Hello, friends! Sorry it's been a while since I last posted, this winter break has been crazy busy and I've been working so many hours! But I'm back, and I hope you guys like this new update!
P.S. I saw that most of you were interested in me continuing this story instead, so I will. Thanks for letting me know. Like I said, reading your reviews really does motivate and reassure me.
i.
What's much harder than stifling her screams, even when Bellamy is doing those things to her, is pretending not to think about it afterwards.
Like really think about. Completely delve in it. Especially when all she can feel is the way his arms circled her hips, or the way his lips pressed against her thighs as he descended upon her body, or the -
Anyway, the hard part about it, despite everything, is pretending not to think about it as she holds Octavia's hair over her shoulder a half hour later, her head bent over the toilet as her arms hang loosely over her knees.
Yeah. Fucking awkward.
"God damn it," Octavia groans, lifting her head and leaning it on the toilet seat. "I'm never drinking again."
Clarke rolls her eyes. She's heard that before.
Raven sighs from her position on the floor, tilting her sunglasses from her eyes and placing them on the tiles. She stretches as she stands, curling her toes and fingers as she steps over Harper, who lies sleeping on the bathroom rug.
"Drink this," Raven offers, passing her the Gatorade bottle.
Octavia reaches for it and twists the cap open, Clarke leaning forward to pull her brunette hair back. She closes her eyes as the liquid smooths her throat, and Clarke breathes deeply, remembering only an hour ago, when Bellamy -
Raven presses her palm against Octavia's forehead. "Jesus, O, how much did you drink last night?"
"I don't know," she coughs, placing the bottle beside her. "I remember talking with Lincoln, and then - "
"Oh my God," Raven gasps. "You slept with him. You totally slept with him."
"I didn't."
Harper lifts her head from the tiles. She hiccups, squinting into the light in the room as she props herself onto her elbows. Her hair is mused with tangles, and Clarke curses under her breath when she see's a piece of gum attached to her strands.
"Liar," she spits, throat harsh and rough. "I heard moaning in one of the rooms last night."
Clarke flushes. "Wasn't me."
"Wasn't me," Raven declares.
Octavia doesn't answer, she can't, because she's throwing up into the toilet before she can respond.
Clarke sighs and pulls Octavia's hair into a pony tail, flinching as she hears her release her toxins from last night. Raven cocks an eyebrow as she turns towards her, wiping at the smudged eye liner that remains on the bridge of her nose.
"Really, Clarke?" She narrows her eyes. "You didn't bring anyone upstairs last night?"
Clarke smiles tightly. "Yup. I'm actually thinking of doing this thing called being single."
Octavia lifts her head from the toilet. "Sounds like a good idea, Griffin."
"Sounds horrible," Raven disagrees.
Except it isn't horrible. Because being single, and not having to worry about feelings and insecurities and heartbreak, that's pretty fucking cool. And sex is cool. And sex without relationships is just the best idea she's ever had.
Because, to be completely honest, who could ever fall in love with Bellamy Blake?
She can't answer the question in her head because Octavia throws up in the toilet again, and strands of her hair fall loosely into her mouth as she spits out the reminder of a terrible fucking hangover.
ii.
Three weeks, that's how long it's been.
That's how long she's been sleeping with Bellamy Blake.
It's crazy, and fucking wild, sneaking off to meet him, and him sneaking off to meet her. They meet almost every night, and she mostly wants to blame him for being so God damn horny, but shit, does she want him.
"You sure it's all me, Griffin?" he teased her one night when she grabbed hastily at his clothes.
No. It's not all him. And it pisses her off.
He's annoying as hell, the way he knows how to please her and make her squirm. He knows how to use everything, and how to use it on her, and she hates that she doesn't hate how she feels around him.
Because she hates Bellamy Blake, always will, but God does she love how he -
"Clarke. Clarke!"
Clarke gasps, lifting her head from her pillow. There's footsteps, a knock at her door, and then Octavia bursts into her bedroom, her fingers combing through her hair as she stands in the doorway.
"Get up!" She hisses, her eyes widening at the sight of Clarke underneath her bed sheets. "Don't you have class soon?"
Clarke swallows thickly. "Yeah. I'll be right down."
Octavia rolls her eyes, muttering under her breath as she turns towards the hallway. She closes the door behind her, yelling for Raven to turn the coffee machine on and for Harper to start frying the eggs.
