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owl127 · 10 months

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Unplanned Pregnancy (T)

Clexa; read on Ao3

Alpha!Lexa, Omega!Clarke, family drama, alpha!Anya, omega!Raven 0000

Lexa stretched as she pushed her car door closed. Her fingers toyed with the new coffee stains on her collar, little liquid brown dots that littered all the way to her tie. With a long sigh, she loosed the garment and beeped her truck closed.

With three kids in college and one on the way to a scholarship, Lexa worked as much as she could.

Raven’s EV shone in the late afternoon sun in front of their garage. Lexa squinted her eyes, trying to remember if Clarke had invited them to dinner, but it could be the two omegas simply catching up. She climbed the steps to the garage door with a light bounce, her gun holder clicking against her belt at each step.

A frown crossed her face when she entered through the kitchen. The house was silent beside light sniffing, and Lexa went into alert mode, walking into the living room before taking her uniform or gun off. The alpha bristled at the scene, going to Clarke and Lumi first.

Clarke held their daughter tight to her chest, tears trailing down their faces. Raven finished a call with a sharp order to “come over, it’s important” and turned to Lexa with red eyes.

Cold ran down Lexa’s spine, her hand on Clarke’s shoulder. “Where’s Anya?”

“She’s coming. And she’s fine,” Raven answered. “That’s not the situation here.”

“Situation? Clarke?”

Clarke disentangled from the embrace, cupping Lumi’s cheek to give her a soft peck on her splotchy, red skin. “Hey,” she said to Lexa, and the calm on her face tranquilized her wife.

“What’s going on?” Lexa sat next to her wife and daughter, trying to meet Lumi’s eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“She’s going to hate me,” Lumi exhaled in a ragged whisper, more tears spilling from eyes that matched Lexa’s.

“Who’s going to hate you?” Her patience running thin, Lexa raised her voice.

A firm grasp on her forearm was the message to control her tone. Lexa looked at Clarke in complete loss, unsure of why she was being chastised.

Raven watched the scene with a sad smile.

Clarke murmured something to Lumi, but the teenager shook her head, biting her lip. With a sigh, and a hand holding Lexa’s forearm, Clarke spoke with a longing finality,

“Lumi’s pregnant.”

It didn’t do it at first. It didn’t click in Lexa’s mind that their youngest, their little protégé, their only omega, their sweet girl, her baby, her pup … was pregnant.

When she tried to speak, it was an indignant squeak.

Lexa stood, shaking off Clarke’s hand. One look at Raven and realization sank in: Lumi’s girlfriend, Hannah.

The front door slammed open along with the sound of laughter, and Lexa’s nose caught the potent scent of alpha mate and unmated. Mother and daughter.

“Hey guys,” Anya greeted the crowd with both arms full of groceries. “What’s the emergency that couldn’t wait for groceries?”

“Or a shower.”

The voice Lexa expected to hear.

Covered in sweat from soccer practice, Hannah strolled into the room with a young alpha confidence, all cocky grins and swag. Her dirty blonde hair, the same shade as her mother’s, contrasted well with her amber eyes.

I surprised Lexa when Hannah was the first to react to the heavy fog of distressed hormones in the room, her teen smile dropping. Her eyes searched for Lumi on the couch and Lexa snarled.

That was when Anya realized something was wrong.

Lexa focused on the eyes, the smirk, the alpha, and red took her vision.

She ignored Clarke’s shout or Raven’s gasp as she launched forward, fist aimed at a high cheekbone. There was a dry, loud crack at the contact.

Anya dropped the bags at the sudden blow, but Lexa was faster, and a second punch found Anya’s face before she could take a step back.

Hannah didn’t interfere, in a similar shock to the flabbergasted Lumi on the couch as they watched the scene unfold with open jaws.

On the floor and with Lexa being more rage than technique, Anya rolled them to get the upper hand, though not without another blow to her stomach.

A broken chair and splattered vase later, Clarke disentangled the alphas, draped on Lexa’s back to hold her.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Anya exclaimed with a bloody nose. Raven, unimpressed, went by her side with a frozen peas bag.

“With me?”

Clarke tightened her hold before Lexa could surge forward again.

