The Noble Stag

    The rain hadn’t let up all night. It poured steadily against the windows, casting rippling reflections of the neon signs outside onto the wet pavement. Inside, the bar was its own world—warm, dimly lit, and humming with low laughter and clinking glasses.

    Lexa thrived in spaces like this.

    She was comfortable here, in control. Every movement behind the bar was measured, every interaction a careful balance between detachment and engagement. She knew exactly how to maintain the energy, how to pull people in and hold them at just the right distance.

    And then there was Clarke Griffin.

    Clarke had managed to disrupt her carefully curated balance again.

    Lexa glanced down at the woman currently passed out against the bar, blonde hair spilling over her folded arms, breath even and steady.

    This wasn’t the first time.

    The last two weeks had been… something.

    The first time Clarke had come alone, it had been different. She hadn’t gotten drunk, hadn’t flirted recklessly—she had just been there. They had talked. She had laughed. And Lexa had caught herself watching the way Clarke’s lips curled around the rim of her glass, the way her eyes softened when she was focused.

    The next time, Clarke had come with Raven and Octavia, exhausted from another long shift. She hadn’t even tried to stay awake past her first bottle of beer, and that had been the first time Lexa had carried her. That had been the first time Lexa had felt something she couldn’t quite name.

    Now, looked like it was another long shift for the doctor. And Clarke was defeated before she even finished her second glass of fruity cocktails.

    Lexa sighed, stepping around the bar, already prepared for the inevitable teasing.

    Raven caught her movement immediately, the sharp smirk forming before she even opened her mouth. "Again?"

    Lexa didn’t dignify that with an answer. She simply slid an arm beneath Clarke’s legs, lifting her effortlessly.

    Raven let out a low whistle. "She’s really making a habit out of this."

    Anya, seated next to her, arched a brow but said nothing.

    Echo, who had just returned with a tray of drinks, smirked. "Careful, Lex. Keep carrying her like that, and she might think you like her."

    Lexa met her gaze with a slow, deliberate smirk of her own.

    “Maybe I do.”

    Raven blinked. Anya, who usually had something sarcastic to say, actually looked surprised. Echo’s smirk only widened, but Lexa was already turning toward the backroom.

    Clarke stirred slightly against her chest, murmuring something incoherent—until, suddenly, it became very clear.

    "Your voice is nice," Clarke mumbled, still half-asleep.

    Lexa froze for half a second.

    Then, she felt Raven’s glee before she even heard it.

    "She likes your voice," Raven sing-songed, looking way too entertained.

    Lexa’s jaw tightened. She ignored the way her pulse jumped, and the heat crawling up her neck. But she couldn't ignore the way Clarke’s warmth pressed against her felt entirely too natural.

    Instead, she simply lifted her chin and shot Raven a slow, arrogant smirk. “Of course she does.”

    Then, without another word, she carried Clarke into the backroom, closing the door behind her.

---

    The rain outside softened the edges of the quiet space, the small lamp in the corner casting a warm glow over the couch. Lexa lowered Clarke onto the cushions carefully, taking a step back before she could linger.

    She should have left.

    Should have let Clarke sleep it off.

    But instead, she found herself standing there, watching the gentle rise and fall of Clarke’s breathing, the loose strands of blonde hair falling over her cheek.

    Lexa inhaled sharply, then turned to the counter in the corner, filling the electric kettle with water.

    She needed something else to focus on.

    By the time Clarke stirred awake, blinking blearily, Lexa was already sitting across from her, holding out a steaming cup.

    Clarke groaned, rubbing her face. "…‘m I dead?"

    Lexa arched a brow. "Not yet."

    Clarke huffed a quiet laugh, taking the drink. She cradled it in her hands, taking a small sip, and let out a pleased hum at the taste of honey and cinnamon.

    Lexa leaned back, watching her quietly.

    For a moment, neither of them spoke.

    The silence was easy. Comfortable.

    Clarke’s gaze flickered up, settling on Lexa.

    Lexa held it.

    Something stirred in Clarke’s chest, warm and dangerous.

    She pushed it aside.

    Lexa was just… Lexa.

    This was normal.

    Just a moment of warmth on a rainy night.

    Right?

---
Meanwhile, at the Bar…

    Raven Reyes did not get nervous.

