Hey guys! Decided to take a small break from writing Nowhere Found to write this oneshot I had an idea of! Enjoy. It gets pretty dirty ;)


"We agreed. Just sex."

Clarke Griffin isn't a jealous person.

She has a good life, with good friends and a good job, has the occasional romance of satisfying her sexual frustration. She spends her days reading in the sunlight with her cat, Elsa, wrapped around her waist and purring into her shirt.

She's happy. So fucking happy that there's no reason to be jealous at all.

No. Fucking. Reason.

"Clarke?" Octavia leans over the table and touches her arm. "Your hands are turning red."

Clarke blinks, turning her head from the two people at the other side of the bar. She glances at her hands, clenched in fists, her fingers digging into the skin of her palms.

Raven chuckles. "You constipated or something, Griffin?"

Clarke stretches her fingers, laying them on the table. They're still red, and her stomach is still in knots, her body remaining in the emotion of jealousy and annoyance and -

She grabs her bottle of beer and chugs it.

Octavia gasps. "Clarke!"

"Griffin!" Raven nods in amusement.

Clarke wipes the substance from her mouth and swallows thickly. She looks across the bar again, her skin burning when she see's Bellamy, his muscles expanding as leans over the counter, smiling into Roma's hair.

Fuck.

"You know what," she steps down from her stool, her ears ringing, "I think I'm going to head home."

Octavia shakes her head. "Bellamy's your ride."

"No." She wants to throw up. She hates that name. "He's busy trying to get laid."

She grabs her jacket from the table, and, holy shit, her hands are fucking red again. Octavia begs for her to stay, Raven rolling her eyes and calling her a pussy, twirling her hair as she takes another sip of her beer.

"I'm just tired. I'll see you guys later." She takes the beer from Raven and finishes it. "I'm totally fine."

Her friends stare at her in confusion, and Clarke only waves, her heels clicking against the wood as she walks towards the doors. She passes the bar, breathing heavily when she hears Bellamy grunt a compliment, and Roma's laughter in response.

She clenches her hands. So not jealous.


It begins to rain when she's walking home.

Clarke curses, clenching onto her coat and wrapping the material around her. She shivers at the increasing strength of the wind, her heels and legs burning in exhaustion.

She wonders how good Bellamy must be feeling in Roma's bed, and she shakes her head, because she doesn't care.

Clarke steps onto her porch, the rain rough on her arms as she unlocks her front door. She stumbles into her house, the darkness of the room embracing her mood and soothing her.

She shrugs off her coat, her damp clothes lingering on her skin. Her hair is wet, her body surfaced with water, and she shivers, kicking off her heels.

She hates wearing heels.

A clap of thunder echoes above her, and then a knock on her front door, as sharp as the lightning. Clarke sighs, rubbing her arms as she steps into the hallway, pulling on the door handle.

Bellamy stands in front of her, his curls falling from the rain.

Clarke chews on her bottom lip, her throat tightening. She wraps a strand of damp hair around her ear, waving her wet shirt against her body. She's tipsy, and hot, the redness returning to her.

She sighs heavily. "Bellamy, I'm not in the mood to - "

"Why'd you leave without me?"

She looks at him, her best friend's brother, her best friend. His muscles pulse under his damp clothes, and he crosses over the threshold, entering her house and closing the door behind him.

The darkness feels much more suffocating.

"I was tired," she tells him.

He steps towards her. "Are you tired now?"

"Besides," she touches his chest, preventing him from getting closer. "You were occupied."

He raises his eyebrows. "Occupied? With what? Roma?"

Clarke looks away from him.

Bellamy huffs, shaking his head. He looks so young in the dimness of her home, and her fingers soften against the material of his shirt, wrapping around his collar before she rests her arms at her side.

"She's a friend," he reassures her, and she almost laughs, because they're friends. "I wasn't going to - "

Clarke exhales. "It doesn't matter. You could have. If you wanted to."

"I didn't want to."

She looks up at him, his eyes burning into hers. She's never been able to adapt to him, to his eyes, his body. Even when they were younger, when he would pick her and Octavia up from high school parties, and he would scan her body before giving them hell for sneaking out.

Clarke touches his belt, and his muscles tense.

"I thought you were tired," he teases.

She presses a kiss against his jaw, guiding his hands to her waist. "Do I feel tired?"

Bellamy grins. He caresses the dampness of her shirt, pushing her against the wall. His hands roam her body, touching her, remembering her, tracing her in ways that have been perfected in his patterns.

