13
Time had a way of shifting around Lexa.
It started with routines. Simple ones, like Lexa’s weekly visits on Saturday night to Clarke's apartment. Their steady rhythm of spending time together felt natural, expected. Clarke wasn’t sure when it began changing—only that it did.
Somewhere along the way, their conversations stretched longer. Somewhere along the way, Clarke started reaching for Lexa’s hand without thinking. Somewhere along the way, their time together no longer had a fixed ending.
And Clarke didn’t mind.
She thrived in structure, in knowing what came next. But Lexa’s presence had woven itself seamlessly into her days. The predictability of Lexa—her quiet reliability, the way she understood Clarke without needing explanations—made it easy. Effortless.
Then, after Juno’s furball scare, something shifted again.
For the first time, Clarke felt clingy. Not in an overwhelming way, but in a way that made her want to hold onto Lexa longer, to anchor herself in her presence. That night, she had hugged Lexa tight—tighter than ever before. And Lexa, without hesitation, had hugged her back.
In the weeks that followed, their closeness grew. Mondays, Wednesdays, and Saturdays stretched past midnight, past early mornings, past the point where Clarke had to remind herself that Lexa didn’t technically live here.
At first, Clarke had been reluctant to ask for more time. The idea of being perceived as clingy made her stomach twist. But Lexa, without needing to be asked, simply stayed. And when it happened enough times, when "see you next time" turned into "stay until morning," Clarke realized she didn’t want to fight it.
She had some small meltdowns over these changes—because change, no matter how good, could still feel like stepping into an unknown void. But she weathered it. With Lexa. With her family. With Raven and Octavia teasing her relentlessly but being ready to ground her when she needed it.
Lexa, always understanding, somehow knew when Clarke was overwhelmed before Clarke even said a word. Sometimes, before the anxiety even fully settled in.
Now, two months after Juno’s dramatic furball incident, it was routine. Lexa spent Monday, Wednesday, and Saturday nights at Clarke’s apartment.
At first, Lexa slept on the couch.
Then Clarke, in a singular train of thought that felt completely logical at the time, had decided she wanted to watch Lexa sleep.
So she lifted a sleeping Lexa into her bedroom and gently placed her in bed.
Clarke had impulse control when it mattered. But when it came to certain thoughts—ones that latched onto her brain and didn’t let go—sometimes, she just… acted. And that was one of those neurodivergent quirks Raven liked to point out.
That morning, Lexa had woken up to Clarke watching her. Sleepy-eyed, freshly awake, gaze soft and intent. As if mapping every freckle, every fine line on Lexa’s face.
Lexa had swallowed hard, blinking up at her. “Morning.”
Clarke had simply hummed, staring a second too long before rolling away.
That moment had settled something between them. An unspoken understanding that whatever this was, whatever they were becoming, neither of them wanted to stop it.
Now,
Lexa was on her back in Clarke’s bed. Clarke hovered above her, hands braced on either side of Lexa’s head, eyes locked in an intense stare-down.
And this time, Clarke wasn’t just watching Lexa sleep.
She was trying something.
Lexa recognized the look—the hyper-focused determination Clarke got when she was experimenting, when she was figuring something out. But this time, instead of art or science or some obscure historical fact, Clarke was testing something else entirely.
Romance.
Damn Raven. And Octavia. And Anya. Those traitors had gleefully encouraged Clarke’s curiosity about intimacy, feeding her movie clips and articles on “romantic gestures” like it was a school project. And because Clarke took learning seriously, she had taken notes.
It all started with a hug.
Or more accurately, Clarke deciding—completely out of nowhere—to lift Lexa off the ground in the middle of the kitchen.
Lexa, who had been stirring a pot of soup, yelped in surprise as Clarke’s arms wrapped around her from behind, securing her in an unexpectedly strong grip before hoisting her up for a brief second.
"Clarke—!"
"Interesting," Clarke muttered, slowly setting her back down.
Lexa placed both hands on the counter, steadying herself. "What—?"
"You were flustered," Clarke noted, eyes sharp with analysis.
Lexa turned, exhaling. "I—yes. Because you picked me up."
Clarke hummed. "Noted."
Lexa groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I’m in danger."
Clarke patted her shoulder, entirely unrepentant.
And then she kissed Lexa’s cheek—casually, absentmindedly, like it was just another step in her experiment.
Lexa nearly knocked over the soup.
Clarke, once again, noted the reaction.
By the time dinner was finished, Lexa had endured more “research tests.”
Then, they were sitting on the couch, the documentary playing in the background, but Clarke had long since lost interest in the narration about deep-sea creatures.
Lexa was beside her, casually scrolling through something on her phone, when Clarke—without a word—reached out and took her hand.
Lexa barely had time to register the action before Clarke started tracing something against her palm with her fingertip.
The touch was featherlight, barely there, but it sent a shiver up Lexa’s spine.
