Chapter 1: Part 1
Chapter Text
Arkadia General Hospital, Emergency Room – Late Evening
The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly, casting a clinical glow over the ER. Clarke Griffin barely noticed. She was in the zone—gloved hands steady, eyes sharp, focus unshakable. Another late-night surgery, another emergency.
“She’s going into shock. BP’s dropping.”
Clarke didn’t flinch. “Push another 500cc bolus, get me suction—now.”
The woman on the table—Alexandra Woods, 34 years old—had come in with a ruptured appendix and a dangerously high fever. The moment Clarke had reviewed her chart, she knew they had minutes to act. The patient had been stubborn, waiting too long to get help. Typical.
Clarke made a precise incision, working quickly. “I’ve got it—clamp.”
The rest of the surgery blurred into instinct and precision. When the procedure was over, Clarke finally exhaled, glancing at the patient’s face—soft, strong features, high cheekbones, slightly furrowed brows even in unconsciousness. She looked… dignified, even while nearly dying.
Interesting.
But Clarke shook the thought away and focused on closing up.
---
The first thing Lexa felt was discomfort. The second thing was warmth—not just from the blanket tucked around her, but from the hazy fog of anesthesia making everything feel… soft.
Her brain was slow to catch up, her body sluggish, but when her eyes fluttered open, the most beautiful woman she had ever seen was standing over her.
“…Gorgeous.”
It slipped out before Lexa’s brain even processed the thought properly, her voice hoarse but honest.
Clarke, standing beside the hospital bed, froze mid-charting.
“…What?”
Lexa squinted at her, still dazed. “You’re—gorgeous.” Her words were slurred, and her brow furrowed like she was trying to solve some great historical mystery. “Your eyes… like the sky before a storm… fascinating…”
Clarke blinked, processing. She had dealt with post-op delirium bad pick up lines before. She had never dealt with this.
Lexa, unaware of Clarke’s internal screaming, continued. “Your hair… golden… like wheat fields in summer.”
Clarke choked on air.
“Wow,” she muttered, half amused, half flustered. “That’s poetic.”
Lexa nodded seriously, like she had just uncovered a deep historical truth. “Yes. You are… a work of art.”
Clarke pressed her lips together, trying so hard not to laugh. She had never been flirted with via agricultural metaphors before.
“You’re still coming down from anesthesia,” Clarke told her, grinning now.
Lexa blinked slowly, then tried to sit up—which was a terrible idea because pain.
Clarke immediately pressed a firm hand to her shoulder, keeping her still. “Whoa there, Professor Woods.”
Lexa stared at her hand on her shoulder. Then at Clarke’s face.
“…Strong,” Lexa mumbled, very impressed.
Clarke huffed a laugh. “Yep, still high.”
Lexa, apparently, had more thoughts to share.
“You have a very symmetrical face,” she said seriously, like it was a crucial academic observation. “Do you know that? Scientifically, symmetry is linked to beauty. I read a study—”
“Oh my God.” Clarke had to physically turn away to cover her laugh.
Lexa was not done. “Your cheekbones… Michelangelo would have sculpted you.”
Clarke was now slightly red, biting her lip. “Are you always this smooth, or am I just lucky?”
Lexa, still dazed, squinted. “I don’t flirt.”
Clarke snorted. “Could’ve fooled me.”
Lexa blinked very slowly, thinking hard. “…Maybe I would, though. If it were you.”
Silence.
Clarke definitely felt that in her soul.
But before she could even begin to process, Lexa’s eyelids drooped, and just like that, she was asleep again.
Clarke stood there, arms crossed, staring at her unconscious form.
Then, to no one in particular, she muttered, still slightly flustered, “What the hell just happened?”
--
Lexa had finally fallen asleep again, her body still exhausted from surgery and anesthesia. The room had settled into peaceful quiet, save for the occasional soft beep of the monitors.
When Anya stepped inside, she expected to find her sister in a pathetic, drooling mess—instead, she found something far more entertaining.
Standing by the bedside was Dr. Griffin, arms crossed, chewing on her bottom lip to suppress a laugh.
Anya smirked. “I take it she was a handful?”
The doctor startled slightly, turning to look at her. Bright blue eyes. Blonde hair tied back. A warm but exhausted expression. She was smirking, but her face was still a little… flushed.
Interesting.
“She was… something,” Dr. Griffin admitted, eyes flicking back to Lexa’s sleeping form.
Anya stepped forward, holding out a hand. “Thanks for taking care of my little sister.”
Dr. Griffin took her hand, firm but warm shake. “Of course. It’s my job.”
“I’m Anya Woods,” she introduced herself. “And you?”
A pause. Then a small, professional smile. “Dr. Griffin.”
Anya narrowed her eyes just slightly. “…No first name?”
Dr. Griffin’s smile widened, teasing. “Not yet.”
Anya grinned. Oh, she liked this woman already.
“Well, Dr. Griffin,” Anya said, folding her arms, “I have to apologize for my sister’s, uh… shenanigans.”
Dr. Griffin let out a soft laugh, waving a hand dismissively. “Oh, don’t worry about it. I’ve been flirted with by plenty of patients before.”
Anya raised an eyebrow. “That so?”
“Oh, yeah,” Dr. Griffin nodded, amused. “Usually it’s the pain meds talking.”
Anya glanced at Lexa. “Yeah, well… my sister isn’t exactly a normal patient.”
Dr. Griffin chuckled, tilting her head. “You can say that again.”
Then, with a small, knowing smile, she added,
“Most patients just slur their way through bad pickup lines.” She glanced back at Lexa, shaking her head in bemusement. “But your sister? She managed to flirt with full articulation.”
Anya, grinning now, crossed her arms. “She did?”
“Oh, yeah,” Dr. Griffin nodded, clearly entertained. “Poetry, even. Something about wheat fields in summer, Michelangelo, and…” She paused, then grinned. “…The most gorgeous woman he’d ever sculpt.”
Anya, laughing now, shook her head. “God, that is so Lexa.”
Dr. Griffin, still smirking, just shrugged. “Well, it was certainly a first for me.”
Anya grinned at her, already suspecting something. She gave the doctor an appraising look, then glanced between her and Lexa.
Huh.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
“Well, Dr. Griffin,” Anya said, amused, “I have a feeling we’ll be seeing more of each other.”
Dr. Griffin just smiled, her gaze lingering on Lexa for half a second longer than necessary.
“…I think so too.”
---
Lexa’s second awakening was less… poetic.
Her body still ached, but the fog had lifted, leaving behind a dull headache and the vague, horrifying sense that she had said things.
The first thing she saw when she opened her eyes was not the gorgeous doctor from last night—no, it was her older sister, arms crossed, staring at her like she was a live comedy special.
“…What,” Lexa rasped, voice thick with sleep.
Anya smirked. Not a good sign.
“Nothing,” she said. “Just… How was your night, Professor Woods?”
Lexa squinted. “…Fine?”
Anya leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “Oh yeah? Because I heard it was poetic.”
Lexa’s stomach dropped.
“…What?”
Anya grinned, pure evil. “Gorgeous. Like wheat fields in summer.”
Lexa’s soul left her body.
She remembered saying those silly things!
“Oh my God,” she whispered.
Anya was having the time of her life. “And—oh, this one’s my favorite—Michelangelo would have sculpted you.”
Lexa closed her eyes in agony. “No.”
“Oh, yes.”
Lexa slowly turned her face into her pillow. “Tell me I didn’t.”
Anya laughed. “Oh, you did. And the best part?” She leaned in conspiratorially. “Your doctor heard all of it.”
