Alrighty squad - I hope you don't hate me. I got distracted, and kept working, and I've been dealing with some crazy personal issues but I don't want to let any of ya'll down by not completing this story.

So here it is - new chapter of Friends (With Benefits). Hope it was worth the wait, xo.


i.

Three weeks. That's all it takes.

Three weeks, and everybody fucking knows.

She wishes it were an exaggeration, that she was being paranoid and overthinking - but she wasn't. It started small, with Harper, then Murphy, but it didn't hit her until Zoe Monroe came up to her in calculus to congratulate her did she realize she was screwed.

Like completely screwed. Screwed on a daily basis.

And everybody fucking knew.

And it's not because Octavia opened her damn mouth and bragged about how her brother is currently fucking her best friend, or because Raven decided to broadcast it on social media. Not even because Wick let it slip during a drunk night at the bar.

No. People know because - well. Clarke can be loud.

Like I-don't-even-know-how-I'm-not-waking-up-the-damn-president kind of loud.

It was almost embarrassing at first, how vocal she became. She knew Bellamy liked it, that it turned him on, and it's probably why she hated it so much - seeing him smile like he knew what he was doing was good.

Even though it it was. Fuck. It was so, so good.

"I think it's safe to say you enjoy this as much as I do," Bellamy told her one night after spending minutes with his face between her thighs. She slapped his arm, refusing, and he raised an eyebrow. "Unless you want me to stop."

Yeah. They didn't stop for a long time that night.

"You guys are bloody disgusting," Octavia told them the next morning, and Clarke smirked into her pancake. "Like God damn animals."

It wasn't the first complaint they got, but they definitely became more frequent. And it wasn't as though their attraction to each other was anything new, but it was different; they were more open. They didn't have to hide, or whisper, and he didn't have to sneak through her fucking window all the damn time.

Things changed - they changed.

She craves him in ways that she never expected, and so does he; pressing her against the wooden wall as she pulls him into her bedroom.

"Took you long enough," she breathes.

He smirks against her lips. "I had an exam."

"Yeah, well," she hisses, "I'm horny."

"What a tragedy. I should have cut it short to come and please you."

"Not necessary. I can please myself just fine all on my own," she says, and he smirks. She hates that fucking smirk. "But you're presence helps speed up the process. Sex can do that, you know."

He raises an eyebrow. "Still sticking with the whole denial thing, huh? That's cute."

Clarke huffs, and she grips his shoulders to pull him into her. She presses her lips to his, heated and engaging, his hands coming up to cup her cheeks as he leans her tighter against the wall with the shell of his body.

She sighs, deepening the kiss with the stroke of her tongue. He opens his mouth for her, welcoming her with his warmth, and she likes kisses like this, kissing him like this - having him build her up before bringing her down, lips skilled and heavy with desire.

Bellamy groans, his hand traveling her skin to slip his fingers beneath her jeans.

He begins to rub against her, and she gasps, tilting her head against the wall.

"Bellamy."

He kisses her jaw. "Careful, Clarke." He releases her buttons and pushes her waistband down her thighs, stroking the inside of her panties. "You don't want to wake the neighbours."

She swallows thickly. "I can control myself."

"Can you?"

"Yeah." He teases her centre, and she closes her eyes, cursing. "But not unless you make me scream."

His glare darkens at her words, and he grins, devilish, lips curled in a familiar leer of trouble. He removes his hand from her underwear to pull them down her legs, and she whimpers, pants wrapped around her ankles as he presses into her.

He enters a finger inside her, agonizing slow, and she bites on his lip.

"Come on, Bell. Keep going."

A second one sinks into her, and he begins to move.

Clarke curses. She tangles her grip in the loose curls of his hair, pulling him close; his arm a tight space between them. His pace is steady, controlled, and she rolls her hips against his in desperation.

"Patience, Clarke," he whispers, and the huskiness of his voice only makes it worse. "Your want for me is showing."