Lexa swallowed, trying to keep her voice even. “What are you doing?”
“Testing something,” Clarke muttered, intensely focused.
Lexa glanced down, watching as Clarke’s fingertip skated along the curve of her palm, drawing a soft swirl, then a looping heart.
Lexa’s breath hitched.
Clarke, completely unaware of the effect she was having, hummed in consideration before switching to slow, deliberate circles.
Lexa tightened her jaw. “Clarke.”
“Hmm?” Clarke’s head tilted slightly, eyes still glued to their joined hands.
“You’re killing me.”
Clarke finally looked up, blinking. “Huh?”
Lexa huffed out a laugh, shaking her head. “Never mind.”
Clarke narrowed her eyes, analyzing. “Your pupils dilated.”
Lexa groaned. “Clarke—”
“You kept swallowing.”
Lexa tilted her head back against the couch, exhaling.
Clarke scribbled something down in her notepad. “Confirmed: Lexa is weak to hand touches.”
Lexa covered her face with her free hand, equal parts exasperated and fond.
Clarke grinned, still idly tracing along Lexa’s skin.
Lexa—utterly doomed, utterly in love— let her.
---
Later, as they cleaned up in the kitchen, Clarke suddenly gasped as if she had just made a major scientific breakthrough.
Lexa—who had been wiping down the counter—startled. “What?”
“I haven’t tried the hair tuck yet.”
Lexa blinked. “The what?”
Clarke turned to her, very serious. “You know. That thing in romance movies. Where the person gently tucks hair behind the other person’s ear, all slow and dramatic.”
Lexa paused, eyebrows raising slightly. “…Okay?”
Clarke stepped closer, eyes gleaming with determination.
Lexa—despite being a seasoned businesswoman and an architect who could handle high-pressure situations— felt her heart rate pick up.
Clarke slowly reached up, fingertips just barely brushing Lexa’s temple as she carefully moved a strand of hair behind her ear.
Lexa sucked in a sharp breath.
But Clarke—midway through the action—seemed to forget what she was doing and just… kept touching Lexa’s face.
Lexa’s breath stuttered.
Clarke’s thumb ghosted along Lexa’s cheekbone, then down to her jaw, as if she was still analyzing something.
Lexa felt every single nerve ending in her body short-circuit.
Clarke—completely unaware—murmured, “Your skin is really soft.”
Lexa opened her mouth, then closed it, having absolutely no idea what to say to that.
Then, suddenly—
“Clarke,” Lexa croaked. “You’re supposed to finish with a kiss.”
Clarke blinked. “Oh.”
A beat.
“Right.”
Lexa barely had time to breathe before Clarke leaned in and kissed her cheek, quick and light.
Then she stepped back, nodding to herself.
“Noted,” Clarke murmured, scribbling something down in her notepad.
Lexa—red-faced, flustered, and still reeling from the way Clarke’s fingers had lingered on her skin— let out a deep sigh.
She was so screwed.
The next time another experiment happened, they were in the living room again when Clarke suddenly stood up and walked to the other side of the room.
Lexa, curled up on the couch, looked at her in confusion. “Uh. What are you doing?”
Clarke inhaled deeply. “I’m going to try a romantic gaze.”
Lexa blinked. “…A what?”
“You know,” Clarke gestured vaguely. “That thing where people lock eyes across the room and it’s all intense and sexy.”
Lexa pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh.
Clarke straightened her posture, steeled herself, and turned to face Lexa.
And then—
She just.
Stared.
Lexa held her breath.
Clarke’s expression remained perfectly neutral.
Lexa waited.
And waited.
And waited.
“…Clarke.”
“Shh.”
Another ten seconds passed.
Lexa’s lips twitched. “Clarke—”
“I’m trying to be seductive,” Clarke muttered, still unblinking.
Lexa couldn’t help it anymore—she burst into laughter.
Clarke, deeply offended, huffed. “It’s hard!”
Lexa—wiping at her eyes, still laughing— nodded. “Yeah. Maybe let’s skip that one.”
Clarke crossed her arms, pouting. “I’ll get better at it.”
Lexa smiled, completely and utterly smitten. “I’m sure you will.”
And Lexa—helplessly endeared, hopelessly fond, and far too in love already—let more of those romantic experiments happen.
They eventually curled up on the couch, watching a movie about penguins.
Lexa was barely paying attention, too busy cataloging the way Clarke had tucked herself into her side, her head resting against Lexa’s shoulder.
And then—
"Did you know that penguins gift pebbles as a sign of affection?" Clarke mused.
Lexa blinked. "Uh. Yeah?"
Clarke nodded. "I like that. That’s romantic."
Lexa smiled. "Yeah, it is."
A beat of silence.
Then—
Clarke, completely serious, stated, "I would gift you a rock."
Lexa choked on air.
Clarke, mistaking her reaction for confusion, clarified, "A pretty one, obviously."
