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The whole thing is ridiculous. It’s honestly every cliché you’ve ever read, and yeah you enjoyed them, but you were still the first to mock them until it happened to you. Until you had been electrocuted in your lab and could suddenly hear everyone’s thoughts.
Everyone’s.
You could hear the old lady down the hall from you moaning about her daughter avoiding her calls, and the weather, and literally everything else ever (though there was a very high chance she was just saying those things aloud to her cats).
You could hear your creepy ass neighbour in 3C who spent an inordinate amount of time working out his girlfriends schedule so that he could ‘spontaneously’ appear to her all the time. The fact that she found it endearing was incredibly odd to you but whatever floats people’s boats these days.
You could hear your doorman working out how much money he needed to save to get his wife those new earrings he knew she wanted for Christmas. You maybe gave him an obscene bonus that year because he was adorable and somebody might as well get something out of this whole ordeal. You actually really needed something good to be the product of your apparent superpowers because you spent most of your time hearing creepy men’s thoughts and Raven’s subconscious leering at Octavia’s ass.
It was after a particularly enlightening view into the mechanic’s mind and a horrifying peek into your mother’s head that you vowed never to listen to someone’s thoughts again. You’d actually gotten really good at it, muting voices like a TV remote, clearing your mind until the only thing left was you. You barely even had to think about doing it anymore. It was finally beginning to seem like you were normal, like you could just ignore the whole I hear voices but actual voices not creepy voices thing.
Then you met her.
You’ll admit you’re not exactly proud of how it happens, but you were having a terrible morning and every little thing was getting on your nerves. Plus, what kind of asshole presses the door closed button on the elevator even as you catch their eye and shout for them to hold the door? A giant one is the answer.
You make it in. You’re not entirely sure what it is that compels you to push every single floor button on the pad. Except you are. It was the way she huffed and looked at her watch with an impatient foot tap - you didn’t have to read minds to know she was going to be late. So she was late and you were petty. You were also really regretting this whole thing because you still had ten floors to go before you could get off and blocking her thoughts out was getting more difficult by the second.
“You started it.” You say when she huffs at the elevators next stop. You had wondered why she hadn’t just gotten out and taken the stairs like five floors ago before you remembered they had been cordoned off for the day from some accident or another (apparently the health and safety in this place was terrible).
“I am... sorry. It’s my first day and I was a little nervous to be late.” She won’t look at you. She actually pointedly avoids looking at you, which is an impressive feat, considering the lack of places other than you in this tiny metal coffin for her to look at.
“Oh, God. I’m an asshole.”
An incredibly pretty asshole. You can feel a blush fighting its way up your neck as the words echo inside your head and she finally catches your eye. It’s the first time you look past your annoyance to realise that she’s actually ridiculously hot, like ridiculously hot. You’re not sure if it’s the intricate braids that expose the cutting jaw that catch you first, or the full lips that silently part with each breath. It could just as well be the colour of her eyes - a particular shade of green that you don’t think you could ever quite mimic with pencils or paint.
It could also very well be the small smile she sends your way that makes you feel a hundred times less of a dick about this whole thing.
“You’re not an asshole, though perhaps next time we find ourselves in an elevator you can refrain from assaulting the key pad?” You smile as you extend your pinky finger towards her and receive a quirked brow in response.
“I can’t promise anything but I’ll try.” A snort escapes her lips before she slaps her hand over her reddening face. You can’t believe you’d originally thought she was intimidating - she was undeniably adorable. “Maybe I could show you around the place? The first stop can be me apologising to your boss for doing this to you.”
“Seems like the least you could do.” She comments and it’s the glint in her eye that allows you to laugh at her joke. You definitely stare a moment too long but she’s not looking away either and you feel frozen in her impenetrable gaze. “This is my floor.” Accompanies the elevators next bing and you don’t know how she knows considering her eyes still haven’t left yours.
“Well then, I’d better go grovel.” You say and you have one foot out the door before you’re cut off by Raven who pushes you back inside.
“No so fast, Griffin, emergency meeting.”
“But-“
“No.” She states. You manage to mouth your apologies to the brunette before the doors close on her laughing face and you immediately turn to your friend.
“You couldn’t have pretended you couldn’t find me for ten minutes?”
“Got a crush on the newbie?” She mocks.
“Shut up, Reyes.” The laugh that sounds from her mouth is nothing like the one you’d basked in only moments ago and you’ll admit it - you maybe have a crush.
It’s two days later that you find elevator girl moving into the apartment next to yours. You’re suddenly incredibly thankful that you let Octavia design you a workout routine a few months back because it’s allowed you to achieve a sheen of sweat that looks less like you’re low-key dying, and more like you should have moonlight spilling onto your skin, and sheets pooling at your hips.
She’s staring like she’s forgotten how to blink.
You’re grinning like you’ve won the lottery.
