Based on the prompt - "I want a jealous Bellamy one shot. Preferably one where Clarke and Miller date causing Bellamy to pine for Clarke. Eventual Bellarke of course."

You shall ask, and you shall receive! Enjoy! xo.


Clarke brings a boy to the bar.

And it really pisses him off.

Like, teeth-grinding-nails-scratching-on-the-counter pisses him off. A head-in-the-bucket-screaming-internally pisses him off. Those range of expressions he never understood, never even felt, and it fucking sucks.

Feelings fucking suck.

"Bellamy!" There's a banging on the bathroom door and Clarke's voice rings throughout the bar. "Open the God damn door!"

Bellamy sighs, bowing his head on the wall. He was doing so well, was almost polite when Clarke introduced Miller to them, her grin wide and kind. He expected this, heard Octavia and Raven talk about a "new man in Clarke's life", and never thought anything of it.

He never thought anything of it because it's Clarke, his sister's best friend, and she's not supposed to make him feel like this.

He's known her since they were in high school, and she's supposed to annoy him, drive him crazy, make him go insane. She's supposed to get riled up when he debates her on things he doesn't care about, but knows she does, smirking when she screams at him.

He wants that; those stupid, unnecessary fights. He wants those emotions, the ones that make him feel like he's on fire, not the ones he's having now. Not the feeling he got when she walked into the bar with Miller, when she told them story on how they met, all happy and bright-eyed.

Miller flushed, told her she's adorable, and Bellamy tried really hard not to punch him in the damn face.

"Holy shit, Blake." Clarke's fists pound on the door again. "Stop being a coward and open the door!"

Bellamy rolls his eyes and steps forward, turning the knob.

Clarke bursts through the entrance and closes the door behind them, the fire beginning to grow again.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

Her eyes are shinning with blue steel, fierce and bold, the quality he's familiar with. She leans her back against the door and crosses her arms over her breasts, her pale skin brightening the dimness.

Bellamy raises his eyebrows. "You're the one breaking into bathrooms."

"Fuck you, Blake." She points an accusing finger at him. "You're being a dick."

"I'm being a friend," he presses.

"Who's acting like a dick."

Bellamy shakes his head. He thinks of Miller, his expression when Bellamy criticized him, telling him he's insane for thinking Halo is better than COD. Miller physically deflated, and Clarke looked at him with murder, so Bellamy left for the washroom to wait out her rage.

But she's here, the rage inside her, and, yeah, her fire is intoxicating.

"I'm just trying to help you find the right guy, kiddo," he tells her, riling her. "You tend to have a long list of bad taste."

"Are you kidding me?"

"Nope." He folds his arms over his chest. "The list starts with Finn Collins, and continues with even more dip shits."

Clarke scoffs. "You're an asshole," she growls, leaning forward and narrowing her eyes. "He's nice."

"Nice?" he questions in amusement.

"Yeah." She lifts her chin in pride. "And funny."

Bellamy smirks. Because Miller isn't funny, Miller is a guy you say is funny because there's nothing else to say about him. He's blank, colourless, creates an attraction based on the richness of his clothing.

Bellamy shrugs his shoulders. "Hasn't made me laugh yet."

Clarke tightens her lips. "Yeah," she hisses. "Because you're being a dick."

"Still can't see the humour in him."

She widens her eyes, exasperated, and huffs in irritation. The fire continues inside her, sparks igniting the room as she pushes at his chest, shoving him against the sink counter.

"I hate you," she says.

Bellamy raises his eyebrows as she presses into him, the compact of the room causing their friction. Her face is close, the features on her expression mean, and he breathes her in.

"Yeah?" he teases.

Clarke stares at him. "Yeah. A lot."

"Mhm."

"I do," she insists.

He exhales, shaking his head. This is usually the part where Octavia yells at them and tells them to get over themselves, or suck it up about whatever argument they were having. But she isn't here, and Clarke's too close for him to be making any decisions.

He remembers Miller, remembers those damn feelings, and it pisses him off again.

"Is that why you're spending more time in here than with your date?" he questions.

Clarke gaps. "I'm here because you're being an idiot," she tells him. "Because I hate you."

Irritation builds inside him. "You said that already."

"I mean it."

He stares at her, the ice in her eyes glowing into flames. He's never felt this before, this burning pain he doesn't want to stop, the intensity that he doesn't want to end. He thinks of their night in his bedroom, all sharp nails and hot kisses, the amusement of keeping it a secret from everyone else.

But then they realized that sex does cause emotions, and they crashed and burned into ashes.