She scoffs. "Only you can piss someone off during sex, Blake."

He chuckles, shifting them, grips her thigh and hitches it onto his hip. She moans at the new angle, and the pumping of his fingers becomes faster, almost electric, the motion so furious it escapes a cry from her lips.

"Bellamy. Fuck, Bell."

His lips trails across her neck, biting and nibbling at the raw skin as his other hand grips her left breast against his palm. He squeezes, and his fingers continues to pump fiercely inside of her, and it's too much, there's so much to feel and want and -

She comes undone moments later with her mouth on his shoulder, shuddering into his neck.

Bellamy removes his hand once her breathing slows, and presses his lips against her ear.

"Tell me again about how well you please yourself."

She shakes her head. "Fuck off."

He laughs, a low rumble in his chest. It's a warm sound in the silence of their outcome, and she lifts her head from his shoulder, threading her fingers through the hair on his neck as she watches him.

"What about you?" she asks.

He looks at her. "What about me?"

"Do you think you can control yourself?"

Bellamy grins. "Depends on what you're suggesting."

She smirks, and his smile grows at the sight of hers, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her against him. Their mouths are still swollen from before, and she kisses him gently, flattening her arm between them to loosen the waistband of his -

A knock slams against her bedroom door, startling them.

"God damn it, Clarke!" Octavia's shrill voice echoes from the other side of the wood, loud and pulsing with anger. "Stuff a sock in your mouth next time! You fucking assholes."

Clarke pinches the bridge of her nose. "Wear fucking headphones."

"No. Fuck you." She pushes against the wood again, vibrating the room. "And you Bellamy! Fuck you, too."

She slams the door once more, cursing, and her footsteps fade from the hallway.

Bellamy glances at Clarke, raising his eyebrows, and the laughter spills from her lips before his do. It's really not that funny, the fact that her best friend just heard her and her brother boning, but she laughs anyways, because she can, because Bellamy is laughing too.


ii.

"This is fucking impossible."

Bellamy sighs. He watches as she shifts the pancake batter across the frying pan, bubbles surfacing from her splattered pieces. Her wrist cramps from holding it, and she sighs, setting the pan onto the stove.

"I don't get it. Wick makes it look so easy." She places her hands on her hips. "Why is this so God damn difficult?"

Bellamy shrugs. "Because you're so God damn difficult."

She huffs. Her arms ache, and she's tired (not because of him, she still has some boundaries), and she leans across him, reaching for the spatula that lays on the counter behind him.

She bites her lip as she studies the frying pancake, turning it over onto the opposite side.

Clarke groans. It's black. Crispy. Completely fucking burnt.

"Shit," she growls. Bellamy presses his lips together, dropping the pancake into the garbage where her other failed attempts pile. "This is dumb. Why can't you just make them?"

"If you want pancakes all the time, then you have to learn to make them yourself."

She crosses her arms over her chest. "That's a stupid rule," she mutters.

"Well, you know what they say," he teases, and he extends the frying pan towards her. "Practice makes - "

Clarke scoffs, taking it from him. He smirks, and she turns to the stove, loose strands of hair hanging from her ponytail. Bellamy reaches forward and moves them from the frame of her face, fingers sticky with pancake mix as she pours the remaining batter into the frying pan.

"You know, O will kill us for wasting all the batter," she tells him.

"O will also kill us if she knew that I ate you out on that counter, but she won't find out about that either."

Clarke shrugs. "Yeah, but kitchen sex is the new shower sex. She would have understood."

He looks at her. "Kitchen sex is not a thing."

"Yes, it is," she mumbles, and when he stares at her, unwavering, she raises an eyebrow. "Oh, come on. You're not into kitchen sex?"

"Is there a reason to be?"

"Yes," she strains, nodding. "Many reasons. O told me that one time her and Lincoln - "

Bellamy's eyes widen, and he presses his hands to his ears, humming loudly.

"Oh, that's mature," she hisses, "really fucking mature."