He pulls the collar of her shirt down, trailing his lips along her shoulder.

Suck it, Roma.

"Wait." He removes his mouth from her skin, and she whimpers in disapproval. "Were you jealous?"

Clarke blinks. "What?"

Bellamy smirks, tapping his finger against her nose. "You were jealous."

She feels the reddening shade return to her cheeks, to her hands and her memory. She thinks of Roma, trapped between him and the wall, her hands in his hair and her moans in his kisses.

She leans her head against the wall, refusing to expose her flushed cheeks.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Of Roma." His teeth graze the straps of her bra, peeling them from her shoulders. "You left because you didn't like seeing me and Roma."

She laughs, a breathy moan. "Get over yourself, Blake."

She feels his smile against her skin, his lips trailing to her neck, her jaw, kissing the side of her chin. He grazes the buttons of her jeans, his fingers sliding under her zipper as he leans his forehead against hers.

"You like me."

He enters a finger inside her, and she gasps.

Clarke grips his shoulders, pulling her against him as he finds his rhythm. He inserts another finger, pumping them inside her, stretching her in pleasure. He continues to kiss her skin, tugging down her shirt to remove her bra and suck on her breasts.

"Obviously." Her breath hitches, and she rolls her hips against his. "We've known each other since we were kids."

Bellamy shakes his head. "You like me, like me."

"I don't."

There's a moment of displeasure, of disruption, and Clarke huffs in annoyance when he removes his fingers, detaches his lips from her. He pulls away, though she can still feel his growing product of need against her.

He stares at her. "Prove it."

Clarke grunts, grabbing his collar and pressing him against her. "No." She peels his belt from his waist, unbuttoning his pants. "We agreed. Just sex."

He groans when she frees his erection. "Yeah. Seven months ago."

She rolls her eyes, caressing him harshly as he buries his face into her neck. He palms her ass, unzipping her jeans and pulling them down, ghosting his fingers along the insides of her thigh.

"Whatever." She closes her eyes as he rolls her thong off. "So I didn't want you having sex with Roma. Sue me."

He smiles against her lips. "Is that a fantasy?"

She laughs, shaking her head. "Assholes," she whispers. Her fingers clench onto the curls of his hair, and she thinks of the redness, thinks of the jealousy. "You didn't like it when I dated Finn," she murmurs. "You were jealous."

Bellamy smirks. "Cute."

Clarke cups his cheeks, guiding his face towards hers. His eyes are laced with lust, and she remembers the first time they gave in to each other, his hands inside her in the washroom of Octavia's 21st birthday party.

She swore to him it would never happen again, but it did, it keeps on happening.

Clarke curls a finger under his chin, curious. "You like me, Blake," she mumbles.

"I don't like you," he tells her.

"Well, I don't like you."

He stares at her, his hands on her waist and her legs wrapped with his. There's a desperation in his gaze, a hunger, and the moment overwhelms him as he grabs her face in his hands and kisses her.

He kisses her. They rarely kiss, but he kisses her.

Clarke groans, her lips connecting with his in an eruption of passion and impatience. She pulls him close, whispering his name, her arms encircling his neck and her chest pressing against his.

Bellamy leans forward, his hands gripping her thighs and wrapping them around his waist. He pushes her against the wall, and she knots her feet together on the small of his back, his growing need close to her entrance.

He trails a hand between them and pushes into her.

Fuck.

Fuck. He fucks her, kisses her, and holy shit she's seeing stars.

"God," she moans.

She feels him smile against her lips, and he whispers in her ear, whispers those dirty thoughts and those dirty actions. She demands for him to go faster, and he does, her hips meeting his in quick and tense thrusts.

She doesn't know how loud she screamed, her ears were fucking ringing.

And after, when he carried her to the bed and continued to pleasure her, he rolled her into his side, kissing the crown of her forehead. They're sweaty, damp with sex and rain, but God she feels perfect.

"Hey, Clarke?"

She looks up at him. "Yeah?"

He kisses her again, his lips lingering on hers in the darkness of her room. It's sweet, loving, and oh God it stirs another pleasure inside her, but she doesn't know from where.

Bellamy leans his forehead against hers. "I love you."

She smiles. Octavia and Raven always suspected, even without the knowledge of knowing they've been sleeping together, and she's always refused, always declined their assumptions.

She kisses his cheek. "I fucking told you!"

(She loves him, too. Of course).


Hope you guys enjoyed it! Next chapter of Nowhere Found should be up in next 1-2 weeks :) Much love, xoxo.