    She could talk her way into—or out of—anything. Sarcasm was second nature. She had been flirting with Anya for months, and they had both settled into a comfortable, predictable rhythm of sharp banter and smirks.

    Tonight was no different.

    Except for the part where it kind of was.

    Because for the first time, Anya wasn’t behind the bar.

    Her shift was over, and now she was here, sitting next to Raven, a drink in hand, her full attention entirely on her.

    It wasn’t a date.

    But it felt like one.

    And Anya wasn’t holding back.

    "Try not to embarrass yourself tonight, Reyes," she mused, resting her chin on her hand, watching Raven with entirely too much amusement. "I know how much you hate losing."

    Raven scoffed. "Please. I never lose."

    Anya smirked. "That’s cute."

    Raven narrowed her eyes. "You think you’re smooth, huh?"

    Anya shrugged. "I know I’m smooth."

    Raven rolled her eyes, but the grin tugging at her lips was impossible to hide.

---
    A few feet away, Octavia Blake was fighting for her life.

    Echo had just placed a new cocktail in front of her, this one noticeably lighter on the alcohol.

    "Less booze this time," Echo said, voice firm. "You need to stay alert."

    Octavia blinked. "…Why?"

    Echo smirked, leaning in slightly. When she spoke next, it was in Trigedasleng, low and smooth. "Because your fight is not over."

    Octavia had no idea what she had just said.

    But god, the way she said it.

    Her spine straightened. A slow burn crept up her neck.

    Still, she refused to back down.

    "That’s cute," she managed, lifting her drink, matching Echo’s smirk. "You think you can order me around?"

    Echo chuckled, slow and arrogant.

    Then, softer—still firm and commanding, but undeniably teasing—

    "Come home with me tonight."

    Octavia’s brain short-circuited.

    Her glass nearly slipped from her fingers.

    Echo watched her reaction like a cat watching a mouse, utterly entertained.

    For a full five seconds, Octavia tried to think of something clever to say. Something that would put her back on even footing.

    Instead—

    She nodded.

    Just. Nodded.

    Echo’s smirk deepened.

    Raven, who had just barely tuned back into the conversation, let out an incredulous laugh. "You just folded so fast."

    Octavia glared at her. "Shut up."

    Echo just sipped her drink, looking entirely too pleased with herself.

    Octavia exhaled slowly, then downed the rest of her cocktail in one go.

    It was going to be a long night.

---
    The night had stretched long, the rain finally easing into nothing more than damp pavement and scattered puddles outside. The bar had stayed busy, with patrons trickling in for last-minute drinks, laughter still carrying through the dimly lit space.

    Lexa had returned to her usual spot behind the bar about an hour ago, slipping effortlessly back into her role. But she had let Clarke sleep a little longer, keeping an eye on her from a distance.

    Now, Clarke emerged from the backroom, looking marginally more rested but still bearing the undeniable weight of exhaustion. The dark circles under her eyes betrayed just how little sleep she had gotten recently.

    She blinked as she adjusted to the noise and movement around her, glancing around in search of familiar faces.

    Raven was easy to spot—sitting at the bar, sipping what was likely the last of her cocktail. Anya was beside her, a smug smirk firmly in place. Whatever had happened between them tonight, Raven was wrecked—not by alcohol, but by Anya and her relentless, no-holds-barred flirting.

    Clarke smirked at the sight but quickly realized someone was missing. She frowned, scanning the bar. "Where’s Octavia?"

    Lexa, who had just finished pouring a drink, turned to her with a knowing smirk. "She was abducted by Echo. We may never see her again."

    Clarke, still slightly sluggish from her nap, needed a second to process that. But when the dots connected—when she realized exactly what that meant—she burst into laughter.

    "Finally!" Clarke grinned, shaking her head. "Took them long enough."

    Lexa chuckled, leaning against the bar. "Echo is nothing if not persistent."

    "Yeah, well, so is O. I can’t wait to hear how that plays out."

    Clarke settled into an easy rhythm, chatting with Lexa while waiting for Raven to finish what was essentially an elaborate battle of flirtation with Anya.

    The bar began winding down, patrons trickling out as last calls were made. It was nearing midnight now, closing time approaching fast.

    Clarke stretched, ready to leave, but before she turned toward the door, she glanced back at Lexa.