Lexa turned, staring.
Clarke, sensing the weight of her gaze, frowned slightly. "What?"
Lexa exhaled, letting her head fall back against the couch. "I think I’m falling in love with you."
Clarke hummed. "Noted."
So, now back to Lexa's current predicament, when Clarke finally spoke, it was with confidence.
“You know,” Clarke said, voice slow, deliberate, “if I had to choose between breathing and loving you, I’d use my last breath to tell you I love you.”
A pause.
A long pause.
Lexa blinked.
Clarke, utterly serious, stared down at her, waiting for the reaction she had predicted. The one she had read about. The one that was supposed to make Lexa melt into a puddle of lesbian yearning.
Instead—
Lexa burst into laughter.
Clarke frowned. “That was supposed to be swoon-worthy.”
Lexa was still laughing, eyes crinkling, chest shaking beneath Clarke’s weight. “I—Clarke—” She tried to compose herself, but the deadpan way Clarke had delivered the line, completely monotone and rehearsed, was too much. “You’re adorable.”
Clarke, unfazed, filed the reaction away for later analysis. Then, before she could think about it too much, she focused back on Lexa’s face.
Lexa, who was still grinning, cheeks rosy, lips soft and full—
Clarke inhaled sharply. The realization settled in her bones, warm and certain. Her eyes filled with something softer, something more certain.
She studied Lexa’s features like she was memorizing them, cataloging every freckle, every fine line, every little detail. And realized she was ready to kiss Lexa.
Her brain, of course, had to process it scientifically first. The logical part of her immediately reassured itself—Lexa was clean. She always brushed her teeth. It was, by all accounts, safe to exchange saliva.
And Clarke, because she couldn’t help herself, stated that fact outloud.
"I’ve done my research. And I’ve decided—"
She paused.
Lexa, breathless, waiting, wanting, swallowed. "Yeah?"
Clarke met her gaze. "I want to kiss you now."
Lexa’s breath hitched. She stopped smiling.
She understood what this meant.
This was a big step. And though they weren’t officially anything—Lexa was waiting for Clarke to define it—she wouldn’t rush her.
"Clarke," she said, softly. "You don’t have to—"
"I want to," Clarke interrupted, blunt as ever. "I know you always brush your teeth before bed. You don’t eat things that could make your breath bad before seeing me. You’re safe."
Lexa’s heart squeezed.
She understood what Clarke meant.
Kissing—real kissing—was big.
Clarke had rules, had boundaries, had things that made her anxious.
But here she was—choosing this, choosing Lexa.
So Lexa did what she always did. She let Clarke take the lead.
She nodded.
Clarke hesitated only for a second before leaning in, pressing their lips together in a kiss that was hesitant, tentative—but no less warm.
No less grounding.
No less right.
The first press of lips—soft, unsure, but so very Clarke—settled into something steady. Something real.
Lexa exhaled slowly against her lips, fingers twitching at her sides as she resisted the urge to pull Clarke in deeper. Because this was Clarke’s moment. Clarke’s pace.
When they pulled back, Clarke studied her again.
Eyes wide, cheeks pink, she exhaled.
"Hmm," Clarke mused, "That was nice."
Lexa laughed, breathless. "Yeah. It was."
Clarke nodded, determined. "Again."
Lexa—who had absolutely no objections whatsoever— barely had time to react before Clarke was kissing her again.
But this time, Lexa took a little initiative, her own little experiment; she tentatively swiped her tongue on Clarke's lips, asking for entry, and Clarke, hesitant at first, finding the meaning of that move, finally opened her mouth after recalling the facts about kissing in her memory (thank you, Raven!), granting Lexa entry into her mouth, tongue slowly licking Clarke's.
It was surprisingly nice, and when Lexa softly, tentatively, bit on Clarke's bottom lip, that an unbidden noise hummed on Clarke's throat. The artist felt lightheaded for some unknown reason, and she didn't dislike it.
Then, Lexa slowly stopped the deep kiss, giving tiny pecks on Clarke's lips. Knowing it could escalate into something overwhelming for Clarke if they went on much longer. Lexa knew, they will need more time before Clarke would initiate full-blown make-out session.
“Huh,” Clarke murmured, like she was cataloging a new discovery.
Lexa smiled. “Yeah?”
Clarke hummed. “Yeah.”
And then, as if it were the simplest thing in the world, Clarke laid her head on Lexa’s shoulder, sighing contentedly. Face hidden on the crook of Lexa's neck.
Lexa’s heart did a funny little stutter.
Because whatever this was—whatever they were becoming—Lexa knew one thing for certain.
She never wanted it to stop.
---
By the time the night stretched into the early hours of the morning, Lexa had endured an entire afternoon and evening of Clarke’s ridiculous, wonderful, painfully endearing experiments.
And she loved every second of it.
She loved how blunt, how honest, how determined Clarke was in her approach to romance.
