The Noble Stag

    A week had passed since Clarke’s unexpected meeting with Lexa and Anya at the convenience store. Since then, she had found herself thinking about Lexa more often than she should. It wasn’t intentional—Lexa’s smirks and teasing words just had a way of sticking in her mind.

    She wasn’t obsessing over it or anything. Just…occasionally replaying the moment in her head. Not too much, of course—just enough to dismiss it as Anya messing with her.

    Now, back at The Noble Stag, the bar was buzzing with late-night energy, filled with the low hum of conversation and the occasional bursts of laughter. Clarke, Raven, and Octavia had stopped by after work, unwinding with drinks and easy company.

    Everything had been going as usual until Raven ended up in Anya’s arms—literally.

    It had started with a misplaced bottle of whiskey. Someone had left it precariously near the edge of the counter, and when Raven—animated in her storytelling—gestured a little too wildly, her elbow knocked the bottle off. She reacted quickly, twisting to grab it before it could hit the ground, but in her haste, she lost her footing.

    And that was how Anya caught her—one strong arm wrapping around Raven’s waist, lifting her up with ease before she could crash into the floor.

    For a second, Raven just blinked up at her, stunned.

    Anya, utterly unimpressed, held her effortlessly. “You’re too chaotic for your own good,” she muttered, as if this had been inevitable. Then, without missing a beat, she added, “Let’s date so I can watch over you.”

    Clarke and Lexa gawked, anticipating Raven's stubborn and proud streak to ruin their chances, but—

    Raven, still suspended in Anya’s arms, grinned like she’d won the lottery. “Took you long enough, cheekbones.”

    Anya smirked and set her down gently, looking far too pleased with herself.

    Across the room, Octavia was struggling for entirely different reasons.

    She and Echo had been dating since the night Clarke had fallen asleep at the bar—when she woke and asked where Octavia was.

    Lexa, amused and unbothered, had simply replied, She was abducted by Echo. We may never see her again.

    And now, despite having spent plenty of time with Echo since then, she was still weak when it came to her girlfriend.

    Echo leaned in, her voice low and smooth as she murmured, describing every drink she had made for Octavia tonight—but somehow, somehow, she made it sound utterly sinful. Like a promise. Like a tease.

    Octavia, already dating this woman, already in love with her confidence and her voice and the way she carried herself, still turned to complete goo under the weight of that tone.

    She swallowed hard, her fingers curling slightly against the bar.

    Echo smirked knowingly, pressing a lingering kiss to her jaw before returning to her duties like she hadn’t just ruined Octavia’s composure in mere seconds.

    Octavia, helplessly smitten, exhaled heavily.

    Clarke took one look at Octavia’s completely wrecked expression and snorted.

    “Yeah,” she chuckled under her breath. “We’ve definitely lost her.”

---

    A few days later, Anya invited everyone over for lunch.

    Clarke had assumed it would be a simple gathering—something casual, nothing too elaborate. But when she stepped into the apartment, she realized just how wrong she had been.

    The place was stunning—modern, spacious, and full of personality. The open-concept living space connected to a kitchen that looked like it belonged in a high-end design magazine. Sunlight streamed through large windows, casting soft, golden light over the dark wood floors.

    She hadn’t expected Anya and Lexa to live together, but it made sense. Anya’s personality was bold and chaotic, while Lexa’s was calm and controlled—the sisters balanced each other out.

    But the biggest surprise came when Clarke sat down for lunch.

    Lexa cooked.

    And not just any meal—she had put together an impressive spread of Italian dishes, from perfectly seasoned pasta to warm, crusty bread and a simple yet delicious caprese salad.

    “You made all this?” Clarke asked, watching Lexa move around the kitchen with natural ease.

    Lexa glanced at her, smirking. “Did you think I lived off bar food and coffee?”

    Clarke pursed her lips. “...Kind of.”

    Lexa chuckled, handing Clarke a plate. “Well, now you know better.”

    Lunch was a fun, easy affair, with games and lighthearted conversation filling the afternoon. Clarke wasn’t surprised that Lexa and Anya were good hosts, but she was surprised to learn something new about Lexa.

    She was a writer.

