#I feel like he has rivers eyes and nose and then Blake comes hard with the hair

[theosconfessions]

teddie. my heart. argh hes the sweetest wee baby. teddie is the son of dustins son, river , and blake. rivs primary focus is always his kid and his kid only. they were very much one and done despite blake trying to push for another baby pretty hard. i think rivers the only stephens that has his head on straight. and hes trying his best to raise ted that way too. HOWEVER. hes half blake so.

if youd like to read the stephens from the beginning you can over here

if youd like to read the stephens continued you can over here :)

[prurientpuddlejumper]

A Deep and Rapid River, Ch. 11

<- Chapter 10

Summary: The end of a journey and the start of a new one

The world was beautiful—bright blue skies stretched overhead with a few lazy white cotton puffs drifting unhurriedly through and topping distant snow-covered peaks. Insects fluttered and chirped in the afternoon heat from the tall grass that lined the dirt road at the center of town, where tiny white and yellow flowers bloomed. Inside the gloomy church, you hadn't even noticed what was waiting just outside.

It was not a peaceful summer day, however. Word travels fast in a small village, though not always well or with accuracy, and a general chaos turns in the air—villagers carrying buckets of water clamor toward the smoke and others, still screaming, clamor to get away. It won’t be long before men with muskets come to hunt the great beast who had caused the calamity and abducted a bride from her wedding.

A large but fast warmblood waits, loosely tied to post just outside the church door. You could swear you’ve seen it somewhere before.

The creature sets you on its back side-saddle, before climbing on behind you and spurring the horse to a gallop. Behind you, a handful of villagers stare after you in shock.

“We shall be long gone before they recover enough to come after us,” he says, a laugh brightening the edges of his voice. You grin into the wind, fingers grasping at a handful of chestnut mane. You’re both exhilarated, and can hardly believe what just happened.

As you continue down the road, reality has to catch up sooner or later. Fear creeps back into your mind.

“Where are we going? What will we do?!”

“Are you not happy? You came with me of your own accord...”

“Of course I’m happy! “Of course I’m happy! You rescued me from that nightmare.” You’re not sure how to show your affection while trying not to fall off a galloping horse, so you nuzzle your face against the arm he has wrapped around you. “Only, we still have the same problem we had yesterday,” you frown.

“In truth, I may have wallowed and wasted away in self-pity, doubting if interference on my part was wanted, but I was encouraged to action. There is something that may assuage some of your apprehension.”

He slows the horse and turns its reins down a narrow path into the forest, barely visible from the road. You ride for several minutes, ducking sharp branches that tug at your dress, winding through the undergrowth until it opens up upon a small clearing at the edge of the river. The water is cool and clear, far calmer than the angry brown churning that overflowed the banks in the spring.

“This is where we first met, isn’t it?”

He slides himself off the saddle and lands softly in the tall grass. Taking the reins under the animal’s chin, he leads you toward a figure waiting at the far side of the meadow, under the dappled shade where the forest line hangs just over the riverbank. A smaller horse grazes idly beside them. He raises a large hand and waves to them. The figure waves back, mahogany curls bouncing with the movement, the light catching on their long, fussy sleeves.

It couldn’t be.

“Stop where you are!” she barks as the creature approaches too close. “Fifteen feet, remember our deal?” She holds up a hand in front of her eyes and squeezes them shut as if to erase him from her vision.

“Bess?” you stammer.

She looks up at you with big brown eyes and smiles. “Sorry for missing your wedding. I heard it sucked.”

You jump off the horse and nearly knock her her flat with the force of your hug. “What are you doing here? How did? What? And you didn’t—” your mouth is running at a million miles a minute yet you can’t quite manage to articulate words.

“Alright, alright,” she pats your back. “I am astonishing, I know.” She steps back and gestures to a large leather saddle bag next to her on the ground. “While everyone was distracted, I packed everything you’ll need to survive. Baked some hardtack special for you, so you shouldn’t starve for at least a month, though I recommend foraging something to supplement it.”

