Chapter Text
“Clarke, no.” It’s not the first time you’ve said it this evening. At the rate this whole thing was going it probably wouldn’t be your last, or it very well could be when she’s giving you those puppy dog eyes like you’re her last hope. You were always a sucker for puppy dog eyes. No. You were always a sucker for Clarke. You know that your resolve is wavering and yet, here you are, continuing to argue in vain, knowing full well that you’ll eventually give in to the feminine wiles of Clarke Griffin but still trying to get yourself to believe that you won’t.
“Come on, Lexa. I need you.” She pleads. You’re going to give in. The whole thing is a stupid idea. It’s such a stupid idea but if she keeps saying things like that, in her stupidly husky bedroom voice, you don’t have a chance.
“Why can't you just ask Monty?” She looks about ready to outright laugh in your face and the glint in her eye tells you she’s wondering if you’ve officially lost your mind. You might ask her the same thing.
“He exudes gayness and it's his anniversary with Miller anyway. Plus, its needs to be a girl so I don't have to deal with the whole ‘oh so you finally stopped with the semi gay phase’ thing.”
“People have actually said that?”
“Yes.” You want to imagine it was in her youth that she experienced such comments, but the bitterness of her tone, coupled with the exaggerated eye roll tells you that Clarke deals with such a thing more often than not. Probably from douchebags like that ex-boyfriend of hers that you always get told so much about from Raven.
“What about Octavia?” You question hopefully. Honestly it’s your last ditch attempt to get yourself out of this whole thing. Octavia loved pulling pranks and such; this would be no problem for her. Plus, she and Clarke have been friends since they were kids so she knew all she needed to know about the pleading girl before you.
It made perfect sense.
“You know she's already going with Raven, and everyone there knows they've been in love with each other since Raven moved to town when she was six.” Apparently, it did not make perfect sense. You were going to regret this.
“Why me?” She opens her mouth but abruptly shuts it again when you wordlessly lift your hand for her to stop. It never usually works. That is to say, that it never usually works on Clarke – everyone else you can easily glare into silence but she has always been different. Clarke has always been special. “I want five solid reasons why it has to be me.” She doesn’t hesitate before opening her mouth again.
“Fine. One, your face is plastered all over my social media. Two, you’re totally my type so it would be completely believable. Three and four, I’m your best friend and you love me.” You go to protest before she mimics your previous action and you snap your jaw shut. “Yes, those count as two separate points. Fight me, Woods. And five, you can't deny you won't find it a little fun to screw with these small minded people whilst being plied with free alcohol. That’s technically six.” She says with an air of finality.
Your mind is still stuck on reason two. Reason two in which Clarke said you were her type, totally her type. You, Lexa Woods, were Clarke Griffin’s type and you were going to do something irrevocably stupid because she was your type in that she was beautiful, and funny, and snorted when she laughed too hard, and was called Clarke.
“You make an impressive case.” Her face lights up as she attempts a nonchalant shrug and completely fails.
“I've been practising in front of my mirror.”
“Fine.” You agree begrudgingly with a small laugh. She throws herself into your arms within the next second and you don’t hesitate in the slightest to wrap your arms around her waist. You pull her in tighter as she mumbles thanks into the skin of your neck. You wonder if she can feel the heat rising to your cheeks. You wonder if she can feel your pulse hammering against her lips. You wonder if she knows that you’re hopelessly in love with her and have been since the first week of college when she spilled coffee all over you and hastily started to essentially feel you up with flimsy paper towels.
You’re in love with your best friend.
You’re going to her high school reunion as her girlfriend.
Oh, and the family reunion that her mother decided would be a great idea to hold the same week.
Why do you do these things to yourself?
“This is a terrible idea.”
“I’m acutely aware of that, Raven. I’m also acutely aware of how terrible an idea it was that you agreed when Octavia asked you to-“
“We said we’d never speak of that again.” She interrupts and you can’t stop the laugh that escapes you as she surveys your surroundings like someone will have overheard you, despite the two of you being comfortably situated in your apartment.
“The point being that I tried a million excuses but she’d planned for every single one of them and then some.” Raven looks at you sympathetically as you groan and drop your head to the back of the sofa. The wine in your hand definitely isn’t strong enough for you to forget how stupid this is. You think you definitely need some whiskey just to convince yourself to actually board the plane tomorrow.