“What the fuck is wrong with you!” Lexa shouted back, braided hair falling messily around her face. “Can’t you fucking teach your daughter how to use a condom?!”

“I—what?” Anya winced when Raven coaxed the cold package against her face, though her expression was pure confusion.

The alphas turned to look at the couch, where Lumi had been crying again, and Hannah held her with the same confused frown that was between Anya’s brows.

Lexa slumped against Clarke, who released her with a light shove. “That was uncalled for,” Clarke hissed at her mate.

Raven and Anya shared a two phrase conversation, Anya’s eyebrow shooting to her hairline and then down again in a snarl.

“I’m sorry,” Anya said, and when she looked at her daughter, Hannah’s eyes were red and full of tears. “I’m sorry, Lexa,” she repeated after a long pause.

The sharp elbow in her gut forced Lexa’s next words out. “I’m sorry too. I flipped. With Serah and the boys in college, and Lumi’s track scholars—” Another hard elbow and Lexa shut up.

“Now is not the time to fight,” Clarke said in a tone lower than Lumi was used to listening to her mother.

“How far along?” Anya had not looked at her daughter again, instead holding the frozen peas to her bloody nose while asking directly to Clarke.

“Ten weeks.”

Anya gulped, cursing under her breath. “We need to talk.” Anya put the bloodied peas down, eyes first on Raven, then on Lexa. “We have the beach house, and I can join Indra’s task force again.”

“She’s under our insurance, and we will update it,” Clarke added, two fingers massaging her temple. She had her migraine face.

“Mom.” Hannah’s voice was unsure and cracked when the four adults in the room looked at her. “I can help. Instead of going to college this fall—”

“You’re going to college,” Raven interrupted firmly. “That’s out of the question.”

“Did you mate?”

The teenage couple shook their heads at Lexa’s dry question.

“So they can be separated,” Raven completed for Lexa. Hannah tightened her arm around Lumi.

“I don’t want to leave.” Hannah dared once more, and Raven’s teary eyes burned with constricted fury.

“I pulled in favors I cannot do again to get that shot at your scholarship,” Raven warned. “And you delivered. You’re eighteen. You will go to college.”

Anya’s nose started bleeding again, and Clarke walked with her to the closest bathroom.

“Let’s talk tomorrow. I need a scotch.” Lexa didn’t wait to see anyone’s reaction and, hand tight around her gun, walked to the kitchen.

“Hey.” Raven kneeled in front of the couch with her daughter and goddaughter sat, Lumi slightly shaken. Raven rested one hand on Hannah’s knee and another on Lumi’s. “We will figure things out. You both will study and we all can help with the baby.”

“Mom, is it ok if I stay here tonight?” Hannah had a hand over Lumi’s shoulder and the younger omega had her face buried into her neck for comfort.

“Don’t even think about it,” Lexa replied while reentering the living room, a full glass in her hand. “That was what got us in this mess.”

“We used condoms…” Hannah said weakly, eyes low under Lexa’s burning gaze.

“She’s sixteen,” Lexa spat back, pheromones escalating.

“Lexa!” Clarke called from the hallway at seeing her mate staring down the terrified young alpha.

“No Clarke, there’s no excuse for this.” Lexa turned and didn’t see when Lumi started crying again.

“Lex.” Raven stood up and put a calming hand on Lexa’s shoulder. “Anya and I will stop by after work.”

Anya emerged from the bathroom with a tampon stuck in her nose and didn’t meet anyone’s eyes. Hannah’s first tears rolled down at the clear shame in Anya’s posture.

“We’ll talk numbers tomorrow.” Anya opened the front door, leaving the groceries behind. Raven touched Clarke’s shoulder and walked behind Anya, and, hesitantly, Hannah followed her parents.

After the door closed behind Hannah, Lumi failed to swallow a sob and ran upstairs to her bedroom.

“Lexa.”

Lexa cursed at Clarke’s tone.

“I did what I had to,” Lexa defended before the accusation.

“You broke Anya’s nose.”

“I doubt it. She’s fine.” Shame crept into Lexa’s cheeks, but she wouldn’t give in. At least not yet.

“You’re going to have to deal with this, Lexa. There’s no punching your way out of this. Lumi wants to keep it, and we will respect her choice.” Clarke touched Lexa’s tense shoulder, her fingers digging into the muscle. “She needs you right now.”