“This… this was your idea?” Your jaw hangs open. “But I… But you...” Your open jaw wobbles in disbelief, your last memory of Bess wide-eyed with terror and screaming.

She tucks a hand on her hip and looks aside. “I saw what I saw, and I was shocked. Frankly, it would have been a lot to process even without a damned—whatever you call him—involved. I didn’t say anything of course, but it was distressing. I didn’t know what to think. That you were cavorting with the legions of Hell after all? Then I recalled your strange behavior of late—your distraction, your mysterious smiles and contented sighs. Always hiding away in that barn yet refusing any aid with your chores. After I could breathe again it was not difficult to put together. I’m not a dummy, dummy,” she smiles.

“Suddenly they were forcing you to marry Ferdinand. I knew you would never do so willingly, but I had no power to stop their machinations. I didn't know what to do, so on a hunch, I checked your barn and found this brute curled on the floor with ten cats, weeping into one of your chemises. Thus I recruited him to my aid.”

The creature steps forward and gestures a large hand toward Bess in a friendly manner. “It was she who secured the horse and supplies, and who suggested—”

Bess waves him away sharply, clamping a hand over her eyes. “I’m sorry, guy, I cannot even look at you.” She shudders deep and sickeningly to her core. “You are fucking crazy,” she says to you, “I don’t get it. But this fellow makes you happy, doesn’t he?” You nod. “Then I am happy for you. This town has been a prison for you ever since we were children; I watched it draining your life, your dreams. So take your scary boyfriend and get out of here!”

Tears sting the back of your eyes. The creature was right—all along, Bess would have understood. Instead of confiding in a friend, you let fear lead you by the nose into a trap from which the two of them busted you out just before the door could snap shut behind you forever.

“I should have told you.” You wipe your eyes, laughing softly. “I’m an idiot.”

“No…” she coos soothingly, with some hesitation. “Well, yes. A little. But we love you.” She makes a visor over her brow with her hand and points in the general direction the massive, ominously looming creature is standing. “He loves you quite a lot, you know.”

“I know,” you smile, blessing him with a gaze affectionately returned (though he keeps his distance from the flighty Bess, occupying himself by packing up the horse). “He’s wonderful.”

“It takes all types,” she shakes her head. “Alright then,” she clears her throat, steeling herself, “Ride as hard as you can until you reach the next town. Blake is our fastest, strongest horse and should be able to bear the weight for a sprint of that distance. That should be enough of a head start to then disappear on foot, especially if nobody knows your intended destination is Geneva. If you would be so kind as to return the horse to the livery stable there—it is run by my cousin, and he won’t ask any questions. When you reach your destination, I expect a letter or I’ll think you’re dead.”

“You’re not coming with us?”

Her eyes grow wet. “It isn’t my journey. This place is not so much a cage for me as it has been for you. Though one day, I hope, we shall meet again.”

“I will miss you.” Your lower lips quivers with unspoken sorrow. She hugs you fiercely and protectively one last time before pulling back with a sniffle.

“Now go on! You must hurry before they come looking for you.”

The creature reaches down a hand. You clasp it, warm and strong in its grip, and he pulls you up onto the back of the muscular horse. Bess waves, running after you on foot as he kicks the horse into a brisk canter. “Don’t forget that letter!”

Tears stream down your face as you turn in the saddle and watch Bess and the river grow smaller and smaller, and eventually be swallowed up by the forest. You inhale deeply and let out a long, shaking breath.

“Are you all right?” the creature’s question vibrates in his chest, pressed to your back.

“Yeah.”

He is silent for awhile. The wild exhilaration of your escape from the church has withered and been replaced by a mournful determination to move forward. To begin new lives. The reality is not so glamorous as you reminisce on all the things you are leaving behind—Bess, Edelweiss, your flock of chickens and barn cats, the moss-covered boulders that were your secret place since childhood—yet you are ready to build that new life, whatever challenges lie ahead. You’ll have the best help one can hope for.

