The Noble Stag

    Clarke walked into The Noble Stag with a mission.

    She had spent the past week strategizing. She had reviewed the data, confirmed her results, and reached an undeniable conclusion: Lexa had been flirting with her all this time.

    And Clarke? Clarke Griffin had been a disaster-level idiot.

    But tonight, that was going to change.

    Except…

    The moment she stepped inside, her entire brain short-circuited.

    Lexa was behind the bar, sleeves rolled up, vest perfectly fitted, black tie loose around her neck.

    And some gorgeous woman was openly flirting with her.

    Clarke’s entire body locked up.

    The woman—tall, elegant, smiling way too much—was leaning over the bar, fingers trailing down Lexa’s forearm.

    Lexa, ever the professional, was calm, composed, effortlessly polite.

    But Clarke saw it.

    The slight tension in her jaw.

    The way her eyes flickered toward the entrance the second Clarke walked in.

    The way she didn’t lean into the woman’s touch.

    Still, Clarke’s blood boiled.

    She barely heard Raven greet her from their usual booth. Her feet moved on their own.

    Before she could think better of it, she was at the bar.

    Lexa looked up.

    And smirked.

    Clarke's brain.exe stopped functioning.

    "Dr. Griffin," Lexa drawled, leaning onto the bar in that obnoxiously smooth way. "What can I get for you tonight?"

    Clarke forgot how to breathe.

    The woman beside Lexa raised an eyebrow, glancing between them.

    Clarke forced herself to speak, clearing her throat. "Whiskey. Neat."

    Lexa’s smirk deepened. "Feeling bold tonight, are we?"

    Clarke fought the urge to cover her face.
She had come here to flirt.

    To prove she could match Lexa’s game.

    Instead, she was standing here like a dumbass while some other woman was touching Lexa’s arm.

    Nope.

    Absolutely not.

    So Clarke—desperate to reclaim some ground—leaned onto the bar, mirroring Lexa’s posture.

    "Oh, I’m always bold, Woods," she said, forcing a smirk of her own. "You just haven’t seen my full range yet."

    Lexa’s brows lifted.

    Oh. Oh, that was not a good idea.

    Because now Lexa was looking at her like she was a challenge.

    Like she was something worth breaking apart piece by piece.

    Clarke’s stomach flipped.

    "Is that so?" Lexa mused, pouring the whiskey.

    Clarke nodded, pretending her pulse wasn’t going haywire.

    Lexa placed the glass in front of her, leaning in just enough to invade her space.

    Clarke held her ground.

    Lexa’s green eyes sparkled.

    "You might want to be careful, Clarke," she murmured. "You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into."

    And with that, she turned back to the other customer.

    Clarke nearly died on the spot.

---

    A week later, Clarke stumbled into The Noble Stag after a brutal shift at the hospital.

    Her scrubs were swapped for jeans and a hoodie, but the exhaustion still clung to her like a second skin.

    She made her way to the bar, rubbing her temples.

    Lexa’s voice, warm and teasing, met her ears.

    "Rough night?"

    Clarke sighed. "You have no idea."

    Lexa poured whiskey without her even asking.

    "Thanks," Clarke muttered, lifting the glass.

    She knew whiskey had an effect on her.

    A wilder effect.

    She should have gone for something weaker.

    But the day had been long, exhausting. And for once, she just wanted to unwind.

    And then—

    The whiskey kicked in.

    And Clarke… forgot her filter.

    The moment Lexa leaned over to grab something under the bar, Clarke’s mouth acted on its own.

    "That vest really does things for me."

    Lexa froze.

    Slowly, she straightened.

    Raven, who had just taken a sip of her beer, choked.

    Lexa blinked. "I’m sorry?"

    Clarke, now fully in whiskey-induced confidence mode, hummed. "I mean, it’s just unfair, really. You already look ridiculously good, but then you go ahead and roll up your sleeves? Throw in a black tie? It’s cruel, honestly."

