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jeonggukieandcream · 4 years

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Save Me and Hold Me Tight

Request: Kuroshitsuji AU where Ciel and Alois work their shit out but Claude is still dead, and Ciel and Sebastian kinda take Alois in and train him in tough love to be a more civilised person, and after a while he ends up being good friends with everyone - @flupetyflupflupp

Word count: 2, 487.

They find him broken and bleeding underneath a large oak tree, its branches spindly; its leaves brown and dying. It was a sorrowful scene, but one in which change could be made for the better.

Ciel and Sebastian are here presented with a choice as they take in the grisly scene:

Leave Alois to die, or save him.

They have seconds to make a decision before Alois' heart gives out, the blood loss from the extent of his injuries too great, and the decision is made for them.

Blood spilled out from Alois' physical wounds; used though Ciel was to seeing violence, for often was he the one ordering for it to be carried out, Ciel gasped at the sight.

It was not the wounds which Alois had obtained which so disgusted Ciel, but the fact that this was a broken contract; a treacherous demon.

In that moment did Ciel know how truly lucky he was to have such a devoted demon, and a noise of shock and, dare he think it, pain ripped from Ciel's throat, though quickly did he attempt to disguise it as a cough.

“I know, Young Master.” Venomous rage dripped from Sebastian's every word, though his facial expression and body language was carefully schooled into one of indifference.

“We must help him, Sebastian.”

“Young Master?”

“That's an order, do you hear me? We will take him in. Heal him. Show him a different way. He's not so separated from me, after all.” Ciel's voice shook with barely suppressed anger and sadness, for himself and for Alois, but he swallowed the bitter taste down and used it for power, motivation.

“Young Master, he may be too far gone. So impressionable an age, so unseemly a demon...”

“We have to try.” Resignation. Determination. Sorrow. Rage.

Red eyes flashed fuchsia. “Yes, my lord.”

With as much tenderness as he usually displayed towards Ciel did Sebastian cradle Alois' abused, broken and battered body in his arms. He didn't hug Alois to his chest, though. That is a privilege only for his Young Master.

Soma and Agni were Sebastian's first thought; Alois would need constant supervision and a gentler touch while he was physically healing.

Upon hearing the very basics of what had happened to this boy – on a strictly need to know basis, of course - one who had so many similarities to Ciel that he was a literal parallel, the two men agreed.

Soma would be the more eager of the two, wanting to make friends with Alois and spend more time with Ciel, whereas Agni would be mentally preparing himself, for he would know that a rough time was ahead for all of them; but most especially for this young boy.

Upon hearing even the smallest of details about the entire situation, everyone, even the household staff, wouldn't be able to stop themselves from comparing Ciel to Alois, and this makes everyone determined to help Alois as best as they can.

There is nothing happy about this.

The solemn air which was in the Phantomhive Manor seemed to grow exponentially as the reality of the matter settled into the fine layer of dust which covered the lesser used rooms.

People's attentions were directed elsewhere; particularly the kitchen staff, whom were kept far away from Alois' chambers – they would be easy targets and the last thing Sebastian wanted to tend to was more wounds.

His Young Master had enough of those, thank you very much.

For the first week or so, Sebastian keeps Alois well sedated.

It's for his own good; he's so injured that the slightest movement could rip open his stitches.

No Doctor from the nearest town is called, despite Agni's vehement and frequent advice.

Sebastian is quite proficient, and so he undertakes the task himself. He is, after all, simply one hell of a butler.

His wounds are so severe that it takes Alois weeks to heal to such a point that Sebastian feels that it is safe to keep Alois awake; this is where tenderness is replaced by tough love and everyone feels its effect within an hour of the teenager first waking up.

Firstly, Alois has two fears: the dark and being left alone.

These two fears are discovered at precisely the same time as a weary Agni bids Alois a good night and tries to remove the candelabra from the bedside table on his way out of the door.

Alois jumped upright, almost tearing his stitches and setting fire to his bed, as the candelabra wobbled when his hand closed around Agni's slender wrist.

“No! Don't leave me! You – you can't!”

“Oh, heavens,” Agni would go into full on Mother Hen mode as he put the candelabra back on the bedside table and sits gingerly on the edge of the bed. “Why ever not?”

“I'm scared.” A quiet, ashamed mumble.

A resigned sigh from the doorway. “I'll stay with him. Can't have him waking the household. You may leave, Agni.”

Ciel starts to camp out in Alois' room from that first night of consciousness onwards and within a week, Sebastian moved Ciel's bed and immediate possessions into Alois' room.

The two bicker and physically fight like no one's business, but Agni and Sebastian do a very good job at not only separating the two when it's required, but also dispelling any tensions before they really begin.

At night time, the fighting stops as the two teenagers fall back on mutual understanding; they're not so different.

Once, Sebastian and Agni walked in on Alois throwing Ciel off the balcony, and then jumping down after Ciel, pummelling him with punches after punches.

Somehow did Ciel manage to roll their lithe bodies so that he was on top of Alois, and they traded punches.

Hearing the scuffles from the next room over did Agni and Sebastian rush into the foyer, barely exchanging a glance with each other before they rushed over to separate the two teenagers; naturally, Sebastian scooped Ciel up and cradled him protectively to his chest, and Agni grabbed Alois by his upper arms and pulled him away from the scene.

“I say! What an unseemly display!”

Ciel huffed. “It was nothing. A misunderstanding.”

Sebastian's concerned, “are you quite well, Young Master?” was drowned out by Alois' indignant cry of, “you're all just like him! My Claude... My heart was trapped in his deceptive spider's web but I only desired him...”

Rage turned to sorrow, and the pain in his voice rippled uncomfortably throughout the room.

