Archive of Our Own ^beta

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.

Chapter Text

“You’re dating someone? Actual dating?” She sounds incredulous, which you wholeheartedly blame on the fact that Octavia seems to be incapable of not making some remark about your sexual endeavours at any chance she gets. Why she constantly feels the need to tell your mother about your sex life you’ll never know, but you also don’t have the ability to stop Octavia from doing pretty much whatever the hell she wants, so you’ve learned not to question it. Still, the disbelief stings a bit and you’re totally dateable. The issue is definitely not that people don’t want to date you - you’re a hot commodity, you were made to be chased.

You just so happen to be completely and totally emotionally unavailable because you’re in love with your best friend.

“Actually dating, yes.” You reiterate because you’re in this now. You’re going to prove to your family that you can have a serious relationship, and avoid your bitchy aunt’s blind date setups, and all those comments about the legitimacy of bisexuality, and then Finn Collins can suck your metaphorical dick and you can ride off happily into the sunset.

This is a great plan.

Okay, so maybe not a plan but a fairly decent idea at least.

“What’s their name?” You take it all back.

This is a terrible idea.

You could just make up a name and then craigslist some weirdo to come and pretend to be your date, or seduce that new artist at your gallery because that would take all of thirty seconds with the way that girl looks at you. You could maybe just pull the whole ‘oh my phone cut out’ thing, jump Lexa in the next twenty minutes and then call your mom back to announce the happy news. Except, you’ve been falling in love with Lexa since before you even knew her name, and you still haven’t made your move, so that was an even worse plan.

You kinda just need to say something.

Anything.

“Lexa.” Probably anything except that. Abby omits what is her equivalent of a squeal down the phone at the name and you know there’s no going back. You’re really in this now. Shit. You can hear her shuffling on the other side, and the faint sound of your father’s name being called, and this is definitely happening now. You’re going to lie about being in love with your best friend. No. You’re going to lie about your best friend being in love with you - the prior statement wouldn’t be a lie, you are in love with Lexa and you have been since your first day of college.

You had been oddly nervous all day about actually leaving home and taking that ‘first real step into adulthood’ as everyone kept calling it. You were afraid that your art wouldn’t be good enough, that you wouldn’t meet their expectations, that you would be overshadowed by everyone else. Heck, you spent a good twenty minutes being afraid that you’d get a roommate that put the toilet paper on the holder the wrong way round.

Usually you weren’t one for nerves but that day you had been. That day you hadn’t managed to find anything to take your mind off of your future, and how it was all very quickly becoming your present, until she appeared. You met, or rather heard, her for the first time in your halls as she loudly argued with your RA right outside the door to your room.

In your opinion it was pretty one sided on Lexa's behalf as the other girl quivered beneath her icy glare, and trembled at the threats laced between calm words and fake smiles, but the other girl had walked off like she was the victor anyway. It was when you went to see if Lexa was alright that you watched her carefully steal the entire pot of candy from the suggestion table and slip into her room as though she’d done nothing.

A day later if anyone came to ask if you knew where they’d gone, you just had no idea who would do such a thing.

If a week later you saw the green eyed thief in a coffee shop, well maybe you were feeling a little bit clumsy that day.

“Your father says that I should clarify that you mean Lexa Lexa before I get too excited.”

“I do, in fact, mean Lexa Lexa.” Your mother had fallen in love with Lexa in very much the same way you had, with her calling the nosy neighbour out on her eavesdropping and stealing her prized miniature bonsai tree (the very same tree that still sits on your balcony’s makeshift garden for all to see). You still find it a little odd that Little Miss Law and Order has such a dark side but in the end you think that’s why you love her. You love Lexa because she’s both an enigma and an open book. You love her because she’s complex and guarded and loyal.

You love her because she’s... her.

“When did this finally happen?” She questions.

“Six months ago.” You answer without thinking and what?

“And you didn’t think to tell us this, I don’t know, six months ago?!” You feel like your tongue is a shovel and each new word that tumbles from its edge is only worsening your fate. You don’t deserve this. You’re a good person (generally) and you don’t deserve this.

“We just wanted to be sure that it was something before everyone made it a big deal.”

“It is a big deal. The two of you have been enamoured with one another for years and-“ She’s cut off by your dad in the background excitedly talking about how Raven was going to owe him so much money. Of course they’d been betting on you. The two of them had been an odd pair since six year old Raven had found your dad tinkering with an old car and excitedly asked if she could help him. They stopped being cute when Raven hit puberty and they instead started causing trouble, mostly pulling pranks on you because that’s obviously the kind of thing a father is supposed to do to his thirteen year old daughter these days.