    She didn’t talk about it much, but after some gentle prodding (and Anya’s not-so-subtle hints), Clarke learned that Lexa had been publishing books under a pseudonym for years.

    “Why don’t you use your real name?” Clarke asked, genuinely curious.

    Lexa merely shrugged, her expression unreadable. “I prefer the privacy.”

    Clarke could tell there was more to it, but she didn’t push.

    In return, she admitted that she liked to paint and sketch in her rare moments of free time.

    Lexa’s gaze lingered on her at that. “You’re an artist?”

    Clarke hesitated before nodding. “I mean, not professionally or anything. Just…when I can.”

    Something about the way Lexa looked at her then—curious, thoughtful—made Clarke’s stomach flip.

    After lunch, everyone settled into their own distractions.

    Octavia was completely comfortable in Echo’s arms, practically draped over her on the couch as Echo fed her grapes like she was some kind of spoiled queen.

    Clarke, watching this, smirked. “Well, look at you, O. Tamed.”

    Octavia didn’t even deny it. She shrugged, utterly unbothered.

    Echo chuckled, leaning in to press a sound, deliberate kiss to Octavia’s lips before pulling back.

    Clarke feigned gagging. “Oh my God, get a room.”

    Octavia just grinned, smug as ever, while Echo looked entirely unapologetic.

    Meanwhile, Anya and Raven were at it again.

    “I’m just saying, you didn’t have to carry me like a sack of potatoes,” Raven grumbled, still mildly bitter about the whiskey incident.

    Anya smirked. “But I did. And now we’re dating, so you’re welcome.”

    Raven narrowed her eyes. “I—”

    Anya stuffed a piece of chocolate cookie into Raven’s mouth. “Less talking, more eating, smartass.”

    Clarke laughed as Raven shot Anya a glare but ultimately just chewed the cookie like a good girlfriend.

    At some point, Clarke found herself playing chess with Lexa.

    She had expected Lexa to be good—she seemed like the type to be a strategic mastermind.

    What Lexa hadn’t expected was for Clarke to be good, too.

    Clarke moved her pieces with casual confidence, forcing Lexa to take her time analyzing the board.

    “You’re better at this than I thought,” Lexa admitted, eyes flickering over Clarke’s latest move.

    Clarke smirked. “You underestimate me, bartender.”

    Lexa’s gaze lifted to meet hers. “Clearly.”

    Something about the way she said it made Clarke’s breath hitch for half a second.

    But before she could overthink it, she focused back on the board.

    She wasn’t going to let Lexa win that easily.

    While Clarke and Lexa played chess, Raven and Echo took their rivalry to the console.

    Echo, competitive as ever, was determined to beat Raven at Call of Duty.

    The problem?

    Raven was unbeatable.

    Game after game, Raven dominated—and Echo was getting increasingly frustrated.

    Finally, Echo conspired with Anya.

    Anya leaned over and whispered something to Raven—something low, sultry, and undoubtedly evil.

    Clarke, watching from the chessboard, barely had time to react before—

    Raven’s character died.

    A second of complete silence.
    
    Then, Raven just sat there, staring at the screen.

    “Did you just—” Her voice came out strangled.

    Clarke swore she saw her soul briefly leave her body.
    
    “I think she just died in real life,” Clarke teased, barely containing her laughter.

    Raven finally turned to glare at Anya, who smirked, utterly pleased with herself.

    “You cheated.”

    Anya shrugged. “I used my resources.”

    Echo, meanwhile, smirked in victory. “That’s one for me.”

    Raven grumbled but didn’t argue. She just grabbed Anya by the collar and kissed her senseless.

    Clarke laughed, shaking her head. “You two are so chaotic.”

    Lexa, watching it all unfold, simply smiled.

    And just like that, a normal (read: absolutely not normal) afternoon at the apartment continued.

---
    After that lunch, Clarke started visiting Lexa’s apartment more often.

    At first, it was unplanned—stopping by after long shifts, too exhausted to go home but not ready to be alone. The next time it happened, she would nap for a few hours, then head over, sometimes with coffee, sometimes just with the intention of existing in the same space as Lexa.

    It became a routine.