Lexa groaned loudly. “Please let me die.”
“Absolutely not,” Anya said cheerfully. “Because this is the best thing to ever happen to me.”
Before Lexa could formulate a response that would make her sister shut up forever, the door opened.
And in walked Dr. Griffin.
Holding a covered tray.
Lexa prayed it was poison.
Clarke smirked. “Good morning, Professor Woods.”
Lexa wanted to crawl into the sheets and cease to exist. “Dr. Griffin.”
Anya, delighted, turned toward Clarke. “Oh, please. Continue.”
Clarke grinned at Lexa. “How are you feeling?”
Lexa forced herself to maintain dignity. “Fine.”
Clarke eyed her suspiciously, then set the tray down without revealing what was inside. “Good. Because I brought you something.”
Lexa narrowed her eyes. “…I’m not supposed to eat solid food yet.”
Clarke nodded, dead serious. “I know.”
Anya, watching the interaction, muttered, “Oh, this is gonna be good.”
Clarke lifted the tray cover with a flourish—
And revealed a single slice of bread.
Lexa stared at it.
“…What.”
Clarke, completely straight-faced, folded her arms. “I heard you need to pass gas before they let you drink, so—bread for motivation.”
Anya wheeze-laughed.
Lexa, mortified, dropped her head back onto the pillow. “I hate everything.”
Clarke, clearly enjoying herself, just grinned. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll bring real food when you’re actually allowed to eat.”
Lexa glared weakly. “You are—insufferable.”
Clarke tilted her head, amused. “Funny, because last night I was gorgeous.”
Anya fell off the chair laughing.
Lexa decided, then and there, that Dr. Griffin was going to ruin her life.
And, against all logic, she didn’t mind.
---
Lexa Woods was miserable.
She was parched. Dried out. A deserted wasteland of a woman. A husk of her former self.
And the only thing standing between her and salvation? A single, traitorous pocket of trapped gas that refused to grant her mercy.
“Anya.”
Anya, comfortably slouched in the corner chair, barely looked up from her phone. “Mm?”
Lexa glared. “I need real food.”
Anya smirked. “And I need a million dollars.”
Lexa scowled. “Anya.”
“Lexa,” Anya mimicked, clearly enjoying every second of this.
Lexa clenched her jaw. “I will die before this gas leaves my body.”
Anya, still scrolling her phone, shrugged. “Eh. At least you’ll be well-hydrated in the afterlife.”
Lexa groaned, flopping back dramatically against the pillows. “This is torture. Cruel. Unjust. Barbaric.”
Anya, thoroughly entertained, didn’t even bother looking up. “You’re being so dramatic.”
“I am not being dramatic!”
“You’re whining.”
“I am stating facts.”
Anya rolled her eyes. “Lex, it’s one more day. Your body needs time to recover.”
Lexa crossed her arms. “My body is staging a mutiny.”
Anya snorted.
Just then, a knock at the door made both of them glance up.
The door swung open, and in stepped Dr. Griffin, clipboard in one hand, followed by a nurse pushing a tray.
Immediately, Lexa stiffened.
Anya, however, grinned.
“Doctor,” she greeted, her tone overly pleasant, like she was about to witness something fun.
Dr. Griffin, professional as ever, nodded. “Ms. Woods. Ms. Woods.”
Anya smirked. “Oh, don’t lump me in with her. She’s the fussy one.”
Lexa scowled at Anya before fixing her gaze on the doctor.
Dr. Griffin, to her credit, noticed immediately. The frustration. The discomfort. The narrowed green eyes practically begging for release.
She sighed, handing the clipboard to the nurse. “I’ll handle it.”
The nurse, looking more than happy to escape whatever battle of wills was about to happen, nodded and left.
Dr. Griffin pulled on a fresh pair of gloves and turned her full attention to Lexa.
“So,” she started, voice calm but firm, “I hear you’re having some trouble.”
Lexa narrowed her eyes, suspiciously silent.
Anya, grinning like a menace, answered for her. “She’s throwing a fit because she can’t drink water and eat real food yet.”
Lexa gasped, scandalized. “I am not throwing a fit!”
Dr. Griffin bit back a smile, shaking her head. “Lexa, I told you. You had a pretty serious case of appendicitis. You were already stubborn enough to try sleeping off the pain—”
Lexa muttered, “That was a miscalculation.”
Dr. Griffin gave her a pointed look. “You’re lucky you didn’t go into septic shock.”
Lexa huffed. “I know.”
Dr. Griffin nodded. “So now, you have to be patient.”
Lexa groaned, dramatically flopping her head back. “Doctor, I am trying. But I am so hungry for other than broth.”
"That’s a good sign," she said, rolling up her sleeves. "But before we discuss your meal situation, let’s take a look at those stitches, yeah?"
Lexa sighed but complied, shifting carefully as Clarke peeled away the bandages.
Her movements were gentle, precise, and when the antiseptic dabbed against the healing incision, Lexa exhaled through her nose, focusing on the warmth of Clarke’s fingers instead of the sting.
"You’re healing well," Clarke murmured. "But your body needs time. The gas will pass soon.”
Anya, snickering, leaned forward. “Yeah, Lexa. Just let it out.”
Lexa glared. “You are the worst.”
Anya just grinned wider.
Dr. Griffin finished wrapping the fresh bandage. “Just hold out a little longer. I promise, it won’t be much—”
And then, it happened.
A soft, unmistakable, and absolutely mortifying sound.
Right as Dr. Griffin was securing the last piece of the bandage.
Lexa froze.
Dr. Griffin paused.
Anya gasped.
For a long, agonizing second, no one moved.
Then, Anya wheeze-laughed so hard she nearly fell out of her chair.
Lexa, horrified, immediately covered her face with both hands and groaned.
"Congratulations!" Clarke cheered like Lexa had just won a gold medal.
Lexa wanted to disappear.
Her entire body flushed as she slapped a hand over her face. "I am never going to recover from this."
Clarke, meanwhile, looked thoroughly pleased. "That means you are officially cleared for the next level—soft foods!"
Lexa groaned, dragging her hands down her face. "Just kill me."
Clarke chuckled, reaching over to gently squeeze Lexa’s wrist. "No can do, Professor. You have a very bright future ahead of you—one that now includes mashed potatoes."
Lexa perked up immediately. "Wait. Really?"
"Really," Clarke confirmed, standing. "In fact, I’ll go get them for you myself."
And then, before she walked out, she added casually—
"I make them myself, so look forward."
Lexa blinked. "You… cooked?"
Clarke smirked, tapping the doorframe as she left. "I had a feeling you’d be moving to soft foods today. Consider it a special treat."
The door clicked shut behind her.
Lexa stared after her, brain short-circuiting.
Anya, watching all of this unfold, slowly turned her head.
"Lex," she said, voice dripping with amusement.
Lexa didn’t look at her. "No."
"Oh, you are so smitten," Anya said gleefully.
Lexa sank into her pillow with a groan, but she couldn’t stop the tiny, helpless smile forming on her lips.
---
Fifteen minutes later, Dr. Griffin returned, carrying a small tray.
"Okay, I pulled some strings in the kitchen," she said, setting it down in front of Lexa. "And by that, I mean I made it myself before I left for work. You get extra smooth mashed potatoes. Basically just potato-flavored clouds."
Lexa stared at her. "You really made this?"
The doctor smirked, "You doubting my skills, Professor?"
Lexa shook her head, reaching for the spoon. "No. Just… impressed."
She took her first bite and moaned. "Oh my god. This is the best thing I’ve ever eaten."
Anya snorted. "Lex, it’s mashed potatoes."