A click resounded in Sebastian and Agni's minds as they both realised that now could the true healing process commence.

Ciel shivered, clung to Sebastian's frame. Sebastian gripped him tightly – hold on to me – and the demon shot Agni A Look; this meant that each butler would take their charges and physically separate them for the duration of the day.

Agni, having to take care of Soma and Alois, left the two young teenagers while he cooked a curry for dinner – Soma, eager to get to know Alois, tried desperately to crack through Alois' facade, to break through the anger and reach the corrupted core of the sadistic but deeply hurting boy.

Something occurred throughout the day for both teenagers, for come night time, did Ciel end up climbing into Alois' bed after an hour of listening to Alois tossing and turning.

“Move over.” Ciel huffed, and though Alois initially stiffened up and refused to move, Ciel only moved to the other side of the bed and clambered in, taking Alois' agreement in his total apathy – Ciel knew that Alois didn't really want to say no, it was self preservation which made him rude and cold, and so in Alois' silence was consent.

Come morning, when Sebastian rapped upon the door with the second knuckle of his gloved index finger, Agni hovering behind him – both were braced for war, even at this early hour when the sun still hadn't quite risen above the horizon – they found the two teenagers in bed together, facing one another.

Alois' blonde hair spilled over the pillow like a halo, Ciel's raven locks mingled and joined with the blonde, so closely were they laying together, and it was like a physical representation of Yin and Yang.

To Agni, anyway.

To Sebastian, it looked like a devil (raven locks) and an angel (blonde hair); he found irony in this, for though his Young Master's hair was dark, he was decidedly more angelic than the boy with the blonde hair.

He was probably biased, though.

Another breakthrough was made this day, for any time after that, if one of them had a nightmare, then the other would climb into their bed.

They didn't hug, they didn't do anything more than simply share a bed, and sometimes would sentences fall from their lips, hushed confessions spoken into the darkness which enveloped them, and it was almost like therapy on their weary souls.

Sometimes, Sebastian would come in too; shadows writhing on the walls, between pieces of furniture, and he would stand just inside the doorway; carmine eyes flashing fuchsia as he listens to the two teenagers talking.

Both of them knew that the demon was there, as silently had Sebastian and Ciel taken Alois under their firm guidance.

It was hard. Sometimes, Sebastian would answer their whispered confessions with logical statements to dispel their sorrows, many of which were shared.

Sometimes, he would dip his chin so that the shadows in the room enunciated his aristocratic cheekbones, a devilish smirk on his face as he just listened with his arms crossed behind his back.

Sometimes... oh, sometimes, the space where his heart should be would clench in awe and almost sadness at how much grief, pain, rage and sorrow which these two souls – both so young, so young, and yet so tired, bore on their shoulders.

Over the weeks and months, everyone in the Phantomhive Manor had to establish a new system of communications.

Alois was short tempered and rough of manners. He was demanding, callous, sadistic and he behaved atrociously.

Even by Soma's standards, Alois was just rude.

Often times, after Alois snapped or yelled at someone, Sebastian's spine would straighten as he drew himself up to his full height, displeasure flashing across his face before his expression schooled into its usual calm indifference.

“Would you like to try again with a different tone, young Trancy?”

“No.” A petulant whine. Crossed arms and a pout.

“Very well.” Sebastian would leave it at that, cold and uncaring, and Alois, so desperate for approval and affection, would immediately stammer out the same words in a gentler tone, or he would try to reword everything in a wholly different tone; it depended on what he had said and the context in which it was spoken.

One time, Mey-Rin served Alois eggs for breakfast and Alois flung the plate on the floor.

Or, he tried to.

Sebastian caught the plate, set it back on the table so that nothing was disturbed – he had been so fast that the plate hadn't even gone over the edge of the table before he had caught it – and in the same movement scooped Alois up unceremoniously and without all the usual reverence which he displayed towards his Young Master,

Alois was sent to his room for the rest of the day.

By three in the afternoon, Ciel had huffed, flung his pen down, and gone to his shared bedroom with the blonde teenager.

Hours passed and none knew of what transpired in that room.

But when it was dinner time and Alois shuffled out of the bedroom with Ciel eyeing him pointedly, Alois offered a quiet, timid yet genuine apology to Mey-Rin and everyone else.

He knew he was forgiven when, in a clipped British accent did Sebastian say, “That is acceptable. You may join us for dinner if the Young Master is agreeable.”

Ciel was.

Almost six months after Alois joined the Phantomhive Manor did he meet Lizzie, and he was cooed over, hugged, cuddled and even kissed once on the cheek!

She had heard beforehand what had happened to him – she knew as much as Soma and Agni did, which is to say, they knew enough to know that he needed help, even if they didn't exactly know why.

She would definitely be the one to help Alois the most, treating him with all the kindness that she naturally carried within her – kindnesses which Ciel often shunned.

I feel like Alois would end up telling Ciel to treat Lizzie with more kindness and Ciel would scoff and remind Alois of how he treats everyone.

They would both promise to just try to be nicer to everyone and to themselves.

At every meeting, Lizzie was her usual exuberant self, Ciel his usual apathetic self, Sebastian his usual attentive self. Soma and Agni were off in London doing who knew what, and the household staff were all attending to their never ending duties with explicitly stated instructions spoken twice so that they knew that Sebastian was being completely serious when he said to not get into any trouble.

So. Recovery was slow. It was painful for everyone, but most especially for Ciel and for Alois; two teenage boys who had been through such similar horrific things.

If Alois had been given a demon like Sebastian, then he would have found a place to call his own, a home.

But instead he had been very nearly killed by his demon, the one being who was supposed to keep him safe.

Nothing was easy in their lives and nothing ever would be easy, but they took it an hour at a time if they had to, and a day at a time when it seemed to be going well.