The sound of her footsteps fade down the staircase, and there's a rustle beneath the bed sheets as Bellamy pulls them over her head.
"Fuck," he rasps, pressing a kiss to her inner thigh, "that was close."
Clarke sighs. God damn him. She releases a whimper as Bellamy pulls away from her heat, trailing his lips upon her body, kissing her hip, her stomach, her collarbone. He hovers his mouth above her jaw, smirking.
"Must have been hard to hold in all that pleasure," he whispers.
She smiles, placing her hands on his shoulders. "Well, it wasn't that pleasurable."
It was, it always is, but she refuses to tell him that.
Bellamy chuckles, pulling away from her. He rolls onto the mattress, reaching for his pants on the ground and pulling them on. It's early in the morning, very early for a booty call, but the good thing about sleeping with Bellamy Blake is that there are no judgements, no judgements because there are no feelings.
No anything. Especially, for the most time, no God damn clothes.
Clarke sighs, pulling her shirt over her head. Her body aches, bones completely loose, and she stumbles towards her full-length mirror, pining her hair from her shoulders.
She gasps when she notices the purple shadows on her collarbone.
"Douche," she hisses. "I said no hickeys."
Bellamy shrugs. "And I said no feelings. So I don't care."
She rolls her eyes, releasing her hair to fall on her shoulders. She turns to him, watches as he lifts himself from the mattress, his arms, his torso, everything still exposed, which is actually really quite unfair because -
Clarke huffs, throwing his shirt at him. It's hard to function when he isn't wearing a shit.
"Could you ever, for once in your life, be a decent human being?" she challenges.
Bellamy cocks an eyebrow. "That depends. Decent on what?"
"Oh, I don't know. Human behaviour?" She breathes heavily and crosses her arms over her chest. "Maybe if you weren't such a dick, you'd actually be sleeping with someone who likes you."
Bellamy smirks. Fucking smirks. She's just insulted him and he has the audacity to not feel affected by her name-calling, by his image. She shakes her head, because this guy drives her fucking nuts, emotionally and physically and mentally.
He walks towards her, chewing on his bottom lip and - yup, there goes the physical element.
"You know, you're not really that convincing when you were just screaming my name two minutes ago."
Clarke raises her eyebrows in amusement. "I wasn't screaming. I was whispering."
Bellamy chuckles, and okay, the argument sounded much better in her head. He takes another step forward, and another, and one more, until he stands in front of her, all sweaty curls and freckled cheeks.
"You still won't admit it's that good," he concludes.
Clarke nods. Obviously. "It's not that good. I just . . . " she sighs, trailing her eyes down his chest, "can't find anything better at the moment."
"Right."
He grins, and then his fingers are on her jeans, skin warm and rough as he hooks through her belt loops. He pulls her closer, and she gasps, her chest rubbing against his in a dangerously close - no, dangerously good - way.
Her voice is small when she speaks. "What are you doing?"
Bellamy looks at her. She see's the desire, see's the lust, and he smooths his palms along her lower back, closing the distance between them. She exhales when she feels the heat of his breath on her neck.
"An experiment," he whispers, and she shivers.
He leans forward - without warning, no hesitation - and presses his lips against the line of her jaw. She curses, biting on her bottom lip to prevent from releasing any noises of pleasure. Any signs or indications.
He trails his mouth along the nape of her neck, and she whimpers, fucking breaking already.
Clarke closes her eyes. "I have class in ten minutes."
"Okay." He kisses her chin, her ear, her collarbone. "Then leave."
She tries to, she does, but then his hands start rubbing her thighs, and fuck. She doesn't know what experiment he's doing - whether it's "how weak I can make Clarke Griffin" or "how I can turn Clarke Griffin on by only kissing her neck" - but she knows she's failed.
Horribly failed.
Clarke breathes deeply, gripping his elbows as he tilts her head back to give more access to her skin.
"Bell," she whispers, urgent, and he hums against her jaw. "I can be late."
She pulls away from him, and he smiles, (that cheeky smile she hasn't seen since high school) as she pushes him onto the bed.
iii.
Raven passes her test in a class that she hates - philosophy, duh - and she wants to celebrate. Only it's Wednesday, and because it's Wednesday that means no going out, only staying in, because - "Hello you nimrods, American Horror Story is on tonight!"