“I get it - it’s exciting and I should’ve told you sooner but I’m telling you now because she’s coming to my reunion.”

“I can’t wait.” You can. You can definitely wait.

Now all you really need is to convince Lexa to say yes, but you can do that. You can totally do that.

You know Lexa’s weaknesses.

Your blue blouse that makes your boobs look awesome - check.

Ass hugging jeans - check.

Expertly perfected puppy dog eyes and matching pout - check.

“Clarke, no.” Lexa’s agreement - not so much.  You know that this whole thing is a terrible idea. You know that you’re testing yourself just as much as you’re testing her good nature and patience because you’re going to be near her, touching her, holding her, potentially kissing her and wanting it to be real whilst knowing full well that it isn’t.

You repeat - you know it’s a terrible idea.

“Come on, Lexa. I need you.” You plead and watch her resolve crumble before your eyes. You know she’s going to say yes. You knew she would say yes the moment the lie slipped from your mouth because she’s Lexa. Lexa who always has your back, Lexa who scared away your stalker ex last year, Lexa who got your first piece in an exhibition, Lexa who drove across town just to kill a spider that was terrorising you in the bathroom. You know she’ll say yes because she’s your best friend.

“Why can't you just ask Monty?” A small laugh slips past your lips at that one. You love Monty, you really do, how could anyone not? It’s just that Monty being your boyfriend (Monty being any girl’s boyfriend) is about as believable as you actively choosing to go running with Octavia - which is to say it’s something that will happen when hell freezes over and a nuclear apocalypse wipes out the human race.

“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.” She winces and you know you’re getting closer. You know she understands having people belittle your sexuality from her own firsthand experience and maybe it’s a low blow but you’re desperate.

“People have actually said that?” She questions.

“Yes.” You reply with a small shrug.

“What about Octavia?” You can tell it’s her last ditch attempt and she actually looks slightly proud for having thought of the new option.  Honestly, you can agree that Octavia wouldn’t have been such a poor choice had it not been for her long term girlfriend and probable soon to be wife, because no one from your home town was going to legitimately believe that her and Raven weren’t still ludicrously in love.

“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.” She sighs.

“Why me?” You go to speak before you catch sight of her hand motioning for you to stop. Usually you’d ignore it. Her glare has never had any effect on you, you had never really been susceptible to the whole Commander persona she had going on, but you need her to say yes, so you shut your mouth and wait patiently. “I want five solid reasons why it has to be me.” Easy.

“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 copy her hand motion and watch happily as her jaw snaps shut with an audible click. “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.” You’re actually pretty impressed with yourself. Even more so when you see her shoulders droop in surrender.

It’s probably not the time to note that she looks beautiful, but as her eyes catch yours you’re reminded of why you’d been instantly enamoured with her all those years ago, why you forgot every word in the English language other than coffee related puns when you first spoke to her.

She’s ineffable.

“You make an impressive case.”

“I've been practising in front of my mirror.” You joke and revel in the way she rolls her eyes.

“Fine.” She acquiesces with a small chuckle and you don’t think as you pull her into your arms. Hugging Lexa is like wrapping a blanket around yourself on a cold winter’s morning. Hugging Lexa always feels special because you can remember a time that she seemed shy about physical contact, but now you can’t recall a day in which you hadn’t laid your hands on her in some way or another. Hugging Lexa makes you feel simultaneously safe and scared because you shouldn’t feel so at home.

But she’s your home and you’re terribly in love with her.

This is a horrible idea.

“What do I pack?” You laugh deeply as she throws clothes at you from inside her closet. Watching a flustered Lexa flutter about was one of your favourite pastimes. It’s something you’d first experienced when she had her first big case and had been running round like a headless chicken looking for her files. You’d outright laughed in her face when you went to grab a glass of OJ and found them beneath the eggs, but she just chased you around her apartment, and tickled you until she caught sight of the clock and sprinted out with a quick kiss to your cheek.

“Lex, you’ve been to my house before.” You comment and her head pops out from behind the closet door with a frown.

“But now there’s all this pressure. What if I wear jeans and your grandmother thinks I’m a slob, or I wear a business suit and they all think I’m a douche?” She disappears again and you can’t help the grin that spreads across your face at her anxiety. You remember when you introduced her to your friends and Bellamy had confessed that she terrified him. You remember laughing at his admission because you’d seen the shake in Lexa’s hand when she waved at them all; you’d seen how nervous she was to make a good impression.