You let your weight shift back so your head rests against the creature’s chest. His long black hair flutters around you in the wind. He leans down and presses gentle kisses on your hair and your shoulders, and a comforting warmth spreads beneath your skin. You feel safe and cared for.

“Do you hate me? You must hate me,” you murmur into the wind, but his sharp ears pick up every word.

“I love you,” his chest rumbles. “You are my life, as much as the air that fills my lungs. Why should I hate you?”

“I was useless. I gave up. I was so terrified, I gave up on us. How can you ever forgive me?”

“You saved my wretched life long ago, dear angel.” He holds the reins in one fist, and slides his other hand under your arm, caressing your side and splaying out his fingers over your belly, smoothing the fabric of the gown. The gesture is warm and possessive, and keeps you secure on the speeding horse as you melt into him, intoxicated by his touch. “You dragged me out of misery into the light—cared for me with patience and love I never believed myself deserving of. You stood beside me and tended my wounds of both flesh and of my soul. Your company alone is a gift of which I was made unworthy. I have always wanted to thank you for saving me.”

“Now we’re even, huh?” you laugh.

“No,” he replies softly and insistently. “I think I would like to continue paying you back.”

The hand he had rested on your belly glides up to tip your chin toward him, and he presses a precarious kiss to your lips. A small jolt of hooves over the terrain sends you clutching for mane, but his steady hand darts back around your waist to keep you balanced.

“I will have to exact more payment once we have arrived on solid ground yet again,” you promise sinfully, resting a hand over his and squeezing it. “I want to kiss all of the scars on your handsome face.”

His chest vibrates with an eager hum of anticipation.

As you ride away from your old life, you feel something changing deep in your bones. You are already farther from your home than you have ever been, and ahead of you is the wide horizon of blue skies speared by sharp mountain peaks. You look up at the closest mountain to the road. It is not one you think you have seen before, although its shape is hauntingly familiar, like the face of a childhood friend, after years of separation, as an adult.

“What mountain is that?” You point to it.

“It is the white-crested peak of the great mountain that overlooks your town. The one I greatly admired from the window of the hayloft. We face its west slope, now.”

A wave of excitement for the future surges through you like electricity. What will your life look like from a fresh angle?

[writingsbychlo]

Types Of Kisses | Bellamy Blake

Author: @writingsbychlo​

Word Count: 6201

Notes: My first official Bellamy Blake thing, go easy on me if it sucks? Also, this was supposed to be headcanons and it really just got out of control. My bad.

Warnings: References to sex, references to death, references to injury, thats about it? It’s pretty nice and soft, really. As apposed to my other things. 

Quick Kisses When You’re Both Busy

Finding free time around the camp was hard, everybody was set to a job, keeping it running, keeping you all safe, pulling their weight. 

You were no different.

Somehow, it seemed everybody here had arrived on this planet with a useful trade. Monty was a genius in everything he tried, Jasper was a wiz-kid, Raven could fix, build or hack anything you threw at her, Clarke seemed to be a certified doctor within three weeks of landing, Murphy has an uncanny ability to steal anything anyone needed and Bellamy was just a natural-born leader. You, had a particularly good talent for drawing smiley faces, not that it was a talent you could transfer much here.

Instead, you opted to study underneath Raven, and help her out since she had limitations now with her leg. That is how you found yourself twenty feet up a metal tower, with a pair of pliers and a racing heart in front of an electrical box. 

“Okay, so tell me again which socket the red wire is connecting to?” She shouted up and you traced the wire gently with your fingers, following it along to the socket. 

“Top right! Where do you want the other end going?” Waiting but receiving no reply, you looked down, a familiar mop of deep brown hair catching your gaze next to the top of a pony-tailed head. Abby also stood with them, Clarke too, and you rolled your eyes, having given up on watching them argue and choosing instead to detangle wires you knew weren’t needed. 