He hums louder, singing some damn lyric to Drake's new album (which he probably heard on the radio, because all he listens to is the Black Keys and throwbacks), and she rolls her eyes, lifting the spatula towards him and -

There's a small cough of acknowledgement, and Clarke frowns, turning to meet a familiar pair of brown eyes in the centre of the kitchen.

Bellamy lowers his hands from his ears. "Gina. Hey."

Little perfect Gina grins. "What's up, Bell?" She looks at Clarke, nodding. "Griffin."

Clarke presses her lips together to hide a scowl.

"We're making pancakes, or at least Clarke is failing to make pancakes," he tells her.

"Shut up."

He raises an eyebrow at her, and Gina laughs.

"It's okay, Clarke," she says, and she drops a textbook onto the kitchen counter, leaning onto it. "You should have seen me when he was trying to give me study tips on psychology. Didn't work out too well."

Bellamy shrugs his shoulders. "But you passed."

"Yeah, thanks to you."

Clarke smiles tightly. She glances at him, his hair messy and untamed from the morning they just shared, and she exhales deeply, digging the spatula underneath the cooked pancake.

Gina sighs. "Well, I should probably go find Raven. We've got that chemistry exam tomorrow."

"Wouldn't want to keep her waiting," Clarke tells her.

Gina laughs, fucking genuine and adorable and - God, it's horrible. She reaches for her textbook, waving to Clarke and murmuring a soft goodbye to Bellamy as she exits the kitchen, her smile still God damn shinning as she disappears up the stairs.

Bellamy turns to her, frowning when he notices her expression.

"What's that look for?"

Clarke frowns. "What look?"

He touches her forehead. "The space between your eyebrows. It's all scrunched up," he says, and his fingers smooth over the padded skin. "It looks like you're about to activate Tiny Tank."

"I'm not - " she huffs, flipping the pancake. "It's nothing."

"Clarke."

She shakes her head. "It's nothing."

He raises an eyebrow at her, expecting, and she sighs.

"It's the pancakes, alright? They're stupid." She glances at him and crosses her arms over her chest. "Congratulations, Blake. You made me hate pancakes. You made me hate the one thing I loved."

He presses his lips together, amused, and it really pisses her off. She turns from him, hovering over the stove as she pulls down the dial of the heat, flattening the pancake against the pan.

She tries to step away from the stove, but Bellamy leans forward, pressing his chest into her back.

She closes her eyes. "Bell."

"Clarke."

"What are you doing?" she mumbles.

His lips fan across the back of her neck. "Just brainstorming," he hums, and she can feel his smirk on her skin, "I have some pretty decent ideas on how to make you love them again."

She tilts her head against his chest. "I'm assuming these ideas have nothing to do with the pancakes."

"Not at all," he whispers.

"I'm also assuming these ideas have something to do with kitchen sex, in which I think you might find enjoyable."

He presses a kiss to her ear. "Show me."

She grins mischievously, and then he's turning her in his arms, leaning forward to kiss her as his hands curl around her thighs. He lifts her onto the counter, pushing the egg bowl aside and making her gasp into his mouth.

Clarke wraps her legs around his waist, pulling him close, kissing him and kissing him until the pancakes begin to sizzle beside them, and the smoke alarm echoes throughout the entire house.


iii.

Final exams end a week later, wrapping up her first semester.

Her mother wants her home for the holidays, which isn't anything new, but it's different this time since Bellamy and Octavia won't be coming back to the city with her. Bellamy doesn't have the cash, or a passport, and Octavia just doesn't have the desire.

Which, at the beginning is okay, until she learns that Clarke still does.

"This is stupid. You know that, right?" Octavia huffs, lowering herself onto the mattress. Her eyes are narrow as she looks up at the ceiling. "How long are you even leaving for?"

Clarke pulls a red shirt from underneath her. "Three weeks."

She groans. "I told you," she hisses, "stupid."

