Authors Note: I had these stories posted here originally, before I took a mental health break from writing and deleted my old account. I kept these stories up on Ao3, but I've noticed on FFnet people seem to leave much ruder comments. I didn't really have any bad critiques, but there was a lot of people telling me I needed to write more, or seemingly dissatisfied with the endings. Comments like, "is that it?" Is not encouraging at all and quite honestly can ruin my mood for that whole day. I am getting back into writing fanfiction, because it is something I love and offers some form of community that I enjoy taking part it. That being said, I am never obligated to provide for you, and that moment that this stops being something I enjoy is the moment that I will start to question why I would continue to do it. I am leaving this note on all my old stories, because I will be updated more regularly (once to twice a week) and I'd really appreciate if I could avoid these comments in the future. I don't want to have to resort to not reading the comments at all for my own sanity. Thanks for taking the time to read my thoughts & I hope you can understand where I am coming from. xx Be kind.

"We should have sex," Clarke announces standing in the doorway of his self-appointed room on the Ark. Her hair's still wet from her morning shower and she's wearing a baggy grey t-shit with holes scattered across the neck and a pair of shorts showing off the expansion of her thighs—absolutely beautiful and completely unaware of it as always.

Hold on . . . did she just say sex?

He blinks and squints at her like he's just waking up from a dream and he's not sure if she's real or not. In his defense, he's probably had dreams similar to this. He can't really think of a specific one, but they all kind of blur together in his mind and holy shit—wait—she wants to have sex? He gapes at her, snapping out of his trance, jerking up into a sitting position, and promptly closes his book without bothering to save his spot, because oh my god—Clarke wants to have sex.

This is happening.

He's glad he lets her continue before blurting out yes at the top of his lungs, or attacking her with his mouth and humping her into the wall making her scream his name over and over again, until it doesn't even sound like it belongs to him anymore.

"I just feel like we've both been really tense since we've come back here and we're fighting all the time like we used to before— well before we actually liked each other . . ." she says, biting her lip, a nervous habit Bellamy really wants to break by pulling her down and kissing her senseless, but he's still not moving, or talking. He thinks his brain is busy trying to rewire itself.

Leave it to Clarke Griffin to put him in shock at the prospect of casual sex.

But it wouldn't be casual—right? When has anything between them ever been casual?

There's also this thing about him being stupidly in love with her, which could be a problem, but having sex isn't going to make it more difficult to live with than it already is. At least that's what he tells himself, because he really wants to have sex—a lot of it—with her.

And she's right, they have been bickering more recently and he's not entirely sure why, but if they're pointing fingers he's pretty sure she started it by being her prissy, know-it-all self, and honestly just completely ungrateful that he waited for her longer than he should've , and—admittedly—they all could've died.

"But we didn't die, Princess. So stop whining."

"I told you to use your head! How could you risk—"

"A simple thank you would suffice, sweetheart."

"Fuck you."

"You're welcome."

And then Clarke continues speaking and he's reminded of how much his life just fucking sucks.

"I know our options are limited, but I'm sure Raven, or Echo would be more than willing. I know you have history with both of them and Echo's probably not your favorite person, understandably, but you seem to be warming up to her easily enough. Everyone can tell she's into you and seriously how long has it been since you've gotten laid?"

She says it all in one breath like she's afraid the words will escape her if she doesn't explain herself in the span of three seconds. Her chest is rising and falling at a rapid speed by the end of it and her cheeks are flushed, positively glowing.

That's when Bellamy's mouth starts working. Sort of.

"Um—huh?"

Smooth, Blake.

"Sex, Bell," Clarke says slow like maybe he's forgotten the definition. "When was the last time you had it?"

He blinks at her.

"Jesus, do you even remember? It wasn't—oh shit." Her face falls and a shadow passes over the little spark in her eyes. Bellamy knows immediately where her thoughts have gone to, because he just fucking knows her, but apparently not enough to avoid getting his hopes up. "I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have said anything. Crap, I'm such an idiot."