“Did she wear that blue blouse, the one that she never seems to do enough of the buttons up on?” You’re intimately familiar with said shirt. It’s a shirt you believe was purposefully designed with Clarke in mind. It’s somehow the exact right shade that it perfectly complements her eyes and then there’s the girl inside the shirt that always leaves one too many buttons undone, giving everyone the perfect view of her cleavage.
Good God that girl’s cleavage.
“And those jeans she bought two weeks ago.” You reply and Raven’s immediate response is to place a comforting hand on your knee as she takes a long slow sip from her wine glass and hums.
“Griffin had you screwed before she even opened her mouth.”
“Do you think she knows?” You ask because you have to.
“Don’t worry, Lex. The Griffin’s just have a knack for charming people into submission, which you should probably start preparing yourself for.” You weren’t ready for this. You’d met her parents before of course. You can’t be friends with someone for so long and have avoided their parents unless you were really trying hard to and you like Jake and Abby. You’re pretty sure they like you to. But this is different. This isn’t meet my friend, this is meet my girlfriend and there’ll be cousins and grandparents.
You’re going to have to look an old lady in the eye and pretend you’re dating her granddaughter.
This was such a bad idea.
You hate flying.
You can think of very few things you hate more than flying. You should’ve just taken the plunge and driven cross country because you could power through traffic, and road rage, and newly passed idiots, but sitting in a flying metal death trap for any amount of time didn’t sit right with you.
You vaguely note soft digits slowly prying your fingers from their death grip on the arm rest before a hand takes it place. You watch Clarke intently as she gently moves your joint hands and lifts the barrier between you so that she can snuggle closer to your side.
You remember how to breathe again.
You have no air to complete the action.
“I still think it’s weird that you’re scared of flying, but when we went camping and almost got mauled by a bear, you didn’t even flinch.” Honestly the bear had terrified you. Snapping twigs roused you from your slumber and you found a scared Clarke tightly tucked into your grasp as rapid breaths skirted round your neck. You put on a brave face and made use of that ridiculous survival book Raven had jokingly made you read before you all went on the trip. Clarke was scared. You didn’t have the option to be.
“The probability of dying in a plane crash is far higher than being mauled by a bear.”
“Didn’t make the bear any less terrifying in my book.” She states and you have to agree. It was an outrageously big bear.
“I’m well aware of how scared you were, Clarke. You almost peed yourself.” You laugh and she jokingly tries to snatch her hand back but you tighten your grip before the warmth of her palm can leave your own. The only reason you managed to make a joke is because she’s by your side.
“I’ll tell you what else is weird.” You hum for her to continue because you need this. You need the lulling inclination of her tone and the soft pulse in her wrist beating in tandem with your own. You once found it an odd notion that you needed Clarke. The realisation didn’t come in some great moment, or in a time of any great turmoil, no, you realised you needed Clarke one morning when you found Lucky Charms that you certainly hadn’t bought in your kitchen, and a jumper that definitely wasn’t yours covering your body. You realised you needed Clarke as you ate a bowl of sugar and cuddled into the warmth of an Arkadia High School sweatshirt because even the idea of her made your day better.
“What else is weird?” You push when you realise she’s foregone replying to instead inspect each inch of your hand in the same way she eyes the forest before grabbing a pen and paper - like it deserves to be replicated in a hundred different ways, by a hundred different men, until every living soul has seen some piece of its beauty. The intensity makes your breath catch. She always makes your breath catch.
“What’s weird is that you’re scared to be in the air in an enclosed vehicle that is operated by trained professionals, but you’re totally happy to scale the side of a building just to beat the professor because you don’t want a tardy on your record.” You groan and she revels in it with a laugh. She’s never let you forget that and you’ll admit you’re still oddly proud of the deed.
Pike had always hated you for some stupid reason or another, and you just knew any issues were going to be blown out of proportion, so you had become the perfect student. That is until one day when you had broken your alarm clock and then shown up to class late. In the moment that he caught your eye, smirked and walked triumphantly into the building, you had made a decision – that decision being that you were going to scale the side of said building and enter the class through the window. Clarke ad opened it and you were in your seat when Pike walked in frowning at your presence. The security guard laughed as he gave you a warning not to do it again. Raven had shirts made with the photo someone had taken of the event.