Octavia's words. Not hers.
Raven groans. She places her wine cooler on the kitchen counter and rubs her palm against her forehead, all irritated movements and whimpers of annoyance. It's her signature look, the whole I-should-be-wasted thing. Totally Raven Reyes.
"Seriously, O," she whines, crossing her legs on the surface. "What good is American Horror Story if there are no Evan Peters sex scenes this season?"
Clarke nods. "That's a good point."
Octavia rolls her eyes. She places Raven's paper near the sink - she passed with a 56% - and opens the refrigerator, reaching for two wine coolers, one for her, another one for Raven.
(She knows that look, too.)
"He'll have sex scenes," she says. "I think."
"Think?" Raven growls.
"Well if you want sex so bad why don't you do it yourself!"
Clarke laughs. Octavia looks at her, those piercing Blake eyes, and - yeah, that means she should shut up.
"Maybe I am the one who got laid at the party." Raven lifts herself from the kitchen counter, sliding from the surface. She walks to Octavia and points a finger at her chest. "Or maybe it was you."
Octavia sighs. "I already told you, nothing happened with me and Lincoln."
"Maybe it wasn't Lincoln."
Clarke stares at them, at the teasing in Raven's eyes and the annoyance in Octavia's. She wants to say something, something like it wasn't me either, but it was her, and she sucks at lying. So yeah, she'll still shut up then.
"Maybe Harper was making it up because she was the one with some guy," Octavia whispers.
Clarke nods. "Totally an option."
"Perhaps." Raven takes a gulp of her beer. "All I know is that whoever's getting laid, I just wish it was Evan Peters."
Octavia breathes deeply. She reaches forward, taking the cooler from Raven's hands and chugging it. She almost finishes it in one swig, those piercing eyes softening into ones of want and desperation.
"Yeah," she whispers. "Me, too."
iv.
And, of course, since it's Wednesday, that means a whole damn American Horror Story party.
Octavia squeals as the opening title sequence begins, clapping her hands in the darkness of the living room. Clarke doesn't get her excitement. Like at all. There's so much blood, and skeletons with women's legs? And are those fucking arms coming out of the mattress?
Evan Peters name fills the screen, and Raven smiles, poking Octavia's side.
Yeah. Now she gets it.
Clarke doesn't really know what's going on. The show is completely fucked up. Like, beyond True Detective fucked up. She sighs, crossing her arms over her chest and slumping further into the cushions.
Bellamy nudges her with his shoulder. "What's wrong, Griffin? You scared?"
"No." She fidgets with the blanket laying on top of her. "I'm confused. I think."
Octavia sighs and tries - "for the third time, Clarke!" - to explain what's happening. But all Clarke can understand is her saying that Lady GaGa is the coolest murderer ever and "Evan Peters Evan Peters Evan Peters!"
Clarke nods, because, sure Octavia, she totally gets it now. But she doesn't. So she just watches the screen, pretending to know why people are being eaten and killed with a drill penis while Wick tries to explain to Raven who the Ten Commandments killer is.
And it goes on like this. Until, when half an hour into the show, she feels the warm span of fingers on her thigh.
Bellamy's fingers.
She gulps, swallowing the gasp of surprise at the base of her throat. Asshole. Her hand tightens on her beer as his palm slides beneath the blanket, soothing the area near the zipper of her jeans.
Clarke bites on her bottom lip, and she recognizes his smirk from the corner of her eye.
She shakes her head. "You've got to be kidding me."
"I know, right?" Octavia looks at her, and Bellamy presses his fingers harder against her. She's going to fucking kill him. "No sex scenes. Still."
Clarke hums in agreement, tightening her lips in a hard line. She's not allowing him the satisfaction, not allowing him to think that she's enjoying this. Because she isn't. At all. Especially when his finger curls around the material covering her heat - that part is just the worst.
Wick rolls his eyes. "As if you want a sex scene with him when he looks like that."
Octavia gasps, offended, and Clarke gasps too - you know, because she's also very offended.
Raven pinches his side. "You are so jealous!" she hisses, and Clarke is thankful for the extra noise, because Bellamy hand slips into her jeans, and it's getting harder to keep from passing out. "You wish you could work your moustache like that. His is so much more mature, and - "
" - Mature?" Wick challenges. "The fuck does that even mean?"
