Clarke wants the record to show that she was not the first person to call Bellamy Blake, daddy.
It's not a thing that she started, nor is it something she was aware would make his face light up like Earth on fire and promptly choke on whatever substance masquerading as dinner Monty managed to conjure up this time.
Pass the salt, daddy.
The entire table burst out in laughter, which is nice, because it's something she's definitely not seen them all do simultaneously since, like, ever. But it also leaves this uneasy feeling to settle in her stomach before she's even bothered to take a bite.
She's pretty sure it's not that funny.
"What?" Clarke asks, leaning forward to rest her elbows on the table. "It's not like it's a secret that everyone calls us mom and dad when they think we're not paying attention."
Bellamy clears his throat, dark eyes flickering up to meet hers briefly before darting away.
"I think it might mean something different coming for your mouth, princess," Murphy says, side of his lips curving upward before taking a long sip of water. He shoots a pointed leer in Bellamy's direction that Clarke can't seem to pin down.
Bellamy scowls at him up until Emori gets this wicked gleam in her eye and Murphy jolts suddenly, breaking the alpha-male staring contest. Clarke definitely doesn't want to picture whatever his girlfriend is doing to Murphy under the table to get him to squirm like that.
But there's something about Bellamy's reaction that gets her mind racing and she can't tell if it's a good or bad thing. Anxiety is a bitch in that way.
"What do you mean?" Clarke asks innocently and internal panics when Monty immediately coughs into his sleeve, Harper swallows a giggle, Raven sends her suggestive smirk, Emori smiles like this is the best thing she's ever witnessed, Murphy tosses his head back, cackling like a maniac, and Bellamy-
Clarke can't even bring herself to look at Bellamy.
"Oh for the love of-" Raven starts, shaking her head. "You were one of the privileged, Griffin. Are you really telling us you've never bothered to use your royalty status to view porn?"
Clarke's mouth falls open, warmth floods her cheeks and she hates herself for failing to hide the sharp gasp and small squeak the escapes her. But more than that, she loathes her inept attempts at keeping her cool when anyone starts talking about sex in casual conversation.
About her and Bellamy and . . . sex?
With Bellamy.
Sex with Bellamy.
Fuck.
"It never really crossed my mind, no," she admits, stabbing her supposedly edible slush with a forth.
"Look at her," Emori pipes up. "If I didn't know any better I'd think she was a virgin."
"Like you even knew what porn was until two weeks ago, Em," Clarke says with a huff.
"Murphy is a good teacher," Emori replies, coy as he lets out dark chuckle. "But I was referring to how red your face is."
"Like Bellamy is doing so much better," Clarke counters, shifting in her seat, still avoiding his heavy stare. She knows enough to realize whatever her words implied has clearly made him uncomfortable.
It's not exactly the reaction she'd expect from the guy who used to revel in each of his past sexual conquests parading around him as if he was a badge of honor to be earned.
There's an ache in her chest at that and cruel voice in her head that whispers, he'll never choose you the way you want him to
Raven snorts obnoxiously earning Clarke's attention in the form of sharp glare.
"Oh, come on!" she taunts. "The last thing Bellamy is right now is embarrassed, Griffin. He's just pissed at us for ruining it for him because now you know too much to have the guts to call him daddy in private."
"All right, that's enough," Bellamy cuts in, the deep gravel in his voice putting Clarke even more on edge. She chances a glance at him from across the table. He's studying her with steady eyes that soften when she meets his gaze. "Let's talk about something that isn't going to make it any more difficult to finish our dinner than it already is."
It stings.
She knows the comment not specifically addressed towards her. Bellamy would never hurt her feelings intentionally, but the mere thought that Clarke could be as unappealing to him as the slop on their plates mortifying.
"Hey!" Monty huffs, pretending to be annoyed. "Full offense."
"All right. You all heard, daddy. It's time to be good boys and girls," Murphy announces, dodging Bellamy trying to flick him in the ear.
Clarke smiles to hide her discomfort, eating as much as she can as quickly as she can.
Bellamy nudges her foot with his just when she's about to make her escape.
Are you okay? He mouths silently, brows knitting together.
Clarke jerks a nod at him and tries for a weak grin when he doesn't look convinced. "I'm just not used to Monty's cooking, yet," she says, a half-truth. He smothers his chuckle with his palm.
Clarke's smiles for real this time, even as she ducks her head to hide it. " I think I'm going to call it a night," she says after.
"I'll join you," Bellamy says, standing up as she does and taking her plate off her hands. "If that's okay . . ." he trails off, noting something on her face that makes him hesitate. "You're not going to sleep, yet, are you?"
Despite how terribly awkward and nervous she feels, Clarke absolutely does not want to keep him at a distance for something so silly and stupid, honestly.
"No, I was just thinking about using my free-time to draw for a bit."
Bellamy beams at her. Butterflies flutter around her heart at the sight. "Great, I was actually just going to finally finish reading something," he replies, eager.
"Of course you were," Clarke teases. He bumps his shoulder with hers in retaliation.
The moment is predictably ruined by their idiot friends hollering and whistling at them as they leave the hall.