    Lexa’s brain short-circuited.

    Raven, coughing through laughter, slammed the table. "I love whiskey-Clarke. This is my new favorite Clarke."

    Lexa, who had spent weeks effortlessly making Clarke flustered, was now malfunctioning.

    Clarke, emboldened, smirked.

    She twirled her empty glass between her fingers.

    "You know," she continued, tilting her head, "I think I finally get it now."

    Lexa swallowed. "Get what?"

    Clarke leaned in.

    The same way Lexa always did.

    And whispered, "You’ve been flirting with me this whole time, haven’t you?"

    Lexa's hand tensed around a bottle.

    Raven fist-pumped the air. "YES! She finally got there!"

    Lexa exhaled, composing herself.

    She turned to Clarke, her smirk slow, knowing.

    "Dr. Griffin," she murmured, voice smooth as velvet, "I have no idea what you’re talking about."

    Clarke hummed. "Bullshit."

    Lexa chuckled, pouring her another drink. "Maybe. But you’re going to have to try a lot harder if you want me to admit it."

    Clarke grinned, eyes alight with challenge.

    "Oh, don’t worry," she purred, taking a slow sip of whiskey.

    "I plan to."

----
    Clarke had a perfect plan.

    She was going to win.

    All she had to do was not get distracted by how ridiculously attractive Lexa looked in that vest and tie.

    …Which was already proving difficult.

    It had been a long-ass week.

    Clarke had been covering extra shifts for a colleague, and by the time Friday rolled around, she was exhausted.

    So, naturally, she went to the bar.

    Raven and Octavia tagged along, immediately sensing that Clarke needed some moral support.

    And by moral support, they meant encouraging her to go through with her increasingly absurd flirting strategies.

    Clarke had been picking up momentum in her war against Lexa.

    Tonight?

    Tonight she was going all in.

---

    "Two shots," Clarke said, sliding onto her usual barstool.

    Lexa gave her a look. Amused. Fond. A little dangerous.

    "Long shift again?"

    Clarke sighed dramatically. "A whole twelve hours of tiny patients throwing up on me, thank you for asking."
    
    Lexa smirked, shaking her head as she poured. "So, tequila?"

    "Tequila first. Then we'll see."

    Lexa raised a brow. "Brave."

    Raven and Octavia exchanged knowing grins.

    They knew exactly what Clarke was doing.

    And they were absolutely here for it.

    The first two rounds of tequila went down easy.

    Clarke felt the burn in her throat, the warmth spreading just enough to take the edge off her exhaustion.

    But it wasn’t until Anya swept in—right on cue—that things really started to escalate.

    Lexa had just turned away to handle a rowdy male customer, voice calm but sharp, her patience clearly wearing thin.

    Anya took one look at the scene and smirked.

    Then she grabbed a glass, poured Clarke a whiskey neat, and slid it across the bar.

    "Good luck," she murmured, eyes flicking toward Lexa.

    Clarke blinked. "What?"

    Anya tilted her head. "Oh, nothing."

    Clarke narrowed her eyes.

    Anya just grinned.

    And walked off before Clarke could question her further.

    From across the bar, Echo—who had the night off and was already three drinks in—walked toward Octavia.

    "You recording yet?" Octavia asked when the woman sat down beside her,

    Echo smirked, tapping her phone screen. "Obviously."

---

    By the time Lexa returned, Clarke had already emptied half of her second glass and was feeling the familiar, dangerous confidence that whiskey always brought her.

    Lexa set down the bar towel, rolling her shoulders. "Sorry about that. Some people don’t understand boundaries."

    Clarke hummed, eyes shamelessly trailing over the way Lexa’s vest stretched over her shoulders.

    "Well, that’s their loss," she murmured, "because I love boundaries. And how you handle them."

    Lexa stilled.

    Raven audibly choked on air.

    Octavia pressed her fist to her mouth, trying not to cackle.

    Lexa’s eyes narrowed, but the corners of her lips twitched. "Is that so?"