“I… I know.” She touched her mate’s hand.

“So get it together,” a teasing smile made its way to Clarke’s face, “grandma.”

Lexa felt warmth in her cheeks and grunted under her breath. “Too soon.”

“You have a few months to get used to it.”

“I’m not sure if I ever will.”

0000

Lexa waltzed between the living room and kitchen with precision and speed, the toddler on her hip not slowing her for a single second.

“Aden, do you call those balloons? You can do better than that,” she told her son, who raised an eyebrow and continued to blow into the colorful balloons. “This arch better be ready by the time the guests are here.”

“He’s turning one.” Jake walked from the garage carrying folded chairs, a chuckle escaping his thin beard. “He won’t remember about the balloon arch.”

“But I will!” Lexa called as the front door opened. “Oh, your momma is here,” Lexa whispered to her grandson, watching his light brown eyes sparkle as Hannah walked in, her cadet uniform crumpled. “Say hi to momma.”

“Hey.” Hannah kissed the top of her son’s head, her arms loaded with party supplies. “Where do I put all of this?”

“Octavia and your mom are outside next to the pool,” Lexa instructed as JJ found her watch more interesting than the pacifier hanging around his neck. “I’ll go check the cake.”

“Did Clarke bake it?” Hannah asked on her way to the backyard.

“Lumi helped.” At Hannah’s grimace, Lexa amended, “she’s just helping with the icing. Don’t worry.”

An excited shriek erupted from Lexa’s chest as JJ saw his mom and other grandma in the kitchen. Or it could have been the cake; the kid was known for his appetite. Unsurprisingly, considering the mix of Lexa and Anya’s genes.

“Ma-ma-ma-ma!” he babbled, pudgy hands in the air toward Lumi. Her icing-smudged cheeks broke into a smile.

“How’s the icing going?” Lexa asked while Lumi continued the somewhat smudged yellow icing.

“Surprisingly good.” Lumi leaned up so she could reach JJ’s cheeks for a kiss. “Mom went upstairs, though. Asked me to tell you to go after her.”

Lexa frowned and passed JJ to Lumi. “Is something wrong?”

Lumi shrugged, one arm around her pup and the other back on the icing.

“I’ll be right back,” Lexa said and made her way upstairs to her bedroom.

Clarke’s ponytail was skewed as she sat on the bed, staring at her phone as if it had offended her ancestors.

“Hey.” Clarke jumped at Lexa’s proximity, but then closed her eyes as her mate hugged her from behind. “You smell like baby powder,” Lexa whispered and nuzzled the fair hairs on Clarke’s nape. “What’s up?”

Clarke closed her eyes for a moment and held Lexa’s hand. “We need to talk.”

“Is something wrong?”

“I’m 45, Lexa.”

“Yeah. And?” Lexa dove into the soft skin of Clarke’s neck again.

“And you’re 48.”

“I’m aware of the inevitability of time, Clarke,” Lexa whispered under her ear. “And JJ is one now. Everyone has a number.”

“Lexa, I’m serious.”

Lexa lifted her head to actually see her mate. The red-rimmed eyes, the way Clarke bit her lip.

“Something’s wrong?”

“Probably. At least very risky, and I’m not sure we can pull it off this time, not to mention—”

Lexa turned on the bed to face Clarke, kissing her knuckles to stop the spiraling. That was unusual for Clarke. She almost never rambled. Her MO was to analyze, compartmentalize, get a to-do list.

“Clarke. What’s going on?”

Endless scenarios went through Lexa’s head: Clarke was sick; something happened to the kids; the kids were sick; Clarke’s mom was sick. They all involved someone terminally ill.

Clarke wiped a tear away, the small wrinkles next to her eyes folding in her grimace.

“Does Liam need to be bailed out again? I told Serah—”

“None of the kids were arrested,” Clarke chuckled wetly. “But it’s about the kids.”

“If any of the girls are pregnant again, I will castra—”

“The girls are not pregnant!” Clarke took a deep breath, a tear rolling down and hanging by a thread as she avoided Lexa’s eyes. She blinked it away and faced her mate. “I am.”

“You’re what?”

“Pregnant.”

“What now?”