She loved how Clarke didn’t hold back. How she leaned into her curiosity instead of shying away from the unknown.
She loved how—despite the teasing that would inevitably come from Raven, Octavia, and Clarke’s parents—Clarke was fully, completely invested in understanding this.
Understanding them.
So, when Clarke—already scribbling more notes into her notepad—paused to glance at Lexa with that little furrow of concentration, Lexa simply smiled.
"Are you... writing this down?"
Clarke simply said, "Of course."
Lexa chuckled at that.
Clarke, completely unrepentant, responded, "You’re a very good research subject."
Lexa then chuckled fondly, "You’re going to tell Raven, aren’t you?"
Clarke nodded. "And my parents. And Octavia. They’re good at helping me process big emotions."
A pause, and then—
“Lexa,” Clarke said, serious. “I really like you.”
Lexa’s heart skipped a beat.
She swallowed, then reached over, took Clarke’s notepad, and flipped to a blank page.
With a soft smile, she wrote:
Noted.
Clarke stared at the words, then looked up at her—eyes soft, cheeks pink, smile growing.
Lexa barely had time to prepare before Clarke was kissing her again.
And again.
And again.
And if Clarke spent the rest of the night into the morning testing exactly how many kisses it took to make Lexa breathless—
Well.
Lexa wasn’t complaining. She was more than happy to be studied.
Lexa stirred as the warmth of morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the room. She blinked slowly, her senses gradually coming to life—only to realize that she couldn’t move.
Because Clarke was on top of her.
The blonde’s face was tucked snugly against Lexa’s neck, her slow, steady breathing tickling Lexa’s skin. One of Clarke’s arms was draped firmly around Lexa’s waist, while her legs were tangled with Lexa’s under the blankets.
And she was… snoring.
Lexa let out a quiet, amused sigh, her lips twitching as she shifted just enough to glance at the clock on the nightstand.
It was early. Clarke’s alarm hadn’t gone off yet.
For a moment, Lexa just lay there, savoring the warmth of Clarke’s body, the softness of her hair against her skin, the way Clarke—even in sleep—seemed to hold onto her like she belonged there.
Then, very carefully, Lexa leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to Clarke’s forehead.
Clarke murmured something unintelligible, nuzzling deeper into Lexa’s neck, her grip tightening for a second before finally loosening again.
Lexa smiled, heart full, before she slowly began extracting herself from under Clarke.
It took some maneuvering—some delicate shifting, some strategic pillow placement—but eventually, Lexa succeeded.
Clarke, blissfully unaware, rolled onto her side and buried herself deeper into the blankets.
Lexa chuckled under her breath before slipping out of the bedroom, heading to freshen up and make breakfast.
---
In the kitchen, the coffee machine hummed softly as Lexa poured herself a latte and set aside a black coffee for Clarke.
She toasted some bread, setting it plain on Clarke’s plate—just the way she liked it—before making herself an omelette.
By the time she settled at the table, Clarke’s alarm sounded from the bedroom.
Lexa took a sip of her latte, waiting.
A few moments later, a very sleepy, barely-conscious Clarke shuffled out of the room.
She didn’t say anything—just walked straight into the bathroom, eyes barely open.
Lexa smirked, shaking her head.
A few minutes later, Clarke emerged, now damp-haired and somewhat more awake. She fed Juno, cleaned her litter box, washed her hands, and then—finally—slid into the chair across from Lexa.
Lexa was about to greet her when Clarke leaned over the table and kissed her, lingering and slow.
Lexa sighed into it, letting Clarke’s warmth sink into her bones.
When Clarke pulled back, she smiled sleepily. “Morning.”
Lexa gave her a shy smile, lips still tingling. “Morning.”
Clarke picked up her coffee, took a sip, paused.
Then, suddenly, her eyes widened—like she had just remembered something incredibly important.
Lexa frowned slightly. “What?”
Clarke set her coffee down, leaned forward, and—
Booped Lexa’s nose.
With her nose.
Lexa blinked.
Clarke grinned.
Lexa’s brain short-circuited.
“What—” Lexa barely got the word out before Clarke, very seriously, explained, “I forgot one of my experiments last night. Nose boops after a kiss.”
Lexa opened her mouth. Closed it.
Clarke took that as permission and—booped her nose again.
With that, Lexa was more awake than any coffee could ever make her.
Clarke, pleased with herself, picked up her notepad from the table and scribbled something down.
Lexa just stared at her, stunned, entirely helpless.
Clarke glanced up, smirking. “Noted?”
Lexa groaned, covering her face with one hand.
She was so doomed.
---
Lexa knew Sundays were Clarke’s family day. She had learned that quickly—the way Clarke always carved out time to visit her parents, the way she never made other plans until after she had spent the day with them.
So when Clarke started getting ready to leave, Lexa instinctively grabbed her own things, preparing to head out as well. She wasn’t expecting to be invited.