“You could go naked and they’d love you. Actually I think we’d all probably love you more if you went naked. The only thing you should bring is your skin sweater.” A shoe hits you in the face with a thud. “That’s no way to treat your girlfriend, sweetie.” You mock and only just manage to dodge the second projectile.

“Remind me why I’m subjecting myself to this again?” She asks as she zips her suitcase closed, flopping onto the bed beside you and resting her head in your lap. You don’t hesitate to run your finger nails along her scalp, one by one undoing her intricate braids and grinning at the curly locks that you release. She hums contently when your fingers skim the nape of her neck, and your smile feels uncomfortably wide as she burrows her head further into your body, pressing a small kiss to your stomach.

You wonder if she can feel your heartbeat in your stomach like you can. You’re certain that you can feel it shattering through your bones. You wonder if she can feel the muscles tense uncertainly against her lips. You wonder if she knows that your friends used to call you a player, and then you met her, and became nothing but a ball of uncertainty and unrequited love.

“Because I went to your firms Christmas party and had to be subjected to that receptionist hanging over you all night.” Costia. You’ll admit that you feel a little bad about the dislike you harbour towards the girl, but she undoubtedly fancies Lexa, and you undoubtedly fancy Lexa, and you don’t fully believe in the sanctity of dibs but you definitely have dibs.

“You know I don’t recall that being the reason.”

“You’re right. It’s because you love me.” She mumbles incoherently before pulling her face away from its hiding place in your shirt and gazing up at you.

It would take nothing for you to kiss her.

It would take everything for you to kiss her.

“I’d love you more if you were making pancakes right now.” She quips and you’re on your feet in an instant, ignoring the smack of her body hitting the floor from your abrupt movement, and walking towards the kitchen wordlessly.

Pancakes are easy. You can do pancakes. Although the pancake isn’t the only thing that flips when she lingers in the doorway with a soft smile. Loving her is easy. Loving her you can do. Telling her you love her... now that’s hard.

Your parents are awkward.

Your parents are awkward and you’re maybe a little afraid to actually leave your bedroom and face them at breakfast. You hadn’t brought anyone home since Finn in high school, and honestly you hadn’t been very invested in that relationship, so weird tension at dinner and slightly snide comments from your mother hadn’t bothered you (in fact, you even managed to find them a little funny). But this was Lexa. Lexa who your parents thought you were having sex with and who, after hearing those words, you couldn’t stop thinking about having sex with.

You’d thought about it before, obviously. It’s just that for some reason when Octavia mocks you for it, or Raven claims that every living being must have at least had a dream about it, it seems like a joke. It’s something you can brush off and pretend you haven’t thought about. When it’s a joke you don’t find so much resistance when pushing it to the back of your mind. But now, with it being your parents, it just seems more real, more tangible - at least, that’s the excuse you’re going with for why, at ten in the morning, you’re hiding in your bedroom thinking about it in far too much detail.

In the end, it’s the promise of bacon that has you dragging yourself out from your blanket cocoon and shuffling down the stairs. You’re not sure why you feel shocked finding that Lexa’s already in the kitchen helping out. The idea of you actually waking up before her is completely ridiculous. You can recall far too many times that you woke up to the smell of fresh coffee and the sound of Lexa showering after a run – not that you were complaining (you definitely weren’t complaining when it was your exact coffee order from that awesome shop down the street and she was truly performing in the shower because she believed you hadn’t woken up yet).

“Clarke nice of you to join us.” Your dad jokes and you mumble your response against Lexa’s back, much to her apparent amusement if the laughter that runs through her body is anything to go by.

“It was the bacon, wasn’t it?” Lexa asks with the remnants of a chuckle and you would disagree just to shut them all up. You would run your hands over that exact spot on Lexa’s waist that would make her squeal out some high pitched laugh despite her insistence that she’s not ticklish. You would push your dad over. You don’t do any of those things - purely because she’s holding a piece of bacon directly in your line of sight and proving them wrong isn’t worth not having it in your mouth in the next three seconds.

“I love you.” You moan the moment it hits your tongue because Lexa has a gift. You vaguely note the blush that spreads across her cheeks but don’t comment. You imagine it has something to do with the excited faces of your parents who seem to be eagerly awaiting her response. You’ll admit maybe you are a little to and you aren’t disappointed when she shuffles closer to place a chaste kiss to your cheek.