Alois' sadism would be mellowed out, Ciel's anger soothed with a like minded companion, and Sebastian would find himself not wholly wanting to complete the contract, for he found that he rather liked what he had with this contracted soul.

It was bittersweet that something that grew into beauty came from so much pain, but it's a cruel fact of life that the most deserving of souls are fated to suffer the harshest hands.

#alois trancy #alois trancy au #kuroshitsuji #kuroshitsuji imagine #kuroshitsuji au #black butler #black butler imagine #black butler au

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griffinxwoods · 7 years

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pose for me: clexa oneshot

Clarke is an art student taking a sketching course, but she’s having trouble drawing portraits for her assignment. She hangs up flyers around campus for a model and Lexa responds.

disclaimer: sup kids, this is my first venture into fic writing, probably writing in general i guess. i’ve only ever written like 3 or 4 scripts for class so ,,,hope this is decent. i’m kinda used to just writing action and dialogue (in my small handful of works lol) as it happens so like backstory is weird to me idk. anyway, if it seems rushed and rough, it probably is. i definitely didn’t reread it! but uh, let me know what ya think i guess. maybe any tips, things i can change in my writing.

______________________________

“Please stop.”

“Come on, he’s pretty hot.”

“He’s not.”

“Really great in bed, though.”

“Raven.”

“He did this one move the other night I’ve never done before and it felt amazing.”

“I swear to God, I will throw up on you.”

Clarke laughed at her friends’ antics as she sipped on her latte, not at all phased by the conversation taking place next to her. Raven released a laugh and sat back in her chair. Octavia just tried to keep her lunch from resurfacing.

The three of them sat for lunch at the Ark Cafe, a hotspot on campus. Every Tuesday since the semester began, they’d meet here and catch up on anything they’d miss during the week. Granted they did all live together, seeing entirely too much of one another in ways you would never want to see your closest friends. But between going to class, homework, jobs, and a variety of other events, it’s difficult to really check in on each other. Therefore, weekly lunch dates at the Ark.

“Raven, ease up a bit,” Clarke says.

“Aw, why, come on. It’s fun seeing her squirm,” Raven grinned.

“I could go the rest of my life without hearing about my brothers sexual encounters and it would still be too soon,” Octavia shivered. She faced Clarke, ready to wipe the mental image of Raven and Bellamy doing, well, anything at this point really.

“So, moving on to a safer topic. How’s that assignment going, Griff?”

“It’s… real shit right now, thanks for asking.” She sighs.

Being an art major, Clarke liked to think she had some talent. Growing up, she always had some writing instrument in her hand, a brush, a crayon. She’d grab something to write with and drew on anything she could find. Sometimes that might just be the walls in her home. Her mother would be furious, but Jake, he never bothered much. Always encouraging Clarke to draw, to practice. So she did. And she got pretty damn good at it. One thing she couldn’t seem to fully grasp were portraits. So she decided to hone in on that part of her craft this past year. Currently in an advanced drawing course, one of her assignments was head shots.

Raven lowered her head and looked at Clarke through her lashes. She ran a finger up Clarke’s arm and said, “I’m always down to pose for you, Griff.”

“Tempting, but I’ll pass.”

“I’ll make it worth your while, ya know?” It came out huskier than she intended but Raven wasn’t one to back down from some good old teasing fun.

“Rae, you’ve posed for me before and, hate to break to you babe but, not really jonesing for round two any time soon.”

Octavia snapped her head towards Clarke, biting her lip to keep a smile from bursting, while Raven sat back and nursed her bruised ego.

“That was just uncalled for.” Raven whispered.

Clarke laughed and shook her head, looking down at her latte. “Seriously though, I’ve drawn you guys so many times it honestly does nothing for me creatively now.” Clarke wiggles in her chair, adjusting her position and sighs. “I don’t know, I think I need something new… fresh, maybe. I feel like I’m in a rut.” Clarke always felt a less confident about her skills in portraits.

Octavia and Raven both hummed knowingly. Raven snapped her fingers, bolted forward, Clarke’s sure she has a terrible idea on the tip of her tongue.

“I know!” Raven exclaimed, “You could post an ad for a model on Craigslist. A girl in my English Lit class did that once - don’t look at me like that - she’s fine! She needed a new roommate!”

Yup, definitely a bad idea.

“Yeah, fine,” Octavia huffed, using air quotes around ‘fine’. “She’s probably being held captive somehow without a way out. Next time you see her in class, ask her to blink twice if she needs help.” Raven rolled her eyes and sat back once again. She pushed up the sleeves of her red henley and snatched up her fork, stabbing her lunch.

Clarke glared at Raven, “No way in hell, Rae, and you know that.”

Octavia watched Raven as she played with her pasta, “Why don’t you just, post a flyer on campus?” She turned to Clarke and took a sip of her water. “You’re bound to get a few chumps call you up to pose for you.”

Raven’s face lit up, “Griff, imagine the nude paintings you could do. The possibilities…”

Clarke let out a breathy laugh. Never one for letting an opportunity turn remotely sexual, Clarke was half expecting Raven to come to that conclusion for her. She knows Clarke would never ask a stranger to pose nude, but of course, it wouldn’t be Raven if she doesn’t at least suggest the idea.

“Thanks, Raven. I’ll throw in a nude just for you.” Clarke runs a hand through her hair and exhales a breathy laugh. She closes her eyes for a moment, thinking about it. “You know, O, I’ll do that. I mean, why the fuck not, right?”

Octavia and Raven cheered; Raven pumped her fists over her head, quietly chanting Clarke’s name.

Octavia looked to Clarke, leaned forward and spoke softly, “You know that you’re gonna do so good on this assignment, right Clarke? You’re incredible.”