Feeling a tug on the rope around your waist, you glanced down, Raven holding the end securely and you closed the box, unwrapping your leg from around the pole you had fastened yourself to and immediately swinging away from the tower and into the air. 

Being slowly lowered, you were surprised when you were met halfway by Bellamy, the fingers of one hand holding him to the beams he climbed up, the others wrapping around the knot at your waist as he pulled you back close to the tower. His lips landed on yours softly, your hands coming up to cup his face as you grinned. 

“Well, hello there.” You teased, and he smiled, pecking your nose gently. 

“Raven says to plug the blue into the middle and connect the two ends.” He grinned, placing another chaste kiss to your lips before letting you swing back out into the air. Raven pulling you back up to the box as he began his climb back down. “See you later!” He shouted, patting Raven on the shoulder before following Abby across the camp, leaving Clarke to chat with Raven and you with a smile on your face. 

Needy Kisses When One of You Wants Attention

It wasn’t like you were purposefully ignoring Bellamy, you weren’t, but your top had a hole torn in it from where you’d snagged it on a branch running from the acid fog, and being that it was the only one you had, you were trying to stitch it up again. 

That had been going well, until Bellamy had pushed his way into your tent, kicking his boots off from a stressful day and flopping down on your makeshift bed, the impact of his body nudging yours causing the sharpened piece of twig you were using as a needle for stitching to prick the end of your finger.

With a mumbled apology, he threw his arm over his eyes, the other stretched outwards for you to curl into his side. Except, you didn’t. Peeking up from under his forearm, your eyes weren’t even on him, actually, and all he wanted at the end of a stressful and busy day was your attention, and the fact that he wasn’t getting the aforementioned attention was irking him. 

Your finger was now placed between your lips, shirt clutched in one hand and he let himself finally take you in. The bra that had been a clean white when you’d first come down was now more of a murky grey, stained from continual washing in the river and working, and the strap that was near snapping had discoloured threads, strings stolen from spare materials holding it together, the thought bringing a smile to his lips. 

Your hair had been tied up out of your way in the messiest braid he’d ever seen, chunks that were too wispy and short to reach hung around your face as you concentrated, and he forced himself to sit back up, resting his chin on your shoulder and letting a loud grumble resonate in his throat, telling you exactly what he wanted.

“In a minute, Bell, I just gotta’ finish stitching this.” You promised, holding it up to show him you weren’t far off, but his arms snaked around your waist, squeezing you tightly, a huff leaving his lips. Using his nose to nudge the strap from your shoulder, he kissed along your shoulder blades and up to just beneath your ear, nuzzling into your skin as you giggled.

Letting the shirt fall to a pile in your lap for a moment, you turned to him, cupping his face and pressing your lips to his. His response was almost instant, his lips pressing to yours just as firmly and he hummed happily, moving to lie back down, and you pulled away, his eyebrows furrowing, a pout forming on his lips as he whined. Pecking his lips again once, twice, you shook your head. 

“I seriously have to finish stitching this, otherwise I’ll have nothing to wear.” You teased, and he chuckled, his fingers dancing along your skin raising goosebumps to your skin as he sucked gently on your shoulder, working his tongue over your skin until a purple mark he could be proud of had appeared. 

“I don’t see a problem with that.”

As he moved to the next spot, he let his fingers play with the clasp, popping it open and slipping his hand around to your front, fingers tracing the now loosened support on your front and you sewed up a knot, having successfully closed the gash in the fabric. Using your teeth to snap the thread, you chucked your shirt to the floor, standing and letting your bra slip down your arms, popping the button on your jeans.

Watching, joyfully, Bellamy lay back, arms propped behind his head as he watched you shimmy out of your jeans. His bottom lip was caught between his lip and his features were playful, but his eyes were tired and you could see it. Kicking the pants from your legs, you placed your hands on your hips, a smile tugging at your own lips. 