    The bartender was already watching her, an arrogant smirk pulling at her lips. Then, smooth as ever, she spoke—

    "Don’t miss my voice too much, Doctor Griffin."

    The confidence in her tone was effortless, velvety smooth and teasing.

    Clarke froze.

    And then she blushed.

    Hard.

    Clarke turned around quickly, nearly tripped over her own feet in the process.

    Raven, who had just stood up, witnessed the entire thing and cackled.

    "Real smooth, Clarke," she teased, clapping her on the back as they finally made their way to the door.

    Clarke grumbled under her breath, but the warmth on her face refused to fade.

    Lexa just smirked, watching them leave, entirely too pleased with herself.

---

    As usual, Raven ended up coming home with Clarke. It had become a habit—tipsy Raven always insisted on crashing at Clarke’s place. Partially because she was clingy when drunk, but mostly because she had grown very fond of the high-quality mattress in Clarke’s guest room.

    As Clarke helped her settled into the bed, Raven stretched out, sighing contently. "Your mattress is heaven, you know that?"

    Clarke rolled her eyes but smiled. "Yeah, yeah. Try not to drool on the pillows this time."

    Raven hummed, already half asleep.

    Clarke, however, was still very awake. She went to the kitchen to get a glass of water, and sat down on a chair.

    Lexa’s voice echoed in her head—smooth, teasing, effortlessly confident.

    "Don’t miss my voice too much, Doctor Griffin."

    Clarke groaned, leaning her head against the table.

    Yeah.

    She was so screwed.

---
 
    By the time Clarke stepped out of the hospital, the early morning sky had begun shifting from inky black to soft shades of blue. The streetlights were still on, but their glow paled against the creeping daylight.

    It was just past 7 a.m., and her final night shift for the month was officially over. Hopefully, there would be no emergency calls dragging her back in—or another colleague asking her to cover last-minute.

    Instead of heading straight home, she detoured to a small 24-hour convenience store near her apartment to restock her kitchen. Her fridge was currently a sad, near-empty wasteland of questionable leftovers and expired milk, which even she wouldn't dare use for coffee.

    Now, half an hour later, she was already halfway through her shopping. Her shopping cart was nearly full—fresh meat and vegetables, a variety of fruits, and a few essentials. She was now browsing the frozen products and snacks section, debating whether she had enough energy to cook later or if she should just grab some pre-made meals.

    That’s when the store’s entrance chimed. Clarke barely glanced up, focused on an interesting-looking dumpling pack and decided she should try, putting it in her cart.

    When she was about to walk to pre-made meal section, Clarke froze mid-step.

     Lexa, who was leaning casually against the aisle shelf, scanning the rows of bottled coffee, was Lexa. And next to her, picking a couple bottles of coffee was Anya.

    Clarke had known for a while now that Anya and Lexa were sisters, though how she found out still made her question her own obliviousness.

    Anya was a martial arts instructor and personal trainer, running her own gym—though, apparently, bartending at The Noble Stag was more of a hobby than an actual job. 

    Clarke debated just grabbing something for breakfast on her back home and getting out before they saw her, but of course—Lexa noticed her.

    Lexa, who made sleep-deprived Clarke particularly weak in the face of her smugness, which was something Clarke had learned the hard way over the past month.

    Green eyes flickered in her direction, a slow, knowing smirk tugging at the bartender’s lips as she walked the small distance between them.
   
    It had been about four weeks since that night at The Noble Stag—since Clarke had once again fallen asleep at the bar and woken up to Lexa's unreasonably attractive face. Since then, Clarke had returned a few more times, sometimes with Raven, sometimes alone, and somehow, she and Lexa had fallen into something… more.

    Not quite friends, but not just bartender and customer either.

    There was an ease now. A comfort in the way Lexa would smirk at her over the bar, a routine in the teasing back-and-forth they shared. Clarke had also learned that Lexa, Anya, and Echo co-owned the bar, which had been an amusing revelation—because now, all of Anya’s smugness about Lexa’s life choices made way more sense.

    She’d also observed that Lexa’s flirting was just part of her personality. That smooth, confident way of talking? That lazy smirk that made Clarke’s stomach do annoying little things? That was just… Lexa being Lexa. Right?

    "Morning, Doctor Griffin," Lexa greeted, lips twitching in amusement as she took in Clarke’s scrubs and obvious sleep-deprived state.