    Lexa would be at her desk, typing away on her laptop, while Clarke sketched quietly on the couch. Some days, they barely spoke—just enjoying the comfortable silence. Other times, they’d talk for hours, swapping stories, gossiping about Raven and Anya, or laughing at whatever nonsense Echo and Octavia had gotten up to.

    Lexa never said it out loud, but she enjoyed Clarke’s presence more than she let on.

    And Clarke—despite herself—was starting to realize that she liked being around Lexa.

    But she still thought it was one-sided.

    There was no way someone like Lexa—gorgeous, confident, effortlessly cool Lexa—would be interested in someone like her. Clarke worked odd hours, barely had time to take care of herself, and had long since convinced herself that romance wasn’t in the cards for her.

    Lexa flirted, sure, but that was just how she was. Right?

    Right.

    At least, that’s what Clarke kept telling herself.

    One afternoon, before Clarke’s upcoming 48-hour shift that started in the early evening, she found herself sprawled out on Lexa’s couch, making herself entirely too comfortable.

    She had meant to get up twenty minutes ago, but the couch was so soft, and Lexa’s apartment was so quiet and warm.

    Lexa, sitting at her desk, was supposed to be writing.

    Instead, she found herself watching Clarke.

    The way Clarke’s blonde hair fell over her face, the slow rise and fall of her breathing, the way she curled into herself like she belonged there.

    Lexa swallowed, suddenly aware of just how fond she had become of these little moments.

    And then Clarke stirred, stretching lazily before blinking over at her.

    Lexa quickly looked away, clearing her throat.

    Clarke smirked sleepily. “Caught you staring, Woods.”

    Lexa rolled her eyes, forcing herself to focus back on her screen. “Go back to sleep, Doctor Griffin.”

    Clarke chuckled but didn’t argue, closing her eyes again.

    Lexa let herself glance at her one last time—just a flicker of a moment.

    She really was in trouble.

    ---
    The sky was bright when Clarke dragged herself to Lexa’s apartment.

    She had finished a brutal 48-hour shift around 2 AM, managed to sleep for a few hours at home, and now—at 9 AM sharp—she was here.

    She told herself it was just because Lexa made really good coffee.

    Not because Lexa was quickly becoming her favorite person to be around.

    Not because Lexa’s apartment was quiet and comfortable, making it way too easy to relax there.

    Definitely not because Lexa always looked annoyingly good in the mornings, hair still slightly tousled from sleep.

    Nope. None of that.

    She rang the bell, Anya was the one who let her in. She caught a hurried 'come on in, Griff, Lexa had just woke up,'  before hurrying to turn off the stove, the kettle whistling as the water boiled. 

    She managed to pull out fresh breads and bagles she bought on her way over from the paperbag at the kitchen table. But despite her best efforts to stay awake and waited for Lexa, the second she sank into Lexa’s couch, she was out cold.

    Lexa, hair still tousled, had just finished making coffee when she turned around to greet Clarke and thank her for the bagel, found the doctor completely passed out, sprawled over the cushions like she lived there.

    For a moment, Lexa just stood there, coffee mug in hand, watching the way Clarke’s face softened in sleep.

    She looked peaceful.

    And something about that made Lexa… soft.

    She barely noticed the small, stupid smile tugging at her lips.

    Unfortunately for her, Anya did.

    “Wow. You’re down bad.”

    Lexa jerked like she’d been electrocuted. “What?”

    Anya leaned against the counter, arms crossed, smirking like a devil.

    “You were staring at her like you’re about to write poetry about her eyelashes.”

    Lexa scowled, turning back to her coffee. “I was not.”

    “Oh, you so were.”

    Lexa rolled her eyes. “Don’t you have something better to do?”

    Anya shrugged. “Not really. Watching you suffer is my new favorite hobby.”

    Lexa exhaled deeply, grabbed her coffee, and walked away without another word.

    But as she passed Clarke, she let her eyes linger for a fraction of a second longer than necessary.

    Yeah. She was in trouble.

---

    Somehow, Clarke ended up spending the whole night at The Noble Stag.

    She had just stopped by for a drink after work, but one thing led to another, and suddenly, she was caught in a game of dangerously sensual banter with Lexa.