But then—
“Hey,” Clarke said suddenly, standing near the fridge. She looked casual, like she was just throwing the idea out there, but Lexa noticed the small tension in her shoulders. “You wanna come with me? Spend Sunday with me and my parents?”
Lexa froze.
Oh.
That was… big.
Meeting Clarke’s parents outside of a hospital setting. Meeting them as Clarke’s person.
Lexa knew Clarke had never brought anyone home before.
Not past partner. Not casual dates.
Only Raven, Octavia, and Juno.
Lexa swallowed, eyes widening slightly. Shock took over her entire system.
But Clarke… Clarke mistook her silence for hesitation.
Her brow furrowed slightly, lips pressing together as if bracing for rejection.
And Lexa saw it—that moment where Clarke’s mind started spiraling. That small flicker of self-doubt before it could grow into something bigger.
But Lexa had become an expert in Clarke’s microexpressions. So she shook off her shock immediately and smiled. Soft, genuine. Reassuring.
“I would love to,” Lexa said, stepping closer. “I was just surprised, that’s all.”
Clarke’s expression eased slightly.
“I just… I want you to meet them,” Clarke admitted. Her voice was quieter now, more open. “They’re wonderful, and I think they’d love to know you. Really know you. Not just as my mom’s patient.”
Lexa’s chest felt too full, too warm.
She reached out, gently brushing her fingers over Clarke’s wrist. “I’d love to meet the two people who raised you into this wonderful, beautiful, witty, and talented woman.”
Clarke blinked.
And then—
Clarke blushed.
Because Lexa had this way of saying things.
So straightforward. So genuine. No hidden meanings. No second-guessing.
Clarke felt something impulsive rise inside her.
Before Lexa could react, Clarke’s hands slid under Lexa’s thighs, gripping firmly, and lifted Lexa onto the kitchen counter.
Lexa let out a soft, startled breath, hands instinctively grabbing Clarke’s shoulders for balance.
Clarke, now standing between Lexa’s legs, tilted her head, studying her like she had just discovered something fascinating.
Lexa exhaled. “Is this another romantic experiment you forgot?”
Clarke blinked. “No.”
Lexa raised an eyebrow.
Clarke frowned in thought. “I never read about it. Rae, O, and Anya never mentioned this.”
Lexa huffed a quiet laugh. “Then what—”
Clarke’s gaze dropped.
Lexa followed her line of sight—down to the undone buttons of her shirt.
Lexa suddenly felt very aware of how her neckline dipped open slightly, exposing the bare skin of her collarbone and upper chest.
And then—
“Would you like a hickey from me?”
Lexa choked on her own breath.
Clarke was so innocent, so genuinely curious as she looked back up at Lexa, waiting for a response like she had just asked about adding sugar to coffee.
Lexa groaned, head tipping back against the cabinets. How was Clarke real?
And how was Lexa this doomed?
She couldn’t let Clarke win this one.
So, instead, Lexa held Clarke’s face, her move was soft and tentative, they were so close Lexa could feel Clarke's warm breaths.
Lexa didn’t rush. She never did.
She held Clarke’s gaze, waiting, giving her the space to process. The soft glow of the kitchen lamp cast warm shadows between them, turning the air heavy with something unspoken but understood.
Then, carefully, Lexa leaned in—not touching, not yet, just a breath away—watching.
Clarke didn’t flinch, didn’t retreat. Instead, she held her ground, blue eyes flickering down to Lexa’s lips, breath steady. That was all Lexa needed.
She closed the distance, lips meeting Clarke’s in a kiss that was slow, deep, but patient. Testing. Letting Clarke feel it, absorb it.
And Clarke did.
She kissed back without hesitation, matching Lexa’s rhythm, leaning into the warmth of it. It was a deep, slow, mind-melting kind of kiss. The kind that left Clarke dazed, blinking, lips parted.
When they finally broke apart, Clarke didn’t move away. She just studied Lexa—curious, thoughtful, as if analyzing the kiss itself.
Then, in a perfectly matter-of-fact tone, she said, "I’m comfortable touching you. Any form of touching. Kissing, being kissed by you—I love kissing you. I like you. A lot. So, I want you to just kiss me in the future. No need to wait for my permission. I trust you."
Lexa barely had time to blink. Clarke just said things like that—no hesitation, no pretense. Just plain honesty, like it wasn’t something that could make Lexa’s heart stumble in her chest.
Then Clarke tilted her head, considering something, before added, "But we can’t kiss while naked yet. That’s still too much."
Lexa exhaled a soft laugh, head falling forward to rest against Clarke’s shoulder. She felt Clarke stilled just for a second, to file this feeling in her memory for future analysis, before relaxing again, arms around Lexa's waist, comfortable in the closeness.
Lexa let out a quiet, breathless chuckle, voice muffled against Clarke’s neck. "You’re gonna ruin me, Clarke Griffin."