Clarke gazed at Octavia fondly and grasped her hand on the table. She really did love her friends.

___________________________________

Aristotle, Plato, Kant, Bentham. Every single student sat in this classroom could not care less about these dead men and their supposed ideas. They fidgeted with their pens, shuffled in their seats, eager to run out of the room, out into the modern world filled with snapchat filters and ridiculous memes.

But the woman at the front of the classroom, walking from one end to the other while lecturing? This was her one of her favorite places. Commanding a room, discussing one of her favorite subjects in the world, engaging young minds (granted they’re probably just as old as she is). Here, she was comfortable. She was at ease, and she loved it.

“Immanuel Kant’s most notable contribution to moral philosophy is the categorical imperative. I hope you all read up on it. The first formulation of the imperative, also considered the formulation of a universal law of nature, is ‘act only according to a maxim whereby you can, at the same time, will that it should become a universal law.’”

She paces the front of the room, hands clasped behind her back. Sleeves rolled up to her elbow of her otherwise pristine shirt, slim slacks and brown oxfords ironed and shined to perfection. Glasses perched up the bridge of her nose, the picture of professionalism. She surveyed the room. A handful of poor souls watched her as she spoke, mostly indifferent.

Lexa sighed and straightened herself at the center of the classroom. She leaned against her desk and brought her hands forward, crossing her arms across her chest. She decided to switch gears for a moment, hoping to revive her students and engage them in, really, anything.

“Okay, take the case of the murderer at the door.” A few students sat up straighter. One boy in the middle had his head down, resting on his extended arm on the desk. He rolled his head around and looked at Lexa, intrigued. She hitched an eyebrow up. Of course, it had to be murderers.

“Let’s say, for example, Max here,” Lexa pointed at the boy with his head rested sideways on his arm, “excused himself from the class to use the restroom. We all know where he went, right?”

Scattered nods around the room.

“We can assume he went down the hall, the closest restroom. After a few minutes, we hear a knock on the door.” Lexa walks to the side of the room, knocks on the door. “There’s a gentlemen behind the door asking where Max is.”

Lexa clears her throat and her voice booms. “'Hello, I’m looking for Max, I’ve come here to kill him. Do you know where he is?’” She’s turned to them, holds a hand up and forms a finger gun at Max.

Lexa glances around the room at her students. Some laughed at her antics, but thankfully, most of them were paying attention, thank God. Life has been reignited in her classroom.

“How many of you will lie and say that Max is actually in a classroom in a different building?” The boy in question has sat up a while ago, now looking around the room to see who would inevitably betray him, as if anyone in college is loyal to some kid they only see twice a week and never speak to. Most of those speaking agree, muttered yes’, not ratting out Max. He releases a breath, nodding. The class has allowed the kid to live another day, safe from Lexa’s finger gun.

Lexa purses her lips, nodding, crossing her arms. She chuckles, knowing the response she’ll receive, “Kant would argue that you all just did the wrong thing.“

An uproar among everyone, Max is now lamenting the hypothetical loss of his life because he just had to use the bathroom.

But how could that possibly be the wrong move? The entire classroom just saved Max’s sad life. He can go home and play Call of Duty in his underwear while shoveling Doritos and wiping the dust residue off his fingers on his chest, if the boy pleases. They did the right thing.

"Professor, that’s fucked,” was heard, a delinquent in the back of the classroom. Lexa internally groaned.

“Mind your language.” she said.

He sank back in his seat and crossed his arms. “There’s no way that can be the wrong answer to this. We probably saved his life so kudos to us,” he smirked.

“According to Kant, it’s wrong,” Lexa says, curt and final. She paces the front of the room again, “he believes if you know where Max is, you have to tell this man at the door that Max is, in fact, in the bathroom down the hall. Solely because lying is wrong. It’s always wrong, no matter the situation you’re put in.”

Lexa stops by her desk and glances at her watch. Five minutes to spare. Not bad. “Alright class, seems like a good place to end so that’s it for today. Please don’t forget your next test is soon. I hope you’re all well prepared by then. Have a good weekend.”

The students quickly pack up their bags and bolt out of the classroom. Lexa walks around her desk and begins packing her laptop and lecture notes into her leather messenger bag. A few students wave goodbye and throw small smiles at Lexa as they leave. Some of them blushing when Lexa returns the gesture.

A woman clad in black - black leather jacket, black ripped jeans, black combat boots, the only thing that isn’t black is the plain white shirt under the jacket - props herself against the doorway, watching as Lexa finishes gathering her things. Lexa drapes the bag over her and moves towards the door.

“You know, if I were you, I’d definitely take advantage of the amount of students fawning over you.”

Lexa gasped, her emerald eyes wide, “Anya,” she breathed, “that’s illegal - don’t say that so loud.”

Anya raised her arms in defense, “I’m just saying. There’s some pretty hot chicks in your class. I’m always here to encourage my little sister to get some action.”

“Thank you, Anya. Much appreciated. Will definitely take that under consideration. Wonderful to see you anyway,” Lexa rolled her eyes.

Anya smirked. She loved teasing her little sister. It was too easy.

“Alright so, where to, hotshot college professor?” Anya clapped her hands together.

“There’s a good place near campus, amazing tacos,” Lexa responded.

“Sold.”

The two sisters walked through campus. Anya was just relieved of the longest shift of her life at the station, and before heading back home, she decided to check on her little sister.

“Anything new and exciting happen within the last maybe 37 hours since I’ve seen you?” Anya asked.