“You say that now, Bell, but I don’t think you’d be too happy when Murphy’s eyes would be on me all day if all I wore was my bra, hm?” The smile immediately fell away to be replaced with an angry frown, and he shot up, hand reaching behind his head to tug his own shirt over his head as he held it out for you, tugging you down onto the bed with him when you reached out for it. 

Straddling him, he held it open, dragging it over your head until the material was bunched around your neck, and he used the opportunity to pull your forwards, your lips meeting his once again. His hands slipped up from the top to your face, cradling your cheeks in his hands and you pushed your arms through the holes, enjoying the warmth he’d left in it, his smell clinging to the fabric. 

Finally laying down with him, you peppered kisses along his jaw and he sighed happily, eyes closing as he got the love and care he wanted at the end of a long day leading the 100.

Goodnight Kisses

Your entire body ached, all your muscles were screaming out, and you were so thankful when you finally sat down on the edge of your bed. Echo had been teaching you some fighting methods, training you up, and it was really taking a toll on your body 

With a heavy sigh, you leaned back in the soft touch on your back happily. Turning to Bellamy, his eyes were equally as tired as yours, mentally exhausted and strained from spending all day with Raven working out how best to run and maintain the ring, and trying to find out how the hell they were going to get back down to earth in a few years. With a soft smile, you switched off the lamp beside you and crawled under the covers, relishing in the feeling of no longer having to stand on sore feet or put pressure on aching joints. 

Curling into Bellamy’s warmth, his hand immediately wrapped around your shoulders, your head resting happily on the pillow and his arm, your own hand folded under your pillow with the other on his chest, a content sound leaving you both as you stared tiredly into the dark, your breathing slowing as you matched up. 

Your leg hitched up, one of yours curling around his and his other hand found your thigh beneath the covers, holding onto you as his thumb absentmindedly stroked over your skin. Pressing a soft kiss to the skin of his neck where your face was pressed, he returned the gesture by pressing a series of kisses to your forehead and temple, pulling you impossibly closer and squeezing you into him. 

Rubbing your nose, against his jaw, you could feel the yawn that left his lips, and he turned to look down at you resting on his shoulder, using his nose to nudge your attention to him. Without even opening your eyes, you let the hand that had been resting on his chest come up to cup his cheek, pressing your lips to his languidly and tiredly as he returned the gesture, your lips barely moving as he smiled softly into the exchange. 

“Love you.” He muttered, kissing your nose before letting his head fall back onto the pillow.

“Love you, too.” The words were muffled, spoken through a yawn and on the edge of sleep.

Goodmorning Kisses

Kissing along the scruffy jawline of the curly-haired boy, you grinned, giggling against his skin as he turned his head away from you with a grumble about it being too early, and you only continued to kiss his jaw on the other side, trailing kisses up along his cheek to the corner of his mouth. When he puckered his lips, however, having accepted that it was a wake-up call, you pulled away, sitting upright in his lap, leg either side of his, and one of his eyes popped open to look at you. 

“You forgot one.” His morning voice was raspy, and you popped an eyebrow, leaning down, close to his face again as a satisfied grin broke out on his cheeks, and just when your breath was brushing over his lips and he leaned in, you swerved, pressing a kiss to his other cheek, sitting back up as he stared at you, incredulously. 

Propping himself up on his elbows, raised his own eyebrows, eyes twinking, mischievously. “So, that’s how you’re going to play it?” He teased, and you nodded, making to remove yourself from him,  but his hands locked on your hips as he flipped you over, settling happily between your legs, arms either side of your hips as he caged you in, your head on the pillows and the cover under your back. 

Touching the tip of his nose to yours in an eskimo kiss, he licked over his lips, pressing them to yours, and you wound the fingers of one hand into his hair, taking a nice handful of it between your fingers and scratching your nails against his scalp lightly, the other resting on his chest. 