    It started out simple.

    “You always this charming, Woods?” Clarke teased, resting her chin on her hand.

    Lexa’s lips curled into something slow and knowing. “Only for the ones worth my time.”

    Clarke let out a soft huff of amusement, tapping a finger against her glass. “And how exactly do you measure worth?”

    Lexa leaned in, voice lowering just enough to make Clarke’s pulse jump.

    “Some people are worth a lingering glance…” Lexa’s green eyes flicked over Clarke’s face deliberately before meeting her gaze again. “Some? A teasing smile. A fleeting touch.”

    Clarke swallowed. “And?”

    Lexa tilted her head, considering. Then, voice smooth as silk, she added, “But there are a rare few who make you want to break all your rules.”

    Clarke’s breath hitched.

    She blamed it on the whiskey.

    Not Lexa’s voice.

    Or Lexa’s eyes.

    Or the way her words felt like a slow drag of heat along Clarke’s spine.

    Nope. Definitely the whiskey.

    But Clarke wasn’t about to back down.

    She raised an eyebrow, taking a slow sip of her drink before responding, voice just as teasing, just as dangerous.

    “Sounds like a lot of effort. What happens when you do break the rules?”

    Lexa’s gaze flickered down to Clarke’s lips before meeting her eyes again, her smirk deepening. “Why don’t you stick around and find out?”

    Fuck.

    Clarke was definitely not drunk enough for this.

    Her heart was pounding, her body betraying her.

    But she refused to give Lexa the satisfaction.

    So, with a smirk of her own, she leaned in just slightly, pretending to inspect her drink. “Tempting offer. But I don’t know… I’d hate to make you break those precious rules of yours.”

    Lexa’s chuckle was low, knowing, utterly unfair. “I think you’d enjoy it.”

    Double fuck.

    Before Clarke could think of a clever comeback, Lexa excused herself to the breakroom—a little too flustered but hiding it well.

    And Raven and Octavia wasted no time pouncing.

    “What the hell was that?” Octavia demanded, arms crossed.

    Clarke blinked, confused. “What?”

    Raven groaned, rubbing her temples like Clarke was some kind of lost cause. “For a doctor with a perfect GPA, you are really dumb sometimes.”

    Clarke gasped, offended. “Excuse you! What did I do?”

    Octavia sighed. “More like what you didn’t do.”

    Clarke still looked hopelessly clueless, so Raven threw up her hands. “You were basically undressing her with your eyes!”

    Clarke choked on her drink. “I was not!”

    “Oh, you so were.”

    “I—I was just—”

    Their conversation was cut short when Lexa returned.

    And of course, because life was unfair, she looked completely put together again, her signature confident smirk firmly back in place.

    Clarke, still slightly flustered, glared at her halfheartedly, “That smirk is really annoying, you know that?”

    Lexa raised an eyebrow, leaning on the bar far too casually. “And yet, you keep staring at it.”

    Clarke huffed. “Ugh. Infuriating.”

    Lexa just chuckled, refilling Clarke’s drink with an infuriating amount of grace.

    Octavia and Raven shared a look.

    Clarke was so hopeless.

---

    Clarke Griffin was drunk.

    Again.

    And it was all Lexa’s fault.

    Okay, technically, it was Clarke’s fault for ordering four glasses of whiskey, despite swearing off whiskey after her last disastrous drinking session.

    But to be fair, it was Lexa serving her, and something about the way Lexa poured her drinks made Clarke’s brain short-circuit.

    Turned out, Lexa had been watering down Clarke’s whiskey the entire time.

    Clarke—who usually got tipsy after two glasses—had now reached her fourth, blissfully unaware that she should have been completely wasted by now.

    Lexa had strategically kept her from reaching the embarrassing drunk phase, but she hadn’t anticipated this.

    Because right now, Clarke was not a blushing, flustered mess.

    No.

    The succubus incarnate had finally awakened. Again.

    And Lexa was not prepared.

---

    It started subtly.

    Clarke, swirling her glass, watching Lexa far too intently.

    Then came the slow, knowing smirk.

    The slight lean forward. Showing just the right amount of cleavage.