“Hi, Ms. Woods, right? It’s Dr Griffin from Trikru labs AKA the elevator asshole.” She unceremoniously drops the box she’s holding on the floor as she sticks her hand out for you to shake like the two of you hadn’t met the other day. It’s both adorable and oddly charming as she stands there calmly awaiting your hand in her own. You grip her hand firmly, perhaps for a beat too long, but you don’t realise how long you’ve stood there no longer shaking hands until she clears her throat and frees her fingers to push black rimmed glasses up the bridge of her nose.
Glasses that made her look cute and hot all at once.
This was going to be a problem.
“Lexa’s fine.” She states surely and you know anyone else would mistake her even tone as confidence but you can’t see past the slight shake in her hand as she fumbles to pick up the box she had carelessly discarded only a minute before.
“Clarke then.” You smile.
“Clarke.” She tests out under her breath as the corners of her mouth twitch up timidly. You’re not really sure that it can be counted as a smile, but it makes her whole face inexplicably brighter and you’d happily stare at it all day if it weren’t for your increasing awareness of your smell (one of the many terrible side effects of you actually agreeing to exercise).
“I have to go shower but I suppose I’ll see you at work.” She nods like it makes no difference to her if the two of you ever speak again, but as she moves to step into her new apartment you can’t help but hear her voice sound out.
Calm down, Lexa. So the hot blonde doctor is your neighbour, so what? You’re a corporate lawyer, you singlehandedly brought down Cage Wallace, you could do this. Just maybe when she’s less sweaty and perfect.
You cut yourself off at that point because you have to have a limit.
You can’t just keep creeping in on her thoughts.
You’re creeping in on her thoughts.
It’s totally an accident. In reality it’s a momentary lapse in concentration that lets it all slip in but you’re sticking with accident because it’s not your fault. She wasn’t supposed to be in work. She wasn’t supposed to come in on her day off in criminally tight trousers and a loose tank top. She wasn’t supposed to have ridiculously hot tattoos visibly on display. She wasn’t supposed to test your resolve like this.
In short - she’s hot and you’re weak.
“Clarke.” She startles, like she isn’t completely aware that you were in today despite the rushed sprint she watched you do this morning because your alarm hadn’t sounded. Not that you were complaining. The way she said your name made your brain go on the fritz (hence why you couldn’t keep her thoughts to herself). “Why is she so p-“
“You have a tattoo!” You call in a vain attempt to block her out, pointing numbly at her arm.
“Yes.”
“I like it.” Jesus, Griffin. You were usually so much better at this. You were the champion of flirting if competitions against Bellamy counted as legitimate tests. You definitely counted them, if only because of the distraught look on his face when he realised you had more numbers than him.
“I have more on my back.”
“Maybe you could show me some time?” Cocked brow and a smirk. You were back.
“And what would I get in return?” She mimics your actions. What are you doing, Lexa? You came here to file papers not flirt with Clarke. Why is my heart beating so fast? Can she tell? What if she can tell?
“I’m sure we could figure something out.”
“Awesome.” She stumbles and you laugh because the word sounds so foreign from her mouth. It sounds so much like a child copying words their parents beg them to never repeat and it’s adorable. She’s strangely adorable for a woman you’re sure you’re supposed to find intimidating. Abort. Abort. God, her laugh is entrancing.
“You should probably file that. I assume that’s why you’re here and not just because you wanted to see me.”
“Maybe I’m here for both.” She shrugs indifferently and your heart stumbles before it catches itself.
“Feel free to come see me whenever you need your next Griffin fix, Lex.” She nods mutely and carefully struts towards the exit. You don’t miss the stumble in her step when she throws a look over her shoulder and catches you staring. You don’t miss the harsh bob of her throat when all you do in response is wink.
You really loved mindreading at the moment.
The next time you see her you’re not wearing pants and certainly not in the capacity that you want to be pantless with her. Although in your defence you didn’t know she was at your incredibly open door with a full view inside when you showed up pantless to ask who’d been at the door.
No. A pantless Raven opened the door.
Which, yes, sounds totally suspicious but it’s not.
You swear it’s not.
You’d just been checking how her leg was doing because she refused to go to the hospital for checkups like a total moron and you were technically first and foremost a medical practitioner (despite your dabbling into corporate biochemistry). Your pantless situation occurred because Raven was most definitely not fine, made evident by the sharp jerk of her leg into a boiling hot pot of coffee when you touched a particularly sensitive area - said coffee obviously had to spill all over your legs and burn them.
Life was just so kind to you.
That’s why you’re not wearing pants and why Raven is also not wearing pants as she holds the door open for Lexa and why Lexa’s eyes widen and flicker between the two of you before she sets her jaw and slips on a frown you’d only ever witnessed the first day you met (AKA, the button massacre of twenty sixteen).
She has a girlfriend. Of course she has a girlfriend. Why would she not have a girlfriend she’s beautiful and smart and funny and she can paint so you just know she can do miraculous things with those ha- No Lexa. Girlfriend. She has a girlfriend. One with no pants on that you’re just staring at. Speak.