"Clarke—stop," he says shaking his head, rubbing his hands over his eyes and then looking back up at her like he half expected she wouldn't still be standing there and maybe he's imagining this entire scenario, because how can she be this obliviously cruel, honestly? Just dangling herself in front of him like that, only to pull away the moment he thinks he's close enough to catch her. "It wasn't—I've been with someone since Gina."

"Oh," she softens. There's still red in her cheeks and she looks almost shy, glancing down at her bare feet and back up just past his shoulder. Considering how this conversation started it's utterly ridiculous for her to only now be avoiding eye contact.

Bellamy wanted to disappear the moment he realized she was talking about having sex with other people—people they see and talk to every day— people they're stuck with for the next five years.

For the first time since they've ascended back into space, he wishes he was back on the ground—in the bunker—far, far away from her. But then he just looks at her and the thought dies instantly, because he can't fathom being apart from her for so long and it wouldn't ease the ache in his chest anyways.

"So what's the problem?" Clarke asks after a few moments of uncomfortable silence, apparently over whatever apprehension she was feeling, although she's still fidgeting with the hem of her shirt, tugging it above her waist, revealing her midriff.

He nearly chokes on nothing and has to cover it with a cough and physically force himself not to gawk at her bare skin and the mole shaped like a heart above her hip that he didn't know was there before and now he's pretty sure it's going to haunt him indefinitely.

Things would be a lot simpler if he'd fallen for someone a bit less clueless, but she has awhile to figure things out—five years to be exact.

Maybe he should tell her.

This is a good time, right? He could say it.

But what if she doesn't feel the same way? Then they're trapped here and it's awkward and what if he loses her as a friend, but still has to see her everyday while she tries to avoid him and—No. Nope.

So of course he swallows it down and says something else entirely.

"No problem," he clears his throat, mentally punching himself in the face. "Uh—but like you said there aren't a whole lot of options and we're going to be stuck with each other for the foreseeable future, no need to complicate things, right?"

She snorts. "So, what? You just plan on staying celibate forever?"

"I didn't say that," he grumbles, glaring at her shoulder when she flips her hair to the other side. The fabric his wet and clinging to her skin, dripping down to—

Fuck. Is she not wearing a bra?

"Why are you so concerned about my sex life all the sudden?" he snaps, gripping his knee until his knuckles turn white, fumbling for his book to place over his lap, casually reciting the names of different constellations in his head.

Taurus, Cassiopeia, Lyra, Draco, Cass—wait, no—said that one—shit . . .

"I told you," she says stiffly, crossing her arms, defensive. The action pushes her breasts together and Bellamy can definitely see the outline of her nipples through the thin layer of cloth.

Don't look. Stop looking. Not looking.

"And it's not just you—me too. We just—we never got to have fun on the ground. Well you did," she corrects, slanting her lips. Something flickers over her face and he almost thinks it might be envy, maybe jealously, but he knows he's reaching at this point.

She's suggesting he fucks Echo for Christ's sake. Seriously, what the hell?

Huh.

Well, that softened him up quick enough.

He closes his eyes and lets out a breath of relief, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

"More than me anyways," she adds, still completely unaware of his internal battle with his cock.

Absolutely fucking clueless.

"At least in the beginning . . . now we can—I don't know—get that drink without worrying about letting our guard down and just live—even if it's only the eight of us."

"Right," he says flat, pretending he's not picturing Clarke having sex with six other people and having to be nice to them the next day and just go on like his life is fucking dandy.

"Just think about it and stop your brooding," she sighs. "No one wants to deal with a sexless Bellamy for the next five years."

"I'm not brooding," he hisses, but by the time he looks up she's already gone, so who is he kidding?

Raven and Monty are playing cards in the command room, clearly avoiding whatever they should be doing, or taking a break at the very least when Bellamy finds them and plops himself down at the end of the table, hands shaking in his lap.

"Is he being weird?" Monty asks, without looking up in the slightest.

"Probably." Raven shrugs. "Got any sevens?"

"Go fish."