"It means that Evan Peters and his moustache are - "
There's a scream from the television, and Bellamy takes his opportunity, inserting a finger inside her.
Clarke chokes on her beer, slamming her hand on his wrist. She turns to him, and the glint of his smile appears in the darkness before he removes his palm from her jeans. She coughs, her eyes hardening as she rips the blanket off.
"Uhm." She stands up and - fuck, she's murdering him. She's totally going to go GaGa on him. "Anyone want popcorn?"
Raven shakes her head, poking Wick's shoulder at his most recent comment. She turns to the television screen as Octavia leans forward in her chair, watching as another person gets killed by another dismantled thing.
Bellamy lifts himself from the couch. "I'm grabbing a beer."
"There's beer right there," Wick says, gesturing to the case on the floor.
"I hate that beer."
"You bought that beer."
Bellamy waves him off absentmindedly. "Technicalities."
He looks at her then, and even in the darkness, even with anger clouding her vision (because, really, who gets a girl off with his sister in the room?) she can see the lust in his eyes, see the desire. She swallows thickly, and that familiar blush creeps onto her skin.
God damn him.
There's more screams echoing from the TV, and Clarke mutters under her breath, desperate. She stretches over Raven's tangled legs and pushes past Octavia leaning on the cushion, hearing Bellamy's scurried footsteps as he follows her into the kitchen.
She's pulling a bag of popcorn from the cupboard when she feels him against her, pushing her into the counter with his breath at her ear. Clarke smiles, leaning into his chest as she places the popcorn bag in the microwave, her eyes closing when his hands smooth along her hips.
She presses the timer. "We have two minutes."
Bellamy turns her around and pins her against the surface. She gasps, his fingers cool on her skin as he wraps them around her thighs, lifting her onto the counter. Her head rests against the microwave, the countdown beginning, and he smirks in his space between her legs.
"Trust me, Griffin." He kisses her cheek, her jaw. "This won't take long."
He kisses her then, urgent, on the lips. She whimpers, barely able to return the pressure before he descends his mouth on her neck, then her chest, traveling a trail of kisses down the material covering her stomach.
Clarke presses her lips together, her legs wrapping around his waist as he unzips her jeans, pulling them, along with her panties, down to her ankles. He pulls her to the edge of the counter and drops to his knees in front of her and -
Oh. Oh.
She opens her mouth in a silent moan, her body erupting into painfully pleasurable flames. She ruffles her hands in his hair as he licks further into her, tilting her head back, trying very - very - hard not to scream.
The popcorn begins to pop then. One minute and nine seconds left.
"Griffin!" Octavia's concerned voice echoes from the living room. "You're missing the end!"
Clarke swallows the tension in her throat. "Trust me. I'm not!"
And the end doesn't take much longer, because only moments later, she's jerking her hips into his mouth, sloppy and urgent as the waves of pleasure engulfs her. She ends with a breathy sigh, her eyes closed tight and strands of hair attached to her sweaty forehead.
She feels Bellamy pull away, his smirk pressing against her skin as he lifts himself from his knees.
"You," she breathes, opening her eyes. "Are still an asshole."
"Technicalities."
She rolls her eyes, smiling as he kisses her, and she tastes herself on her lips. Tastes her and ting of beer and chicken burgers. She presses her heels into his lower back, pulling him into her and deepening the kiss. He sighs, tilting her head back as she slides a hand between them to loosen his belt.
There's a ringing noise, a final pop, and the microwave timer sets off.
Bellamy groans. Her fingers pause on the rim of his jeans, and she pecks his lips before pulling her pants back to her waist. She leans forward and opens the microwave door, the scent of popcorn replacing that other, much less appropriate smell.
"Don't worry," she whispers as he buries his face in her neck. "I'll return the favour."
He nods. "I know."
Clarke pulls back and narrows her eyes. "You seem confident in that."
Bellamy grins. "I am," he murmurs. His fingers trace patterns on her thighs - limbs still weak from those things he did with his mouth - and she shivers at the memory. "Just like I'm confident that either one of our friends are going to walk in here in the next thirty seconds."
She sighs. Her legs drop from his hips, and he frowns when she pushes him away from her, allowing her the space to jump from the counter. He's still close to her, and thank fucking God, because she's pretty sure she would collapse if he wasn't.