Lexa knew the meaning of the word. After four pups, she was naturally familiar with the entire concept.

“You’re 45,” Lexa argued, inherently confused. “You barely get your heats any—”

Oh. Not as frequently, not as intense, but definitely still happening.

Like three months ago, when Lumi and Hannah surprised Lexa and Clarke with a weekend getaway for their anniversary.

“We stopped using protection years ago.” Lexa’s voice was faint. “You said—”

“Don’t you dare turn this on me!” Clarke said with a bite to her tone, and PTSD flashbacks of pregnant-Clarke flashed in Lexa’s mind. “You were the one knotting!”

“You were in heat! You’re my mate!”

“This one is on you.”

“You always say that!”

“And it’s always true—why are you smiling?”

Despite the heat of the argument, Lexa could not stop the grin splitting her face.

“When did you find out?”

“I thought it was menopause,” Clarke breathed, showing her phone with the positive test result. “Or hepatitis.”

“Little hepatitis,” Lexa whispered to Clarke’s stomach. “Are you okay?”

“No sign of red flags. We can do the genetic testing for more details. If… if we’re keeping it.”

The grin withers in Lexa’s face. “What do you want?”

“I… I had not planned this.” Clarke threaded a hand through her ponytail and pulled her curls free. White streaked her blonde hair, and Lexa knew her own braid was the same. “I’m exhausted just thinking about it. But then…” She leaned down to place her forehead on Lexa’s shoulder. “Then I see you with JJ, and it makes me want to cry.” She sniffled quietly, and Lexa kissed her forehead.

“I could get a van again,” Lexa offered, heart beating fast in her chest. “And we already have one baby in the house. It will be like with the boys.”

Clarke groaned. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“Should we tell people?”

“Not yet.” Clarke leaned back to kiss Lexa’s cheek. “It’s too risky. Let’s wait.”

“Okay. Whatever you want to do.” With a small push, Lexa laid down on the bed and pulled Clarke on top of her.

The party drifted from downstairs: the jingles of children’s songs, the laughter, the random pop of a balloon.

“We should get back.” Clarke tried to lift her head, but Lexa gently coaxed her down.

“Not yet,” Lexa whispered. “Let’s stay here a while. Just us.”

Clarke’s entire body relaxed against her mate.

“Just the three of us.”

#clexa #clexa fanfic #drabble #omegaverse #fluff #drama #a little blood

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shadowofwar-goober · 1 year

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The Shaman and the Bard- Ch. 5 Feathers and Bones

Was fairness too much to ask for? A bow? Understanding? He can't take much more of this...

xxx

Fifty lashes. Hûra counted them all. No, it wasn’t fifty lashes, it was actually fifty-three lashes- one landed on his right arm and two landed on his left. They said ‘Them ones didn’t count!’ with a laugh. Any movement was excruciating. Breathing was painful. Movement of any kind was painful. He could barely lift his arms from the lashing they received, as few as they were. The whip tore his skin open and left his back weeping with blood for days afterwards. These wounds will take weeks- months- longer, even- to heal properly…

If they ever had time to heal at all.

Ever since that day, Hûra has been treated differently. The captains don’t pretend to tolerate his presence. His peers, even his own littermates, have taken up similar attitudes as their superiors: whether it be ignoring him, pushing him aside when rations were being handed out or outright stealing from him, they all no longer put up airs of care or at least sympathy towards him. Not even pity, anymore…

They can keep it, for all he cares. Hûra has kept the sickles and made them his own. The quartermaster never attempted to take them from him and Hûra would have fought him if he tried. They are his and his alone. What little he has, Hûra has no choice but to fight for them. No one will help him or protect him now…

Learning his way around different weapons has stalled indefinitely. He’s not allowed any of the quartermaster’s weapons, regardless if the trainer has requested for all pups to learn a specific trade at that time. ‘There’s none left. The warriors all have their own.’ is what was always told to Hûra. It hasn’t bothered him in some weeks, but this time he craved to have his hands on this weapon and learn it for himself.

“No- there ain’t no crossbows left, boy! Told you that already! Now get!” The quartermaster barked as he closed his tent flap in Hûra’s face. He grits his teeth.

Fine! See if he cares!