“I swear reminding me of that story is your favourite thing.”
“It’s definitely up there. It’s the kind of rebellious act that makes me wonder what sordid past you’re hiding from me.” She jokes and your mouth curves into a mischievous grin.
“I haven’t told you a lot of things.” She gasps as she half heartedly slaps your arm.
“Well you better start, babe, have to make this seem real. I tell you what - you tell me a secret and I’ll tell you one.”
“Deal.” This could go one of two ways. One - you reveal something that she never lets you live down and subsequently becomes the main subject of her jokes for a solid week, or two - she reveals something that you never let her live down and subsequently becomes the main subject of your jokes for a solid week.
“Go ahead then, Lex, enlighten me.”
“I was both Prom and Homecoming Queen.” Her head lifts from its resting place on your shoulder as she looks up excitedly into your eyes. You knew this reaction was inevitable. It’s the kind of thing that you’ve managed to keep a secret for so long because no one would think to ask. No one would dare to imagine you as the Prom Queen, hell; you couldn’t even imagine it and you were there.
“Promise me that’s true.” Her eyes are shining and you crack your own smile in response to the giddiness evident on her features.
“Cross my heart.” You reply, watching her body crumble into yours with laughter as the words leave your mouth. “Should I be offended?” You remark when she comes up for air.
“Not at all, your highness. I actually always thought there was something regal about the way you held yourself and now I know why.” You roll your eyes. “Seriously though, you’re hot, I’d have voted for you.” She says it so flippantly, like thinking your attractive is nothing but an observation. It’s the same thing she always does and even after all this time you can’t figure out how it makes you feel. Should you be touched that she thinks you’re so beautiful that it should be nothing more than an obvious comment? Should you spend too much time worrying that it’s the same as objectively saying your sister is pretty when you evidently don’t want to enter a relationship with her?
You definitely spend a lot of time thinking with the latter mindset.
You definitely spend a lot of time thinking of reasons why Clarke couldn’t possibly want to be with you.
“Shut up, Clarke, like you weren’t Prom Queen too.” She concedes to your point with a wordless shrug. “It’s your turn by the way; don’t think you’re getting away with it.”
“I hate flying too.”
“What?” You ask confused.
“Flying scares the hell out of me.” She reiterates and you’re stumped. Clarke never failed to comfort you on flights. Clarke was the only reason you ever dared to get on planes half of the time (the other half being a result of your extreme stubbornness and refusal to look afraid in front of strangers).
“Why didn’t you say anything?” You question and you can feel the shrug of her shoulders against your chest as you wrap your arm around her body, pulling her in closer despite the clunking of seatbelts and the uncomfortable chair digging into your back.
“I liked being able to comfort you for once.” She admits quietly and your heart skips unsteadily.
“Maybe we can just comfort each other.”
“Sounds good. Your turn.” She mumbles sleepily. You deliberate as you feel her breathing evening out.
“I’m in love with you.” You confess into the silence.
Your only reply is a muffled snore.
“Stop looking so scared. My parents love you.” She drops her hand from where it was poised to knock on the wood of her childhood home as she catches your eye. Your glad you insisted on carrying both of your bags because its hiding the shake in your bones perfectly and you need all you can get right now.
“That’s before they thought we were having sex.” She rolls her eyes.
“They don’t think we’re having sex.” You scoff.
“Clarke, you told them we’ve been dating for six months, there’s no way you’d have resisted all this for that long.” Her head shakes challengingly as she steps into your space. Her chest bumps into yours with every breath she takes. Her nose brushes against yours with the final shake of her head and all you can do is swallow thickly as her gaze drops to your lips before holding your own once again.
“Oh please, it would definitely be you thirsting after me.” That... is quite true considering current evidence. She doesn’t shift following her words. Neither do you. You count the seconds you remain an inch away from her lips in the heartbeats that you skip.
One.
Two.
Three.