She looks up at him and presses a finger to his chest. "Tonight," she promises.
Bellamy raises his eyebrows. "You'll keep your window open?"
"Like always."
There's more screaming from the living room, and Octavia calls their names again, along with Wick, who threatens to leave if Bellamy doesn't come interrupt this "fucked up show that doesn't make him scared no matter what Raven says."
Clarke laughs as she steps away from him, reaching for the popcorn bag. She looks at Bellamy, fixes the part of his hair that looks sexified, and he returns the favour, a certain routine they have become accustomed to.
She nods when she's finished analyzing him, and he winks at her before walking towards the living room. She sighs, crossing her arms over her chest as she watches him, and -
"Dammit, Blake," she whispers, and he turns towards her in confusion. "Don't forget your beer."
v.
Clarke doesn't remember much about what happened after she returned to the living room, but all she knows is that Octavia was crying about some character who died, and Raven was rolling her eyes about something Wick said.
Like she said. She doesn't remember, doesn't really care. She was too busy trying not to jump Bellamy in front of the entire damn house.
She sighs as she leans against the kitchen counter. It's almost midnight and Bellamy has already left, but she can't stop thinking about what will happen when he comes back as much as she can't stop thinking about what recently happened on the counter space Raven is sitting on.
"I'm pissed," Octavia hisses as she places the plates in the dishwasher. "Tristan was one of my favourite characters."
Raven rolls her shoulders. "Everybody's gotta go at some point."
Octavia nods, frowning, muttering that at least it wasn't Evan Peters. She settles the last dish between the racks of the dishwasher before closing it, stretching her arms behind her head as a yawn escapes her lips.
"Okay," she says. "I'm off to bed."
"Already?"
Octavia shrugs. "I'm tired."
"What?" Raven wiggles her eyebrows, smirking. "From all that sex you and Lincoln have been having?"
Octavia groans, waving her off. She whispers a small goodnight under her breath, clearly done with the conversation before it even started. Raven watches her go with a satisfied smile.
"She totally slept with him," she decides.
"Sh," Clarke hushes her. She waits until she hears her bedroom door close before continuing. "Maybe he did something to piss her off."
"Or. Maybe she's going to go meet right now."
Clarke scoffs. That's crazy. Right? It's highly unlikely a person would go behind their friends knowledge and pretend they're tired so they can go to their room to sleep with some guy after watching an hour of television horror porn and having him go down on her in their shared kitchen. Completely wild.
Clarke clears her throat. "What? He's going to sneak through her window or something?"
Raven shrugs. "It's not impossible," she says.
"Well, I wouldn't know."
(She totally knows).
vi.
She taps her pencil against her textbook, the terms and definitions of World War II scrambling her notes. Hitler, Treaty of Versailles, Pearl Harbour . . . her mind hurts. How many fucking treaties exist?
Clarke groans, dropping her forehead onto her mattress. It's midnight, and the minutes have been passing excruciatingly slow since she bid goodnight to Raven and came to her room. Waiting for him. Taking out her homework to stop thinking about him.
Trying - failing, mostly - to occupy her mind to distract from the adrenaline rushing through her.
So she decided to read about Hitler. Classy, Clarke. Very classy.
There's a soft knock on her bedroom window, and she smirks, pushing the textbooks onto the ground. Rolling off her mattress, she walks to window, unlocking the bolt and pushing it open.
Bellamy crawls through, his hair damp with rain.
"Anyone see you?" she asks, leaning forward to close the window. She turns to him as he strips his jacket off, revealing the wet shirt that clings to his body, all exposed muscles and skin.
Damn it. As if she couldn't be any more turned on.
"Except for my brother Jesus Christ," he says, and his voice is raspy, doing wonders, "then no."
Clarke shakes her head. "Are you trying to make a joke?"
"Never."
She rolls her eyes, stepping forward and wrapping her arms around his neck. They don't waste any time when they're together, don't spend it asking how their day was or how they're feeling or - in this case, if he's cold from the rain.
They made a deal. Just sex. No emotions. Which is working fine, because he pulls her closer in understanding, pressing his lips to hers with a soft sigh. She kisses him desperately, her hands threading through his damp hair, and the friction between them is irreversible, not even a damn storm can prevent it.