"Exactly," Lexa said, already taking another spoonful. "It’s not broth."
Clarke just smiled fondly, watching as Lexa finally, finally got to enjoy something real.
And, of course, Anya took a picture, sending it to the family group chat with the caption:
"She farted. She is free."
---
Clarke wasn’t supposed to be here.
Lexa Woods was no longer on her watchlist. Now that she had graduated from ice chips to broth, then soft food, she was medically stable.
The nurses had it covered.
And yet.
Somehow, Clarke found herself stopping by anyway.
At first, she told herself it was habit. A reflex. She had spent the first couple of days keeping a close eye on Lexa because of the ruptured appendix. It wasn’t exactly routine, and she’d needed to monitor her closely for any sign of infection.
But by day three, when it was clear Lexa was out of the woods, Clarke had realized she had no excuse anymore.
And yet.
For the last five days, without fail, Clarke had checked in on Lexa at least twice a day.
It was never for a real reason.
Lexa was recovering beautifully. She was no longer her responsibility. She’d be discharged soon.
And still, every time Clarke found a short break, she somehow ended up in room 312.
Lexa never questioned it.
If anything, she just accepted it.
Clarke had been subtly fussing over her, and Lexa—damn her—was just rolling with it.
In fact, she was so unbothered by Clarke’s continued presence that it made Clarke feel like she was the one who should be embarrassed.
And yet, as she approached the room again, she found herself lingering outside for half a second, debating if this was ridiculous.
Then she stepped inside.
Lexa was sitting up, flipping through a book on her lap, and the moment she looked up and saw Clarke—
Her entire face lit up.
Clarke pretended not to notice the way her own chest fluttered.
"You’re back," Lexa said, closing the book.
Clarke lifted an eyebrow. "Didn’t know you were keeping track."
Lexa shrugged, but there was a small smirk playing at her lips. "You’ve been by a lot."
Clarke felt her face warm.
"Just making sure my patient is recovering well," she said, casually checking Lexa’s chart.
"Your patient?" Lexa teased. "I thought I was off your list."
Damn it.
Clarke cleared her throat. "I have a vested interest in making sure stubborn professors don’t ignore medical advice again."
Lexa chuckled. "Touché."
Clarke lowered the clipboard. "How’s the mashed potato diet treating you?"
Lexa sighed dramatically. "Not bad. But I miss real food."
"You’ll get there soon," Clarke promised. "One step at a time."
Lexa hummed, then tilted her head. "You know, Dr. Griffin… you keep checking in, but I don’t actually know your first name."
Clarke hesitated.
She hadn’t even realized she’d been avoiding it.
It wasn’t a secret or anything, but there was something about this dynamic that had been… comfortable. A safe boundary.
She didn’t want to acknowledge that by checking in so much, she’d already crossed that line.
Lexa, ever perceptive, must have noticed her hesitation because she added, "I mean, if you’d rather keep it professional—"
"Clarke," she said before she could second-guess it. "It’s Clarke."
"Klark," Lexa repeated it, softly. Like she was tasting it.
And god, Clarke really needed to stop imagining things because why was that attractive?
"It suits you," Lexa said eventually, offering a small smile.
Clarke rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her own smile. "Is that your professional opinion?"
Lexa smirked. "Of course. I’m a professor."
Clarke laughed, shaking her head.
She should probably leave now. She had other patients, actual work to do.
But she found herself lingering.
"Since you’re still on soft food," she said, "I could make you something else."
Lexa’s brows lifted. "Are you bribing me with food, Dr. Clarke?"
"I’m ensuring a smooth recovery, Professor Woods," Clarke said smoothly.
Lexa chuckled, then tilted her head. "Surprise me, then."
Clarke nodded, backing toward the door.
"Alright," she said, smirking. "Try not to starve before I get back."
Lexa grinned, and as Clarke left, she realized—
She was smiling.
And maybe, just maybe—
She was in big trouble.
---
The kitchen smelled warm and rich, the nutty scent of butternut squash blending with the slow-simmering rice. Clarke stirred with practiced ease, her mind somewhere else entirely.
Or at least, it had been—until Raven spoke.
"This is the ‘I don’t know what I’m feeling yet’ dish," she mused, arms crossed as she leaned against the counter.
Octavia, seated at the table, grinned. "Nah. This is the ‘something is stirring’ dish."
Clarke snorted, shaking her head. "You two are so dramatic."
"Am I?" Raven asked, watching Clarke too closely. "Because I’ve only seen you make this when you’re overthinking something."
"And let’s not forget," Octavia added, gesturing to the side, "you also made mashed potatoes. Again."
Raven’s smirk widened. "Which means the risotto is for us, and the mashed potatoes are for someone else."
Clarke rolled her eyes. "God, you two are insufferable."
But she knew—she knew—they were right.
She had made this dish before. When she was mulling over something she didn’t quite understand yet.
And she had made mashed potatoes immediately after, because—
Because someone had to eat.
Someone who still couldn’t handle anything too solid.
Someone who—
She sighed, stirring slower.
Raven’s eyes narrowed. "Wait. Didn’t you say one of your patients flirted with you?"
Clarke stiffened.
Raven snapped her fingers. "Yeah, yeah! Some professor who was still high on anesthesia?"
Octavia perked up. "Ohhh, yeah. That does sound familiar."
Clarke glared. "You two really need to mind your own business."
Raven ignored that completely. "Wait. Hold on. What’s that professor’s name again?"
Clarke hesitated.
Raven grinned. "Clarke."
Clarke sighed. "Woods."
Octavia blinked. "As in Professor Alexandra Woods?"
"Yeah," Clarke answered, going back to stirring.
Raven’s jaw dropped. "Holy shit. Lexa Woods?"
Clarke froze.
Raven’s grin was instant. "Oh, this just got so much better."
Clarke groaned, she refused to dignify that with a response.
Raven, of course, took that as another ammunition to tease her bestfriend.
"Wow," she said, grinning. "Big bad Professor Woods got Dr. Griffin to make her mashed potatoes."
"Shut up, Reyes," Clarke muttered, turning off the heat.
Raven smirked. "I bet she’s getting special treatment."
Clarke pointedly ignored them. She plated the risotto for them, then moved to pack the mashed potatoes.
"Yup," Octavia said. "She’s definitely processing something."
Raven grinned. "And I, for one, am having a great time watching it happen."
Clarke sighed, grabbed the food, and headed for the door.
"Try not to fall in love on your way there!" Raven called after her.
Clarke flipped her off without looking back.
---
Lexa was not in a hurry to leave.
It wasn’t that she disliked the idea of going home—she hated hospitals—but the past few days had been… unexpectedly pleasant.
Which had everything to do with Dr. Clarke Griffin.
Lexa had noticed, of course. How Clarke had continued checking in even after saying Lexa was officially off her watchlist. How she always made time for a conversation, even when it wasn’t strictly necessary.
How she had personally brought Lexa’s food, instead of leaving it to the nurses.
How she had cooked for her.
Lexa was many things, but oblivious was not one of them.
So when Clarke walked into her room that afternoon, clipboard in hand, Lexa knew exactly what was coming.
"Good news," Clarke announced. "You’re being discharged tomorrow."
Lexa tilted her head. "You almost sound disappointed, Dr. Griffin."
Clarke scoffed. "Please. You think I’ll miss you whining about food?"
Lexa smirked. "I don’t whine."
Clarke gave her a look.
Lexa chuckled, not even pretending to argue. "Alright. Maybe a little."
Clarke shook her head, amused, then placed the clipboard down. "I’ll go over the post-op care instructions before you leave tomorrow. You’ll need to take it easy for a few more weeks, keep an eye on the stitches, and follow the dietary guidelines."