“I disagree. I put my money on a mutual thirst.” The two of you jump apart as Raven and Octavia appear beside you with matching grins. You note that Raven’s looks more knowing than roguish, but let it go the moment the door to Clarke’s house swings open and you find Jake Griffin on the other side.
“I know you haven’t been home since Christmas but you still have to knock to let us know you’re here.” The man quips as his daughter beams up at him with her signature cheeky grin.
“Au contraire, mon père because we certainly didn’t knock and yet here you are.” A similar grin spreads across Jake’s face as he pulls Clarke into a tight hug before addressing the group.
“Didn’t want to scar Mrs. Green next door with what looked like it was about to go down on this porch.” You blush when he winks at you because he’s not wrong. Not entirely. You know that if Clarke had made the move, you would have forgotten where you were in an instant, and announced your presence by knocking her body against the door with your own. Clarke, however, just groans at her father before shoving him aside and leading the three of you inside.
“Come on, Lex. We can go put our stuff in my room. Raven, O, you know where the food is.” The two girls shuffle off and you follow Clarke to do the same, before you note the clearing of a throat behind you, and find Abby watching the two of you with a smirk.
“Mrs. Griffin,” her eyebrow cocks and you correct yourself. “Abby, good to see you again.” She smiles as she pulls you into a small hug, holding you at arm’s length when she pulls back as she seemingly inspects you. You stand up straighter at the realisation and nervously flick your gaze over to Clarke, who gives you an encouraging smile, and runs her fingers subtly across the back of your hand. You relax noticeably at the contact, much to Abby’s apparent amusement as she lets you go.
“Good to see you too, Lexa, and as much as we’re glad the two of you finally realised what was right in front of you, we can’t allow you to room together during your stay.”
“Okay, mom.” Clarke laughs as she grabs your hand and attempts to exit once again. Clearly she hasn’t taken note of the look of Abby’s face like you have. She is entirely serious about this.
“I’m not kidding, Clarke.”
“Seriously guys, what do you think we’re gonna do?” The raise of Jake’s eyebrows and the perfected you know exactly what we think look from Abby is enough for Clarke to lift her hand in a stop motion before either of them can even think to speak. “Don’t answer that. Why have the two of you suddenly decided this?”
“It’s a family reunion, meaning your grandmother and her very strong beliefs about sex before marriage.” You’d probably happily let the ground swallow you up. You’re not a prude. You can listen to talk about sex. You can talk about sex yourself. It’s just that talking about sex with Clarke makes you think about sex with Clarke and you could really do with those particular thoughts not running wild whilst you’re standing in front of her parents. They could probably see it in your eyes. They could probably feel it in the nervous shuffle of your feet.
“Why does no one believe that we can keep it in our pants?” Clarke all but growls and you can’t help but laugh at the sheer annoyance written on her face as she drops it to rest on your chest. It’s second nature for you to wrap your arms around her and place a light kiss to her head. It’s something you’ve been doing for a while now because it seems to be the only way to make Clarke relax.
You did it for the first time after she’d had a giant freak out about how she didn’t know what to paint but needed to complete another piece in two days to round out her show. She had stomped around her apartment for five minutes, moaning about anything and everything, and how she’d never draw again until you had pulled her into your arms and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.
Her painting was finished only hours later.
“Probably all the eye sex you guys have from across the room.” Raven comments casually as she returns with a smirk. You have no idea why, of all people, you decided that confiding in her was the best idea (probably because she was actually helpful and supportive when not being an arrogant asshole but never mind that).
“Shut up, Raven.” You return because Clarke seems in no rush to leave her hiding spot in your arms.
“Just tell me where I’m going so I can drop this one off to hide in her bedroom for a little while.” You say and watch as Jake smiles fondly at the stubborn girl tucked tightly into your embrace.
“You’ll be staying in the first room on the right at the top of the stairs.” You nod at Abby’s words as you sling yours and Clarke’s bags onto your shoulder, keeping an arm around her. You don’t really think anything at all of the act until you see her parents watching the two of you with soft eyes. “We really are glad that the two of you finally got together. All the dancing around one another was getting a bit ridiculous.” You simply smile and ignore Octavia’s comment about not having to witness it every day as you disappear upstairs.
