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owl127 · 9 months

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Clexa World Cup one-shot

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The crowd erupted in uninhibited joy, an energy that gained momentum as it spread like wildfire through tears, hugs, and the raw volume of primal elation.

After 16 years, a new generation brought the national team to a World Cup semi-final.

Lexa’s laughter was loud and unfamiliar, a childish joy taking over her body. Her teammates carried her over their shoulders, an ovation to the hero that found an impossible shot outside the box at 115 minutes. So Lexa smiled, and laughed, and bathed in sticky gatorade until Anya whispered in her ear, “They’re in.”

The speed that Lexa’s expression closed into its usual stoic stare of the “Commander” was so fast that Anya did a double take.

They were in, as expected.

But now Lexa was in, and Anya, and an entire team behind them after a historical comeback against a European powerhouse.

That meant Lexa would play the game of her life against the love of her life.

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“Griffin! Griffin!”

Clarke redid her ponytail as she waited for the reporter to catch up with her at the side of the field. The deafening crowd had slowed after their hard won victory and celebrations of once more being classified for the world cup semi-finals. The reporter, a beautiful redhead that didn’t reach Clarke’s shoulders even on heels, spoke hurriedly into the microphone, “Clarke Griffin, congrats on the victory and classification! You had to work hard today to achieve this!”

“Thank you, and as always, it was a team effort.” Clarke rolled her shoulder, a little stiff after the dive at the end of the second half. “We’re all excited that we’re one step closer to our goal.”

“And how are you feeling about facing Lexa next week?”

Clarke blinked hard, focusing on the little dip of the reporter’s lips as she processed the words. “I, I mean I—”

“Their game went to extra time, and Lexa scored in the second half.” The reporter smelled blood in the water and smirked, the camera missing the glint in her eyes as she said, “You’ll be facing your wife in the semifinal. How do you feel about that?”

Clarke’s shoulder ached.

“My goal remains the same,” she said in a neutral tone. “We always knew that was a possibility, and I will give 100% to my team. Thank you.” She ignored the follow-up questions and headed straight to the tunnel, following the chant of “the champion is back” echoing in their locker room. She distributed high fives with her good arm and looked around until she found dark, worried eyes. Behind the wall of red, white and blue celebration, Clarke whispered to Raven, “Are they in?”

“Yeah,” the physical preparator responded. Raven looked happy, but there was an apprehension in her tone. Her wife had assisted Lexa’s goal, after all. “Lexa. Anya’s assist.” They both chuckled dryly.

“Fuck,” Clarke whispered. “Okay. I got this. We got this. Right?”

Raven touched Clarke’s sensitive shoulder, frowning when the 6’1” keeper hissed. “Yeah, it’s just our marriages on the line. They will get over the defeat, eventually. How’s the shoulder?”

“Coach won’t let us see them until the game, will he?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Clarke.”

Someone jumped on Clarke’s back, their bubble of privacy bursted with a sharp “whoop!” yelled at her year.

“Clarke Griffin, our savior!” Octavia hugged her keeper again before jumping down her back. “I thought we were done with that penalty kick!”

“Never.” Today was a day to celebrate. She would worry about her marriage and their game tomorrow.

And Lexa would be fine. She could handle Lexa.

“Never,” Clarke repeated and shared one last look with a worried Raven.

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The press coverage had doubled over Clarke. Avoiding questions was getting hard, so at the press conference after their last practice, Clarke sat down in front of the flashes and microphones.

“Is the fact that Lexa is your wife going to affect your game?” The first question came from the back of the room. Clarke gritted her jaw.

“No. I’m a professional, and so is Lexa, and we will act like it.”

“You and Lexa play different positions, but these past few days, your stories have been compared. How do you feel about that?”

Clarke took a deep breath before answering. “We have unique backgrounds, as a lot of other players from her country and mine do. I acknowledge our privileges, but I don’t discount my team’s talent. This is the World Cup. Nothing else matters.”

“You play on the same team back home and you haven’t played against Lexa since before you were married.” The journalist who asked was the same redhead from after the game, sitting a couple of rows in front of Clarke. “Do you think this time playing against her will weigh on your performance?”