Nipping at your bottom lip, he wanted access to your mouth, but you pulled away, giving him another chaste peck, before pushing him away with the hand on his bare chest. “Not until you brush your teeth.” The look on his face caused you to laugh as he sat back on his heels, and leaned down, breathing harshly in your face as you whined falsely, squirming away from him. 

“Well, good morning to you too.” He dragged the words out, breathing heavily in your face as you complained about his morning breath, a laugh leaving his throat as he placed a wet kiss to your cheek, rolling from the bed and wandering away to brush his teeth, leaving you with a nice view to admire as he did.

Toothpaste Kisses

The brush hung from your mouth as you exhaustedly cleaned over your teeth, the paste leaving an unpleasant taste in your mouth, but it was the best any of you could come up with from the plants around you, and you were just grateful to have somewhat clean teeth as opposed to rotting ones. 

Letting your thoughts wander, you stared off into space, barely acknowledging the person who came and stood beside you, picking his own toothbrush up and dipping it into the jar, collecting an amount of the paste and scrubbing at his own smile. Jumping at the chuckle that sounded beside you, you snapped back to the present, eyes turning to lock on the man beside you as you raised an eyebrow. 

Reaching up, he used his thumb to swipe an excess dribble of foamy paste from your chin, a slight blush rising to your cheeks, and you held your hair back, leaning away and spitting out the residue, using your water bottle to rinse out the rest of the aftertaste. “Thank you.” The words were spoken softly, and you leaned up, pressing a kiss to Bellamy’s tanned cheek as he frowned. 

“You mithed.” His words were muffled through a mouthful of toothpaste and being spoken around the handle of a brush, and you rolled your eyes, leaning back as he leaned towards you, his eyebrows raising. “Wan’ a kith.” Grinning, you shot him a look, your hand coming up to cup his cheek as you rubbed the tip of your nose of his, before pressing your lips to his gently, to which he happily returned. 

Pulling away, he once again reached up, cleaning the paste he’d put there from your cheeks and around your mouth. “Love you.” He grinned, tapping your nose before turning away to finish getting ready, and you just leaned up, pressing a kiss to his shoulder through his shirt. 

“Love you too, Bell.”

Pre-Mission Kisses

The whole camp was bustling, everybody rushing from one location to another as different teams prepped for different aspects, in order to pull off yet another one of Raven, Clarke or Jasper’s ingenious plans. With a sigh,  you started your trek towards the main bunker, knowing exactly who you’d find there. 

You could hear him barking orders from inside before you’d even opened the door, and when you did, your eyes immediately locked onto his firm, one of a few, at the centre of the hubbub. He was standing tall, gun strapped to his back and arms crossed as he yelled at each person he saw. 

The light of the door opening caught his eyes and he spared a glance to the doorway, the harshness in his eyes never softening, he was in role now, he was leading, and he wouldn’t fall down at the first sign of you, not when he had to do what was best for his people. He did, however, tilt his head backwards in a subtle nod, motioning you towards him, before his eyes immediately snapped away to continue his instructions. 

Fighting your way through the crowd, you stood and waited as he bossed around the group before him, his fingers twitching at his side nervously, he wanted to reach out, to lace his fingers through yours and kiss along your knuckles, just like he did when the two of you were alone, but he couldn’t, he couldn’t afford to be distracted.

When the group had dissipated to do as told, however, his attention was directed to you. Holding out his hand, just slightly, you laced your fingers through his, his hand instantly squeezing around yours, as a reassurance to both yourself and him. Using the connection to close the rift, he tugged you closer to him, his arm wrapping around your shoulders, your face buried in his neck as your own arms looped around his waist, holding him close.

His cheek was pressed to your temple, and your eyes were closed, as you both just stood, breathing one another in and taking a moment to acknowledge the situation. Barely moving, you tilted your head up, his down, until your eyes met, yours filled with worry and his filled with longing. Longing to stay, be in your arms all day and not have to risk it all.

With a hand on your cheek, he licked over his bottom lip before pressing his chapped ones to yours, pouring all the love and care he had for you into it, his lips moving slowly against yours, 

as you both relished being in the moment, before it was torn from you with unending possibilities and bad outcomes. 