Lexa sighed and adjusted her glasses slightly. “Not really. Class was alright today. I like my students when they actually participate in discussion. They’re smart, they just need a little push sometimes so I did the whole ‘murder at the door’ scenario.” Anya hummed and nodded, familiar with that story. “I got ‘em talking. But otherwise, you know, same old.”

“How about you switch it up from the usual same old to something, I don’t know, different?” Anya suggested. Lexa has been doing just about the same things for the past few years. She knows that going through what Lexa did was difficult - she wouldn’t wish it on anyone. But Anya just wants Lexa to enjoy herself, live a full life like she deserves.

“What do you mean, I have fun,” Lexa scoffed.

“Reading articles on the space program isn’t what most people consider to be fun, Lexa. Neither are documentaries”

“Sending people to Mars is so incredible. I mean can you imagine being able to step foot on a planet? The moon is one thing, but another planet?” Lexa said, arms waving around as she spoke. Once you get her going on anything space related, she can really run with it. “And lots of people watch documentaries, okay. It’s like in style now or whatever.”

“Yeah, that’s really cool, Lex. But I mean more along the lines of this crazy thing called socializing.” She chanced a look at her sister. Lexa sighed. “Going out. Meeting someone new, sharing a couple drinks and talking. It wouldn’t hurt you.”

As they walked past the campus cafe, Anya slowed, looking at the cafe’s storefront. A neon sign flashing above the door, letting the world know they’re open for business. A list of specials for the day, and a few flyers hung up by students. One of them is for math tutoring, triggering some flashbacks to high school pre-calc and Anya shivers. Math is an abomination and ultimately impossible to understand. Another flyer - an advertisement for a band playing near campus at a bar Anya frequents. She won’t attend that night, thank you flyer. The last one mentions needing a model to pose for an art student, a brief description of a meeting beforehand, along with a phone number.

Anya yanks Lexa back by her bags strap and points at the flyer, “Look, this person needs someone to pose for them for an art project. Why not start there? It seems like it’ll be a one on one meeting, and then they’ll draw you.”

Lexa huffs and crosses her arms. She doesn’t need this. “It’s fine, Anya. I’ve met people, I socialize.”

“Lexa, if you even think about telling me the people you socialize with are the teachers in your department, where you talk about old dead philosophers, I swear on my own grave that I will throw you onto the back of my bike, ride out of town to the highest cliff I could find and throw you off of it into the black depths of that valley.”

Lexa opened her mouth to refute that claim, but closed it and scrunched her face up instead.

Anya nodded, “Yeah, I thought so.” Lexa glanced down and shoved her hands in her pocket.

Anya stepped towards her, she spoke softly, “Look, just meet with them, feel it out, and if you’re really not into going forward with it then fine. But I just want to know that you tried. You left behind your comfort in your routine and you did something new and unexpected.”

Anya looked at Lexa, pleading, hoping Lexa would agree to at least meet her halfway on this one. Anya has tried repeatedly for Lexa to try something different. After the incident, she let Lexa heal, take as much time as she needed. But it’s been so long, and she’s worried Lexa’s going to stay stuck in this rut Lexa’s put herself in.

“Okay. Yeah, okay. Fine. I’ll call them. But if I’m not feelin’ it, I’m leaving.”

Anya’s smile was so wide it reached her ears. "Good. That’s all I ask.”

Lexa huffed and pulled her phone out of her back pocket. She took a picture of the flyer, deciding to call them later after lunch. A part of Lexa knew that Anya was right. She had a point, after all, it had been too long since Lexa genuinely did anything of her own volition. There’s no harm in trying new things, is there?

___________________________________________________________

The Brew is a quaint coffee shop on the edge of campus where most students pop in on their way to class. Not entirely too large, it housed a few couches for its customers to lounge on, some scattered tables and booths, a handful of paintings and photographs done by some of the students lined the walls while today’s hits played softly throughout the shop. The employees scattered around behind the counter, taking orders and preparing drinks. It was cozy.

Clarke walks in and heads up to the counter. She orders a small caramel frappucino, hands the barista a bill and picks up her drink at the other end of the counter once it’s been called out.

Clarke picks out a booth in the corner up front. She still has a few minutes to spare before meeting with her potential model. She shifts in the booth, fidgets with her drink and pulls out her phone to occupy herself. Clarke’s nervous about this chick. They spoke on the phone briefly, set up a meeting before Clarke makes a final decision. But the last thing she needs is to draw a student in her apartment and end up on the floor, gutted like a fish - although as normal as they probably seem here, that could very well still happen. Shit. Am I even sure this is a good idea? What if I just use Instagram models as reference instead? Could that work?

Just as Clarke was pulling up Raven’s contact, the door to the Brew chimed open. Clarke looked up as a woman walked into the coffee shop and her jaw dropped. Donned in brown chelsea boots, ripped jeans, a leather jacket over a dark blue button up, wearing a pair of Ray-Ban glasses with frameless bottoms, the woman took a moment to look around and Clarke held her breath. She’s praying this is the girl she’s set up a meeting with.

The woman spots Clarke in her booth, tilts her head to the side like a puppy and strides over to her hastily. It seems like this woman’s out of breath.

“You’re the art student, right?” Clarke nods.

Lexa sighs in relief and drops down in front of Clarke, situating herself in the booth.

“I’m so sorry, I hope I made it on time. I don’t even know honestly, I just bolted from my classroom over here. I got a little held up by a student who -”

“Wait, you’re a teacher?”

“TA actually,” Lexa beamed. “I’m the TA for Professor Gonzalez - ethics and critical thinking. He lectures for the most part and I jump in half the time, when needed, but I definitely grade everything.”

Clarke was impressed. This woman looked about her age, and she’s teaching ethics to her peers? Honestly, that’s hot.

“That’s amazing,” Clarke sighed.