Clarke laughs. She lifts the red shirt from the covers and folds it, placing it into the suitcase her mother bought her specifically for the holidays. It's bigger than what she needs, but Octavia might want to crawl inside too, so it's flexible.

"You'll survive," she tells her, and Octavia scoffs. "You have a boyfriend to entertain, remember?"

"So do you."

She shakes her head. "Fuck off."

Octavia grins. "Come to think of it, this break might be a good thing," she says as she crosses her arms behind her head. "It'll give me time to heal from all the sex I hear you and Bell having."

"I thought we were more quiet now."

Octavia raises an eyebrow. "Are you kidding? Yesterday morning when I heard you guys I thought it was my alarm clock." She presses her lips together, thoughtful. "It was actually quite reliable."

"How resourceful."

"I know, right? Waking up to my best friend and brother boning. Such a good idea for a ringtone."

Clarke rolls her eyes. "As if you and Lincoln are any better."

"Well have you seen the guy? I'm surprised he hasn't split me in half by now."

"That's dramatic."

Octavia winks. "But also true."

Clarke grins. She walks to her closet and pulls a sweater from the bottom shelf, the elf ears reminding her of the first Christmas she spent at the sorority. She had just met Raven, and thought she was crazy, but then realized she was crazy, too.

So they became friends. Obviously.

"Why is your mom making a big deal about Christmas this year anyway?" Octavia asks her, and she hesitates, her eyes widening suddenly. "Oh, my God. Is she dying? Does she have cancer? Clarke - "

"Relax, Blake. She's got a boyfriend."

"No fucking way."

Clarke nods. "Marcus Kane. Remember him?"

"Shut up," she gasps, "your mom's forking the old Captain?"

"Poor choice of words, but yes, if that's how you want to describe it."

Octavia leans back. "Good for her. They're both hot. You know, for a couple of old people." She pauses, eyes softening as she looks at Clarke. "You okay with it though?"

Clarke glances at her. She looks young suddenly, and Clarke is reminded of the first Halloween they spent together, when her dad was alive and they were both just kids trying to eat as much candy without giving a shit about the costumes.

She shrugs her shoulders. "Everybody's got to move on, right?" she tells her, and when Octavia nods in comfort, she turns to pull a dress from her closet, displaying it in front of her. "But more importantly, do you think my mom will kill me if I wear this dress instead of the one she bought for the dinner party?"

Octavia bites on her lip to hide her grin. "I'm going to have to go with yes," she says, and Clarke huffs in annoyance. "But it wouldn't be an axe kind of murder, more like a poison in your wine kind of deal."


iv.

Clarke stands in the aisle of the beer store, observing the selections in front of her. She's feeling Captain Morgan, but she knows that Octavia hates rum, and will probably be drinking from her cup most of the night anyways, so she glances at the bottles on the shelf above it; runs her fingers along the labels.

"How about tequila?" she says, reaching for a Don Julio. "You need more tequila."

Bellamy looks down at the basket he's carrying. "We already have two bottles of tequila."

"So? It's the end of the semester party. It'll be gone in seconds."

"Probably," he agrees, and she glances at him when she hears his amused tone, "but only because you love tequila."

"I love any variation of alcohol," she tells him.

He shakes his head. "Doubtful." He takes the bottle from her and places it back on the shelf, instead grabbing a case of beer. "Remember that time you drank jager? You threw up for hours."

"That never happened."

"It did," he says, and he smirks like the freckled bastard he is. "It was the night after both you and O got into the same university. You came down for a night to go to a freshman party. I had to carry both of you out before midnight."

She narrows her eyes. "I had an upset stomach that night."

"You had a weak stomach."

"Only because you were there."

"Smooth, Griffin," he says, "I really felt that one."

Clarke rolls her eyes. She turns back to the selection of alcohol in front of them and crosses her arms over her chest. It's getting late, and her hair is even done yet; not that Bellamy helped with that when he ran his fingers through it half an hour ago.

"Well we should get another bottle. Doubt Jasper got the coolers like he was supposed to."