Clarke saw the opportunity and took it. “Nothing weighs on my performance.” She stood up, a clear signal the interview was over. “You can ask Lexa about that.”

The room broke into laughter, and Clarke walked to the back exit. Her hands prickled with sweat.

0000

“Amanda, what a game! No goals on regular time and a thrilling one-on-one in extra time. Now we’re heading for penalties to decide who will move forward to the final. And do you see that line of players there?”

“Oh, I see it, and everyone should know that this goes beyond a historical comeback for the South American team, but involves some of the player’s personal lives too!”

“Tell the fans!”

“You see, Clarke Griffin, the celebrated newcomer goalkeeper, is actually married to Lexa Woods, who won the Ballon d’Or last year, and we’re seeing Lexa lining up to take the last shot.”

“That means that, if it comes to it, Lexa will decide the classification shooting a penalty against her wife?”

“Yes, Peter, that’s exactly what that means! Seems like someone will sleep on the couch tonight!”

“Any bets on who wins this penalty shoot-out?”

“Ontari is a great goalkeeper, but Griffin has solidified her spot as the starter keeper in the team with the best defense in the championship. So my money is on Griffin.”

“Even against her wife?”

“Griffin is a stable player, and she has played against Lexa in their home league before, so yeah, even then.”

“But everything is different in a world cup. My bet is on the latinas. Lexa and Anya have what it takes to bring this new generation to another final. The referee is calling the teams to the center, so it’s about to start! Good luck to both teams!”

0000

Blood pumped loudly in Clarke’s ears. The fans behind her goal yelled all kinds of profanities and slurs, the side strategically chosen when Anya won the coin flip. She ignored the yelling and name calling, her focus on the game, defending two shots, taking both teams to another round of shoot-outs.

She had to admit that Ontari was having the match of her life, and she could also catch two shots, equalizing their numbers. Clarke bit her lip as Harper missed her shot well above the post. The crowd yelled, that unlawful volume powered by revenge.

Clarke knew they were the team to be beaten, and now it was in her hands to prove that. The referee approached her and said something. She didn’t understand a single word, but assumed it was the usual line warning and nodded, walking to her spot. She opened her arms, glanced forward, saw Octavie cheering her own, the classic “you got this” on her lips.

And then she saw green.

Lexa walked from the middle of the field, looking straight at her, her pace calm and calculated.

The woman walking down the field was not Lexa Woods, her best friend, wife, lover, mother of their girls.

That was The Commander, the ruthless striker that made her name as the best player in the world after a hard childhood in a country that didn’t care about women’s sports. Lexa had carved her name playing barefoot against boys twice her size while Clarke was being driven to practices in a new, clean SUV. The Commander was forged under fire and criticism against the super-performing men’s team, and each defeat meant a torrent of critics that Clarke herself had never faced. But Clarke had taken the opportunities given her. She had made her name and proven herself. She deserved to be here just as much as Lexa did.

She had defended five of Lexa’s shots throughout the game, and now she was ready to defend one more.

Lexa kissed the ball before adjusting it at the penalty mark, an oddity for the striker. The sound behind the goal died as Lexa took one, two, three steps back, grass staining her cheeks, her brightly colored shirt speckled with mud and sweat.

Clarke grit her teeth and saw the minute shift of Lexa’s hips.

Left.

The referee blew the whistle. Lexa ran for the call with a furious, deadly expression. Clarke jumped. Left, left, left.

Air left Clarke’s lungs as she fell on the grass, the heavy scent of earth filling her nose as she skidded to a stop.

For one moment, there was silence.

Then the crowd behind her exploded, the vibrations of the entire stadium shaking her to her core.

She looked up and looked back.

When she turned her face to the field, Lexa was already back with her teammates, being received with open arms and tears.

Her own teammates had tears in their eyes, too.

She looked back at the ball, now innocently immobile, nested securely inside the net.

“Fuck,” she whispered, her gloved hands clawing the grass, leaving blunt marks.