“It’s pretty rewarding. Nothing as amazing as being an artist, though.”

Clarke blushes and waves her off, “Please. I’d barely call myself an artist. That’s a long shot. A pipe dream, really,” Clarke says wistfully.

Lexa’s features soften, gazing at Clarke warmly, her emerald gaze locked onto Clarke’s cerulean eyes. They’ve literally only been in each other’s presence for all of six minutes and all Lexa wants to do is wipe clean any doubt from Clarke and make her believe she can be the greatest artist of their time.

“I haven’t seen any of your work but I’m sure it’s nothing short of phenomenal,” Lexa assured. She got so caught up just having a casual conversation with this stranger, she completely forgot the sole purpose for their meeting.

Clarke smiled and fiddled with the sleeve on her drink. She makes a mental note to thank her friends for pushing her into doing this.

“Speaking of, we should probably talk about what I’ll be doing. Probably where, too,” Lexa said.

Clarke’s eyebrows lift up in surprise and she smirks, “You’re awfully confident that you’d be my model. And that I’d take you anywhere, in fact.” A little savage, Clarke.

It was Lexa’s turn to blush. “I didn’t - I mean, I don’t want to presume anything. You didn’t - the flyer didn’t really have any specifics and I just want to know what I’m in for. I - that is, if I’m -” Lexa rambles, hands waving around as she talks. Completely avoiding eye contact with Clarke.

Clarke lets out a deep laugh and sits back. Arms outstretched on the table, hands cupping her drink still, amused at how quickly she was able to fluster Lexa.

“Don’t worry, you’re fine. I’ve heard way worse from this,” a wry smile on her face.

“Well, now I’ve gotta know what you’ve been told,” Lexa leaned forward, arms resting on the table.

“I’ll save you the specifics but I’ve had a few guys call to ask if this was a nude model position, and whether or not I’d join afterwards.”

Lexa laughed, “Oh Lord, gotta love college boys.”

“I really should’ve expected it, honestly,” Clarke quipped.

“Yeah, definitely part of why men aren’t really in my wheelhouse,” she looked down and shook her head, amused. It took Lexa a moment to realize exactly what she said, and when she did, she looked like a deer caught in headlights.

Clarke perked up at that, leaning forward again and grinned. Oh, if she didn’t want to ask this girl out before, she definitely did now that she can guess she has a chance. Wait, that’s not what we’re here for. Focus, Griff.

“Agreed.” Lexa smiled wryly. “But, anyway, back on topic,” Clarke narrowed her eyes at Lexa, “the model thing.”

“Yeah, alright, yes, of course. So, what exactly are you looking for?” Lexa cleared her throat, and sighed deeply, relieved to be on a safe topic for a moment. She’s never revealed any kind of information about herself so quickly to a stranger before. She’s not used to fumbling with her words. She’s definitely not used to any blushing around a girl. It’s a little unnerving for Lexa.

“It’s pretty simple, I’d hope,” Clarke said. “Here’s the whole situation, really. I have this assignment for one of my art classes where I need to draw a portrait of someone. Not my strong suit honestly, and I’ve drawn my friends so many times I’ve, kind of, gotten used to it? I guess.” She sighs, exasperated at the thought.

Lexa nods, listening intently. “Anyway, I just need someone to sit still for a while, couple hours maybe. Hopefully gather up some fresh inspiration.” Clarke cringed, “that sounds really boring for you, I’m sorry. I didn’t totally think that through but I promise to keep you entertained.”

“Oh, so I’ve got the job then, huh?” Lexa teased.

Clarke rolled her eyes playfully, “Yeah, well, it was a tough one - came down to you or some frat guy who’d, undoubtedly, try to feel me up at some point. So you’re a decent choice, I guess.”

“Glad to know I’m at the same high standards as some fuckboy,” Lexa joked.

Clarke gasped, “What kind of language is that from a college professor, ma’am?” She placed one hand over her chest, faux appalled, the other rested on Lexa’s forearm.

“I’m a cool professor, don’t you know?” Lexa shot back. She was hyper aware of Clarke’s touch, making her stomach flutter. Oh, fuck.

Clarke smiled brightly at her, “Alright hotshot, whatever helps you sleep at night.” She had the urge to rub Lexa’s arm gently, but let go before her body decided on it’s own.

Lexa already missed Clarke’s touch, her arm tingling where her hand has been, craving the warmth, wanting to know how it’d feel to slip her hand into Clarke’s. She shook the thought away.

“Are you free for today?” Clarke asked. Blue eyes gazing into deep green.

“I have absolutely nothing else planned, so, yeah. I’m free,” Lexa responded, barely above a whisper.

“My apartment’s not too far from here so, uh, we can go back there and I can get started, if you don’t mind? If it’s okay with you for today, I mean.” Clarke’s lips twitched up in a hopeful smile.

“Yeah, of course. I’d love to.” Lexa murmured.

Clarke beamed. The two gathered their belongings and headed out. Both of them a bundle of nerves. Stealing glances at each other as they walked down the street, hearts fluttering, yet trying to ignore it.

______________________________________________________

The walk to Clarke’s apartment was fairly quick. The two talked about silly things along the way; Clarke told Lexa about her favorite bands, Lexa told her about being on the soccer team in high school. They got to Clarke’s building and lead the way up the stairs to her apartment.

They reached the third floor and Clarke stopped in front of one of the apartments. 3C in large, faded gold on the outside of her door. Lexa shoves her hands in her pockets as Clarke unlocks the door and steps inside.

“It might be a mess in here, I share it with my two best friends so I never know how it’s gonna look sometimes,” Clarke chuckled. She placed her keys on the table next to the door and placed her bag on the couch.

Lexa still stood in the doorway, hands in her pockets, rocking back and forth on her heels.