Lexa nodded. "Which brings me to a very important matter."
Clarke raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
Lexa leaned back against the pillows, affecting the most serious expression she could manage. "I believe I require your personal number."
Clarke blinked. "Excuse me?"
Lexa gave a small, knowing smile. "For medical reasons, of course."
Clarke narrowed her eyes.
Lexa continued, voice smooth as silk. "What if I have questions about my recovery? What if I need your expertise? Advice on suitable diets, post-op restrictions—"
Clarke sighed through a laugh. "Lexa."
Lexa’s smile widened. "Yes, Dr. Griffin?"
Clarke exhaled sharply, shaking her head. She wasn’t fooled—not in the slightest. But—
She hesitated. Just for a second.
Then, with a resigned huff, she pulled out a small notepad and scribbled something down.
Lexa tried not to look too smug when Clarke handed it over.
"There." Clarke crossed her arms. "For medical reasons."
Lexa took the paper, carefully folding it. "Of course. Strictly professional."
Clarke rolled her eyes, but Lexa caught the smallest hint of a smile.
She knew—they both knew—that she had no real reason to give her number. The nurses had everything covered.
But she had given it anyway.
Lexa held back a smirk.
"Well," Clarke said, picking up her clipboard. "Enjoy your last night here, Professor Woods. I expect a smooth recovery."
Lexa watched her go, feeling oddly… pleased.
She glanced at the folded paper in her hand.
Then she smiled.
Tomorrow, she would be discharged.
But Clarke Griffin?
She wouldn’t be out of her orbit just yet.
---
Lexa sighed. Heavily.
“This is completely unnecessary,” she muttered, glaring at the wheelchair.
“Hospital policy,” Clarke chimed in, arms crossed, clearly entertained.
Anya smirked as she loomed behind the chair, hands firmly on the handles. “You heard the doctor. Now, sit your stubborn ass down before I make you.”
Lexa huffed. “I can walk just fine.”
“You were literally in a hospital bed for a week,” Anya countered. “Sit.”
Clarke raised an eyebrow. “For once, I agree with your sister.”
Lexa gave her a betrayed look.
Clarke only shrugged. “You should listen to your older sister, Lexa. Not be so stubborn.”
Anya grinned, pleased. “See? Even your doctor says so.”
Lexa grumbled, but finally, reluctantly, sat in the chair.
Anya patted her head like a child. “Good girl.”
Lexa glared. “I hate you.”
Anya just beamed. “Love you too, kiddo.”
Clarke laughed, shaking her head. “Alright, you’re all set. Just take it easy, follow the recovery guidelines, and—”
Anya grinned at Clarke. “Don’t worry, Dr. Griffin. I’ll make sure she behaves.”
“Good luck with that,” Clarke muttered playfully.
Anya smirked. “And thanks for taming this wild woman.”
Clarke chuckled. “It was my pleasure.”
Lexa rolled her eyes, but she didn’t deny it.
She let Anya push the wheelchair forward, but not before glancing back at Clarke one last time.
The doctor was still watching. Still smiling.
Lexa felt something settle warmly in her chest.
Then the hospital doors slid open, and she was on her way home.
---
Chapter Text
Lexa stretched out on her couch, carefully, so she wouldn’t pull at her stitches. Home. Finally.
She had spent half the day with Anya fussing over her, making sure she was settled, getting her medication, setting up a schedule for her meals.
It was nice, in an overbearing way.
But now, she was alone. And, somehow, she wasn’t as tired as she thought she’d be.
Her phone buzzed.
Dr. Griffin: Make sure to clean your stitches and change the bandage before bed.
Lexa smirked.
Lexa: Yes, doctor.
Another text came immediately.
Dr. Griffin: Take your meds too. And if there’s any pain at the incision site, call me.
Lexa knew it wasn’t necessary. She had everything under control.
But she found herself staring at the message longer than she needed to.
The warmth in Clarke’s words was obvious, even in text form.
Lexa exhaled, then typed back.
Lexa: Understood. Thanks, Clarke.
For a moment, she thought maybe that was too familiar.
But then—
Dr. Griffin: You’re welcome, Professor Woods.
Lexa smiled.
Maybe being home wouldn’t be so bad.
---
Lexa stared at her phone.
It had been three days since she got home, and she was already going stir-crazy.
She had read. She had watched documentaries. She had even organized her bookshelves twice—and now, she was bored.
She opened her messages and typed.
Lexa: Hypothetically speaking, how soon can someone return to work after an appendectomy?
A few minutes later, her phone buzzed.
Dr. Griffin: Hypothetically?
Lexa: Yes.
Dr. Griffin: Depends. How reckless is this hypothetical person?
Lexa huffed.
Lexa: Not reckless at all. Very responsible. Very professional.
Dr. Griffin: Mhm. And would this very responsible, very professional person happen to be you?
Lexa stared at the screen, caught.
She debated denying. Then sighed.
Lexa: …Possibly.
The response was instant.
Dr. Griffin: Then no. You need more time for a full recovery.
Lexa groaned, flopping back against her couch.
Lexa: I feel fine.
Dr. Griffin: I’m sure you do. But internal healing takes longer than you think, Professor Woods.
Lexa grumbled.
Lexa: So what am I supposed to do? Sit here and waste away?
Dr. Griffin: Yes.
Lexa scowled.
Lexa: You enjoy this, don’t you?
Dr. Griffin: Immensely.
Lexa could practically see Clarke’s smug expression through the phone.
She narrowed her eyes and tried again.
Lexa: What if I just did light work? Grading papers? Answering emails?
Dr. Griffin: You’re pushing your luck, Woods.
Lexa sighed dramatically.
Lexa: I am a prisoner in my own home.
Dr. Griffin: Oh please. You just want an excuse to escape Anya’s overbearing care.
Lexa paused.
…Okay, maybe Clarke had a point.
Lexa: No comment.
Dr. Griffin: Exactly.
Lexa smirked despite herself.
It was strange how easy this was now.
Their texts had started as polite, doctor-to-patient exchanges. Then they became comfortable. Casual.
Now, Clarke didn’t hesitate to tease her.
And Lexa found that she didn’t mind.
At all.
---
Clarke stood at the stove, stirring the pan with practiced ease, the aroma of lemon garlic roast chicken filling the kitchen. The rosemary potatoes were already done, resting on the counter beside a few extra packed containers.
Raven and Octavia sat nearby, watching her with matching smirks.
“So…” Raven leaned back, arms crossed. “Are we feeding a small army tonight?”
Clarke didn’t even look up. “I made extra.”
Octavia snorted. “Extra? Clarke, this is enough for a dinner party.”
Raven eyed the neatly packed containers. “And let me guess… one of these just happens to be the perfect portion for a certain professor?”
Clarke kept stirring. “It’s for whoever wants it.”
“Uh-huh,” Raven grinned. “Whoever wants it. Sure.”
She elbowed Octavia, grinning. “Hey, did you know half of Polis University had a meltdown when their favorite history professor landed in the hospital?”
Clarke finally glanced up. “What?”
Raven smirked. “Yeah, I actually know Alexandra Woods. Fellow professor. Had a few conversations. She’s pretty well-liked. And definitely the kind of person students obsess over.”
Octavia nodded. “I heard from Bell that some of the faculty were panicked over her hospitalization. It was like watching a cult scramble to protect their leader.”
Clarke responded dryly, “That’s… a lot.”
Raven grinned knowingly. “I remember that you've mentioned your flirty patient was that Professor Woods.”