“I love you too.” Your heart stumbles at the steady sincerity because it feels so real. The way her hand grazes your cheek as she pushes back that strand of hair that always refuses to stay behind your ear. The amused smile she sends your way when you all but inhale your food. The way she utters your name like a prayer. Or maybe you’re just making it seem real.

You want it to be real.

More than anything you want it to be real.

As a general rule you’re not such a big fan of your family. You don’t suppose many people are really. But you do make an exception for Wells - probably because he’s not blood related to you, six years old and fuelled on space related knowledge and cake. It’s probably why seeing your grandma faun over Lexa, the powerful and chivalrous lawyer, had been satisfying but watching her play football with Wells in the garden had made your heart threaten to rip out of your chest.

“Is there anything she can’t do?” You startle at your dads appearance beside you. You’d think you’d be less jumpy at this point in your life considering Lexa’s penchant for never making a sound whilst walking and constantly freaking you out. You’re pretty sure she gets a kick out of watching you scream and jump out of your skin - she certainly does it often enough.

“She can’t draw to save her life and don’t even get me started on the time she tried to bake me a birthday cake. Other than that though – no. She’s perfect.” You watch as she bounces around seriously in goal, purposely diving in the complete opposite direction to Wells’ shot (much to his excitement). You fall in love with her a little bit more in the moment that she cheers for the small boy, lifting him onto her shoulders and running him around in a victory lap, despite his victory being against her.

“I’ve never seen you like this before.”

“I thought your very excitement came from the fact that I am, apparently, always like this around Lexa. I believe the exact words spoken were we’re really glad the two of you finally realised what was right in front of you.” Honestly, you think that your impression is pretty spot on and your dads laugh only adds to that as he nudges your shoulder affectionately.

“You seem more open about it.” He elaborates and he’s not entirely wrong you suppose. You have been using this time to act the way you’ve always wanted to, the way you always stop yourself from acting because you’re her friend not her girlfriend - despite you wanting to be the latter since you first met her.

“Well she is openly my girlfriend.”

“I see you’ve finally decided to have your snarky teenager phase.” He quips.

“Better late than never.” You return and panic slightly at the mischievous grin that slips onto his face.

“Is that what you said when you finally kissed her?” You smack him upside the head but he just continues to laugh at you.

“Why do you assume that’s how it happened?” Had it been anyone else you would agree with the immediate assumption that it was you who instigated the whole thing. You know what you want and you go out and get it. At least, you used to. No you still do. You still have the confidence to get what you want. You still have the confidence to flirt with random people in bars and seduce the barista from that terrible coffee shop down the street. You’re still a go getter. You’re just not a go getter when it actually matters.

You’re not a go getter when it comes to Lexa.

When it comes to Lexa you’re the cowardly lion.

“That’s what Raven said.” You groan. Of course that was where he got it from. “Also something about you being a ‘top’ which I still don’t understand. It all got a bit confusing when the words ‘power bottom’ were uttered.” Great. Totally great. You were going to kill Raven.

“Please never look into it and look the other way when I punch Raven.”

“You know I can’t condone violence but I may be coincidentally absent when she arrives later.” He winks.

“Appreciated.” You smile at his cheeky grin as you return your gaze to the game in front of you. Wells has taken over in goal, giggling as Lexa teaches him how to safely dive for the ball. You know that she’s using the boy as a shield from the rest of your family - hang out with Wells and she can avoid the interrogation indoors - but you still can’t help the way your heart squeezes each time he looks up to her with something akin to wonder. You definitely know the feeling.

“You should go play.”

“I can’t play soccer to save my life.” You mutter half-heartedly because you hate sports, you hate exercise in general, but you hiked up a mountain once because Lexa wanted to. You hate the outdoors but you went camping because Lexa wanted to. You keep finding that you’d do basically anything she asked. Anything she was too scared to ask but was obvious she wanted. Anything at all really as long as it would make her smile.

“We both know she’ll let you win.” You can’t deny that. You remember when she took you to the batting cages and spent an entire hour just showing you how to properly swing a bat. You understood completely after a minute, but playing up your complete and utter lack of sporting ability to get her to hold you for a little while longer, wasn’t exactly a hard thing to do.

Later that day when you finally manage to score a goal and receive your own victory lap around the garden you find you’ve never felt more content, and more discontented, because you have everything you’ve ever wanted and it isn’t real.

