the screen made her blood run cold.

Bellamy Blake.

For a long moment she just stared at it, her pulse ticking hard at her temples. She hadn't heard his voice in months, not since the merger talks imploded in a haze of double-dealings and his smirk across a conference table she still remembered too vividly. He was supposed to be silent, licking his wounds somewhere. But of course Bellamy never stayed quiet for long.

The phone buzzed again, insistent.

Lexa answered on the fourth ring, her tone clipped. "Blake."

"Well, well," Bellamy's voice slid through the line like oil, smooth and smug. "She picks up. I was starting to think you'd forgotten about me."

"Unlikely," Lexa said flatly, leaning back in her chair. Her reflection in the window looked composed, almost statuesque, exactly how she needed to sound. "What do you want?"

A low chuckle filtered through, the kind that made her skin itch. "Always straight to business. You haven't changed."

"I don't have time for games."

"Good. Neither do I." Papers shuffled faintly on his end, the sound deliberate. "I imagine you've seen the article."

Lexa's jaw flexed. She said nothing.

Bellamy hummed as if her silence pleased him. "Funny how fragile empires can look from the outside. One whisper here, one suggestion there, and suddenly people are asking questions. Investors get nervous. Staff get restless. Headlines multiply. You know how it works."

"You've always preferred rot over building anything of your own," Lexa replied coolly. "What's your angle this time? Hoping I'll fall so you can scavenge the remains?"

His laugh was louder now, mocking. "Fall? No, Lexa. I don't want you to fall. Where's the fun in that? I want you to crack. Slowly. Publicly. I want people to see the ice queen bleed."

Her grip on the phone tightened until her knuckles blanched. She forced her voice to stay level. "You won't get what you want."

"Maybe not today," he allowed. "But tell me, how's your little distraction? The one in Williamsburg?"

For the first time, Lexa's mask threatened to slip. The words hit like a blade, precise and cruel. He had done his homework. Of course he had.

"You don't get to say her name," she bit out, colder than steel.

"Oh, I won't." Bellamy's tone was light, but sharp underneath. "Not yet. But the press will. Sooner or later, they'll connect the dots. And when they do? I wonder how the public will feel about their perfect Lexa Woodson shacking up with a struggling artist already knocked up from a one-night stand. It's delicious, isn't it? The scandal writes itself."

Her breath came sharper now, but she held her ground. "Stay away from her."

"Or what?" Bellamy challenged, amused. "You'll bury me under one of your airtight contracts? I'm not in your boardroom anymore, Lexa. Out here, reputation is everything. And yours is softer than it's ever been. Because of her. Because of the baby."

The mention of her child twisted something so primal in Lexa she had to shut her eyes, her hand trembling where it gripped the edge of the desk. For a heartbeat, she imagined storming across the city, tearing the phone line from Bellamy's throat.

Instead, she inhaled slowly through her nose, voice cutting when she spoke. "If you touch them, if you even breathe in their direction, you will regret it."

Silence stretched on the line for a moment. Then Bellamy's laugh came again, softer this time, but far more menacing. "There she is. The threat, the bite. I was wondering when you'd show me your teeth. Don't worry, Lexa. I don't need to touch them. All I need is for the world to look. And they will."

The line clicked dead before she could respond.

Lexa sat there, the phone pressed to her ear even after the dial tone went flat. Her chest heaved once, controlled but heavy, and she lowered the device with deliberate slowness, setting it face down on the desk.

The office was quiet, the hum of the city outside suddenly muted, like the air itself was holding its breath. Lexa leaned back in her chair, staring up at the ceiling, her hands balled into fists against her thighs.

For the first time in years, she felt the faint tremor of being cornered. Not because of her company, she could fight for that, dismantle whatever Bellamy built with her eyes closed. No, this was different. This was Clarke. The baby. Their life together. Bellamy had found her seam, and he would press until it split.

She closed her eyes, forcing her pulse to slow, forcing her breath to even out. You just have to be here. With me. With her. Clarke's words from the night before anchored her, pulling her back from the edge of rage.

But when she opened her eyes again, they were sharper, colder. Not the softness Clarke saw in her bed last night, but the steel the world would remember. Bellamy wanted cracks? Fine. Let him see ice. Let him see that she was still the woman who was raised by ruthless powerful people who had built an empire from nothing.