Octavia raised a brow. “The same one who was—let me get this right—so articulate and poetic while still high on anesthesia?”
Clarke rolled her eyes, turning off the stove. “You two are insufferable.”
Raven grinned. “And you, my friend, are making a very specific someone a very special meal.”
Clarke said nothing. But as she packed the food, her small, fond smile didn’t go unnoticed.
---
Lexa sat on the examination table, calm, composed—until Clarke began removing her stitches.
“You’re healing well,” Clarke murmured, her focus steady.
Lexa smiled. “And here I thought you’d miss an excuse to keep checking on me.”
Clarke huffed. “You’re not out of the woods yet, Woods.”
Lexa chuckled at the pun. “I should’ve known you were secretly funny, Dr. Griffin.”
Clarke rolled her eyes. “Alright, stitches are out. You still need to take it easy, though. No intense physical activity yet.”
Lexa nodded. “No worries. I’ll avoid any surprise fencing duels or rooftop parkour.”
Clarke bit back a smile. “Glad to hear it.”
Then, as if on instinct, Clarke reached into her bag and pulled out a neatly packed container of food.
Lexa blinked.
Then smirked.
“You just happened to have a perfectly packed meal for me?”
Clarke deadpaned, "Purely coincidence.”
Lexa opened the container, inhaling the aroma.
“You know,” she mused, spearing a potato with her fork, “if I didn’t know better, I’d say you like me, Dr. Griffin.”
Clarke crossed her arms. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you like making assumptions, Professor Woods.”
Lexa chuckled, taking a bite.
Clarke refused to watch her reaction.
But when Lexa hummed in appreciation, her smugness was impossible to hide.
---
Clarke stood by Raven’s desk, lunch in hand, trying to look casual.
Raven, already skeptical, leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. “You never bring me lunch unless you want something.”
Clarke scoffed. “I’m just being a good friend.”
Raven snorted. “You? A good friend? Debatable.” She grabbed the lunch box anyway, opening it. “Alright, I’ll bite. What do you want?”
Clarke hesitated. Then, casually—too casually: “By the way… where’s Lexa’s office?”
Raven froze mid-chew. Her eyes narrowed.
Clarke stayed perfectly still.
Slowly, Raven swallowed her bite. Then, a slow smirk crept onto her face.
“You don’t know?”
Clarke shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “I’ve never needed to.”
Raven tapped her fingers on the desk, clearly enjoying herself. “You mean to tell me that, in all your little doctor-patient check-ins, you never once asked where her office is?”
Clarke rolled her eyes. “Are you going to tell me or not?”
Raven grinned. Pointed down. “Right across the hall.”
Clarke blinked.
“…You’re joking.”
Raven just laughed. “Nope. The professor you’ve been texting constantly? Works directly across from me. Guess that makes us neighbors, too.”
Clarke groaned, rubbing her temple.
Raven just cackled. “Have fun with your ‘leftovers’ excuse.”
---
Lexa sat at her desk, typing up notes, when a knock sounded.
“Come in.”
The door swung open, revealing Clarke Griffin.
Lexa blinked in surprise. “Dr. Griffin.”
Clarke stepped inside, holding a neatly packed container. “Hey. Thought I’d drop by.”
Lexa arched a brow. “To the history department?”
Clarke shrugged. “I was delivering lunch to Raven. Figured I’d say hi.”
Lexa glanced at the container. “And that?”
Clarke shrugged, “Leftovers.”
Lexa smirked. “Convenient.”
Clarke set the food on Lexa’s desk, arms crossing. “You need to eat properly while recovering. Consider it my professional concern.”
Lexa opened the container. The scent of warm gnocchi in sage butter filled the office.
She picked up a bite, popped it into her mouth—
And closed her eyes.
A deep, satisfied hum escaped her.
Clarke froze.
Her brain stopped functioning.
Had it always been this warm in here?
Lexa opened her eyes, completely unaware of Clarke’s internal panic. “Clarke,” she murmured, “this is incredible.”
Clarke cleared her throat. “Yeah, well… I cook sometimes.”
Lexa smirked, taking another bite. “If this is just leftovers, I’d love to see what happens when you actually try.”
Clarke huffed a laugh. “Don’t push your luck, Woods.”
But as she walked out the door, she could still feel Lexa’s amused gaze lingering on her.
--
Their coffee breaks had become a regular thing—a brief but comforting routine.
Whenever Clarke was between shifts and Lexa had a gap between lectures, they’d find a small café near Polis University, sitting across from each other, nursing their drinks, conversation easy, familiar.
Lexa, for all her smooth moments, had her not-so-smooth ones too.
Like the time she tried to compliment Clarke’s eyes and somehow ended up on a tangent about the science of blue pigmentation in human irises.
Clarke had just stared, sipping her coffee, while Lexa slowly realized what she had done.
Lexa cleared her throat, flustered. “I meant… your eyes are—”
Clarke grinned. “Oh, no, please. Continue. This is fascinating.”
Lexa groaned, rubbing her forehead. “I—You—Forget it.”
Clarke just laughed, the warmth in her chest growing more solid every time they met.
She liked this.
She liked her.
---
Clarke found herself bringing Lexa lunch more often on her days off.
At first, she used Raven as an excuse.
“Oh, Raven forgot her lunch again—might as well drop this off for you too.”
But Raven caught on fast.
One afternoon, Clarke had rushed in, barely staying five minutes before heading to her shift, dropping off Lexa’s lunch at her office.
Lexa had been about to eat in peaceful solitude—until the door opened again.
Raven entered. Carrying her lunch.
Lexa blinked. “Clarke said she brought you lunch”
Raven smirked. Sat down. “Yeah. I want to eat here with you.”
Lexa narrowed her eyes. “So you’re… really just here to eat?”
Before Raven could answer—
The door opened again.
Octavia walked in. In full uniform.
Lexa slowly set down her fork.
Octavia crossed her arms. “So. You and Clarke.”
Lexa sighed. Looked between them. “I take it this is… The Talk?”
Raven grinned. “Ding ding ding.”
Octavia nodded approvingly. “Smart woman.”
Lexa leaned back, unfazed. “Go on, then.”
And so they did.
It wasn’t an interrogation, exactly.
More like a… friendly warning.
Octavia, the protective cop, and Raven, the best friend with zero filter, laid it all out: Clarke was important to them. Clarke cooked when things were serious. Clarke didn’t do casual. Clarke had been through enough, and they just wanted to make sure Lexa understood that.
Lexa listened.
She didn’t get defensive, didn’t scoff.
She accepted it.
“I hear you,” Lexa said simply, meeting both their eyes. “And I respect it. I don't plan to hurt her.”
Raven and Octavia exchanged glances.
Then, Raven smirked. “Alright. You pass—for now.”
Lexa rolled her eyes. Finally took a bite of her food.
She hummed. “Clarke made this, didn’t she?”
Raven grinned. “See? You get it.”
And just like that—Lexa was one step closer to Clarke’s world.
--
Clarke didn’t know when it changed.
There was no clear moment, no obvious shift—just a slow build, like a painting coming to life with each brushstroke.
They weren’t texting because of Lexa’s recovery anymore. That had been over for a while.
They weren’t hanging out because Clarke happened to bring her food, either.
Now?
It was just them.
Flirting had become blatant, their meet-ups frequent. Clarke found herself gravitating toward Lexa’s office at Polis U more often, lingering over coffee breaks that stretched too long, waiting just a little longer when Lexa walked her to her car after their late-night conversations.
It was comfortable. Easy.
Until Clarke realized—it wasn’t just attraction anymore.
It was more.
And that?