"Clarke thinks we should have sex," Bellamy declares before he can think better of it.

Raven grins, leaning back in her chair, placing her cards face down to give him her full attention. Monty whoops and pats him on the back. Bellamy's not entirely sure what's happening, but whatever it is, he doesn't like it. "Finally, am I right?"

"Huh?"

"We were wondering how long you two would last? Guess I lost that bet," she sighs like it's no big deal and Bellamy's totally not about to lose his chill.

"Murphy's never going to stop gloating about it," Monty says regretful.

"I'll remind him of that one time he shot me, so he'll be too busy crying to rub it in our faces."

"You guys bet on us?" Bellamy snaps, suddenly aware of their conversation. "Seriously?"

"Stop acting so surprised." Raven rolls her eyes. "We have to entertain ourselves somehow. Not all of us get to have sex."

"Yeah and we've been gossiping about your unrequited love long before now, so it's really not news."

"Shit." He groans, cupping his hands over his face.

"Shouldn't you be happier about this? Prancing around all giddy, singing love songs, or I don't know—fucking your girlfriend until she can't walk?" Raven asks, casual.

"She's not my girlfriend," Bellamy grumbles, flicking a fuzz on his sleeve in an effort to avoid their gaze and not look like he's pouting about it. "She wants to have sex," he continues. "—with other people."

Raven and Monty exchange worried glances.

"What the fuck?"

"Yeah, that was pretty much my response," he says, dry.

"Uh—like an open relationship?" Monty asks, shifting in his seat, looking more and more uncomfortable the longer Bellamy takes to reply.

"No," he says eventually. "Like she doesn't want to have sex with me at all—she just thinks we should have sex in general."

"Not with each other," Raven clarifies.

"Precisely."

"So, you and Clarke aren't—"

"Jesus fuck—no! We're not having sex. Am I speaking Trigedasleng or do you both just suck at listening?"

"Calm down, Blake. It's not our fault your girlfriend's an idiot." Raven glowers, poking him in the chest, until he looks at her and sighs.

"Sorry," he mutters, running his fingers through his hair. "Just—I'm really not in a good mood," he pauses. "And she's not my—"

"Girlfriend—right. Whatever," Raven says in a clipped tone that clearly means bullshit. "You're both idiots."

Bellamy scowls.

"There's a lot of that to go around," Monty says. And then, "So—who's it going to be?"

"What?" He blinks.

"I'm not having sex with you," Raven says. "Been there, done that, not going back."

"Was it that bad?" Monty asks, grimacing when Bellamy promptly kicks him in the shin.

Raven hums like she's seriously considering it. "Nah, just bad timing."

"I'm still here you know."

"I might be up for it," Monty says, ignoring him. "I'm single now, so . . ."

Oh my god.

"Do you think Harper would mind?" Raven asks.

"I'd be more worried about Clarke, but she did suggest it." Monty looks at him then. "You guys have a really strange way of working through your issues."

"Would both of you just shut up! Why did I even—forget it!" he shouts, slamming his fist on the table and then proceeding stomp off like the mature adult he is.

. . .

"Got any threes?"

"I need you to pretend we're fucking."

Echo doesn't bothering looking up from the carvings she's cutting into the wall behind her bed with a dagger. Bellamy doesn't have it in him to find the situation odd or ask her what exactly she's hoping to accomplish. She probably thinks she's decorating.

It's Echo.

"Why would I do that?" she sneers.

"Why not?"

She pauses then, shifting her eyes along the shape of him long enough for him to regret coming to her at all and existing in general.

"Why not just fuck me instead, so there's no need for false pretenses?"

"Because I doubt I could get it up for you," is really the wrong thing to say judging from her ferocious growl and the way she hurls the dagger at him.

Bellamy winces when it catches the door frame an inch above his ear.

"Next time, I won't miss."

"So, what is your guys' stance on threesomes?"

"I'm flattered, but you're really not our type," Murphy replies, taking a giant sip of something that might pass for coffee.

Emori raises a brow, eyeing him up and down him like raw meat. "He's not half-bad looking," she decides.