She reached for her phone again, already dialing her head of security. "I want eyes on Blake," she ordered as soon as the line connected. "Everywhere he goes. Every person he speaks to. If he so much as breathes near Williamsburg, I want to know before his lungs empty."

Her voice never wavered, but her chest ached as she ended the call. For all her calm, she knew Bellamy had struck where it mattered most. And no amount of control in the boardroom could fully shield her family from the world outside.

Still, she vowed as she straightened her shoulders and returned to the glass, staring out at the jagged skyline: Clarke and the baby would never know the full weight of this. Not if she could help it.

She would carry it all. She always had.

The rest of the morning passed in fits and starts, like gears grinding against each other instead of moving in smooth synchrony. Lexa was used to operating at peak efficiency, each hour carved into tasks and decisions that bent neatly into place. But after Bellamy's call, even the smallest interruptions seemed sharpened, loaded.

Her personal assistant poked her head in mid-morning with a stack of contracts and a tentative smile. "The board wants the amended projections by Friday," she said softly, as if gauging Lexa's mood.

Lexa took the papers with a clipped nod. "You'll have them."

She was polite, measured, but Maya's(I'm not sure if I already gave a name to her assistant but I'm too lazy to check) eyes lingered on her a beat longer than usual, like she could sense something beneath the calm. It reminded Lexa just how carefully she wore her mask, how even the people who worked closest to her could rarely see the tremor beneath the steel. When the door closed again, she allowed herself a single long exhale, shoulders sinking before she forced them straight again.

The contracts blurred as she read, her eyes sliding back to the memory of Bellamy's voice. 'The one in Williamsburg.' She hated how he'd said it, not Clarke's name, but enough to prove he knew. Enough to prove he could find them. She pressed harder into the task, double-checking every line of the projections, as if precision itself could hold the world steady.

By noon, she had already ordered three calls she wouldn't normally make, to her head of security(again), to her PR director, to a trusted legal advisor who had once been her mentor. Each conversation was couched in the language of routine, but the undercurrent was clear: Lexa Woodson was circling the wagons.

"Draft a statement we'll never use," she told PR, her voice cool, steady. "If speculation arises, we address it on our terms, not theirs."

"With all due respect," the director ventured cautiously, "addressing it will only stoke curiosity. Sometimes silence is stronger."

Lexa's lips pressed into a thin line. Silence had always been her shield. But Bellamy's laugh still rang in her ears, the taste of his threat bitter in her mouth. "Sometimes silence is blood in the water. Prepare it."

She hung up before the woman could respond.

Her office became a fortress that afternoon. Papers spread across the desk in neat stacks, her pen scratching notes into margins with mechanical precision. Staff came and went with updates, acquisitions, partnerships, quarterly goals, and Lexa handled them all with the same measured authority. But each time the door clicked shut, she felt the quiet swell like a tide, carrying with it the weight of what she hadn't told Clarke.

She caught herself glancing at her phone more than once, thumb hovering over Clarke's name in her messages. It would be easy to type something simple, How are you feeling? or Don't forget lunch. Something small that tethered her back. But her fingers never moved. She told herself Clarke deserved to rest without her shadows seeping in.

Instead, she stood by the windows again between meetings, staring down at the blur of yellow cabs and hurried pedestrians below. Somewhere in that chaos was Bellamy, circling like a wolf. Somewhere across the bridge, in a quieter apartment, Clarke was probably curled on the couch with her sketchbook, one hand over her belly. The contrast ached in Lexa's chest.

By late afternoon, fatigue began to set in, not the kind that came from lack of sleep, but the kind that came from fighting battles no one else could see. Her staff filed out after the final strategy session, leaving her alone in the cavernous quiet of her office. The sky outside had shifted, the golden light bleeding into the soft gray of early evening.

Lexa loosened her tie, running a hand over her face. Her desk was still lined with contracts, her laptop still pinged with emails waiting for her approval, but her focus frayed at the edges. She leaned back, staring at the ceiling, and let the thoughts she had buried all day rise.

What would Clarke say if she knew?