That was dangerous.
So, she did what she always did when emotions got too real.
She cooked.
And not just any dish.
A spicy, complex, slightly overwhelming stew.
The kind of meal that burned just enough to keep emotions at bay.
She was stirring furiously when Octavia walked in, took one sniff, and smirked.
“Oh,” she said, arms crossed. “She’s in denial.”
Clarke glared. “I am not.”
Octavia grabbed a spoon, took a bite.
Nodded knowingly. “Mhm. This is classic avoidance stew.”
Clarke sighed, poking at the bubbling pot.
Octavia just watched her. “You like her.”
Clarke ignored her.
“You really like her.”
Clarke scoffed. “I like a lot of people.”
Octavia snorted. “Yeah, but you don’t cook for them, except us.”
Clarke froze just slightly.
Octavia grinned. “Thought so.”
Clarke shoved a bowl into her hands, “Shut up and eat.” she deadpaned
Octavia, grinning like a menace, did exactly that.
---
Clarke had mastered the art of denial.
Or so she thought.
Because this?
This was bad.
It started with the occasional meal—just something she happened to have extra of.
Then it became more frequent.
And now?
She was making meals specifically for Lexa.
Beef Bourguignon, slow-cooked, layered flavors, balanced seasonings—love in food form.
Raven and Octavia didn’t even question it anymore.
They just nodded at the rich aroma filling the kitchen.
“Yeah,” Raven muttered, stealing a bite. “She’s screwed.”
Clarke scowled. “I’m just making sure she eats. She works too hard.”
Octavia smirked. “Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that.”
---
The next day, Clarke casually dropped off the food.
Lexa took a bite.
Closed her eyes. Savored it.
Clarke was already leaving when she heard Lexa’s soft, knowing chuckle.
Yeah. Lexa knew.
---
The next time Clarke dropped off food, Lexa didn’t let her escape.
She leaned back against her desk, arms crossed, smirk in full effect.
“So…” Lexa drawled. “How long were you planning to keep making me meals before admitting you’re in love with me?”
Clarke choked on air.
She went red—actually red.
Lexa grinned. “I mean, at this point, I might as well propose.”
Clarke narrowed her eyes. Oh, so Lexa wanted to play?
Fine.
Clarke dropped the food container, grabbed Lexa by the collar, and kissed her. Hard.
In one smooth, fluid move, she lifted Lexa onto the desk, pressing against her, deepening the kiss.
Lexa? Absolutely wrecked.
When they finally pulled away, Lexa blinked, breathless.
“…Okay. That was unexpected.”
Clarke smirked. “You started it.”
Lexa ran a slightly unsteady hand through her hair. “I guess I did.”
Then, softer, more certain—
“Be my girlfriend. For real this time.”
Clarke grinned.
“Thought you’d never ask.”
Clarke might’ve been playing it cool on the outside—throwing out sassy remarks, keeping Lexa on her toes—but inside?
She was melting.
Lexa was so warm under her hands, her body firm, solid, real.
Their kisses turned heated, desperate, tangled.
Clarke’s hands roamed—one threading into Lexa’s hair, tugging lightly as she deepened the kiss, the other smoothing down Lexa’s stomach, fingers skimming over toned abs.
She knew exactly how strong Lexa was.
She’d seen it in the OR, steady and composed as she worked on her.
But touching Lexa now? Feeling those defined muscles flex under her fingertips, the heat of her skin beneath her touch?
Clarke groaned into the kiss.
“God, you’re ripped,” she muttered, voice rough with appreciation. She gripped Lexa’s waist, fingers pressing into the firm ridges of her abs.
“I had no time to appreciate these when I was your doctor.”
Lexa chuckled smugly against Clarke’s lips. “That’s a shame.”
Clarke’s fingers dug in a little more, just to hear that pleased exhale from Lexa.
They were so lost in each other—the weeks of tension finally unraveling between them.
And then—
A knock on the door.
They jolted apart, both flushed, breathing hard, clothes slightly askew.
Lexa ran a hand through her hair, trying to fix it, while Clarke quickly smoothed down Lexa’s shirt and wiped away the smudged lipstick at the corner of her mouth.
Both of them took a deep breath, trying to look presentable.
Only then did Clarke stride confidently to the door and open it.
A female student stood there, her face rapidly turning red.
Clarke immediately knew.
Oh. She definitely heard.
The student cleared her throat, refusing to make eye contact with her professor. “Um—Professor Woods?” she stammered. “I—I was wondering if I could ask you something about the upcoming exam?”
"Of course, please come in," Lexa cleared her throat and regaind her composure. While Clarke was still leaning on the door frame.
Little did Lexa and Clarke know—this student wasn’t just here for academic reasons.
Lexa’s students had noticed the changes.
Their strict, no-nonsense professor had been lighter, smiling more, visibly happier.
She’d started coming to work looking well-rested, healthier—glowing.
And then there was Miss Reyes’ mysterious best friend.
Blonde, blue-eyed, carrying home-cooked meals.
The students had seen her visit Professor Woods’ office more times than she’d visited Miss Reyes' herself.
That was suspicious.
So when one of them caught sight of the mystery woman walking down the hall—Miss Reyes nowhere in sight—they knew.
Miss Reyes’ best friend wasn’t just visiting a friend.
And so, after confirming their professor’s guest had entered the office and the door had locked, the students devised a plan.
Step 1: Find a student brave enough to interrupt.
Step 2: Confirm if their theory was right.
Step 3: Report back to the group.
And now, their chosen agent was standing near the desk, watching as Clarke Griffin—mysterious blonde meal-bringer—took her sweet time fixing Professor Woods’ hair and wiping a lipstic smudge on the corner of Professor Woods' mouth, that caused Miss Woods rolling her eyes fondly.
Once Clarke was satisfied, she stepped back, grinning as if nothing had just happened.
And then—
She winked when she realized the student was watching.
The student’s entire brain short-circuited.
Oh, she had so much to report.
She barely remembered to ask her question, still reeling at the confirmation that their professor was, indeed, not-so-secretly seeing Reyes’ best friend.
And when Clarke walked back to the desk and sat down, making it very clear that she was staying?
Oh.
This was huge.
---
That night, Clarke found herself in her kitchen, sleeves rolled up, focused on the molten chocolate perfection in front of her.
Chocolate lava cakes.
Decadent. Messy. Indulgent.
Much like the way she had Lexa on that desk.She paused, hands tightening on the mixing bowl.
Her mind flashed back—Lexa’s lips, Lexa’s hands, the way she gasped when Clarke took control.
Clarke groaned.
She needed a distraction.
Hence, baking.
She was carefully spooning batter into ramekins when a familiar voice cut through her thoughts.
"Ohhh, someone had a good day."
Clarke startled, nearly dropping a ramekin.
She turned to find Raven leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, smug as hell.
Clarke felt heat crawl up her neck.
“Shut. Up.”
Raven's grin widened.
“I mean, I don’t blame you," she continued. "If I had my hands on Professor Woods, I’d probably be stress-baking too. But damn, Clarke. Chocolate lava cakes? That’s a whole new level of post-make-out recovery.”
Clarke whipped a spoon at her.
Raven dodged, laughing.
“Oh, I am so telling Octavia.”
Clarke pointed the whisk at her, menacingly.
“If you value your life, Reyes, you won’t.”
Raven just winked. “No promises, lovergirl.”
---
By the end of the week, the student body had reached a consensus:
Something was up with Professor Woods.
Lexa was suspiciously happy.
She smiled more.
She seemed lighter.
She even let a student submit a late paper once without her usual steely look of judgment.