"Babe, there's a lot I would do for you, but letting Bellamy's dick anywhere near mine is not one of those things."

"Hey!"

"Is your aversion to Bellamy, or just dicks in general?"

"Him—definitely."

"I despise you both."

Bellamy runs into Clarke later that night after successfully managing to avoid her though out the day and he wishes he was more upset about it, but as pathetic as it is, he missed her.

Never mind the fact that he finds her glaring at her reflection in his bedroom mirror, scissors in hand. He's only partially worried she's contemplating stabbing someone—possibly him, since it is his room and all.

"Hey."

She jumps, jerking her neck toward him, clutching her chest with her free hand.

"Shit, you scared me!"

"Really," he says amused. "I couldn't tell."

She scowls at him before turning back to the mirror, scrunching up her nose and huffing at a loose curl as it falls in front of her face.

She looks absolutely adorable and he feels those three little words knocking on his teeth just waiting to be set free.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

"Everything alright there, Princess?"

"I want a haircut," she declares, meeting his gaze in the mirror. "If I do it myself, I'll butcher it."

"Are you asking?"

"Please."

"Can't you find someone else? Like Murphy?"

She looks so horrified at that, he can't help the laugh that escapes him.

"Bell—"

"I'm only teasing, Princess. Hand them over," he says, extending his palm out. She beams, passing the scissors and then surprises them both when she leans up to peck his cheek, accidentally catching the corner of his mouth. She ducks her head immediately after, mumbling apologies, eyes trained to the floor.

He has to restrain himself from pulling her back and kissing her good and proper.

"How short do you want it?" He asks instead, clearing his throat and stepping around her to sit on the edge of the bed, gesturing for her to follow. She curls on the floor in between his knees.

"I think to my shoulders, maybe." She glances back at him with hooded eyes. "Will that look all right?"

His heart's loud and fast, beating against his rib cage like it's trying to escape.

"I think you'll look perfect."

She snorts. "You're only saying that, because it's you doing the cutting."

"Obviously." He grins, flicking her nose. She blushes bright and turns away abruptly, which is interesting.

He gets to work and pretends he doesn't feel her shiver every time his fingers brush the back of her neck. He may be doing it on purpose by the time he's close to done.

"So," he says after a while. "Any luck?"

"What?"

"The sex thing."

"The sex thing," she mocks. "What are you, twelve?"

"Shut up."

She sighs, "No. Apparently, I'm not as appealing as you.

He arches a brow. "Meaning?"

"Well, you and Echo, obviously."

"Um—"

"How was it?"

"Clarke, what the hell are you talking about?"

She tries turning towards him and he stills her with his hands cupping either side of her face. She gasps and he really wants to he can make her do it again, so he traces a finger over her jawline. "Don't move," he says, low. "I'm not finished."

He feels her swallow when his fingertips graze her throat.

"I didn't have sex with Echo," he says after a beat.

"But she said—"

"Doesn't matter. It's not true."

She's quiet for a moment and then, "Okay."

"I may have asked Murphy and Emori for a threesome."

Her laugh is loud and obnoxious and can't help but smile while he waits for her shoulders to stop shaking so he can continuing to fix her hair.

"How'd that go?"

"Not well. Apparently I'm not as appealing as someone thinks."

"I tried to seduce Harper," she says, ignoring the implication in his tone.

He snorts. "Did it work?"

"Obviously not. I think I may have frightened her."

"Good going, Princess."

She groans, covering her face with her hands. "When did we both get so bad at this?"

He pauses, setting the scissors down on the table adjacent to the bed and runs his fingers through her hair to check the length. "I wasn't really trying," he says, soft.

"Oh?"

"This was your idea," he adds. "It's not like I'm actually interested."

"That sucks," she sighs.

"Does it?"

"Five years is an awfully long time to be alone."

"I'm not alone, Clarke." He tugs her hair back, so she's looking up at him when he says, "And neither are you."

Then he kisses her and forgets all of the reasons he had for not doing it sooner.