Clarke stayed still for a moment, then hummed in thought, like she was analyzing the weight of Lexa’s words, cataloging the breathlessness in her tone, the warmth pressed against her skin.
Then she grinned.
Because she’d made Lexa flustered.
Successfully.
And that? That was something she planned to do again.
Clarke was about to pull Lexa in for another kiss, when suddenly a small, fluffy grey weight landed on Lexa’s lap.
Lexa barely had time to react before she found herself face-to-face with Juno.
The cat sat perfectly still, staring up at her.
Judging.
Lexa blinked. “Uh—”
Juno narrowed her eyes.
Then let out a long, dramatic meow, her tiny paws pressing into Lexa’s thighs like she was claiming her spot.
Clarke, immediately grinned.
Lexa sighed, exasperated. “I take it you’re not a fan of me stealing your mom’s attention.”
Juno meowed again.
Clarke laughed, delighted. “She’s got a point. You’ve been hogging me all night.”
Lexa rolled her eyes, leaning back on her hands. “I think I have some tough competition.”
Juno, victorious, flicked her tail and settled down.
Clarke just smirked slightly. “You better bring your A-game.”
Lexa groaned, dropping her head against Clarke’s shoulder again.
Things were going to be interesting.
---
Lexa sat in the passenger seat, hands resting in her lap as she gazed out the window. Clarke’s childhood home was warm and inviting—a charming townhouse with a well-kept front yard and a driveway already occupied by a tall man waiting with an easy grin.
Lexa didn’t need to ask who he was.
The resemblance was undeniable—same striking features, same golden hair, same blue eyes, even the same expressive eyebrows that Clarke used to devastating effect whenever she was unimpressed by something.
Clarke parked smoothly, unbuckling before stepping out. Lexa reached for her door handle, but before she could move, Clarke had already come around, opening the passenger door for her.
Lexa blinked, stunned.
She was supposed to be the one doing that. Damn it. Clarke had stolen her role as the gentlewoman before she even had a chance.
Clarke, completely unaware of the internal crisis she had just triggered, leaned in slightly. "You coming?"
Lexa snapped out of it, swallowing down the warmth creeping up her neck as she stepped out.
Jake Griffin chuckled, his eyes twinkling as he took the cat carrier from Clarke. "There’s my girl."
The little feline remained asleep inside, oblivious to the way Lexa was standing up straighter under the weight of meeting the parents.
Clarke gave her dad a quick hug before turning to Lexa. "Lexa, this is my dad, Jake. Dad, this is Lexa."
Lexa held out a polite hand. "It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Griffin."
Jake took her hand but shook his head, grinning. "Jake. Just Jake."
Then, with a mischievous grin that was far too familiar, he added, "Ohhh, so you’re the Lexa who stole my girl’s hugs, huh?"
Lexa chuckled, immediately blushing. Clarke, however, merely stared at her father, unimpressed.
"You were supposed to let her eat her fill before grilling her, Dad. Don’t scare my potential future wife."
Lexa choked.
Jake blinked. Then burst into a loud, boisterous laugh.
Lexa had no idea if Clarke was joking.
But judging by the way Abby Griffin was already standing at the front door, clearly amused, Lexa had a feeling this was just the beginning.
Before she could recover, Jake clapped a firm hand on her back and steered her inside. "Well then, let’s fill you up before we get to the interrogation."
Lexa swallowed.
She wasn’t sure if he was joking either.
And judging by the way Clarke was already casually writing something down in her notepad, Lexa was very scared of whatever ‘report’ Clarke was about to present later.
---
Lexa sat beside Clarke at the breakfast table, positioned on Clarke’s right. It had become a quiet habit of Clarke’s—whenever they sat together, whether eating, watching TV, or just existing in the same space, her right hand would find Lexa’s left.
She would trace slow circles over Lexa’s knuckles, gently tap against her fingers, or, like now, idly play with her thumb as she spoke animatedly with Abby about some fact she had learned recently.
Lexa, ever composed, had grown used to it, finding the small act grounding—though she had not noticed Abby and Jake exchanging knowing grins across the table.
Everything was going smoothly until—
"Oh! Did you know I’ve learned a fantastic kissing technique from Lexa?"
Lexa choked.
She barely had time to grab her napkin before coughing violently, eyes wide in horror.
Across from them, Jake froze, his fork halfway to his mouth. Then, as if a switch had flipped, he threw his head back, laughing loudly, while Abby grinned proudly.
Lexa, mortified, turned to Clarke, squeezing her hand tightly under the table. "Clarke," she stammered, voice strangled.
Clarke simply tilted her head, looking at her curiously. "You’re as red as a boiled shrimp."
Abby and Jake lost it. Full-blown belly laughs filled the kitchen as Lexa groaned, hiding her burning face against Clarke’s shoulder.