She whimpers as he begins to step towards the bed, and his shoes are off before her mouth descends to his throat.
"Wait." She pulls away, reaching for the hem of his shirt. "Clothes. Now."
He raises an eyebrow. "Bossy."
"Shut up," she hisses. She peels the material from his body, trying not to react to his exposed chest as she throws the shirt onto her chair. "I don't want my bed wet."
"You know, you don't really need an excuse to get me naked."
Clarke smiles tightly. "Such a gentleman."
He chuckles, and she cuts him short by returning to him, her arms loose around his shoulders as they kiss. It's slow, burning, and she exhales as he cradles the back of her head, his other arm strong across her back as he guides them to her bed. The back of her legs hit the mattress, and she drops onto it, pulling Bellamy on top of her.
He hovers above her, his body pushing her into the cushion. She mewls at the addition pressure his weight offers, locking her ankles on his lower back and bringing him close, eliminating any distance between them.
Clarke sighs, trailing a hand between them as she begins to unbuckle his pants.
There's a moan, loud and frenzied. She opens her eyes and pulls away from him, matching his confused gaze as he looks down at her. His lips are red, swollen, and he arches an eyebrow.
"Was that you?"
She shakes her head. "No."
There's another moan, and Clarke realizes it's coming from a bedroom upstairs. Either coming from Harper's, or Raven's, or -
Oh.
"Uhm." She presses her lips against his, quick, before pulling away. "Give me two seconds."
"Clarke."
She stares at him. "Trust me. I don't think you'll want to see this."
He looks at her in confusion, and she places her hands on his shoulders, pushing him back. He groans, allowing her to roll underneath her and off of the bed. He falls onto the mattress with a light thud.
Clarke raises her fingers. "Two seconds."
She turns to the bedroom door, pulling it closed behind her as she steps into the hallway. The moaning has stopped, and she leans against the wall, her eyes narrowed and calculating.
A door opens across the room, and Octavia walks out, her expression matching.
She looks at her. "Did you hear that, too?"
Clarke points to her. "I thought it was you."
Octavia rolls her eyes, and she looks tired. Too tired to be moaning and lying about it. She crosses her arms over her chest and shakes her head, strands of hair falling loose from her ponytail.
"I told you I'm not sleeping with Lincoln," she whispers.
Clarke frowns. "Then who - "
There's a creaking of floorboards, and another bedroom door opens - Raven's bedroom door. Clarke turns to it, expecting to see Raven's teasing expression, to see her further accusing Octavia, or Clarke, pleading for details on their sexual conquest -
Wick stares at them, eyes wide as he stands in Raven's doorframe.
"Hey."
And that's the third chapter! Hope you guys enjoyed it, but better yet, I hope you guys enjoy the season three premiere of the 100 tonight! Apparently Bellamy and Clarke don't reunite until episode two, but even better, since we had to wait five episodes last season.
ALSO, I am about to begin a rant on recent spoilers, so if you don't want to see spoilers, or hear me about to cry, then leave this page now! and have a fabolous day 3
okay, so, to those of you who are still reading, I'm assuming you have seen the season 3 finale on set pictures by now. If you haven't, there are pictures of Clarke and Lexa surfing the web as they are currently filming in Vancouver. In the pictures, they are hugging, and Clarke is touching Lexa's face. To me, this is a huge disappointment. I try very hard to be positive about Bellarke's future on the show, but these pictures have really upset me. I just find it crazy that majority of this fandom have been shipping Bellamy and Clarke since the series premiere, and, honestly, have made it more popular by constantly blogging about them, etc. For Jason to know this, and know how passionate Bellarke shippers have been since season 1, yet still throw Clarke and Lexa as a relationship instead, kind of saddens me. I know this show isn't for the fans, but honestly, I've been wishing for Bellarke for over a year, and if it doesn't happen, I will be truly disappointed.
Now, we don't know the context of this scene yet, so we can still have hope, but I still got a little upset when I saw the pictures. Hopefully Bellarke will come out victorious by the series end, and if not, well, at least we have fanfics I guess! I just want you guys to keep hope, but also want to warn you about what may be coming this season (possibly Clexa, unfortunately) We must stick together during times like these, because seriously, it actually does hurt seeing Clarke with someone else!
OKAY. RANT OVER. UNTIL NEXT TIME.
XOXO