"It's Jasper. What else would you expect?" He picks up a bottle of Smirnoff Ice. "What about Vodka?"

"You hate vodka."

"Only when I drink it," he says. "But not when you do - it makes you horny."

She laughs. "Vodka does not make me horny."

"You're right," he murmurs, and he leans closer. "Only I do."

He presses a kiss to her jaw, simple, easy; lips barely grazing her skin (even though that doesn't stop her from grinning like a damn fool). He pulls away from her to grab the vodka from the shelf, placing it in the basket with the others as he turns towards the cash register.

She follows behind him, her smile fading when she notices the same free-condom-sample employee from last time.

He blinks when he see's her, probably not recognizing her, and she taps her foot impatiently against the tile as he scans all of the items - as slowly as he fucking could, if she might add - glasses falling down his nose as he cashes them in.

Bellamy pays, and they turn to leave when the man clears his throat.

"Ma'am?" She looks at him, and he offers her a brown basket filled with wrappers. "We're offering free condoms this weekend. Would you like you any?"

"I'm good."

"You sure?"

"Yup."

"But they're free."

She smiles tightly. "I'm aware."

"You should get them, unless you didn't like them from - "

Clarke huffs and reaches forward, fisting a stash of condoms in her hand and pushing them into her pockets. The man stares at her, amused, and she steps away from him, Bellamy's smug smile following her out of the store.


v.

She stands in front of her mirror, pulling her jeans above her waist.

"I don't know," she murmurs, turning to look at her legs in the reflection. "I feel like this colour doesn't go with the tank, right? Or does it go with the top? What if I wear the red one and - "

Octavia shakes her head. "Are you kidding? The tank goes way better than the red."

"The tank makes me look pasty. And boring."

"You don't look boring."

Clarke purses her lips. "What if I try on a different pair of jeans?"

"What if you just shut the fuck up and start drinking?" Raven huffs.

She narrows her eyes. Raven shrugs and takes a sip of her beer.

"I like the tank," Gina says, and Clarke glances at her from where she sits perched on the bed, legs crossed over the other. "It brings out your eyes."

Octavia nods. "She has a point." She stands behind Clarke and tugs on the straps of the top, pulling them lower to reveal her cleavage. "And plus it makes your boobs look good."

"Her boobs always look good," Raven grumbles. "It's fucking annoying."

"Exactly," Octavia says. "You'll look hot either way, but you'll get a third glance in that tank." She nudges her shoulder against Clarke's. "Which shouldn't really matter, since you'll probably end up spending the night at my brother's anyway."

"Might surprise you and have him spend the night here instead."

Octavia snorts. "So I can listen to him satisfy you all night?"

"Correction. I'm the one who satisfies him."

"Still in the denial stage, are you?"

"Shut up," she hisses.

Gina laughs. She lifts herself from Clarke's mattress and walks over to them, clutching the wine cooler between her fingers.

"Don't worry, I've dated a couple of my friends. It gets less weird." She tilts her head and touches a finger to her chin. "But then again I always end up breaking up with them, so don't trust my judgement."

Clarke presses her lips together. "Me and Bellamy aren't dating."

"Really?" She crosses her arms over her chest. "I thought you guys were a thing."

"Not exactly."

"Oh. Are you one of those people who are uncomfortable with labels? I once dated a guy for a year who still wouldn't refer to me as his girlfriend."

Clarke shrugs. "I don't mind labels."

Gina nods, eyebrows scrunched in confusion, and Raven breathes deeply.

"They're just screwing," she informs her, opening a second bottle of beer. "You know, for fun. Some good old-fashioned penis in vagina sex."

"I think she knows how sex works," Octavia grumbles.

Gina looks at Clarke. "So it's not exclusive?"

She opens her mouth to explain, but Raven's laugh is loud and overpowering

"You kidding? The only thing Bellamy and Clarke are committed to is tearing each other's clothes off."