You don’t leave her side for the rest of the evening after that. You find that answering your family’s questions is a lot easier with her by your side, that you don’t feel the need to constantly defend what you’ve done with your life instead of being a heterosexual doctor with two point five kids and a picket fence. You find that Lexa answers a lot of questions for you but that it doesn’t annoy you like it usually would had it been your mother, that instead it makes you feel safe, like someone is on your team.

You don’t know how charades became a thing that was happening, or how a split second decision ended with you being in Lexa’s lap with Wells smiling proudly by your side. You don’t know how the two of you are so ridiculously in tune that you win by a landslide but it makes you hopeful.

The whole night makes you hopeful because maybe, just maybe, she’s being paying as much attention to you as you have been to her.

You can’t sleep.

You were tossing and turning long before rain began pelting your windows and the wind screamed for you to take notice. You had been trying to figure out a way to finally gather the courage to actually say it to her, to finally tell Lexa that you were in love with her. Perhaps Mother Nature could sense your inner turmoil because you found the storm churning in perfect tandem with the panic in your mind and the fear in your gut.

When you were a kid you used to crawl into your parents bed when storms hit. You would fling your body from your sheets at the first sign of something more than mere rain and pad your tiny feet across the hall to your parent’s room. You think a part of you thought you wouldn’t be able to blow away if you were in your parent’s arms. When you got to your teenage years you would still seek out their embrace, though the reasoning behind your fear became far more logical.

By the time you got to college you still couldn’t sleep through a storm without someone holding you, and you don’t know why when the first one hit you walked straight past Octavia in her bed and down the hall to Lexa’s room, but you did. In the end, you were even more shocked that she actually let you in considering the only word you muttered was ‘storm’, and she had evidently been fast asleep if her dishevelled hair and clouded eyes were anything to go by. You remember her reading to you until you fell asleep in her arms. You remember waking up to her forehead resting against yours and the steady rise and fall of her chest bumping into yours.

You remember falling in love with thunderstorms because they reminded you of her.

You don’t hesitate to slip out of your bed and approach the room beside you. You do hesitate when you push the door open and catch sight of her tightly wrapped in her sheets like a burrito. It will never cease to amaze you how vulnerable she seems in the late hours of the night, how soft she becomes when no one is around to watch, how pure she seems without her guard up.

“Lexa.” You whisper and tremble under the green gaze that lands on you. You don’t dare move for a moment as she inspects the scene and offers a small smile. You don’t dare hesitate when she shuffles back and opens her covers up to you. You don’t stop moving until her front is flush against your back and her arm is securely wrapped around your waist. You feel better the moment your fingers slip into the spaces hers leave behind and you catch sight of her soft smile from over your shoulder.

You want to kiss her in that moment. You want to kiss her as her eyes dart around your face curiously. You want to kiss her as her heart beats firmly against your back. You’re an inch away from her lips and you want to kiss her because you’re so close, you’re so close that all it would take is one final push and you’d be there. But after so long that inch feels like a chasm and you’re far too afraid to throw yourself into that abyss knowing that she may not be waiting at the bottom to catch you, so instead you smile with mischievous intent and place your cold feet on her legs.

She yelps a little.

You laugh a lot.

“You know what, if this is the payment I get.” She sighs dramatically and you feel her arms start to pull away before you quickly turn and press yourself closer. It’s probably a mistake. In fact, it’s definitely a mistake because it only lessens the space between your bodies, only lessens your ability to hide your truth from her eyes. You don’t allow yourself a moment to panic as you wrap her arm back around you and snuggle in.

“Don’t even joke about that.” You say as you tangle your legs together.

“Go to sleep, Clarke. I won’t let the big bad storm get you.” She pulls you closer despite there being nowhere to go and you paint your thanks across her neck with your lips. The ever present comfort of her hands running up and down your back is what makes you feel safe. The constant thrum of her pulse is what lulls you to sleep.

You dream of her.

You always dream of her.

You wake up before her. You wake up warm and content and all but straddling her. You’re not sure how the two of you ended up in said position. You’re not sure how you didn’t wake up in the middle of the night acutely aware of your new position as another item of Lexa’s clothing. Although, you’re more confused as to how Lexa hadn’t woken up at the new development and shifted the two of you back to more PG positions.

Lexa is notoriously a light sleeper (see: that time you tripped in the hallway at three in the morning outside of her room and rolled over to find her hovering curiously over you). Lexa is also notoriously skittish so you maybe just pretend to be asleep until she wakes up and has to deal with the situation.