He seethed as he pressed his back into the cool stones of Cirith Ungol. It did little to soothe his burning back, but it helped numb it if not just a bit, which was more than he was afforded by his superiors. What did he do to deserve this, he wondered. Attacking Gubu? No, he didn’t attack that no good maggot. It was a duel and he accepted. Some blood is fine… but not his blood?

They’re all full of shrakh…

“No, ain’t got nothin’. Ask the quarter-” Hûra bears his teeth.

“What do you need?”

“Eh-?” The smith scratched the back of his head.

In all his years, he’s never met an uruk willing to give him materials, especially one so young. He remembered how the quartermaster ranted and raved about a pup- surely this one- that wasn’t to get a damn thing from anyone for any reason… But-

His eyes…

They were like burning coals searing into his soul. He found himself looking away and still those eyes of his cut through him like a hot knife through caragor fat. The smith knew to deny the boy, lest he face the wrath of his peers. With that glare, though…

It was like the Dark Lord, himself, was staring him down.

“I- uh, i-if you get me… m-materials-”

“What do you need?”

This pup wasn’t joking. He wasn’t supposed to do this, he knows, but fuck he didn’t want to be on his badside. Not with those eyes… The smith could get him a bow fine. He just needed some feathers for the fletcher to make more arrows-

“It will be done.”

With Hûra’s leave, the smith was able to sigh in relief. Was he thinking out loud? He didn't care. The vulnerability he felt swiftly dissipated and annoyance took its place. Who the hell did that pup think he was? A bowyer? The smith scoffed. He hoped the pup would wise up and not return. A feeling crept down his spine and he shivered. No, he’d be back. Just like all the wannabe upstarts he’s seen in his life, that pup couldn’t leave well enough alone…

Feathers…

No, Hûra couldn’t- he wouldn’t harm his friends. Maybe he wouldn’t need to, though… There’s a special little place where he hides things that are important to him. Not big things, but things that matter to him all the same. No uruk would want to take these things- they have little to no value to anyone else- but with how uncertain his security was, Hûra had no choice but to be secretive.

How many feathers would the fletcher need? What if this wasn’t enough? There were at least three handfuls of feathers, he thought, as he removed the rocks that he placed on top of the small hole he found just outside camp, near the caragor cages.

Maybe he didn’t need them at all… Hûra used his tunic as a makeshift sling as he piled feathers on top of feathers. Maybe this was just a means to distract him. Hûra bit his lip and blinked away his tears. As he neared the bottom of the pile, some bones caught his eye.

The urge came over him. The urge. The urge he gets whenever he sees bones. Hûra didn’t understand why he felt… this, but he nearly dropped all the black feathers he had balled up in his tunic in favour of picking up those little shards and watching them drop to the ground. Where would they land? How would they land? What would he see…? Hûra catches himself and holds the feathers close to his core.

No… not right now. But soon…

So many different eyes focused on him as he made his way to the fletcher. Some whispered behind their hands at them, a few giggled and pointed. Hûra ignored the way his ears burned with self consciousness and lowered his head, staring at the ground as he hurried his pace.

“...why are you giving me this?”

Hûra nearly burst into tears.

“I- ahem- T-The smith said y-you needed… f-feathers?” The fletcher looked down at the feathers cradled in the pup’s tunic, then back to the pup’s face. Not all the feathers could be used- but the majority could be.

“Where did you- Nevermind. Just give them here.” The fletcher grabbed the feathers and threw them onto the table. When Hûra didn’t immediately leave, the fletcher added-

“That’s all. You can go now.” His tone was annoyed and he shooed Hûra away with a flick of his wrist.

…oh.

The disappointment he felt was immeasurable. He walked away from the fletcher, eyes stinging and heart racing. Was there a reason why he was being treated so coldly and with so little placed on his needs and actions? Hûra found himself at the blacksmith, fists clenched at his sides and nails biting into the callouses that covered his palms. Before he could find his voice, the smith sighed and said-

“Did you get the fletcher what he-”

“He didn’t need anything.” Hûra was surprised at the levelness of his voice. The smith paused in fiddling with whatever-it-was he was fiddling with and sighed.

“You just had to-” Hûra cut him off.

“I want my bow, if you please, sir.” The smith turned to look at him, clearly annoyed.