“Sugar. Do you have it?” Raven chuckles and opens the door wider before walking in the direction of the couch to hopefully collect her pants and, even more hopefully, leave without making some wise crack that makes no sense until two in the morning when you’re suddenly reminded what an idiot and total anal crumpet your best friend is.
“Oh, Clarke has plenty of sugar for you.” Then she’s stepping out of your apartment and leaving you to pick up the awkward pieces. You hate her. You honest to God hate her.
“I didn’t meant to interrupt you and your-“
“She’s not my girlfriend!” You supply quickly because you’re an idiot and you like her and even without her internal freak out you know how suspicious this looks. You also know that Raven is attractive (because you’re not blind) and you’ve had people scared off in the past because they wrongly assumed something was going on between the two of you.
“Do you often have random girls, half clothed, around your apartment?” She smirks. You melt a little bit inside.
“I wouldn’t say often but sometimes. Sometimes I have females over in that capacity but not right now. There are no intentional half naked women surrounding me right now.” You should’ve stopped talking. Why did you think it was a good idea to keep talking? You literally have a PhD and you still can’t stop being a complete and utter halfwit.
“So you’re single?” You open your mouth. Close it. Open it again. Words. You are supposed to be using words not aquatic sign language.
“Yep.” Good one, Griffin.
“Do you like pizza?”
“I love pizza.” You smile and she blushes. She actually blushes and you don’t think you’ve done anything particularly blush worthy until you realise where her eyes have dipped which just so happens to be your legs. The very same legs that aren’t covered by the delightful warmth of denim.
“Perhaps you could put on some pants and we could go get some?”
“Or you could take off your pants and we could get it delivered?” Her blush deepens. You definitely deserved that one. Kudos, Clarke.
“Erm, that... you. We-“
“Calm yourself, Lexa. I’ll just be a minute.”
You should’ve said yes.
The flirting has amounted to nothing. The flirting hasn’t even amounted to anything almost – except her almost choking on her spit when you imaginatively make every little thing sexual no matter the situation.
You almost set a fire the other day just to make an innuendo and it needed to stop.
You needed to stop.
She needed to admit something out loud because, whilst you’re ninety-nine percent sure her thirst for you is ‘lost-in-the-desert’ level, you wanted to hear her say it with her actual words, not her brain words. You didn’t want to feel like you’d cheated this whole thing. You wanted it to be real (which seems way less cheesy when you don’t actually verbalise it).
If there were ever a moment for her to verbally express the adorable crush she has on you it would be now. It would be some point between the effortless threats from Liam Neeson on the screen and the beat of your heart in her ear as her head rests on your chest because at this point you’re basically dating - minus all the sex stuff, the sex stuff that you happen to think she’d be amazing at, especially considering her hands which look like God himself stepped out of the heavens to carve them.
“Your heart rate just spiked.” She states like she’s telling you it’s Wednesday. “Are you worried Liam won’t get his daughter back?” She lifts her head to catch your eye and you really need her to just kiss you, like right now, because holding yourself back is becoming far too much for you to handle.
“No, I have full faith in Liam Neeson.” You mutter, unable to stop your eyes from dropping to her lips before snapping them back to her own wandering gaze.
You could kiss her.
“You totally could.” You said that aloud. You actually said that aloud. Holy fuckballs you just said that aloud.
“Could what?” She questions, eyes wide.
“Kiss me.” Might as well go three sheets to the wind right?
“I didn’t...” Oh God, what if she can read my thoughts? Shit. Okay, no Lexa, that’s totally ridiculous. Mind readers don’t exist - she can’t read your thoughts.
“I can.” She almost smashes your chin in her haste to sit up and shift to the other end of the couch. “Don’t freak out. I’m not listening now. I can stop myself from listening.” Her eyes narrow.
“But you listened a second ago.” She states and she’s not wrong but you couldn’t really be blamed for not keeping a handle on your own head when her mouth was an inch away from yours and you could smell the lingering scent of flowers that seemed to follow her wherever she went.
“You make my head go on the fritz.” Here’s to hoping honesty is the best policy. She smiles as she closes the space between you slightly and you’re incredibly thankful for the charming grin you inherited from your father because it’s surely half of why you’re getting away with this.
“You make my head go on the fritz too. Although I’m sure you already know that.”
“It’s nice to hear you say it.”
“Is that why you haven’t kissed me yet?” She asks mockingly and you’d shove her off the couch if you didn’t think it would completely ruin the moment.
“I didn’t want to abuse my power.” Her smile widens as she closes the remaining gap between your bodies and slips her hand round the back of your neck delivering a purposeful tug.
“I’m going to abuse it so bad come Monday.” She says and you don’t have time to question what the hell she means before she’s kissing you.
When Monday rolls round and all you can see is the two of you pressed against the printer, and all you can hear is a breathy melody composed of nothing but your moans, you think you really should’ve been prepared for this. You should’ve been preparing since she’s smirked at you that morning in the hallway and told you “revenge was a dish best served hot.”
You really needed to figure out how to shut her out.