Is it the brave thing to do? Absolutely not.

Is it the right thing to do? Probably not.

Is it the smart thing to do? Hell yes.

Her breath catches when she wakes up and you shift nervously thinking that maybe she knows you’re already awake, maybe she knows you’ve been laying there for ten minutes and haven’t even tried to move away from her. The low moan that rumbles in her chest in response to your movement does nothing to stop the thudding of your chest, but she leaves you no time to dwell on the fact that you’re the cause of it before she’s slipping out from beneath you and disappearing into the bathroom.

You don’t have time to dwell on much of anything when you realise that the voice echoing near the door is your grandmothers - the very same grandmother who isn’t supposed to find you lying in Lexa’s bed before marriage because apparently that’s a thing she believes in now (you blame her new neighbours).

You’ll admit that it’s not your best idea. You’ll also admit that it isn’t your worst; especially considering you convinced your best friend to pretend to be your girlfriend to prove a point to your family. The point is you shouldn’t do it. You really shouldn’t do it. Evidently you do though, mostly because you go into some kind of frenzy mode, throwing all arguable logic out of the window, and just doing the first thing that comes to mind (that thing being sprinting into the bathroom, then furthermore into the shower, the shower that Lexa’s in. The shower that Lexa is very much naked in).

“Clarke!” She exclaims and you forget how to speak. Twenty six letters, thousands upon thousands of words and you can’t think of a single thing to say because she’s naked. Lexa is naked and you’ve studied nude paintings, you’ve even painted nude models before but she’s something else. She’s inexplicably attractive and you’ve always been attuned to how beautiful she is but this... this is like stumbling on an oasis in a desert. This is you definitely staring at her naked body for too long because you’re not quite sure how to break the silence.

“Lex, I...” You trail off because what do you even say? Sorry I jumped into your shower but all I can think about is how to create the exact shade that is your skin, how to perfect the curve of your hips with lead, how to replicate the irreplicable.

“Clarke.”

“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.” She mumbles and it’s like the walls are closing in, suddenly everything feels tighter - your clothes and your skin and your throat and your chest. She doesn’t mean it that way. The panic plainly painted on her face tells you that she doesn’t mean it that way but now you’re increasingly aware that she would be right, had she been alluding to that. You want to touch her. You want to run your fingers along her skin and know that she’s real, that she isn’t just some ridiculously well conjured figment of your imagination created in a moment of panic because how could something so perfect exist?

“Lexa.” You feel your feet moving on their own accord. You watch your hand lift towards her body like it’s through a camera lens. Truthfully you don’t know what you’re doing. You’re overcome with the thought of actually touching her, the thought of finally doing the very thing you’ve been telling yourself not to for years.

“Clarke.” Her voice sounds lowly and you’re dragged back to reality. The reality in which you’re reaching a hand to your naked best friend’s body. The reality in which you’re making your incredible crush on her the most obvious thing in the world.

You’re such an idiot.

You run before she can say anything else. You run before you can do something else to embarrass yourself. You run before you spill your guts and tell her everything because she doesn’t deserve to be told after being shower ambushed.

She deserves more than you can give her running on six hours of sleep and hormones.

She deserves everything.

“You... reached?” Octavia questions incredulously and you think you could really do with the ground opening up and swallowing you whole. You know you’re going to regret telling her, but you really needed someone to talk to about this whole thing, and you know Raven would only take the opportunity to mock you for being a ‘thirsty bitch’ as she would call it.

“Yes, Octavia.”

“And she was naked?”

“There were some bubbles but yes, she was so incredibly naked.” You’re trying really hard not to think about it. You’re failing massively at trying not to think about it.

“I feel like this is partially my fault for making you watch Pitch Perfect every movie night for a month.” You shove her hard enough that she falls off the sofa. The yelp she omits only serves to heighten your embarrassment because Bellamy runs in with panic evident on his face, until he surveys the scene and merely laughs at Octavia’s new resting place on the floor. You laugh alongside him as she huffs on the floor until she directs her glare at you. “Don’t laugh at me, Griffin, or I will tell him everything.” You halt.

“You wouldn’t dare.” You state lowly except that you know she will. You know that she will do it and she will enjoy every second of watching you visibly deflate as Bellamy’s laughter increases. The moment she starts slowly rising from the floor and taking minute steps backwards and away from you, you know it’s on. You jump from the sofa as she runs to the other end of the coffee table to stop you from lunging at her.

You step one way.

She shifts the other.