He forgot about her, or at least tried, since she was still over every damn day and he could always feel his pulse thickening. She was supposed to be another one of the girls he fucks and than gets over, not the girl he can't seem to fucking get over.

Feelings fucking suck.

Bellamy licks his lips and pushes himself from the counter. "Can I tell you what I think?"

"No," she replies.

He smirks, stepping towards her as she leans against the door. "I think you're in here," he says, "because you know I'm right."

"Bullshit."

Her response is a breath, a sharp inhale as he stands in front of her. He looks down at the places on her skin that she likes, that turns her on, and he grins, because he gets the feeling that she's just feverish as he is.

"He's a nice, not funny guy, and he bores you," he tells her.

Clarke swallows thickly. "He excites me."

"He's slow, fragile. Makes you crazy."

"He's gentle." Her eyes trail the curve of his neck. "And it's beautiful."

Bellamy shakes his head. "It drives you insane."

"You drive me insane."

And he does. Whether it's because he didn't understand her tutoring in high school, or because she hated witnessing his one night stands in college. Or because they deny what they want, try to convenience themselves it's a bad idea, even though it feels like a good idea every damn time.

They drive each other insane, that's the thing. That's the fire.

Bellamy thinks of Miller, the nice-not-funny-guy in the bar, and wonders if he's figured it out yet.

"If your boyfriend is so great," he remarks, "then maybe you should be with him."

Clarke lifts her chin as she straightens herself. "Yeah. I should."

"Okay. Then leave," he suggests.

She narrows her eyes. "No. You leave."

"Then get out of my way."

She looks at him, the heat in her gaze a familiar element. She opens her mouth, closes it, stares at him with wide eyes and a heaving chest. He knows this stance, knows what she's trying to withhold, and he steps closer towards her.

Clarke squirms against the door and opens her eyes, ice and fire.

"Fucking hell, Blake."

And then she grips the collar of his shirt, pulling him to her in a frenzy of desire.

Bellamy exhales, her lips moving harshly onto his as he presses her against the door. He feels the warmth overwhelm his body, feels it in his hands as he places them on her hips, running his fingers along her exposed skin.

She gasps at the contrast, and, fuck, he's missed that sound.

He slides his palms towards the span of her back, tightening the distance between them. She breathes, nibbling at his bottom lip as she struggles to reach for the doorknob, turning the lock.

"You planning on staying in here a while?" he teases.

She kisses his smirk. "Shut up."

Her hands return to cup his face, securing his mouth, and he presses her further against the door. He rolls his hips into hers, and Clarke releases a moan, her lips unmoving as he trails his hand towards the hem of her skirt.

Bellamy licks his lips, stretching her panties and entering two fingers inside her.

Clarke pants, gripping his shoulders. "Bell," she hisses.

He hushes her, connecting their mouths to keep her from increasing her volume. She's always been loud, and that always made it more exciting, but they're in a public washroom with her date outside and he doesn't feel like being shamed on tonight.

He pushes his fingers deeper inside her, and she writhes against him.

"Fuck." He smirks, and she shakes her head. "You're such a prick."

Clarke huffs, tilting her her along the door. He leans into her and trails kisses along her neck, biting and licking her skin. She bites on her bottom lip, craving, and reaches for the buttons of his shirt.

She removes the material from his chest and digs her nails into his core.

Bellamy grunts. "Slow and gentle, huh?" He stretches her wider, further. "You sure you like that?"

Clarke squirms from his contact. "Just take off your fucking pants."

She kisses him, removing his fingers from her and pushing him against the counter. He stumbles, and she peels her skirt off as she steps towards him. Her fingers undo his belt, and she rips it from his pants, pushing them down his thighs.

"No slow and gentle." She frees his member from his boxers. "Don't you dare."

Bellamy exhales sharply. He grasps her hips and pulls her into him, wrapping his hands around her legs. He lifts her into his embrace, and turns them, settling her onto the counter.

She gasps when her skin touches the cold surface, and she reaches for him, takes him in her hands.

Clarke presses her lips to his ear. "I want you to fuck me, Bellamy Blake." His pulse thickens, and he wipes a thumb against her folds. "You know how."

And he does, spent months figuring out her body, what she wants, what she likes. He pulls her to where he stands in front of her, her thighs gliding against the counter, sweat building between them. She steadies herself as she guides him into her.

She gasps when he stretches inside her, whimpering his name.

"Shit," he whispers, because it's been so long, too long.

Clarke nods, a silent agreement, and adjusts to him. She closes her eyes, dropping her hands onto him and squeezing his ass, pushing him further inside. He smirks, because she's impatient, and that means she's wants him more than she admits. More than Miller.