"Clarke," Lexa muttered, muffled against Clarke’s shirt. "You are not supposed to say that during meals. Someone could die of choking."
It finally clicked for Clarke—Lexa wasn’t upset. She wasn’t uncomfortable. She was flustered.
And Clarke grinned.
Triumphant.
She had done the impossible—she had made Lexa Woods, CEO, esteemed architect, and picture of composure, turn into a stammering, blushing mess.
Again.
Clarke turned to her parents, beaming, then, with zero hesitation, pressed a quick kiss to Lexa’s hair. Abby just shook her head fondly, while Jake grinned, looking far too entertained.
And then—because Clarke had never learned restraint in her life—she decided to go one step further.
"Alright, I’ve decided," she announced.
Lexa lifted her head warily.
"Lexa is not my potential future wife." Clarke smirked. "She is my future wife."
Jake’s grin widened, eyes glistening with happiness. But he also never missed a chance to tease.
"So, Lexa," he said, leaning in playfully, phone already recording this moment, because he couldn't help himself, it was Clarke's first and only time bringing new person into their lives.
"What are your intentions for our bright and wonderful daughter?"
Lexa, still recovering from everything, glanced at Clarke—who, despite her bravado, was now looking at her with expectation, curiosity, and something soft lingering in her expression.
And Lexa, damn her impulsive side when it came to Clarke, didn’t even hesitate.
"I see myself waking up to Clarke’s cuddles every morning," she said, voice steady despite the warmth creeping up her face. "I want to build a future with her—whatever shape that takes, whenever she’s ready. I’ll be there."
The kitchen went silent.
And then—
Abby burst into happy tears.
Jake, grinning ear to ear, his phone steady in his hands.
Clarke, utterly stunned, blinked at Lexa. Then, blunt as ever—
"Did you just propose to me? Without asking me to be your girlfriend first, and doing the second and third base?" Clarke stated matter-of-factly.
Lexa opened her mouth—then closed it.
Jake laughed so hard he had to grip the table. "I got it on film! You can’t back out now, Lexa."
Lexa groaned, covering her face with one hand—but despite her exasperation, her smile was radiant when she looked back at Clarke.
"God, Clarke," she breathed, shaking her head. "I don’t know why I’m impulsive when I’m around you, but I like it. I like you. Let's talk about that girlfriend and second and third bases thing later, yeah?" Lexa said fondly, she struggled to decide whether to curse or thanked Raven, Octavia, and Anya for teaching these things to Clarke.
And Clarke—well, her smile could have powered all of Arkadia.
The table erupted in cheers as Clarke leaned in and kissed Lexa—long, deep, stealing the breath from her lungs.
When she finally pulled back, that devastatingly smug grin of hers was firmly in place.
Lexa exhaled sharply. "That was not fair."
And then, to Clarke’s absolute delight, Lexa grabbed her fork and stuffed a ridiculously large bite of pancake into her mouth to physically stop herself from saying anything else.
Jake cackled. Clarke, grinning like she had just won a lifetime achievement award, held up her hand for a high five.
Jake met it without hesitation.
---
Abby brew the green tea as Clarke sat at the kitchen island, notebook in hand. It was not a sketchbook, as one might expect—it was, in fact, a report.
"Alright," Abby said, amused, as she scanned the neatly written pages. "You actually wrote a detailed analysis of romantic gestures?"
Clarke, completely serious, nodded. "You said I needed to learn how to be more emotionally aware in relationships. So I made observations."
Abby’s heart swelled with pride as Clarke began clinically explaining her actions—how she would touch Lexa’s hand in different ways, how Lexa reacted, the way Lexa’s posture subtly changed when she was at ease, and how Clarke had experimented with different affectionate gestures to see which ones made Lexa the most comfortable.
"Lexa is naturally more composed, but when I touch her fingers absentmindedly, she relaxes faster. That’s why I keep doing it," Clarke explained matter-of-factly.
Abby grinned. "And?"
Clarke tilted her head, confused.
"And how does it make you feel, honey?"
Clarke blinked, then hesitated. "Safe."
That single word told Abby everything. Clarke had never been the type to openly express vulnerability. But here she was, learning—growing. Abby reached across the counter, waiting for Clarke to take her hand, and squeezed gently.
"You’ve done a wonderful job navigating your emotions, Clarke. I’m really proud of you."
Clarke looked down at their hands, lips curving into a small smile. "Thanks, Mom."
And then—because Abby was still a doctor first—she switched gears.
"Speaking of relationships," she said, "since things are progressing between you and Lexa, I think it’s time we talk about safe sexual practices."
Clarke choked on air.
"Mom—"
Abby, entirely unfazed, continued. "It’s important, Clarke. If or when you and Lexa decide to take that step, I want you to be prepared. So let’s go over it properly—"
And so began The Talk—Abby, ever the professional, going into full detail about protection, emotional readiness, and how to do it right. Clarke, face burning, did not complain because—damn it—Lexa was important.