Clarke glances over her shoulder at Lexa, looking nervous as her eyes dart around the room. “Do you need an invitation inside, like a vampire? You can come in, Lexa,” Clarke teases.

Lexa shakes her head and steps inside, smiling at how her name sounds rolling off Clarke’s tongue. Smooth and soft, like Clarke is the only one meant to say it.

“I am, actually,” Lexa places her bag on the counter and starts taking off her jacket. “So, thank you for the unlimited access to your apartment so I can suck your neck to live.”

Clarke snorted and watches as Lexa hangs her jacket on the highchair in the kitchen, blissfully unaware of what she just said. As soon as hit her, Lexa stopped cold in her tracks, ears burning, eyes wide.

“I didn’t - I was just - I mean, vampires do drink blood and they - they bite necks so -” Lexa rambled, hands flying as she spoke.

Clarke pressed her lips together, trying to hold back a laugh as she watched Lexa stumble. Lexa seems so easy to fluster, and that’s just too adorable. I wouldn’t mind if she did, honestly.

“Before we really go into vampire mythology, how I set up my supplies and you can make yourself at home in the meantime?” Clarke asked.

“Yeah! Yes, no problem,” Lexa clapped her hands together. “I’ll just, uh, be over here.” She hooked her thumb over her shoulder at the living room and nodded. Clarke giggled to herself and walked over to the corner of her living room where she had some art supplies laying around. Lexa clasped her hands behind her back and looked around the room.

The apartment’s fairly small, quaint but comfortable. An island counter in the kitchen, a few schedules stuck up on the fridge, a sectional couch in the living room along with a recliner both facing a coffee table and a flat screen. The floors were hardwood, the wall behind the television was red brick, photos scattered around. There was a gym bag thrown in one corner, some scrap metal on the coffee table. She looked over at Clarke’s little art corner, sketchbooks stacked in a small pile, a box of pencils, an easel pushed against the wall next to a window. Lexa loved it. It felt full of life and love. It felt like home.

Lexa walks over to a collage of photos on the wall, examining most of them, really just the ones with Clarke. Clarke and a group of friends drinking at a party, Clarke with two brunettes dressed up as supervillains for Halloween, Clarke getting a piggyback ride from an older man with similar stunning blue eyes. That photo’s a bit bigger than the rest of them.

Clarke snatches one of her larger sketchbooks and finally grabs a pack of graphite pencils when she notices Lexa. She inhales a deep breath and strides over, stands next to Lexa.

“That’s my dad,” Clarke says, barely above a whisper. Lexa chances a glance at Clarke, whose eyes are trained on the photo in question. Lexa’s all too familiar with the look in Clarke’s eyes. She turns back to the photo as well.

“A striking resemblance.”

“I got my good looks from him, I’ll give ‘em that much.”

“Eh, you’re alright, I guess.”

“I’ll have you know I won a beauty pageant once because of those good looks.”

Lexa chuckles, “Oh, yeah?”

Clarke smiles and turns to look at Lexa, “Okay, I was like six. Either way, it was a beauty pageant so…”

“So, the age kind of invalidates it, don’t ya think?” Lexa teased. She turns her body towards Clarke, smirking. Her emerald gaze meeting Clarke’s deep cerulean. Clarke’s smile is threatening to spill as she holds Lexa’s gaze. Lexa’s never felt so at ease with someone else, so quickly, before. Her eyes dart down to Clarke’s pink lips and licks her own. Her heart’s racing. Calm down, you gay mess.

Clarke watches as Lexa’s eyes dart down for a moment, just a second, and she locks eyes with Lexa again. A heat pools down in Clarke’s belly as she looks at Lexa’s plump lips. Clarke looks back up at Lexa. Both of them wrapped in the rising intensity of the moment. Neither of them wanting to move from here.

Clarke huffs and closes her eyes for a moment, “Anyway!” she exclaims. She walks around Lexa and waves her arm in direction of the couch. “Pick anywhere. Make yourself comfy. It won’t take entirely too long but, still, sit.”

Lexa takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, tilts her head back to look up. She presses her lips together, licks them, and nods to herself. I’m already so fucking screwed.

She turns and walks over to Clarke, clears her throat, “He was a handsome guy. You have his eyes.”

A shy, bashful smile on Clarke’s face. She loves being told all the things she has in common with her father, physical or otherwise. He was her favorite person, her confidant, her partner in crime. And she really misses him.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

“What was he like?” Lexa was hesitant, but she wanted to know as much about this girl as she could get. “I mean, if you’re okay with that”

Clarke nods, “Yeah, no, it’s fine. It was a while ago so I’ve worked through it,” she chuckles. She looks up at Lexa, sees her smiling sweetly. She looks down at her blank sketchbook. She should probably start on that.

“Try not to move too much, by the way.” Lexa nodded, sat back and crossed one leg over the other, her attention completely on Clarke.

She starts sketching Lexa’s face as she speaks, “Well, my dad… he has my best friend. I mean, I love both my parents - my mom’s great too, we just… fight more often. I guess.” A beat. “But my dad was the peacekeeper. Definitely my biggest fan in every way,” she laughs. “I don’t know how long it took me to understand you can’t draw on the walls at home and paper is a perfectly acceptable option but, he never got angry, even though Mom did. He always backed me up.”

Clarke absentmindedly sketched while she spoke. An outline of Lexa’s face, her beautiful curls, her blue button-up. She chanced a look at Lexa through her lashes. Lexa’s expression is as soft as ever, her eyes glossy and understanding. Clarke can tell she gets it. She hates that this is something they have in common; a loss.

The two lock eyes and Lexa inhales, “He sounds like an amazing father.”