"No teasing." She moves against him, desperate. "I need - "

Bellamy thrusts into her, hard, rough, and she curses.

This is what she wants, and he knows that, remembers the times when she pushed him against his apartment door, or when he fucked her against his fridge. He remembers her spark, that same fire, all fury and heat.

But then she begins to meet his thrusts with the roll of her hips, and she feels so fucking good, so there's no time to be anywhere but in this moment.

"Shit," he groans.

She presses her lips into his neck, the vibration of her moans rattling his skin. She clutches his hair, pulls on it, scratches him, and everything seems to clench tightly in his body, waiting for the release.

He continues to jerk inside her, those deep, harsh thrusts, and she bites down on her shoulder, muffling her screams.

"Oh, God." And then louder, higher. "Fuck."

She falls apart around him, her legs wrapping around his waist. She digs her heels into his back, her body tightening before it loosens, and she whispers his name, curses it, and the thickness of her voice pushes him over the edge.

He breaks with the feel of Clarke Griffin, coming inside her.

"Clarke," he grunts.

Bellamy slouches against her. His chest heaves, releasing a long breath as he attempts to recover. The world looks and feels blonde and blue-eyed, and he throbs with the thought of feeling it again.

Clarke sighs, unwrapping her legs and pushing him from her.

She lifts herself from the counter, reaching for the toilet paper to remove the fluids from her body. She curses at the thickness of the substance, looking up at him as she throws it in the waste basket.

"You can't tell anyone about this," she says.

Bellamy raises his eyebrows. He expected this, the whole denial and the vows to end whatever is between them. He watches as she picks up her panties and skirt, dragging them around her hips.

Bellamy pulls up his pants. "My lips are sealed."

"I'm serious." She throws him his shirt. "This was the last time."

"Agreed."

Clarke looks at him, the lust in her eyes replaced with confusion. She curls her hair around her ear and turns to him, crossing her arms across her chest. He glances at her breasts, plump along her forearms.

"I mean it," she tells him.

Bellamy nods. "So do I."

Her eyes narrow, the ice overpowering her fire. She breathes heavily, roaming her hands over her body and adjusting the mishaps that appear. Her hair is still wild, and her eyes look like sex, but he doesn't tell her that.

"Now, if you'll excuse me." She rubs her palms together. "I have to get back to my date."

Bellamy almost laughs. He wonders what excuse she'll tell Miller, wonders what her expression will be when he actually believes her.

He knows guys like Miller. He'll take any chance he gets.

Clarke turns from him, her blonde waves chaotic around her shoulders as she walks towards the door. He knows he shouldn't, but he steps forward anyway, wrapping his hand around her wrist and pulling her towards him.

He catches the surprise in her eyes before he presses his lips to hers.

She gasps, unknowing, and locks her arms around his neck. He kisses her roughly, passionately, his mouth breathing her in before he eventually slows his pace. And then there's nothing but soft kisses, gentle ones.

Bellamy pulls away and presses his lips to her ear. "Have fun with him tonight."

He feels her shutter, and then he leaves the bathroom, not waiting for her response or reaction. He enters the bar and tells Lincoln that he has to get home, ignoring Octavia's pointed stare, trying not to notice Miller's disappointed expression.

It doesn't take as long as he expects, but only a few hours later, she knocks on his front door.

"Hi," she says, standing in front of him.

Bellamy gazes at her. "Hi."

Clarke bites on her bottom lip. He thinks of all the nights she came to his apartment, bold and confident in her approach. She leans against the doorframe, looking at him through hooded eyes.

"We're going to crash and burn, again," she tells him. "You know that, right?"

He steps towards her. "No."

And then he kisses her, all feelings and genuine hope. Her lips outline his, and he smiles when she crosses the threshold, cupping her face securely between his hands.

They're slow and gentle that night, their movements soft despite the fire of their nature. He mesmerizes her body, her sounds, kissing her when she whispers his name in the darkness of his room.

There's something about Clarke Griffin, he's realized that, finally accepts it.

And they do crash and burn, but in the way that makes him love her more fiercely, in the way that makes him never want to let her go. In the way that makes him kiss her when she comes home, comfort her at her father's funeral, hug her when she graduates university.

In the way that makes him finally get down on one knee.

It's a good balance they have, the balance between fire and ice.


Okay, so I need your help. My writer's block is completely solid with the new chapter of Nowhere Found. And, honestly, I need a little bit of a reminder of why I should continue it.

So. Please. Help me out. My head is stuck :(