Clarke scoffs. "Not true. We still hang out."

"But you're not dating?"

Clarke looks at Gina, brown eyes eager in comparison to her blue depths. She scrunches her nose, and for some reason the answer is stuck on her tongue (maybe it's the tequila, tequila has a really bad taste, okay?)

"No," she tells her. She grins tightly. "We're not."

Gina nods, and then she turns to Octavia, telling her she looks 'absolutely amazing' in her outfit; and she has to resist the urge to roll her eyes because both of Octavia's shirt and jeans are hers, and Clarke has a feeling her and Gina share the same taste in more than just clothes.


vi.

"People are staring at us."

Bellamy pulls away from her, hair tangled from the length of her fingers. He glances at the crowd that has gathered around them in the kitchen, and she presses her lips together, hiding the smile that forms her face at his scowl.

He turns to her, mouth swollen and warm with the taste of beer.

"That's new." He runs his hands up her thighs and skims the waistband of her jeans. "I guess they want to be educated."

She laughs. "Educated, huh?"

"Yup. Since we're good at what we do. And plus, we're probably giving them a great view."

"Obviously," she says, "have you seen what I'm wearing?"

"I have."

She raises an eyebrow. "And?"

He looks down. "And I'm aware of how good your boobs look, Griffin."

"You sure?" she teases, pulling him closer, "I was afraid you wouldn't notice."

"Trust me. I've noticed."

Clarke laughs. She locks her legs around his waist and presses into him, kissing him the way she knows drives him crazy, all thought and skill, open-mouthed on his skin. He growls against her, hands on her thighs.

His breath is low on her lips. "Clarke."

"Mhm?"

"Would I be a bad host if I took you upstairs right now?"

She smiles. "Probably. But you've never been a good one."

He chuckles, and the sound is a dim noise in the overpowering melody of the music. He kisses her again, softer this time, slowing them down, and she silently thanks him for it, because otherwise she'd be peeling his shirt off and attacking him before -

"Bellamy! Bellamy."

He pulls away from her and turns to the girl standing behind him.

"Fox," Clarke groans when she notices her, "we're kind of busy."

Fox rolls her eyes. "Well this is kind of an emergency," she hisses, and she tugs on his arm, dragging him from the space between Clarke's thighs, "Harper is throwing up again. Figured you'd like to know."

"Damn it," he curses, "where?"

"Master hall."

Clarke sighs. "Is she okay?"

"She's fine. Octavia's with her, and we're going to take her home, but it's a pretty big mess."

"Of course it is," Bellamy murmurs. He drags a hand over his face and turns to Clarke, pecking her lips quickly. "I'll take care of it. Don't further educate our audience until I get back."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

He nods, and Fox drags him away from her, pulling him deeper into the gathering crowd. Clarke sighs and pushes herself from the counter.

She's bored, and doesn't know where the hell Raven is, knows Octavia is taking care of the weak, and that - well, she actually doesn't really hang out with anyone else.

Her eyes scan the crowd for a familiar face (or a non-familiar face, because hey, she can make some friends if she talks about the weather) and she notices Gina in the living room, talking to some girl, and - yeah, Clarke decides at that moment that she needs to take a piss.

She huffs and walks out of the kitchen, struggling through the people that crowd in the hallway. The music is loud and constant around her - some Kanye song she's never heard, which isn't saying much because she doesn't support misogynistic assholes - and she makes her way up the stairs, breathing in deep at the space.

She reaches for the washroom door, but someone opens it before she does, and she collides into a solid chest.

"Fuck, I'm sorry - " she looks up at the person and blinks at the familiar face. "Oh. Dax."

His smile is wide. "Clarke Griffin."

"That's me."

He stares at her. "What are you doing up here?"

"Nothing. Just trying to get to a damn toilet."

"Well I'm pretty sure there's a toilet in there, so I think you're in the clear."

She nods. "Thanks for the advice."

She walks forward, but he shifts, stepping in front of her and closing the door behind him.