“Octavia.” You threaten quietly and she takes off running.

“ClarkejumpedinLexasshowerandalmostfeltherup.” You tackle her to the ground but the heat in your cheeks and the confusion on Bellamy’s face tells you that it’s already too late. The damage has been done.

“You jumped Lexa in the shower?” He questions and the quiver in his lip shows he’s about three seconds away from outright laughing in your face. You don’t know why you ever associate with the Blake siblings - you blame your mother for befriending Aurora at play group and insisting the three of you be the best of friends.

“No. I just maybe needed a place to hide and thoughtlessly got into the shower that she was in. Naked. Very naked. And I maybe forgot myself for a little bit and almost, you know, touched her.” He laughs. You can’t blame them really because you would’ve laughed had it not been you. You had definitely laughed when Bellamy met Gina and hit her on the head with his worn out copy of Iliad because he saw a bug and was so flustered that it was the first thought that came to mind.

Oh, and you don’t even want to get started on all the times you’d laughed at Octavia in the seven years that she refused to admit Raven was more than a friend until hormones kicked in and, on the first day of high school, after Raven returned from her all summer trip with new... assets, all Octavia could say to her all day were shitty chat up lines. You just don’t enjoy being on the other end of it very much and because of Lexa, and her stupidly beautiful unattainable self, you’d spent a lot of time on the other end of it recently.

“What did she do?”Octavia asks like she’s suddenly remembered you hadn’t finished your story.

“She just said my name and I freaked and ran away. I haven’t seen her since. I kinda just ran straight over here to hide.” The moment you were out of the bathroom you had haphazardly dressed yourself and disappeared out of the house (much to your mothers chagrin). You know that this is the first place Lexa would look if she wanted to find you. You also know that she won’t look for you unless it’s an absolute emergency, because her obscene level of patience is only rivalled by her chivalry, and you know she’ll wait for you to make the first move.

A first move which will probably be you returning to your house and pretending nothing happened.

“Clarke, maybe it’s time you tell her.” Bellamy suggests gently, shifting closer to your resting place on the sofa like he’s afraid you’ll spook. He’s probably right. The thought of telling her makes you want to board a plane to some unknown island and hide for the rest of your days.

“What if I tell her and she doesn’t feel the same way? What if I tell her and I lose her?” You’ve never verbalised it before. You spend half your time pretending you don’t hear their concerns and the other half avoiding them completely. You’re happy with your life. If you told your younger self that you had great friends, a loving family, and you got paid to do the thing you loved every day you know they’d be pleased, you know they’d think all their dreams had come true. Telling yourself all those things now, you’re still happy, and yet, you’re so totally aware that’s there’s something missing and that it’s her.

It’s been her for years.

“I’m willing to bet my Harley that that girl is just as in love with you as you are her.” Octavia smiles encouragingly at your fearful eyes and you nod.

You can do this.

You can tell her that you love her.

You can’t do this.

You can’t tell her that you love her.

You were pretty much screwed from the moment you descended the stairs and caught sight of her in a suit. It was like the universe was trying to screw with you with that one, like it was carefully exploiting each one of your weaknesses to see if you could still come out on top (you’re really not sure that you can). Your lips were sewn shut the second soft lips grazed your cheek and your heart threatened to break free from the confines of your chest. Your voice stopped working the moment she called you beautiful with a reverence you’d never experienced before.

You were completely and totally screwed when you watched her give Echo a verbal bitch slap and realised that quietly seething Lexa is oddly beautiful, quietly seething Lexa makes your palms sweat. Protective Lexa who subtly tells people that you make more money from one painting that they make in a month and name drops like she’s telling people its Friday makes your heart race. You love the way she makes you feel safe. You love the fiery look in her eye and the venom on her tongue.

You love her.

You love her so much that you’re currently hiding at the bar under the pretence of getting drinks because you can’t quite figure out how to say it. You can’t figure out a way to verbalise it that doesn’t make you sound like an idiot or a coward. Except, you are an idiot and you are a coward because you’ve loved her in silence for far longer than is sane, for far longer than is sensible.

“Princess.” You cringe before plastering a smile on your face and turning to Finn. It seems odd now to think that you once truly believed you loved him, that you once looked at his grin and found it charmingly innocent and entrancing. It seems odd that you once believed that he was an inherently good guy, that you were shocked to find out he had several other girls on the go.