You don’t expect the sharp tug from Clarke that draws you into her room as you try to part ways, but you don’t fight it, even as the two of you collapse onto her bed.
“Sorry they’re so awkward.” She offers as she flings a leg over yours and wraps her arm around your waist. Being with Clarke is easy. Loving Clarke is easy. Loving Clarke is also the hardest thing you’ve ever done because it’s so easy.
“They’re fine.”
“I told you we were completely believable.” You allow yourself to chuckle despite the tightening of your chest.
Maybe Clarke was right.
Maybe this would all be fine.
It is not all fine.
You feel like you’re living the Spanish Inquisition – which is to say that from the moment Clarke’s extended family had crossed the threshold of her house they had all immediately hoarded over to the two of you.
You get maybe a little too much satisfaction from the fact that Clarke is suffering right alongside you the whole time (the first question that was asked by anyone being “so are you fully gay now then?” which kind of made you want to punch her cousin in the face but the girl in question had just groaned and pushed him over so you let it go).
Honestly, they probably could have said way worse to you and gotten no response because you were too caught up in the fact that she hadn’t left your side all night. She wasn’t just present, her hands skimmed your waist and her fingers brushed completely non-existent crumbs from your lips. You caught her watching them as you spoke more than once, but then someone would clear their throat, and you were quickly reminded where you were, what you were doing, why Clarke was acting the way she was.
You wanted it to be real.
More than anything you wanted it to be real.
“Lexie,” a small voice sounds to your right as a small hand slips into your own and tugs. You drop your gaze to find, probably your favourite person in the room, besides a certain blonde - mostly because he’s all of six and gazes at you like you personally put the stars in the sky. Winning over Wells had honestly been the easiest thing you’d done all evening. All it took was some well placed Star Wars jokes and an ability to kick a soccer ball and he was putty in your hands. He was also a fantastic excuse for not having to talk to prying adults about your relationship with Clarke, and your future, and that one weird hippie relative who started asking about your sex life (that was definitely your least favourite encounter).
“Hey, buddy.” You crouch down and his grin widens.
“We’re playing charades and Clarkie said we could be a team but I wanted to check with you first because Clarkie says you should always check first.” You don’t even think before you nod in response to his question. He hugs you the moment he realises you’re saying yes and you catch Clarke’s eye over his shoulder as she takes a moment to smile adoringly at the two of you before being interrupted by her parents.
You want it to be real.
More than anything you want it to be real. Especially when she kisses your cheek and thanks you for playing with Wells. Even more so when there are no seats left and she wordlessly plants herself in your lap like its nothing.
You really want it to be something.
You obliterate everyone at charades. You expected to do relatively well, what with you spending far too much time thinking about Clarke and thus having a weird affinity for understanding her crap. You hadn’t really thought about how well she would know you in return (even your awkward embarrassed hand flinging had somehow made enough sense for her to guess what you were talking about). At one point you simply blushed at the words on the paper and Clarke guessed the answer.
Wells had happily sat beside the two of you, proud in his victory and claiming that you had to be a team every game. You weren’t going to complain when he pulled you in for a team hug, which somehow had him attempting to pull you down to his height, and only really succeeded in firmly planting your head in Clarke’s breasts.
Clarke’s breasts AKA the reason you were still awake at a ridiculous hour listening to the thunderstorm raging outside because all you could think about was Clarke, Clarke, Clarke-
“Lexa.” You don’t even have to turn to the door to know that it’s Clarke timidly standing in the doorway. Part of you had been awaiting her arrival since the wind began to howl and the rain’s hammering became incessant against your window pane. When you eventually turn you find her lingering in the doorway as though she actually believes they’ll be a chance you’ll say no to the question she’s silently asking. You silently respond by shifting back across the bed and lifting the covers for her to get in.
Her timid smile turns to a grin as she rushes across the room into your cocoon of warmth. She continues curling her body backwards until your front is firmly pressed against her back, your lips skirting across her neck. Her shaking stops the moment you wrap an arm around her middle. Your shaking starts the moment she interlocks your fingers. She sighs happily when you tighten your grip and smiles softly over her shoulder for a moment before it morphs into something more devilish and you feel her feet against your legs. Her freezing, freezing cold feet.