"What are you - "

"I have a question," he says.

Clarke looks at him. "Okay."

"You're screwing Blake."

Her eyes widen. She stares at him, blonde hair a dark shadow against the wall.

Her jaw tightens. "That's not a question."

"No," he says, "but you still answered it."

She narrows her eyes. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"I think you know."

"No. I don't."

He smirks, and the feature makes her stomach curl and her throat tighten. She swallows thickly and steps backwards, but it doesn't matter, because he matches her stride with his own.

"Get out of my way," she hisses.

"What's the magic word?"

She glares at him. "Now."

"There's no need to get aggressive," he tells her. He lifts his hands in the air in mock surrender. "I'm just curious about what it takes."

"About it takes to what?"

He shrugs. "To get a round with you," he says, licking his lips. "You know, since you fucked Myles, fucked Finn. Now you're fucking Bellamy. Looks like you give lots of favours to those who want it."

Clarke shakes her head. Her eyes feel raw with disgust.

"Fuck you," she spits.

"That's the point here, Griffin. You're the one acting tense."

She shoves at him. He stumbles backwards, not far but far enough, and she pushes away from him, turning back towards the staircase. He reaches forward and grabs her arm, pulling her against him.

Clarke turns towards him and slaps her hand across his cheek.

Dax winces, touching the sensitive skin. "Bitch."

She stares at him. His eyes are wide, dark, and she walks to the end of the hallway, lungs thick and eyes stinging as she stumbles down the staircase. The music is loud again, and it makes her head hurt, makes it pulse and throb and -

"Clarke." Gina touches her arm in the crowd, concern itched in her expression. "Hey. You okay?"

She doesn't trust her voice, so she nods. "Fine. I have to go."

And then she leaves, desperate, angry; walking and walking until she doesn't hear the music anymore, until there's nothing but her heavy breathing.


vii.

She stretches onto her bed, face pressed down on the mattress. The white sheets are stained black with her mascara, and she clutches her pillow, wiping the remaining foundation onto the material.

She hates crying. Hates the person who made her cry.

She knows it shouldn't bother her, that Dax Woods is a bad person with an even worse reputation, but it hurts - because it's real. Because she's slept with guys and guys have slept with her for one reason; the pleasure, the physical attraction, for the wants and not the needs.

It's dumb. She's dumb. Her tears feel even more stupid.

She's wiping them from her cheeks when there's a knock against her door.

Clarke stares at wooden surface. No one knows she's here; made sure Octavia didn't see her from Harper's room, or that Raven didn't notice her when she left the frat's kitchen. She holds her breath, waiting, quiet in her blankets.

There's another knock. Then another, and she chews on her bottom lip.

"Naked," she calls.

The doorknob twists, and Bellamy enters the room, eyebrows raised in assessment.

"Was that supposed to keep me out?"

Clarke exhales. "Go away, Blake."

He narrows his eyes, lips pursed as he slips off his jacket.

"That certainly wasn't the greeting I was expecting," he murmurs.

"I'm sure it wasn't," she says, and she curls tighter into her sheets, "now leave."

He stares at her, and his eyes are round, concerned - it bothers her. She turns her head from him and presses her face into the pillow, but it doesn't make him leave, doesn't stop him from crossing into the room and sitting beside her on the mattress.

"Gina told me you left," he confesses. His tone is soft. "Something happened."

"Nothing happened."

"Clarke."

"Nothing happened," she repeats.

"Bullshit," he mutters. "You're upset."

She lifts her head at that. "So? Why do you care?"

His jaw clenches. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

She looks at him, bitter, and drops her forehead onto the mattress.

"Hey." He stretches himself onto the bed, lying next to her on his side. "Clarke. Tell me what's wrong."

"No. I said leave. Okay?"

He shakes his head, and damn him for being as stubborn as she is.

"I'm not leaving until you tell me what's wrong," he whispers.