    Lexa felt the shift instantly.

    The usual playful teasing was gone.

    This? This was dangerous territory.

    And Clarke knew exactly what she was doing.
  
    Lexa Woods prided herself on keeping her composure.

    She had survived  negotiations, high-stakes business deals, and ruthless competitors in the world of high-end bartending and event management.

    But nothing—nothing—had prepared her for Drunk Clarke Griffin in a low-cut black dress and a leather jacket, fully aware of her power and using it mercilessly.

    Lexa was already doomed the second Clarke walked in.

    The dress hugged her perfectly, the neckline a masterpiece of sin, revealing just enough to tease but not enough to be inappropriate. The leather jacket added an effortless edge, and the way Clarke carried herself—completely at ease, dangerous, confident—made Lexa feel like she had been lured into a game she didn’t even realize had started.

    Then came the whiskey.

    Clarke, who had sworn off whiskey but kept ordering it because Lexa was the one serving her drinks.

    And now, on her fourth glass, she was fully unleashed.

    Clarke rested an elbow on the bar, swirling her drink, her fingers trailing along the rim with deliberate slowness.

    She watched Lexa with an expression that was dangerous, a mix of amusement and something entirely too seductive.

    Lexa could feel it—that shift in the air, the moment Clarke decided to take full control.

    “You know, Woods,” Clarke’s voice was low, smooth, laced with something that sent a shiver down Lexa’s spine. “I’ve been watching you work all night.”

    Lexa arched a brow, recovering quickly. “Have you?”

    Clarke hummed, her gaze flicking downward for a split second, just enough to be suggestive before meeting Lexa’s eyes again.

    “Mm-hmm. I have to say, it’s kind of unfair.”

    Lexa’s fingers tightened slightly around the glass she was polishing. “Unfair?”

    Clarke leaned in, just enough that Lexa caught a faint hint of vanilla and whiskey, and her voice dropped.

    “The way you handle those bottles, the way your hands move—so precise, so confident. You make it look effortless. And yet...” Clarke tilted her head, watching Lexa with an almost lazy satisfaction.

    “Yet what?” Lexa asked, and immediately regretted it.

    Because Clarke’s smirk widened, and her free hand traced the rim of her glass, her fingers moving in slow, deliberate circles.

    “Yet I can’t help but wonder...” Clarke’s gaze dragged over Lexa’s hands, purposefully slow, like she was committing every detail to memory. “If you’re that good behind the bar, just imagine what you could do with something far more delicate...”

    Lexa forgot how to breathe.

    Raven let out a low whistle, nudging Octavia. “Holy shit, she’s on full swing!"

    Octavia grinned. “She’s gonna kill Lexa. Right here, in her own bar.”

    Even Anya, who had never once been impressed by someone flirting with her little sister, looked mildly entertained.

    Lexa, however, was fighting for her goddamn life.

    She forced a smirk, gripping the bar for stability. “You should be careful, Clarke. You’re playing a dangerous game.”

    Clarke tilted her head, blue eyes shining with mischief.

    “Am I?” she murmured, then leaned in even closer, her lips a breath away from Lexa’s ear.

    “Or am I just finally making you sweat?”

    Lexa swore she blacked out for a second.

   The raspy voice of Clarke, further enhanced by the whiskey had lit the fire under Lexa's skin.
  
    Her entire body went still, her usual quick wit completely failing her.

    Clarke smirked.

    Victory.

    The bar was silent, everyone waiting to see if Lexa would recover.

    Lexa opened her mouth—and nothing came out.

    Raven cheered. “Oh my god, she actually broke her!”

    Octavia cackled, clapping Anya on the back. “This is the best night of my life.”

    Anya smirked, raising her glass. “Didn’t think it was possible, but here we are.”

    Clarke grinned, looking completely satisfied.

    Then, just as Lexa finally started to recover, Clarke took another sip of her drink, set it down—

    And promptly passed out on the bar, out cold, the same smug grin still on her face.

    Lexa exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down her face.
    
    "What the fuck just happened?" She groaned, her neck and ears flushed.
 
   Raven laughed so hard she almost fell off her stool.

    “Well, at least she went out on top.”