Stepping back, he pulled his sad frown into a harsh look, nodding to you before stepping away, voice scratchy as he shouted, and you knew that while tears were pooling in your eyes visibly, he was hiding the same pain much better.

Post-Mission Kisses

Meeting Bellamy at the gate upon his return was a habit. You would pick at the wooden posts nervously, but it saved you chewing at the skin and nails on your fingers in fear. Harper often joined you if Monty was gone too, and while Abby would use the excuse of being a medical help closer than the bay, she was just as worried for Kane and you knew it. 

The minute the rover was heard within distance, you knew it would be minutes before Bellamy was back in your reach, or forever torn from it. Relief mixed with panic washed over you in waves as you waited, as always with bated breath, until they were close enough for you to see the driver.

With hair floppy and mussed, dirt splattered across tanned skin; he was there. The doors were wrenched open, and the engine came to a stop just metres away, and you took off in a run across the muddy path towards the opening door on the driver’s side. With arms held open, you flung yourself into his arms, holding him tightly as he gripped you just the same, hands undecided on where they wanted to sit, rubbing along your back and playing with your hair as you simply held him, knowing he was back.

He was dishevelled, as always. Hair that had been slicked back was now hanging messily from his head, skin that had been clean and pure was littered with dirt and blood, bruised and cut. Tracing your fingers over his skin, he leaned down, lips capturing yours in a heated kiss, all the pain and anger forgotten as you moved against him. 

Your bodies were pressed together, his tongue tracing your bottom lip as you granted him access, your hands cupping his face as he gripped bruisingly at your waist, holding you firmly to him, as if scared that when he let you go, you’d be gone. Sucking on his bottom lip, slightly, he let out a breathy moan, just for you to hear, and when you pulled away, his eyes were filled with sorrow and sadness, tears lining them and glittering in the light. 

“You’re the only thing that pulls me through.” The words were spoken breathlessly, barely above a whisper, and you would’ve missed it had you not been listening, and you just pressed your forehead to his, fingers slipping around to run through his hair soothingly and he refused to let you down, not just yet, he needed you close to him, he always did. 

Turning you both around, he trapped you against the cold metal of the rover, one hand slipping from your waist as the forearm of the other rested by your head, blocking you both from view as he leaned back in, a more aggressive kiss on his lips as he poured everything pent up inside into it, cheeks wet with shed tears.

Taking control, you submitted to him, knowing he just needed to know that he had absolute dominance, power, over something in his life, something he managed and could be responsible for, and you let him, because if there was one thing you knew, it was that Bellamy Blake needed you just as much as you needed him. 

Those Kisses that Intend to Lead to More

Eyes burned into the side of your head, and despite how many glares you’d already shot him, he refused to let up, eyes never leaving your figure, despite how many times you attempted to duck from within his eyesight. The shining bonus of not being an upstanding member of the leadership team was being able to make the most of your time on earth, and that when Monty arrived with a barrel of something strong and disgusting, you could partake in it. 

Bellamy, was not such a fan of this. Whenever these events arose, he stood back with the rest of the few that knew they couldn’t afford to drink, a cup of water in their hands instead of the bitter liquid everyone else was taking in like air, including you. He would much rather have you tucked under his arm in these events, or off talking, eating, fucking. 

He wouldn’t care what you were doing, as long as it was you and him. But when these barrels rolled around, you favoured taking part in the festivities, and who was he to stop you? He never wanted to control you, and he knew these chances for you all were rare, but God, he hated the way you were a little too carefree, and that you were a little too close to the hot fire keeping you all warm. 

He hated that because you were so close to it, you’d taken your jacket off, his jacket, and you weren’t revealing anything, but the only person who should be looking at you should be him, and he did not like Murphy’s eyes on you, or you and Jasper drunkenly exchanging jokes and giggling while getting another drink.