Clarke swallows thickly. She hates him. Hates him and Dax and the tears stained on her cheeks. She breathes deeply, clutching the pillow into her side; the room silent as he remains beside her.

He reaches forward and traces soft patterns on her shoulder. She closes her eyes.

"A guy cornered me tonight."

His hand hovers above her skin. It's silent for a moment.

"What?"

Clarke looks at him. "A guy came up to me after you left," she explains, and she can already see the lines harden on his expression. "He wanted to know that since I was fucking you, if I was open to fucking any available guy on campus."

"Fuck."

"Yeah. That was the idea."

He presses his lips together. "Who was it?"

"Bellamy - "

"Who, Clarke?"

"It doesn't matter," she hisses.

He stares at her, and it's quiet, the heat of her words an echo in her room. She wonders if the party has stopped, or if it's still functioning without one of it's hosts, who ended up in her room instead of his.

It's soft when he speaks again. Merely a whisper.

"You're not an object," he tells her, "if that's what you're thinking."

"It is."

"You shouldn't be."

"Why not?" she demands. She shifts onto her back and stares up at the ceiling. "Half the time I'm talking to guys, they're staring at these things," she cups her breasts in her hands and squeezes them.

He shakes his head. "Clarke."

"What?"

"You're crazy if you think all guys like you for is your body."

She shrugs. "Not just my body. The sex, too," she says, glaring at him. "That's what you like about me, right?" He stares at her, silent, and she exhales roughly, resting her arm over her eyes. "Never mind."

Bellamy pulls her arm away, holding her wrist as he looks down at her.

"That's not all I like about you."

"Yes, it is," she mumbles, "we hate each other."

He raises an eyebrow, exasperating, and she sighs.

"Fine. We tolerate each other."

He shakes his head. "Piss off. We're friends." He smiles, shifting onto his elbow to hover above her, heads closer in the darkness. "Even before this whole thing started."

She touches the shirt of his collar. "I guess so."

He narrows his eyes, and she notices the determination in them, the focus. He reaches forward, gripping her chin and lifting her face towards him, staring at her as if he's spent his entire life doing so.

"I like your eyes," he whispers, and her throat feels dry.

"Bellamy."

"They're a nice blue." His fingers expand onto her cheek, fingers touching the skin above her eyelids. "The kind that sparkle."

Clarke grins and touches his jaw. "I like your freckles."

"Yeah?"

She nods. "And your lips."

He pokes her mouth. "Your smile."

"Hands."

"Hair."

"Arms," she says, running her fingers down his biceps.

"Eyes."

She laughs. "You said that."

"I meant it."

Clarke releases a long breath. His thumb is soft on her cheek, and she's stopped crying, stopped thinking about Dax and every asshole she's met. Has only been thinking about Bellamy, about what he's been saying.

Her heart turns heavy with affection, and she smiles, clutching his face in her hands.

"That was nice," she whispers, "didn't know you had it in you."

Bellamy shrugs. "I did raise a teenage girl," he explains, and she laughs, nodding. He touches her hair. "You know what else is going to make you feel better?"

"What?"

"Netflix."

She beams. "Full house?"

He groans, and she tugs at his arm.

"Please, please." She raises an eyebrow. "You don't want me to cry again, do you?"

He sighs. "Unfair play, but fine. Put it on, I'll grab you some water."

She smiles, and he shifts on the mattress, beginning to pull away from her. She shakes her head and lifts herself onto her elbows, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing into him, head on on his shoulder.

He hesitates, but then he embraces her back, lips in her hair.

"Thank you," she whispers, and he nods.

(When he comes back upstairs, he's got a water bottle, her favourite chocolate and a bag of chips. She falls asleep before the second episode even starts).


I loved writing this chapter (especially the last scene). I hope you guys liked that smut, and how 'platonic' they were mwuahahah. Can't wait to read your thoughts! Hope you enjoyed it and will post the next chapter when it's complete!

Also, bellarke is rising in this fic and also on the show. How cool is that?Much love, xoxo.