The question sat heavy. Clarke, with her fierce honesty, her insistence on tackling problems head-on. Clarke, who had told her just last night, You don't have to be perfect. You just have to be here. And yet here Lexa was, building walls again, deciding unilaterally what Clarke should or shouldn't carry.

Her chest pulled tight, guilt weaving through the fear. She wanted to believe she was protecting Clarke, but part of her knew it was also about control. About the terror of letting someone else see how afraid she really was.

The intercom buzzed suddenly, jolting her back. "Ms. Woodson?" Maya's voice, careful. "Mr York from Acquisitions is here for your signature. Should I send him in?"

Lexa straightened, sliding the mask back into place like armor. "Yes."

The door opened, papers exchanged, polite words spoken. The meeting lasted five minutes at most. But when the door closed again, Lexa didn't reach for her pen. Instead, she reached for her phone.

Her thumb hovered once more over Clarke's name, and this time she typed before she could stop herself.

How are you feeling?

The reply came a few minutes later, and Lexa's heart clenched at the sight of it.

CLARKE:
Hungry. The baby wants pickles. Don't judge me.

For the first time all day, Lexa smiled. A small, genuine curve of her lips that softened the lines of her face. She typed back quickly.

Never. I'll pick some up on my way home.

Her phone buzzed again almost instantly.

CLARKE:
You better. Or she'll be mad at you.

Lexa let out a quiet laugh, the sound surprising even herself. She leaned back, staring at the text a moment longer than necessary. Bellamy's shadow still loomed, the threats still clung like smoke, but for this moment, Clarke cut through all of it.

She set the phone down, steadier than before. The war could wait. For tonight, she would bring pickles home.

Later.

The office lights went dark one by one as staff filtered out for the evening, the quiet hum of productivity giving way to silence. Lexa lingered longer than she should have, as always, scanning the last few emails, closing tabs she wouldn't admit she'd already reread twice, signing documents that didn't need her signature tonight. It wasn't about necessity; it was about delay. Leaving meant re-entering the space where she was no longer CEO, but partner, parent, human. A role she craved with every part of herself, but one she feared failing in.

By the time she finally gathered her coat and slipped her phone into her pocket, the city outside had shifted into that restless hour between day and night. The glass doors of her building reflected her back at her, tall, composed, hair pulled neatly into place and the image of control she had crafted so carefully. She pushed through them anyway, the cool evening air rushing her face, the sound of traffic rolling like a tide.

Her driver opened the car door, and Lexa slid into the back seat with a curt nod of thanks. Normally she would have buried herself in more work during the ride, laptop open before the door even clicked shut. Tonight, she left it zipped in her bag. Her hands folded in her lap, restless, and her gaze drifted to the city.

New York blurred past in streaks of headlights and neon. A couple argued on a corner, their hands flying as much as their voices; a man leaned against a food cart, steam curling into the dark as he counted bills; a pack of teenagers darted between cars, laughter rising over the honk of horns. The city had always been background noise for her, something to drown out with focus and ambition. But tonight, she found herself staring at it all, the ordinariness of other people's lives pressing against the sharp edges of her own.

She thought of Clarke then, probably curled up on the couch with her sketchbook, one hand absently rubbing her belly the way she had started doing without realizing it. Lexa could see it as vividly as if she were there: the little crease between Clarke's brows when she concentrated on a line, the way her bottom lip caught between her teeth. That domestic image pulled something inside Lexa taut, made the day's shadows feel both heavier and somehow more worth carrying.

Still, Bellamy's voice slid back in like smoke through cracks in the wall. The one in Williamsburg. He hadn't said Clarke's name, hadn't needed to. It had been a calculated strike, aimed not at Lexa's company or her public reputation, but at the heart of her private world. A reminder that some ghosts did not stay buried, that her power in boardrooms meant nothing when it came to protecting the two people who mattered most.

Her jaw clenched as she stared out the tinted window, fingers tapping an uneven rhythm against her thigh. It wasn't just fear. It was rage. Rage that someone like Bellamy could still hold leverage over her after all these years. Rage that he could taint what she had built, could even make her consider keeping secrets from Clarke, something that had never sat right in her chest. Clarke deserved the whole truth. But the thought of Clarke's blue eyes darkening with worry, of her carrying both a child and Lexa's ghosts, made Lexa's stomach twist.