Clarke smiles sadly and responds, “Yeah. He was.” They hold each others gaze briefly, and Clarke looks back down to continue her work.

“I lost someone special to me, too,” Lexa sighs. “Her name was Costia.”

Blue meets green again, Clarke feels so much for this complete stranger, it’s scary. The moment’s briefly intense, the silence a little thick.

“Long story short, she was in a car accident. It was pretty late, some guy had too much to drink, ran a red light,” Lexa fiddled with the hem of her shirt and shrugged. “You know the rest.”

“Lexa, that’s… terrible,” Clarke says.

“Yeah.” She folds into herself for a moment, rubs her hands over her thighs repeatedly, ready to switch gears. It’s been a few years but, every time she thinks about it, it aches a little more.

“Anyway, that got dark,” Lexa laughs an empty laugh, attempting to change the subject. “I uh - wanna hear about this one time in high school, I was on the soccer team and I wrongly got detention for a week because I accidentally hit my coach in the face with a soccer ball?”

Clarke bursts out laughing, “Oh my god, how did that happen?”

Lexa smiles, she tells Clarke all about her rivalry with one of her teammates, Ontari, how everything was made into a competition, how they ended up liking the same girl and their little competition spiraled and Lexa claims she was framed for the missed shot that smacked their coach in the face. To this day, she wholeheartedly believes she was set up. Clarke couldn’t stop smiling at Lexa, stealing glances at her, away from her sketch, as often as she could. She was just about finished but Clarke tried to take as much time as possible on it.

“Lexa, I’m sure you weren’t framed,” Clarke teased.

“I was! Clarke,” Lexa leans forward, serious as ever, hands clasped together, “That girl is satan reincarnate. She, no doubt in my mind, framed me.”

Clarke shook her head at Lexa’s antics. “Okay, okay. I’ll take your word for it. I had something similar happen in high school. Well, gym class, at least.”

“Ooh, an embarrassing story, is it? I’m intrigued.”

“Relax, nerd. I just witnessed it, it wasn’t me. Trust me, I barely participated in any sport, besides volleyball.”

“Volleyball? Oh man, wish I could’ve seen that.”

“Why’s that?” Clarke looks up from her sketchbook.

“You probably looked really good serving up shots during games.” Lexa smirked. Part of her can’t believe she just let that slip, but the more she talked to Clarke, she figured, why not? Anya pushed her into doing something new and it led her to a beautiful, amazing girl. If that’s not some cosmic sign then, Lexa doesn’t know what is.

Clarke’s cheeks turned bright red. She wasn’t expecting that.

“So, how’s the sketch coming? How terrible are you making me look?” Lexa asked.

Clarke huffed, “Are you saying I’m a bad artist?”

“No. I’m probably just a bad model,” Lexa replied amused.

Clarke scoffed, “How can you be bad at sitting still?”

Lexa rolled her eyes, “Just - can I see it?” she asked gently.

Clarke rose and walked over to Lexa, who stood as well. Clarke bit her lip hesitantly and shoved her sketchbook in Lexa’s hands.

“It’s probably really rough and definitely not my best work, so i’m just apologizing in advance and -” Clarke stopped rambling when she saw Lexa running her finger over the sketch. She was speechless. The slope of her nose, the hard lines of her jaw, the absolute softness and light in her eyes, her full smile and wild hair. She looks full of life. She looks beautiful in a way that Lexa’s never seen herself as. And she’s speechless.

“Clarke,” she whispered, “this is amazing. You’re so talented.” Lexa breathed.

Clarke smiled bashfully, heart beating wildly at the compliment. She can tell Lexa means it and it makes her heart soar.

Lexa clears her throat and hands Clarke the sketchbook. Clarke closes it, places it on the coffee table.

“I should uh, get going. Professor Gonzalez got called up for jury duty this week so I should probably go over the lecture for next class,” Lexa said as she gathered her things.

Clarke rung her hands together and nodded, “Yeah, of course, no worries. I’ll walk you out.”

Lexa pulled her jacket on and slung her bag over her shoulder. They walked together to the door of Clarke’s apartment.

“Thank you so much for doing this, Lexa. It was a huge help,” Clarke said.

“Of course. Let me know how the assignment turns out, yeah?” Lexa asked, hopefully.

“Definitely,” Clarke responded. She knows her eyes are blown and she can tell Lexa’s are too. They stand by the door, Clarke rocking on her feet and Lexa fiddling with her bag strap.

“Fuck it,” Lexa sighs.

Lexa reaches up, grabs the back of Clarke’s neck and kisses her. Clarke’s a little surprised, but she quickly melts right into the kiss. It’s soft, Lexa’s lips are soft and full. And Clarke’s lips taste like her lip gloss, strawberry flavored. Lexa’s lips parts beneath Clarke’s and the softness is gone. At the feel of Clarke’s tongue, Lexa releases a pleased sound, deep in her throat, and it leaves Clarke wanting to make Lexa do that again, wanting more.

Clarke digs her hands into Lexa’s jacket and Lexa cups her hands over Clarke’s cheeks, a thumb brushing over the curve of her jaw as Clarke’s tongue presses against Lexa. This time, it’s Clarke who groans.

Lexa comes up for air, moves back slowly, eyes still closed. She rubs her nose against Clarke’s and sighs.

Clarke’s eyes are still closed, too, and she smirks, “Been wanting to do that since I saw you walk through the cafe.”

Lexa laughs, “Wanna keep doing that, maybe, over dinner this Friday?”

“I’d love to, hotshot.”

#clexa oneshot #clexa fanfic #clexa ff #clarke and lexa fanfic #clexa fanfiction #clexa au #idk what else to tag #my writing #wow look at that tag #won't see that again dhcbckajsndn

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