That was the final clue.
A campus-wide investigation was launched.
Within days, students had pieced together the following facts:
1. Dr. Clarke Griffin – a talented surgeon.
2. Owns a townhouse.
3. Best friends with Professor Reyes.
4. Has been spotted mysteriously appearing at Polis U, always carrying food.
Coincidence?
They thought not.
Despite their top investigator (aka The Student Who Walked In On Them) claiming to have heard a very steamy office make-out, some students remained skeptical.
"No pictures? No proof."
They refused to believe it until they had definitive confirmation.
It finally happened a week later.
A student spy was in the right place at the right time—just as Clarke handed over another homemade meal to Lexa.
And then—right there, in broad daylight—
Clarke kissed Lexa.
On. The. Lips.
The spy’s soul left her body. Not before she took a picture on her phone.
Within minutes, the news spread like wildfire.
At first, Lexa’s many admirers were devastated.
Their beloved, unattainable professor? Taken?
But then, after some deep reflection (and a campus-wide group therapy session in the student forum), they decided:
1. Dr. Clarke Griffin was objectively cool.
2. Professor Woods had been glowing lately.
3. Honestly? They kind of shipped it.
The very next day, two new mugs appeared on Lexa’s desk:
☕ "I ❤️ My Surgeon"
☕ "Dr. Griffin’s Favorite History Nerd"
Lexa rolled her eyes, but the corner of her lips twitched upward.
Clarke?
She laughed so hard she almost cried.
Lexa shot Raven and Octavia a deadpan look.
“Really?”
Raven smirked. “Just making sure you’re staying humble.”
Octavia shrugged. “It’s campus tradition now.”
Lexa sighed. But secretly?
She didn’t mind at all.
---
Clarke decided to make a huge batch of seafood paella for Raven, Octavia, and Anya, who had all gathered at her place for the sole purpose of roasting Lexa about how fast the news had spread.
Lexa sat at the kitchen island, arms crossed, deeply suffering. “They literally have an investigation board. With sections.”
Raven, grinning as she stole a shrimp, “You should be honored. They’re thorough.”
Octavia, nodding sagely, “They’ve got sources, they cross-reference data. It’s kinda impressive.”
Clarke, plating the paella with a smirk, “Honestly? It’s flattering.”
Lexa turned to her, betrayal written all over her face. “You would think that.”
Anya, scrolling on her phone, deadpanned, “They made a PowerPoint.”
Lexa groaned.
Raven was delighted, “With a timeline! And quotes from eyewitnesses.”
Octavia held up her phone, showing a screenshot of a student forum. “Apparently, the make-out sighting is still debated, but the kiss after food delivery? Confirmed.”
Lexa dropped her forehead onto the counter. “I have a fanbase. And they’re… dedicated.”
Clarke, placing a plate in front of her: “Well, they have good taste.”
Lexa sighed but still took a bite.
Anya casually added, “Oh, and they gave Clarke an official title.”
Lexa, mid-chew, paused. “…Do I want to know?”
Anya smirked. “‘Professor Woods’ Mysterious Abs Savior Girlfriend.’”
Raven and Octavia high-fived.
Clarke? She just grinned.
---
Raven and Octavia sat at Clarke’s kitchen counter, watching in absolute silence as she methodically folded each ravioli by hand. The dough was perfectly thin, the filling expertly balanced, and the brown butter sage sauce was practically sinful.
It was the dish made specially for someone their bestfriend was in love with. It was deep and personal.
Octavia finally broke the silence, leaning toward Raven. “She’s done for.”
Raven, equally mesmerized, “Absolutely wrecked.”
Clarke ignored them—though the slight flush on her neck said she definitely heard.
She plated a serving with careful precision, placed it in a container, and grabbed her keys.
---
Clarke knocked lightly before stepping inside Lexa's office, a lunch bag in hand.
Lexa glanced up from her papers and immediately smiled. “You brought food again?”
Clarke smirked, setting the container in front of her. “I bring you food a lot.”
Lexa hummed, opening it. “Yeah, but this feels…” She trailed off, eyes narrowing slightly.
Clarke watched as Lexa took the first bite.
The moment the flavors hit, Lexa’s fork paused mid-air. Her eyes lifted to Clarke’s, sharp and knowing.
“This is different.”
Clarke’s heart flipped. She exhaled softly, smiling in a way that felt like surrender.
“Yeah.” She tilted her head. “It is.”
Lexa stared at her for a long moment, then set her fork down with deliberate care.
Then she stood, stepped around the desk, and pulled Clarke into a slow, deep kiss.
And just like that, Clarke knew—
She was gone.
---
Clarke wanted their first date to be memorable. Not just a fancy dinner, not something expected—but something fun. Something that would make Lexa laugh.
So, she took Lexa to a flea market and night carnival.
They started at the flea market, walking between the rows of stalls. Clarke pointed out quirky trinkets while Lexa admired old books and handmade crafts.
At one stall, Lexa picked up a vintage pocket watch. She turned it over in her hands, tracing the design. Clarke watched her, a little mesmerized.
“You like it?” Clarke asked.
Lexa nodded. “There’s something… timeless about it.”
Clarke snorted. “Wow. The history professor is getting poetic about history? Shocking.”
Lexa nudged her, but her smile was fond.
They moved on, Clarke occasionally buying small things for Lexa—a little leather bookmark because Lexa was always losing hers, a tiny cactus because she insisted Lexa’s office needed more life.
Lexa, pretending to be exasperated, but obviously loving it.
Then, they reached the carnival.
Lexa watched in amusement as Clarke dragged her straight to the game booths.
“I am about to win you the biggest stuffed animal here,” Clarke declared, rolling up her sleeves.
Lexa crossed her arms, smirking. “You’re that confident?”
“Oh, absolutely.”
Clarke failed spectacularly at the ring toss.
Lexa, biting her lip to keep from laughing.
Clarke tried again. And failed. Again.
Lexa finally took pity on her and stepped up. With one smooth throw, she landed the ring perfectly.
Clarke, staring.
Lexa, smug. “I have excellent aim.”
Clarke, muttering, “Yeah, I bet you do.”
Lexa picked out a stuffed fox and handed it to Clarke. “For you.”
Clarke, pouted, “I was supposed to win you something.”
Lexa, grinning. “Consider this a lesson in humility.”
Clarke groaned but took the fox anyway, secretly delighted.
They spent the rest of the early evening playing games, eating cotton candy, and riding the Ferris wheel.
And when they got home, Clarke made something for dinner.
Clarke stood in Lexa’s kitchen, flipping golden-brown French toast with practiced ease. The scent of cinnamon, vanilla, and crispy bacon filled the space.
Lexa, standing near the counter, watched in stunned silence.
Finally, she spoke. “…You made me breakfast. For dinner.”
Clarke shrugged. “Just go with it.”
Lexa blinked, then let out a soft laugh, shaking her head as she leaned against the counter.
“This is… actually adorable,” she admitted.
Clarke, smirking, plated the toast, adding a drizzle of maple syrup before sliding it over to Lexa.
Lexa sat down, took a bite, and closed her eyes in delight.
Clarke watched her, heart doing a completely ridiculous somersault.
“I could get used to this,” Lexa murmured, taking another bite.
Clarke chuckled, settling across from her. “Well, good thing you’re dating an excellent cook and surgeon. You’re pretty lucky, Woods.”
Lexa smirked. “Oh, I know.”
They ate, comfortable, playful, soft.
The tension of the past weeks was gone, replaced by something lighter, warmer.
And as Lexa stole a bite from Clarke’s plate, grinning at her like she hung the damn moon, Clarke knew—
Yeah. It was a perfect first date.