The driver's voice broke into her thoughts. "Traffic's heavy on the bridge, Ms. Woodson. We'll be a little longer than usual."

Lexa nodded absently. "That's fine."

She leaned her head against the glass, watching the red glow of brake lights stack up ahead like an endless line of warnings. Time stretched. She tried to distract herself with small things, remembering Clarke's craving, making a mental note to stop at the corner store near home for pickles. It was almost laughable, the absurdity of it: her mind caught between crisis management and pregnancy cravings. Bellamy's threats and jars of brine and dill, colliding in the same headspace. Yet maybe that was the point. Life refused to be neat. It demanded both.

Her phone buzzed, pulling her from her spiral. A new message from Clarke lit up the screen: Don't forget the pickles. I'm serious. She's already kicking like she knows you're late.

Lexa's lips curved, a quiet chuckle leaving her throat. She typed back quickly: I wouldn't dare disappoint either of you.

She didn't add what she was really thinking, that she would burn the city down before letting either of them go unprotected. That the promise embedded in something as simple as "pickles" meant more to her than any oath she'd sworn in a boardroom.

As the car rolled forward inch by inch, Lexa let herself breathe deeper. Bellamy's shadow was still there, lingering at the edges, but Clarke's presence cut through the fog. Every text, every reminder of home, tethered her back to the part of herself she was still learning to trust, not the CEO, not the strategist, but the partner who wanted, above all else, to come home safe.

The skyline of Brooklyn rose into view at last, familiar now in a way it hadn't been before Clarke. Lexa sat straighter, smoothing her tie as if preparing for the second act of the day. But this one wasn't performance. This one was the truest test of all: stepping through the door and being simply hers.

The elevator ride up to their floor felt longer than the drive across the bridge. Lexa shifted the paper bag in her hand, the faint scent of dill seeping through, as if mocking her for how ridiculous this had become,  CEO by day, errand runner for pregnancy cravings by night. But when the elevator doors opened and the familiar hallway stretched ahead, the tension she'd been carrying all day began to loosen. The closer she got to their door, the more the armor of her professional self fell away, piece by piece.

A/n: I can see lots of people being confused on Clarke's apartment set up so let me clarify a few things. Her apartment is on the last floor of the apartment complex. It has an upstairs(two bedrooms) and an extra small bedroom downstairs. Two bathrooms (up and down). But it's not a penthouse.

Her key slid into the lock, and before she could even turn it, Clarke's voice rang faintly from inside. "If you forgot them, don't even bother coming in!"

Lexa smirked despite herself, shaking her head as she pushed the door open. "Would I dare?" she called back, stepping into the warm light of their(she hasn't moved in full:) apartment.

Clarke was sprawled on the couch, a blanket thrown haphazardly over her legs, sketchbook balanced on her thighs. Her hair was messy, pulled into the kind of bun that meant she'd run her fingers through it a hundred times while working. The television hummed softly in the background, some cooking show neither of them had been paying attention to for weeks, but Clarke liked the noise.

Her eyes flicked up, blue and sharp even in the dim. "Show me."

Lexa lifted the bag like proof of survival. "Pickles. And, for balance, I took the liberty of adding chocolate."

Clarke's expression softened into a grin that was both smug and tender. "Smart woman." She closed the sketchbook, setting it aside, and patted the space beside her. "Get over here before I waste away."

Lexa slipped off her coat and shoes, placing them neatly by the door, a practiced ritual that always amused Clarke. By the time she settled beside her on the couch, Clarke was already reaching for the bag. She tore it open with the urgency of someone who had thought about nothing else for hours. The lid popped, the briny smell filling the room instantly.

Clarke fished one out and bit into it with a satisfied groan, eyes fluttering shut. "God, that's perfect." She leaned back, chewing slowly, savoring it like it was the finest meal she'd ever had.

Lexa watched her, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "I'm glad your cravings are predictable. It makes my job easier."

Clarke nudged her shoulder. "Don't act like you don't love it. The great Lexa Woodson, powerful and untouchable in the boardroom, reduced to a pickle delivery girl at home."

"Reduced?" Lexa arched a brow, but the corner of her mouth curved upward. "I'd call it elevated. Not everyone earns the right to this particular role."