You yelp a little bit.
She laughs a lot.
“You know what, if this is the payment I get.” You sigh dramatically and begin to extract your arm in your escape. She turns before you can even manage to fully split your bodies apart and you swallow harshly as her nose brushes your own. Your heart stutters at the curious catch of her breath as exactly what she’s just done hits her - if she questioned it at all it certainly doesn’t show as she catches your arm and slips it back around her waist.
“Don’t even joke about that.” She mumbles as she tangles your legs together. You’re struggling to remember where you end and she begins. You’re struggling to remember whose breath is in your lungs. You’re struggling to remember why you shouldn’t just lean forward that last inch and claim her lips, though, when her eyes trip along your face like they’re on a journey of their own for answers, you remember it’s because you want her to claim yours.
You want her to want you. You want her to consume you until you are nothing but the pure unadulterated light that she spreads through your veins, because you didn’t fall in love with Clarke Griffin, you charged, head first, into the abyss of your heart and handed the beating traitor to her knowing full well how it could end.
You were an idiot in that sense.
“Go to sleep, Clarke. I won’t let the big bad storm get you.” You pull her closer and she mumbles her thanks into your neck. You’re not sure how she finds salvation in a stuttering pulse and trembling hands but she falls asleep within minutes nonetheless.
You’re definitely an idiot.
You wake up... hot.
Truthfully you’re not even sure how the two of you ended up in the position you’re in. You’re not even sure how neither one of you woke up during the night, uncomfortable with the fact that she was basically entirely on top of you. You imagine you weren’t a very good mattress substitute and on your behalf, well, you weren’t completely sure how you hadn’t been previously focused on Clarke’s thigh between your legs (like really between your legs).
It takes all of one shift from her and a barely concealed moan from you for you to begin your extraction. Somehow you slip out from beneath her and to the saving grace of the bathroom. You can still feel her hands caressing the slither of skin your ruffled shirt exposed - barely there and yet all encompassing. You can still feel her lips grazing your jaw, parting slightly with each new breath.
You can still feel her.
You’re so gay.
You revel in the cold spray of the shower as you try everything in your power to think of something, literally anything, other than Clarke writhing, panting, moaning...
You lose yourself in the rush of water and the regular pounding of droplets against your skin. You’ve successfully distracted yourself with washing your body and reciting all fifty states over and over again when the door slams open and Clarke tumbles through hastily, jumping into the shower with you without warning.
“Clarke!” You exclaim because she’s in the shower. The very shower that you happen to be in. The shower that you happen to be very naked in and have literally nothing to properly shield such nakedness from her.
“Lex, I...” She trails off as she struggles to maintain eye contact.
“Clarke.” You repeat and her eyes snap back up to yours as crimson blooms on pale skin.
“My grandma was looking for me and I thought it would be suspicious if I was in your bedroom, what with the whole premarital sex thing, and then I panicked a little too much and got in here.”
“You’re getting wet.” You mumble as you watch the fabric of her shirt darken with each new drop of water. You don’t even contemplate the second meaning of your words until you watch her throat bob harshly and her legs shift uncertainly. You know you’re attractive. You know that people find you attractive because you’ve used it to your advantage every now and again. You know that Clarke has herself called you attractive; you just hadn’t actually seen any real proof of that. Until now.
“Lexa.” She steps forward so minutely that you’re not even sure she knows she’s done it. You step back enough that cool tiles collide with the warming skin of your back. You watch her hand shift towards the skin of your waist with her next step and you know that goose bumps have erupted on your skin at the thought of it actually touching you.
The thought of her actually touching you.
“Clarke.” You warn and her hand drops in an instant as she stumbles out the way she came and disappears wordlessly into the bedroom. You know you won’t find her there when you leave. You know she’ll probably avoid you for as long as physically possible because you’ll be doing the same. You know you need the shower to be way colder than scientifically possible to cool you down this time.
“Like naked naked?” Raven asks with a grin. You really hope you don’t live to regret confiding in her, but you kind of needed to tell someone, and you can’t exactly tell your best friend because she was the one reaching for your naked body.
“Nothing but skin and bubbles.” You confirm with a nod and watch her excitedly process the new information.
“What did she do?”