“Your bow? Who do you think you-” He stumbled on his words as his eyes met Hûra’s.

That fire was back two-fold. Whatever he was about to spew, the smith immediately forgot as fear seized him once more. He couldn't place what scared him more. The defiance this pup showed his elders or those damn eyes of his. It wasn’t worth the waste of time it had been. Damn the quartermaster and any other uruk that put him in this position. He had better things to deal with other than a pup that didn’t know his place.

The smith walked away, but Hûra remained in place, watching him as he entered a tent, moved and shifted some things made of metal and wood, then returned with an aged-worn longbow.

“Here’s your damn bow.” He thrusted it into Hûra’s chest, who took one look at it then asked-

“The string, sir?”

The bow wasn’t even stringed. Did he think Hûra was stupid? Maybe he thought he would be so excited he would forget. He didn’t and the smith growled as he untied Hûra’s hair and plucked a few strands from his head. It was just long enough for him to wrap around the wooden limbs of the bow, but still too short as the hair was strung ludicrously tight. It would cut into his fingers and likely snap in two, but Hûra merely took the bow off the smith with a curt nod and turned to take his leave.

It was too tight, but it was also serviceable. For now. His fingers bled whenever he notched the arrows the fletcher threw at him as he told him to ‘fuck off!’ but they sang through the air and they hit so close to their mark that Hûra was pleased with the end results. As he practiced outside, alone, he walked to retrieve some of the arrows that stuck from a wooden watchtower he was using as a target, something in the sky caught his eye.

A hell hawk circled overhead. Alone, like him. Not terribly unusual, but for some reason Hûra was drawn to it. An urge he has become all too familiar with took hold of him.

Draw an arrow.

He pulled one out of the watchtower’s foundation.

Track the target.

His eyes follow the beast, fingers twitching around the arrow as it drifts lower in the sky.

Notch the arrow.

Blood wet his fingers as he pulled the bow taught.

Hold your breath-

His heart slowed.

-and release.

The arrow flew true and hit its mark. The hell hawk fell from the sky, dead before it hit the ground with a dull thud. Hûra was almost surprised that he hit it at all, let alone killed the creature with one shot. With a bow of such poor quality… Some guilt began to pool in his gut as he knelt beside the hawk.

Why did he do that…?

Hûra placed his hand upon the beast. Its leathery body was still warm… He closed his eyes and sighed. He knows why he did it. It doesn’t make him feel any better, regardless of how badly he needed this.

He was relieved it wasn’t one of his crows.

“I will make it worth it. I promise…”

Hûra hopes an urge like this will never manifest again. Maybe it won’t… maybe it will. The anxiety he feels for his person and his future remains, though the apprehension he felt whenever he felt the presence of bones eased but a little when he skinned and cut the meat from this creature’s skeleton.

The bones were small, slightly damaged from the fall but it did nothing to detract from their beauty in his eyes. He rolled them in his hands, admiring the sounds they created, admiring the sights that began to take shape in the cracks, the slopes and peaks…

These bones were special. Hûra swore to hide them away and, somehow, find a means to carry them with him always. He went to his special place, near the caragors, and began to cast them from his hand.

White mountains, secrecy and seclusion, air reek with foul magics-

Hûra hid away the bones before he was caught. He held his nose and scarfed down the hell hawk’s meat raw. He can’t let any of it go to waste… The others wouldn’t understand what he has done and why it was so important to him.

As he stands, his stomach drops to his feet. No… Hûra didn’t want to leave them behind. His fingers twitched and his toes curled as he fought back the urge to drop to his knees and uncover his precious bones once more. He can’t… not now. Not yet…

Then when?

Hûra ran away before he convinced himself to stay put. He needed to maintain control over his urges, lest they control him entirely. Though… perhaps this control he’s demonstrating is not as true as he would like it to be. Hûra doesn’t know if he can stay away for very long…

@space-arsonist, @sinick, @elvenmoans, @boozy-dwarf, @dirtymeanuruk

#lotr #middle earth shadow of mordor #middle earth shadow of war #uruk ocs #my ocs #a little blood #disappointment #new weapon acquired #headcanon that uruk hair is as strong as elf hair #osteomancy #mentions of corporal punishment

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