---
That afternoon, the kitchen smelled like butter and roasted tomatoes, warmth filling the space as Clarke moved methodically, stirring the creamy tomato basil soup with quiet focus. She worked with ease, as if her hands already knew the steps by heart.
From their spots at the counter, Raven and Octavia watched.
It wasn’t unusual for Clarke to cook, but this? This was different.
The only other time she had made this dish was before she broke her own heart. Before she decided that letting someone in was too much, too painful.
Despite knowing this, Raven—ever the instigator—leaned forward, arms crossed on the counter.
"So, what’s this for?"
Clarke paused.
Then, she smiled.
Soft, sure, completely at peace.
“Love.”
For once, Raven had nothing to say.
Octavia’s eyes widened slightly, lips parting as she took in Clarke’s expression—the quiet certainty, the acceptance.
Their best friend, the one who always kept a careful distance, who once believed love was too risky, had finally taken the step.
Finally let herself love again.
And admitted it. Confidently.
Neither of them said a word as Clarke packed the meal, leaving them two portions on the counter before grabbing her keys and heading out the door.
She was bringing it to Lexa.
She was staying the night.
---
Lexa opened the door to Clarke standing there, holding a thermos and a neatly packed container.
“Soup and sandwiches?” Lexa raised an eyebrow as Clarke stepped inside.
Clarke shrugged, setting everything on the table. “It’s warm. Comforting.” She hesitated, then added, “It felt right.”
Lexa stilled.
It wasn’t fancy. It wasn’t elaborate. But it was deliberate.
Lexa sat down, took a slow bite of the sandwich, then a spoonful of soup. The moment she tasted it, her eyes flickered up to Clarke’s.
She knew.
This was more than just dinner.
This was Clarke saying something without saying it.
Lexa swallowed, carefully placed her spoon down, and stood.
She stepped toward Clarke, closing the space between them, eyes never leaving hers.
Then, she kissed her.
Slow, deep, consuming.
Clarke melted into it, hands sliding up to Lexa’s shoulders, pulling her closer, breathing her in.
The kiss turned into something more—a silent conversation of longing, of understanding, of everything they had been holding back.
When they pulled apart, Lexa’s forehead rested against Clarke’s, breath warm, eyes dark with something unmistakable.
“Stay?”
Clarke’s answer was already clear.
That night, they unraveled each other.
Fingers tracing new landscapes, discovering, learning. Mouths exploring, breath hitching, whispered names against flushed skin.
Lexa pressed Clarke into the mattress, her name a reverent sigh.
It was a slow, steady climb—pleasure building, winding, cresting.
Clarke, arching into her touch, breathless and wanting.
Lexa took her time, slowly taking off every layers that covered Clarke's body. Kissing her way down on every inches of the doctor's exposed skin.
Fingers traced pathways between plump breasts, as her lips mapped the round flesh, slowly, her hands dragged the fabric of Clarke's bra down, exposing the rosy and taut nipples, as if begging for Lexa to taste them. So Lexa did what she had been aching to do; she kissed Clarke, breathelessly, hands gently fondled Clarke's breasts, the hardened buds rolled in her palms, causing Clarke to moaned, sinfully.
Lexa stopped, and pulled back slightly, watching Clarke biting her lips,
Oh, she was very sensitive on her breasts,
And so, with a mischivous smile, Lexa leaned down and took a nipple into her mouth, tongue rolled the swollen bud gently, suckling and biting it periodically, making Clarke writhe and moan,
"Lex..."
But Lexa was a woman on mission. She wanted Clarke to be wholefully wrecked and loved, to know how it felt to be worshipped like a goddess.
So, Lexa took her sweet time, licking, sucking, biting, giving both breasts the same treatments, while her hands did their job, peeling away the last remnants of clothing off Clarke, until Clarke only realized she was naked when she felt Lexa's hands tracing circles on her lower tummy, her waist, her thighs, then Clarke instictively widened her legs, Lexa hummed appreciatively into Clarke's breast, before kissing her way up on Clarke's neck, her jaw, the her lips. Devouring the doctor's lips as her fingers caressed Clarke's now damp fold.
She felt Clarke's breath hitched, as Lexa slipped her middle finger deeper, scooping the wetness that had gathered, and brought her now wet finger on to the swollen clitoris.
"So wet for me," Lexa murmured, her voice rasp with mixes of want and reverence, and Clarke could only arched into the pressure Lexa gave, moaning, fingers tightened in Lexa's hair, desperate for any form of anchor, because Lexa, was slowly unraveling her.
Lexa went back to her breasts, licking, suckling, noting the way Clarke squirmed, the flooding wetness that came when Lexa flicked her tongue on the left nipple, and when Lexa felt that Clarke was fully wet and ready, she entered, and sealed any sinful moans forming on Clarke's lips with a kiss so tender Clarke sobbed.
Lexa let Clarke get used to the feeling, before looking into her eyes, and Clarke rasped,
"More,"
And Lexa pulled her finger out, before entering again with two fingers, curling on the front wall that made Clarke lifted her hips,
"Fuck....!"
And so, Lexa did it, again and again, while her lips descending lower, and suddenly, the air was knocked out of Clarke's lungs when Lexa sucked her swollen clitoris into her mouth, wrapping it with her tongue, giving preassure that made Clarke seeing stars, while pumping her fingers in and out, slowly.
They moaned in unison, as Clarke tightened, clenched around Lexa's fingers, when Lexa sucked rather hard on the clitoris, and Clarke was surprised by the sudden and powerful orgasm that pulled her apart.
She was totally wrecked. Her silent scream, the arch of her body, the flood that coated Lexa's hands and tongue, was a sight to behold.
Gently, Lexa kisses her way up, fingers still pumping, helping Clarke to come down from her orgasm. She kissed Clarke's lips, causing Clarke to moan when tasting herself on Lexa's lips and tongues.
"I love you," Clarke whispered breathlessly, and kisses her again, tenderly, as Lexa pulled out.
But then, Clarke flipped her and Lexa was on her back, Clarke was quickly stripping Lexa off her clothes, and then she was diving down, drinking Lexa's nectar directly from its source, and Lexa moaned. She was so close just from Clarke's orgasm, and with a few flick of Clarke's tongue, hard suckle and a penetration by Clarke's tongue, Lexa came embarassingly fast and hard.
And when it was over, when they lay tangled together, Lexa’s fingers brushing lazy patterns over Clarke’s back—she whispered it back.
Soft. Certain.
"I love you, too."
In the morning, Lexa woke up to the smell of pancakes and coffee.
Still wrapped in blankets, she stretched, listening to the faint sound of Clarke humming from the kitchen.
She smiled—because she knew.
This was Clarke’s way of saying ‘I love you.’
Without thinking, Lexa pushed out of bed, made her way to the kitchen. She turned Clarke around slowly and kissed her hard, deep and consuming.
Clarke huffed out a laugh as Lexa pulled back, grabbed a pancake straight off the plate, and bolted.
“Lexa—”
Lexa grinned over her shoulder, already halfway to the backyard.
“You’ll have to catch me, Dr. Griffin.”
Clarke groaned, but she was laughing, shaking her head as she finished flipping the last pancake.
Because in just a few hours, Raven and Octavia would show up, hopeless in the kitchen, ready to steal food.
And Anya? Oh, she would never let Lexa live this down when she arrived soon.
But for now—Clarke let herself enjoy this. Fully, completely.
Because love, much like cooking, was best when shared.
And their love, served hot.
Clarke grinned to herself, she had a hot girlfriend!
Good job, Griffin!