    Clarke grinned, twirling her glass in her hands. "Mhm. Very… commanding."

    Lexa tilted her head, watching her closely. "You sure you’re okay? You don’t usually drink whiskey this fast."

    Clarke shrugged. "Maybe I like how it makes me bold."

    Lexa smirked. "You don’t need whiskey for that, Griffin."

    Clarke licked her lips. "Oh? And why’s that?"

    Lexa leaned in slightly. "Because you’re already trouble."

    And that should have made Clarke back down.

    It should have.

    But Clarke was in too deep now.

    So instead, she smoothly reached up—eyes locked on Lexa’s—and twirled the end of Lexa’s tie around her finger.

    Lexa’s breath hitched.

    The bar went dead silent.

    And then—without breaking eye contact—Clarke tugged.

    Just enough to bring Lexa down to her eye level.

    Lexa’s hands landed on the bar, bracing herself.

    Clarke leaned in, voice dropping to a husky murmur.

    "I know what you're doing, darling," Clarke purred the words,

    "You seemed to think you knew how to push my button," Clarke said again, but when Lexa opened her mouth for her smart retort, Clarke shifted, just enough to close the gap between their faces,

    "Hu-uh, Woods, if you wanted to see me combust," she teased, her lips brushing just near Lexa’s ear, "this is how you do it."

    And then, in a whiskey-fueled surge of bravery—with Raven, Octavia, Anya, and Echo all watching in sheer disbelief—

    Clarke kissed her.

    It was deliberate. It was enough to send a shockwave through Lexa’s entire system.

    Lexa was stunned.

    Halfway broken.

    Not quite gone.

    But so, so close.

    And Echo got it all on video.

---
    Lexa Woods Was in Control.

    Always.

    It was her thing.

    She was composed, calm, unshakable—a fortress of self-discipline, even in the face of Clarke Griffin’s relentless charm.

    For weeks, Clarke had been flirting back, and Lexa had been enjoying the game—the teasing, the smirks, the stolen glances.

    She had the upper hand.

    Until tonight.

    Because tonight… Clarke was drinking whiskey.

    And Lexa was fucking doomed.

---
    Lexa had noticed the moment Clarke walked into the bar.
    
    It was impossible not to.

    Her hair was slightly tousled from a long shift, the dark circles under her eyes making her look more vulnerable, more undone, more effortlessly gorgeous than usual—

    And Lexa’s brain short-circuited immediately.

    Then Clarke ordered tequila shots. Fine. No problem.

"Tequila first. Then we'll see." 

    That was dangerous.

    Vague answer from Clarke was dangerous.

    Lexa nearly dropped the glass she was polishing when Clarke drank the first shot like it was normal water.

    Two shots of tequila

    Two shots. Alright, tequila was okay. Safe.

    Lexa’s stomach flipped as she poured the second shot, trying to casually slide Clarke’s drink across the bar like she wasn’t internally spiraling.

    Clarke didn’t usually drink shots unless she was feeling particularly bold. But not as bold as whiskey—induced Clarke.

    And bold Clarke Griffin was dangerous.

    Lexa’s first thought?

    Oh no.

    Her second thought?

    Keep it together, Woods. It’s just Clarke. Just tequila. You’re fine.

    Her third thought, when Clarke licked her lips and smirked at her from across the bar?

    I am absolutely not fucking fine.

---

    Lexa knew the exact moment the flirting war escalated.

    Because one second, she was handling an annoying male customer—distracted, irritated—

    And the next, she turned back to find Clarke watching her like a damn predator.

    Glass in hand. Whiskey neat, she noticed that dark liquor from the distance, halfway gone. Maybe not her first glass.

    Eyes dark.

    Lip caught between her teeth.

    Lexa stopped.

    Her brain bluescreened.

    Lexa set down the bar towel, rolling her shoulders. "Sorry about that. Some people don’t understand boundaries."
 