“She just kinda stared and then she reached a little.”
“She reached for your naked body? This is gold. Imma need you to jump that girl, like yesterday, so I can get on to mocking her thirst.” This was probably the part when you were going to regret this whole thing, despite the fact that you definitely want to laugh at the childlike wonder on her face at the exciting turn of events.
“She's not thirsty.” You defend to the sight of Raven’s cocked brow.
“Lex, she reached for boob.” You roll your eyes.
“I never said that's where she reached.”
“Lower?” She wiggles her brows suggestively and you can’t help the chuckle that slips from your lips. You don’t know how you’d actually ended up with Raven on your side in this whole ordeal, it probably had something to do with the fact that she was technically the reason you ever met Clarke in the first place, seeing as she tripped into Clarke, who tripped into you. You forgave her for being the reason your lap was scolded with boiling hot coffee the moment you looked into blue eyes and were reminded why you always had a particular fondness of the sky.
“Raven, stop.” You insist and she groans.
“I'll stop when you get a backbone around that girl.” She offers.
“What if she turns me down? What if this is just a physical thing for her?”
“She won't - you're a catch. Plus she was totally jealous of that Costia girl that pined after you for months so there are definitely feelings.” You won’t deny that Clarke had seemed cold to Costia when they’d met at your firms Christmas party. She’d spent a lot of time mumbling under her breath and searching out alcohol whenever the other girl came over. In response you’d spent a lot of time making food puns and pulling faces at Clarke whenever your co-workers weren’t looking.
“I just-“ Raven interrupts by throwing a suit jacket and pants at you.
“No. No more excuses. Put on that banging suit, pretend to be her girlfriend at this stupid reunion and then tell her you want to be her actual girlfriend and take off said suit to bang her.”
“I can do this.” You jump up abruptly in an attempt to pump yourself up.
“You bet your sweet ass you can, Commander.” She slaps your ass and you point an accusatory finger at her as she tries to look innocent.
“You said you'd stop with that.”
“I also said I never had a sex dream about you but we both know that was a lie.” Rolling your eyes around Raven is second nature at this point in your life. As is the sigh that escapes your lungs at her joke (well, half joke, you both actually do know that it was a lie).
“Sometimes I wonder why you're my friend.” You quip and she pulls you into a hug.
“I'm great.” She jokes.
“You are pretty great.” You admit as you wrap your arms around her in return.
“Don't waste all your honesty on me.” She pushes out of your arms and gestures towards the clothes in your hands.
“Okay. Okay. I'm putting it on.” You can do this. You can woman up, put on this damn suit and tell Clarke Griffin that you, Lexa Woods, were hopelessly and irrevocably in love with her and then you could kiss her.
You can do this.
You can so do this.
You cannot do this.
You’re honestly falling apart.
First Clarke had walked down the stairs in some ridiculously hot red dress that was hugging her tighter than you had the night before. It seemed like one of those stupid teen movies, like she was walking down the stairs in slow mo with fans blowing her hair and some ridiculous soundtrack playing in the background. You were clearly going insane. You started choking the moment Clarke winked at you. Octavia found far too much pleasure in smacking your back as she quietly basked in your misfortune with small giggles.
When Clarke finally reached the bottom you were too preoccupied with the way her hands ran down the lapels of your jacket, smoothing out nonexistent creases, that you thoughtlessly pressed a lingering kiss to her cheek and told her she was beautiful.
Strike one.
Then, the moment you had walked into her old high school, Clarke had been subjected to ridiculous questioning from some prissy bitch about wasting her life doing art and the dreaded sexuality questions that Clarke had immediately shot you a look about. She was definitely right about how often people questioned it.
You’d like to call your response to all aforementioned questions a verbal clothesline because you weren’t going to let people walk over Clarke, despite knowing full well she could handle herself. You maybe let slip how much Clarke’s pieces were currently selling for, and maybe dropped some names for good measure alongside some particularly colourful innuendos just to cement your place at her side. You didn’t let go of her hand until she decided she needed a drink and skipped off to the bar with a far brighter smile than the one she’d entered with.
Strike two.