And if Abby happened to enjoy watching her daughter squirm just a little, well. That was a mother’s right.
---
Lexa sipped her coffee, savoring the late morning air, while Jake sat beside her, leaning back against the porch railing.
"So," Jake started, "Clarke said you’re gonna be her future wife."
Lexa groaned. "Are we really doing this?"
"Oh, absolutely," Jake said, his grin downright mischievous.
Then he hit her with a string of terrible dad jokes—“You know, if you marry Clarke, you’re gonna have to deal with an artist’s temperament. Hope you can draw some patience.”
Lexa sighed. "Jake."
"And if you break her heart, well, she might just paint you as the villain."
Lexa rubbed her temples. "Jake, please."
"But don’t worry, I canvas the situation, and you seem like a keeper."
Lexa put her head in her hands.
Jake laughed but then, just as suddenly, his tone shifted.
"Lexa."
Lexa looked up. Jake was no longer joking. Instead, he leaned forward, serious but warm.
"I’m not here to give you the whole ‘hurt my daughter and I’ll bury you’ speech," he said. "Because I know you won’t. I see the way Clarke is with you. And more importantly, I see the way you are with her."
Lexa stilled.
"You bring something out in Clarke that no one else ever has," Jake continued. "You understand her. You respect her pace. You take your time with her. And that’s all I’ve ever wanted—for her to find someone who meets her where she’s at and grows with her."
Before Lexa could fully process it, Jake reached over and hugged her. Warm. Solid. A silent thank you.
Lexa’s throat tightened. She hadn’t expected this.
And then, she spoke. "I was married once."
Jake pulled back, listening.
Lexa took a breath. "Her name was Costia. My first love, first everything. But we were too young. We never learned how to be ourselves without each other, so when life got difficult—when my company was just starting and I almost lost everything—we fell apart. She left, and I didn't stop her."
Jake frowned, nodding.
"I learned then," Lexa continued, "that love isn’t just about feeling connected. It’s about choosing each other, even when things get hard. And I promised myself I’d never rush into something without truly understanding what it meant."
She exhaled, glancing at the sky.
"And then I met Clarke."
A small, almost wistful smile crossed her lips.
"Clarke—who says what she thinks out loud, who is too honest sometimes, to the point where I worry the world might be cruel to her for it. Clarke—who struggles with change, but still decided to take a leap with me anyway. She chose to relearn how to navigate life, to embrace something new. And I—I just fell. Slowly. Effortlessly."
Lexa exhaled, staring at the horizon as she gathered her thoughts. The weight of Jake’s words still settled deep in her chest, warm and steady, like the embrace he’d given her just moments ago.
"So really," Lexa murmured, voice quieter now, "I should be the one thanking you and Abby."
Jake tilted his head, curious.
Lexa turned to him, eyes thoughtful. "For raising Clarke into the woman she is today."
She let the words settle between them, let herself feel the truth of them.
"She’s brilliant, resilient. The way she sees the world, the way she fights for what matters to her—even when it’s hard, even when it means unlearning things she’s always known—it’s extraordinary." Lexa exhaled. "She’s extraordinary."
Jake’s face softened, the teasing glint in his eyes giving way to something deeper, something proud.
"You know, I’ve always believed Clarke had it in her," he said, voice warm. "She just needed the right person to see it too."
Lexa shook her head slightly. "She didn’t need me to see it. She’s always been this way. I’m just—" she exhaled a quiet laugh, "—lucky enough to be by her side."
Jake smiled—that wide, familiar grin that made it so clear where Clarke got it from.
"Lexa, you don’t need to thank me," he said. "But if you insist—" he grinned, "—I will accept good drinks in the future."
Lexa huffed a laugh.
Then Jake clapped her on the shoulder, adopting a mock-serious expression. "Alright, Woods. That earns you double brownie points. But just so you know—" he narrowed his eyes in playful warning, "I am still watching you."
Lexa smirked. "Duly noted."
And that was when Clarke and Abby stepped out onto the back porch—Clarke with arms crossed, eyebrow raised, though the small twitch of her lips betrayed her amusement.
"Heard everything," Clarke said.
Lexa groaned, burying her face in her hands.
Jake cackled. "Oh, you two are too much fun."
Clarke rolled her eyes fondly and walked up behind Lexa, pressing a hand against her back.
"You okay, future wife?" Clarke teased.
Lexa exhaled deeply. "Your father and I had a moment, Clarke. And now it is ruined."
Jake grinned. "You love us, Woods. Admit it."
Lexa, still red from earlier, muttered under her breath, "Absolutely not."
Clarke, meanwhile, grinned—the same smug, beautiful smile that always made Lexa’s heart stumble.
Abby shook her head fondly.
And despite everything—despite how utterly ridiculous this entire family was—Lexa realized she didn’t mind it one bit.