    Oh, for the love of—

    Clarke exhaled through her nose, she wasn't prepared seeing Lexa here, outside the dim lighting and smooth ambiance of the bar. Gone was the button-up and rolled-up sleeves, the confident posture behind the counter. This Lexa was in black joggers and a fitted green hoodie, the sleeves pushed up to her elbows. She still looked unfairly composed for this time of day, her calm radiance utterly unfair to Clarke’s sleep-deprived mind.

    Clarke smirked. “Lexa.”

    Lexa’s lips twitched at the dry response, pleased, as always, when Clarke matched her energy. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

    Clarke shrugged, gesturing to her almost full basket. “Needed to stock up. You?”

    Lexa tilted her head slightly, as if assessing something. “Breakfast run.”

    Clarke raised a brow. “Your breakfast is in the freezer section?”

    Lexa let out a small chuckle, the sound low and smooth. “I was considering options.”

    Clarke rolled her eyes fondly, shifting her shopping cart slightly. “What, the Great and Mysterious Bartender doesn’t cook?”

    Lexa’s smirk widened, but before she could respond, another presence approached from behind her, arms full of snack packs.

    “Lexa doesn’t cook,” Anya cut in smoothly, dropping several bags of chips into their own shopping cart. She barely looked up from her selection as she muttered casually, “Lexa’s too busy courting you.”

    Clarke froze, her brain taking a full second to process the words.

    Lexa, on the other hand, didn’t even flinch. She just sighed, like this wasn’t the first time Anya had pulled this stunt, and leveled her sister with a pointed look.

    Anya, of course, remained utterly unbothered, tearing open a snack pack. “What? I’m just saying what we’re all thinking.”

    Clarke blinked rapidly, her tired brain trying and failing to connect the dots correctly.

    She was very aware of the way Lexa watched her, half-amused, half something else.

    Lexa, to her credit, didn’t correct Anya’s statement.

    She also didn’t deny it, instead she met Anya's teasing with her own remarks,

    "You are the older Woods, you should be  ashamed to let me cook for you," Lexa shoot back, a smirk still in place

    Clarke snorted, shaking her head. Watching them bicker was weirdly entertaining. It was so different from how Lexa was with most people—calm, composed, borderline unreadable. With Anya, though? It was effortless. The kind of back-and-forth that only happened with years of familiarity.

    "You two are exhausting," Clarke muttered, finally heading for the pre-made meal section.

    Lexa followed, her presence entirely too noticeable as Clarke reached for a ready to eat salad.

    "You’re not getting any real food?" Lexa noted, eyeing Clarke’s cart.

    Clarke frowned. "I have real food."

    Lexa’s unimpressed gaze flickered over the contents—instant ramen, granola bars, a frozen pizza. "Barely."

    Clarke huffed. "There are meats, veggies and fruits under all these." She gestured to her cart.

    Lexa made a quiet hmm sound, clearly not convinced. Then, without another word, she reached past Clarke and grabbed something off the shelf.

    When she stepped back, she held out a small pre-packaged sandwich.

    Clarke blinked.

    "Eat something real before you pass out, stubborn Doctor," Lexa said simply, dropping it into Clarke’s cart without waiting for an argument.

    Clarke stared at it. Stared at Lexa.

    She should argue. Should say something about how she did eat real food, or how she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. But her brain, exhausted and sluggish as it was, chose instead to short-circuit.

    Because it was such a small thing. Such a casual, effortless gesture.

    But coming from Lexa?

    It made Clarke’s heart do an annoying little thing in her chest.

    Anya, who had been watching the exchange with far too much amusement, smirked. "You two are so—"

    Lexa shot her a sharp look.

    Anya wisely shut her mouth.

    Clarke, still very much not processing whatever had just happened, cleared her throat. "Anyway. I need to check out before I pass out."

    Lexa hummed. "Try not to trip on your way home, Doctor Griffin."

    Her voice was smooth, amused, confident. Infuriatingly smug.

    Clarke definitely needed to go before she did something embarrassing.

    She flipped Lexa off, before pushing her cart toward the checkout, her heart still doing stupid things in her chest.

    Lexa just smirked.

    Anya snickered quietly to herself.

    And Clarke?

    Still blissfully unaware that Lexa wasn’t just flirting for fun.

---