Strike three was about to come in the form of Finn Collins. You would like it stated for the entire world that Finn Collins is a complete and utter douche canoe, and that his ‘charming smile’ was nothing but a sleazy grin, and you could easily punch it from his face. Easily. You would also like it stated that it’s not your best idea. Considering the situation, it isn’t your worst either, but you shouldn’t do it. You really shouldn’t do it but you’re annoyed, and irrationally jealous, and clearly not thinking straight.
Strike three is you watching Clarke shift uncomfortably as he accosts her at the bar. Strike three is her flinching when he reaches towards her. Strike three is you being an amazing fake girlfriend and complete and utter idiot. Strike three is you striding across the room and kissing Clarke before you can even tell yourself that it’s a bad idea, before you can warn yourself of the inevitable consequences.
Kissing Clarke is like having someone punch a hole in your chest. Kissing Clarke is like breathing for the very first time. Kissing Clarke is like waking up and realising you still had two more hours of sleep left. Kissing Clarke is like colours. Kissing Clarke is like flowers. Kissing Clarke is far better than you ever possibly could have imagined - which is the exact excuse you’ll use when you try to explain why, what was meant to be a simple peck, resulted in you knowing that Clarke’s tongue tasted like cherries and vodka, that the skin on her jaw was only rivalled in softness by that of the nape of her neck, that she hummed into kisses like she was trying to ingrain her very essence into your bones.
You pull back abruptly and find her chasing your mouth before you run and she chases all of you. You don’t stop when Finn makes some snide comment and Clarke flips him off. You don’t stop when you hear Raven calling your name. You don’t stop when Octavia grips at your wrist and tells you to stop being an idiot. You don’t stop when you yourself question the insanity of the situation. You don’t stop when the chill in the airs nips at your skin and reminds you that you left your jacket inside. You don’t stop.
“You can’t kiss a girl like that and then walk out.” She shouts. You stop.
“I shouldn’t have kissed you.” You reply without turning. You can’t look at her. You can’t look at her knowing you’ll see the smudges of her lipstick that you created, knowing you’ll feel the ghost of her dishevelled hair slipping between your fingers, knowing that all you’ll want to do is kiss her again.
“Why not?” Her voice sounds closer than before but you stand your ground.
“Because now it’s all I’ll think about. Because now I’m going to have to look at you everyday knowing what it’s like to kiss you and never be able to do it again. Because I’m ridiculously in love with you and I thought the last few years had been hard but that kiss damn near killed me.”
“Lexa-“ She catches your wrist before you can even think of walking away again.
“I didn’t mean to tell you like this.” You admit as she intertwines your fingers. For once you know that she can feel the way they tremble against her skin. That she knows the irregular thrum of your pulse is because of her.
“How did you mean to tell me?” She asks softly and you chuckle darkly.
“Probably right before one of us went on a business trip so I wouldn’t have to deal with it for a few days.” She joins in on your laugh as her head falls heavily against your back. You want to turn around. You want to see the look on Clarke’s face because it was always so expressive. The way her nose would crinkle when she was cold or embarrassed. The clench of her jaw when she was annoyed or angry or jealous. The perfect roll of her eyes which was entirely self explanatory and oddly perfectly executed. You want to turn and you don’t. You don’t want to find her sympathetic half smile mocking you. You don’t want to have to finally admit that there’s no chance she feels the same.
“I’m glad you didn’t,” she begins and you risk the turn as she continues, “because then I couldn’t tell you that I love you too. That I started falling in love with you the moment I watched you steal the RA’s entire pot of Red Vines and pin it on Jasper down the hall.” You remember being annoyed by your snobby RA on the first day of college and subsequently deciding the best course of action would be to steal the candy she left on her ridiculous suggestions table. You remember being incredibly proud of yourself. Red Vines had never tasted better. Except...
“We hadn’t even met then.” She shrugs self consciously.
“I know.”
“At least we’re both as bad as each other.” She smiles and you tug her closer, letting your lips hover over hers and basking in the perfect inevitability. “Can I kiss you again?” You ask and feel her grin graze your own.
“You’re asking permission now?” She quips and swallows any retort you may have conjured with her mouth. Not that you mind. You could kiss Clarke for the rest of your life, and considering the amount of time the two of you had already wasted, you just might.