The moment you realised that you didn’t care you weren’t the only one he was dating was also the moment you realised you hadn’t really loved him at all. It’s that moment that cements how you feel about Lexa, considering that one time she told you she got asked out on a date and it resulted in you pulling shards of glass out of your hand because you gripped a little bit too hard.

Looking at him, his grin only makes you think of her subtle smirk. Brown only makes you think of green. Cocky words echo in your ears as something else entirely, something softly commanding and overwhelmingly calming.

“Finn Collins.”

“You should let me buy you a drink.” He states confidently and you roll your eyes over the rim of you glass as you take a sip.

“It’s a free bar and my glass is full but I suppose I appreciate the offer.” You tip your glass towards him in thanks before taking another large gulp. You probably won’t have the full glass excuse for much longer if this conversation is anything goes the way you think it’s going to go.

“You really haven’t changed, Princess. Thankfully that also means you’re still the prettiest girl in the room.” He shifts closer and your gaze flickers across the room to where Lexa stands with Raven. The latter is chatting animatedly but you know that Lexa isn’t listening. You know she’s zoned out as her fingers tap her leg in agitation and her eyes shift around the room despite her head remaining in Raven’s direction. You know that no one else would notice she’s not paying attention but you do because you pay far too much attention to her.

“I’ll be sure to let my girlfriend know how lucky she is then.” He visibly flinches.

“Girlfriend?” He questions and you have no time to answer before she’s there, before Lexa is in your space and you’re in her arms and you can’t think of anything but her lips on yours.

Kissing Lexa is like being struck by lightning twice in succession. Kissing Lexa is like finally managing to create the exact shade of autumn leaves. Kissing Lexa is like finding out your new favourite book has a sequel. Kissing Lexa is like biting into a crisp apple. Kissing Lexa is like space. Kissing Lexa is like art. Kissing Lexa feels inevitable and incomprehensible and you never want it to end, you never want to feel anything other than her uncertain certainty ever again.

Then it’s gone.

It’s gone, and you teeter forward searching for more, because it only took one kiss and you’re already addicted. You can already feel your body thrumming for its next fix. You can already feel your mind screaming for a salvation only she can provide. But then she’s gone in an instant and you’re following without so much as a second thought because you can’t do this any longer.

You can let her run knowing that this moment will follow you until the end of your days. You can’t let her run knowing that it will haunt you with every breath you take, that her kiss will torment you with every beat of your heart, that every time you blink all you’ll see are tightly shut eyes and shaking lips, that all you’ll taste is spearmint and some shitty beer that she undoubtedly hated but kept drinking anyway in the name of politeness.

“You can’t kiss a girl like that and then walk out.” You shout. Her feet halt immediately.

“I shouldn’t have kissed you.” Her back remains to you. You wonder if she won’t look because she’s afraid to tell you it meant nothing. You wonder if she knows that it meant everything to you and can’t admit the same on her behalf. You wonder if maybe it did. You wonder if maybe she’s spent just as much time as you waiting for something that neither of you were brave enough to make a reality.

You really hope that your hope isn’t misplaced.

“Why not?”

“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.” It’s like the world is suddenly devoid of oxygen, or your lungs have simply decided to take the evening off, or your brain can’t compute how breathing is supposed to work because every inch of you is focused on the fact that she loves you.

Lexa Woods loves you, Clarke Griffin.

“Lexa-“

“I didn’t mean to tell you like this.” You intertwine your fingers with hers, basking in the irregular pulse and the trembling digits. You wonder if she can feel the way your own pulse beats to a discordant tempo. You wonder if she can feel the excitement and fear dancing in tandem beneath your skin.

“How did you mean to tell me?”

“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 laughs and you chuckle alongside her as you drop your head between her shoulder blades because that sounds more like her. You want her to turn around. You want to watch the uncertain shift of her jaw as she debates her options and to revel in the intensity of her gaze. You want to look at the aftermath that you created with your lips. You want to know if your lipstick lingers on her mouth, if your hands left destruction in their wake.

You want her to see that you want this too.

You want her to see that you want her.

“I’m glad you didn’t,” you start and smile softly when she finally turns before continuing, “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.” Your confession makes her smile before confusion sets in.

“We hadn’t even met then.” You shrug.

“I know.”

“At least we’re both as bad as each other.” You grin and she pulls you closer. “Can I kiss you again?” She mumbles sweetly and you can’t think of a single response that isn’t a resounding yes.

You think you want her to kiss you for the rest of your life.

“You’re asking permission now?” You mock and silence any response with your lips.

You definitely want her to kiss you for the rest of your life.