“Hey.” Octavia had jogged her way to her. “You okay?”

No. She wasn’t okay. Her shoulder burned, her career would be in check as “the woman who crumbled in front of her wife”, her eyes stung, and fuck, she needed a hug from the one person she couldn’t have one right now.

“Yeah.” She lied, stood up. “Sorry.”

“Fuck that. You did great. Next time.”

“Next time.”

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The clicking sound of cleats against the hard floor echoed in the hallway.

A security guard made his way to Lexa, but seeing who she was, he let her go through the back door.

Lexa sighed in relief at the sight of the bus still parked, running and ready to go, but women clad in white suits still boarding it. It was hard to miss Clarke, the tall, strong woman like a pristine marble statue, as she waited at the end of the boarding line.

Lexa, in her muddy uniform, stopped as every single player looked at her. The personal security from the national team made his way to her, but the coach waved him off. No other player made a comment as Clarke stepped away from the line and met Lexa, who remained on the other side of the separating ropes. The media was not there yet; no cameras, no prying eyes besides Clarke’s team.

“Hi,” Lexa said, and she really wanted to wipe away the smile from her face, but it was impossible. They had been celebrating their spot at the final with the crowd, and by the time she could slip away, Clarke was ready to go back to her hotel.

“Hi.” There was a small smile on Clarke’s lips, a little sad and defeated, and Lexa wanted to kiss it away.

“I—”

“Congratulations,” Clarke forced out, shrugging her shoulders. “That was a great shot.”

“Babe, I—”

“I love you,” Clarke cut her. “But… just give me tonight, okay? Tomorrow morning is my last day with the team and I’ll join my mom and the kids at their hotel.”

Lexa swallowed and nodded. There was so much joy within her, but that broken expression in Clarke’s eyes was making it hard to remember why she should be happy at all.

“I love you too.” Lexa extended her hand, a peace offering. Clarke took it, and Lexa pulled her a little closer, kissed her fingers. They were red, taped, and the pinkie was swollen. A goalkeeper’s hand. “Please don’t be mad.”

Clarke barked a laugh and pulled her wife into a hug. Lexa breathed, relieved, burying her face in her wife’s chest. “I’m not mad at you,” Clarke said, but her voice shook. “But I’m a sore loser, you know that.”

Lexa took a deep breath of Clarke’s perfume and grimaced at seeing the mess she made in her wife’s immaculate white suit. “You were always my greatest challenge.”

“We’ll talk again in four years.”

“Griff.” A voice called from behind them, and they turned to see Octavia calling her teammate from the bus, and every single player in the bus watching them from the windows. While Raven waved at Lexa, Octavia flipped her off with a smile. “We gotta go. And you better crush those stupid Germans in the final, Lexa.”

“You bet,” Lexa said and stopped back on her side of the rope. “Family brunch tomorrow? With the girls?”

Clarke nodded, picked up the duffel bag she had left at her feet and leaned to whisper next to Lexa’s ear, “I won’t be gentle next time.”

Lexa’s cheek warmed with a blush, because she knew exactly what those dark eyes were promising, and it had nothing to do with soccer. Lexa blinked as Clarke pecked her lips and walked back to the bus. It was driving off when she heard cleats behind her. She turned to find Anya cursing at seeing the bus drive away.

“Did you talk to her?”

“Yes,” Lexa answered her captain. “We’re good.”

“So get your head together. We have a title to win.”

“Aren’t you mad you missed Raven?”

Anya shook her head. “Not really. She sent me nudes after the game.”

Laxe chucked, walking back to their locker room. “I can’t believe you too.”

“I bet Griffin already made this whole thing sexual between you two.”

Lexa’s ear burned with heat.

“Called it!” Anya placed her arm around Lexa’s shoulder. “C’mon, Commander. After conquering the world, you can fuck your wife as much as you want.”

There was no ending to Lexa’s blazing cheeks.

“Oh.” Anya’s eyes sparkled with mirth. “I see. The fearless commander is secretly a bottom.”

“Oh, shut up.”