He looks at her apologetically. "Ignore them. The impending six years of isolation hanging over all our heads has definitely cut off blood flow to their brainstems."
"I think all of Murphy's is flowing straight to his cock," Clarke blurts without thinking and then immediately slaps her hand over her mouth.
Bellamy chokes on a laugh, eyes wide and bright.
"So you do have a dirty mind, after all, princess. I knew it," he says smugly like he's just uncovered a newfound secret he can't wait to share.
Clarke tries not to hang onto the fact that he could ever have possibly been curious about what fantasies play in her head every night when she's alone in her bed.
If only you knew.
"Knew what?" Bellamy asks, closing the door behind him as he follows her into her quarters.
Clarke curses, fumbling through the drawers for her makeshift scrapbook and charcoal pencils. "I uh-didn't mean to say that out loud," she admits, before settling herself on her bed.
"Question still stands," Bellamy teases, tugging off his boots. She glances up to find him nibbling his bottom lip.
He's stupid, Clarke decides.
With his stupid face and stupid eyes looking at her like that look he gives her isn't wholly responsible for leaving her a confused mess since the day they met.
"Ass," she huffs under her breath, too low for him to hear. "I thought you were going to catch up on your reading."
"Oh, right," he fumbles a little, rubbing the back of his neck.
His room's right across from hers. It's not like it's hard to go get whatever mythology novel that's captured his attention this week, but apparently he'd rather sift through her personal collection instead.
"Jane Austen?" he notes, quirking a brow. She makes a point to pay extra close attention to the outline she's attempting to sketch with shaky fingers.
"I never pictured you a romantic."
"Maybe I just favor her sense of humor," she drawls.
"To make up for your lack of one?"
She tosses a pillow at his dumb face and he catches it easy, laughing loudly before plopping down beside her to make himself at home. He kicks his feet up onto the mattress and tucks the pillow she threw behind his head. He props up her copy of Emma upon his chest, opening the cover and smirking at her disgruntled expression.
"I've never read this one."
"There's a chair, you know." She points.
"This is comfier."
Clarke struggles to control her breathing as he moves to rest his calves in her lap. She squirms a little, sighing as if it's a major inconvenience and not entirely welcome.
Bellamy Blake pressed up against her is always welcome.
"Be good, princess," he says gruffly and Clarke immediately freezes.
She peeks at him through her lashes, but he appears to be fully immersed in the book in front of him.
Clarke doesn't buy it, but she's still working up the nerve to say something.
She doesn't know what exactly until it accidentally slips off her tongue. "So, the daddy-thing. . ."
"The daddy-thing," he repeats, feigning disinterest, but the twitch of his mouth gives him away.
And then there's the fact that his dark eyes remain firmly on the page, unmoving.
"Is it-like . . ." She struggles to find the words.
He wiggles his toes against her thigh and her body tenses unexpectedly. She bites the inside of her cheek.
"Ask what you want to, Clarke." It sounds like a command. Her neck prickles with jitters-anticipation, for what may come, she's not sure.
But she wants to find out.
"Um-is it," she mumbles, scrunching up her nose. "I don't know what to call it," she finally admits.
"A kink?" Bellamy suggests, low.
Clarke ponders that and nods slowly.
"Yeah, princess."
She huffs then. "I don't get it. Why would I want to call you that in the middle of-" Her mouth snaps shut. She feels him adjust himself, sitting up straighter.
Her jaw tenses.
"I mean why would anyone-" she tries again.
But Bellamy interrupts her. "Because you'd enjoy the vulnerability that comes with allowing me to take care of you."
Her palms are sweaty and her mouth is dry and this feels very much like the surge of adrenalin she had before jumping over that waterfall to get away from the demons chasing her in Mount Weather.
She pauses. "And that's something you'd be interested-"
"Yes." Bellamy breathes before she can even finish getting the question out.
She swallows and clarifies because she really needs to be sure, "with me, I mean."
His legs draw away from her and she's terrified she said the wrong thing until he's gently prying the scrapbook from her fingers and placing it on the floor next her book long forgotten.
He's so close, so suddenly, she can't stand it, his hands gliding up her arms, brushing her hair off her shoulder, exposing her neck, lips pressing to the juncture of her jaw.
She hisses at the contact, "Bellamy," she begs, for something, anything he'd be willing to give her.
His palms reach to cup her face then, turning her towards him so their breaths are mingling, inclining to a near kiss. Too close and too far away for different reasons that Clarke can't recall.
"Daddy," he corrects her, pulling out of reach when she tries to press further into him. She dives in again just barely missing capturing his lips.
She blinks her eyes open. Her vision clears enough to see that the way he's looking at her is nothing short of fond. It's the same way he's been looking at her for so long, back when she had little hope it meant what she wanted it to.
"Say it."
She exhales and he's already leaning closer.
"Daddy," she whispers.
It's a thrilling thing, she learns quickly; saying the word under new pretenses.
It's all she can think before Bellamy is dragging her into his lap between kisses, slow and tender until it's not, and they're falling deeper into something that has her body, her head, and her heart all screaming the exact same thing.
Want.