   Clarke hummed, eyes shamelessly trailing over the way Lexa’s vest stretched over her shoulders.

    "Well, that’s their loss," she murmured, "because I love boundaries. And how you handle them."

    Lexa stilled.

    Raven audibly choked on air.
 
   Octavia pressed her fist to her mouth, trying not to cackle.

    Lexa choked on absolutely nothing and  schooled her expression immediately.

    Lexa’s eyes narrowed, but the corners of her lips twitched. "Is that so?"

    Clarke grinned, slow. sweet. almost lazy, twirling her glass in her hands. "Mhm. Very… commanding."
 
   Lexa tilted her head, watching her closely. "You sure you’re okay? You don’t usually drink whiskey this fast."

    Clarke shrugged. "Maybe I like how it makes me bold."

    Lexa smirked. "You don’t need whiskey for that, Griffin."

    Clarke licked her lips. "Oh? And why’s that?"

    Lexa leaned in slightly. "Because you’re already trouble."

    Raven fucking cackled from somewhere behind Clarke.

    Clarke leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand, watching her.

    Lexa exhaled slowly through her nose.

    She was fine. She was still in control.

    She had survived weeks of Clarke’s terrible, adorable, increasingly effective flirting.

    She could handle this.

    Until Clarke reached for her tie.

    Lexa should have known better.

    She should have stepped back.

    But she didn’t.
    
    Because Clarke’s fingers brushed the end of her tie—

    And Lexa’s entire soul left her body.

    Her breath hitched before she could stop it.

    She gripped the bar for dear life.

    And Clarke?

    Clarke fucking smirked.

    And then she tugged.
    
    Lexa’s vision went dark for a full second.

    Her hands landed firmly on the bar, bracing herself as she was pulled down to Clarke’s level.

    Too close. Too close. Too close.

    Clarke’s breath was warm against her skin.

    Lexa was definitely not breathing.

    Clarke leaned in, voice dropping to a husky murmur.

        "I know what you're doing, darling," Clarke purred the words,

    "You seemed to think you knew how to push my button," Clarke said again, but when Lexa opened her mouth for her smart retort, Clarke shifted, just enough to close the gap between their faces,

    "Hu-uh, Woods, if you wanted to see me combust," she teased, her lips brushing just near Lexa’s ear, "this is how you do it."

    Lexa’s entire existence collapsed.

    Her thoughts? Gone.

    The girls at the bar? Absolutely watching this disaster unfold in real time.

    And then—as if Lexa wasn’t already barely hanging on—
  
  Clarke kissed her.

    Clarke. Fucking. Kissed. Her.

    It was not too long, not too quick either.

    But it was deliberate. Enough to knock the life out of her for a split second.

    Lexa felt the warmth of Clarke’s lips, soft and teasing, and it was like free-falling.

    Her entire body locked up.

    Her brain was screaming.

    WHAT THE FUCK, WHAT THE FUCK, WHAT THE FUCK—

    She barely managed to hold her composure.

    Her grip on the bar was pure white-knuckle restraint.

    And Clarke just sat back, looking ridiculously pleased with herself.

    Lexa’s lungs finally remembered how to function.

    She straightened slowly, rolling her shoulders, pretending she wasn’t absolutely, catastrophically panicking inside.
    
    "You’re drunk," she said, and it was almost impressive how even her voice sounded.

    Clarke grinned. "Mmhmm. What’s your excuse?"

    Lexa clenched her jaw.

    Raven whistled. "Damn. Woods, you okay over there?"

    Lexa ignored her.

    Instead, she exhaled, grabbing Clarke’s now empty whiskey glass and sliding it away.

    "That’s enough whiskey for you."

    Clarke pouted. "You’re no fun."

    Lexa absolutely did not look at her lips again.

    "I’m plenty of fun," she countered, her voice dangerously even.

    But Clarke had already won.

    Because Lexa knew the truth.

    She wasn’t in control anymore.

    Not even a little.