What he hated most, however, was how absolutely beautiful the orange flames of the fire made you look. They illuminated you, made you glow like an angel, and his fingers were almost crushing his cup, white knuckles, at how badly he wanted to drag you away from them all, drag you away from the group and take the opportunity of the loud noise and music to cover up the screams he’d be drawing from you.

When you were ready, you’d come to him, and until then, he had to be patient. But he was losing his patience, and they all knew it. Clarke had made several jokes already, and Octavia was rolling her eyes at him every time he managed to drag his eyes away from you for a split second to glance at anyone else and ensure anyone else’s safety. Due to the hot weather, they were currently enjoying on earth, a ‘summer’ it was called, you had sliced the legs off of one of your pairs of jeans, leaving you in shorts. Which he had no problem with. You were wearing one of his t-shirts, which he definitely had no problem with, because fuck, if he didn’t love seeing you in his clothes. 

What he didn’t love, was that your dancing was causing your shorts to ride up your thighs and the hem of his shirt was almost covering them. A sight that had his pants tightening just a tad, and his face flushing, because he loved seeing you pull on his shirt and collapse into his arms with nothing underneath right after he’d fucked the lights out of you, and your breathless form, flushed face and dopey drunken smile was very resemblant of that moment.

Deciding he’d had enough, he stalked across the camp, the short distance that felt like a mile to you was closing in, and your eyes had locked with his as he approached. Scooping down to pick up your jacket from where you’d discarded it on the ground, before closing the distance between the two of you. 

His lips crashed into yours before you could even think, fingers gripping tightly at your chin as his lips moved, yours sloppily trying to keep up with the pace he was setting. His free hand was drifting just a little too low on your back and he knew it, but he also knew he had the attention of the people around, and he wanted to make sure they knew that no matter how good you looked, and no matter how funny their jokes were, you were always the arms he was going to come home to in bed that night. 

He wasn’t a jealous person, no, he trusted you too much for that. He was, however, a weak-willed person when it came to you, and the way you moaned his name slightly, biting on his lip as you pulled away, rocking down from your tiptoes and onto the balls of your feet ended it for him. 

He could still taste the liquid on your tongue, feel your lips against his, and hear the way you moaned his name, the way he took your breath away. Now, you were looking up at him with innocent eyes, wide and glittering and he knew that he couldn’t wait any longer, and so with that, your hips met his shoulder as he hoisted you from the ground, arms wrapped securely around your exposed thighs, the smirk on his face prominent as you out up no fight, no squirming in his arms, just dropped your cup and held into his shirt. 

Those Kisses that Don’t Intend to Lead to More (but always do)

With a sigh, you pulled your hair up into a ponytail, laying out flat on the ground, sweat leaving a sheer layer on your skin. The sun was beating down and you were hard at work, your shirt sticking to you, throat dry, just like everyone else. 

Work had taken a serious slow down, and you were trying to pick up the slack of the ever-growing number of people with heatstroke and sunburn that neglected them from work. Wiping the back of your hand over your head, you stood up, rolling your neck from side to side and cracking open your eyes, a smile on your lips as you shielded your eyes from the sun, watching Bellamy make his way over to you with two cups full of water in his hands. 

He had forgone a shirt a while ago, like a lot of the men, but you couldn’t help but look at him. Chest shining, muscles flexing with every action he did, freckles dotted across taut skin, he was like a perfect wet dream, and you were grateful you were allowed to openly look at him, you could only imagine how many girls were stealing small glances in hope of neither of you catching their wandering eyes.

Handing you a cup, he took a deep swig from his own, and you followed, eyes closing at the relief of the liquid meeting your parched mouth. Lowering the cup from your lips, Bellamy had already done so, watching you with a soft smile. A small bead was hanging from his lip, and before he could wipe it away, you leaned up, taking his glistening bottom lip between yours and sucking gently. 

His eyes widened, hand rapidly trying to place his drink down as his hands found your waist, lips puckering to return the kiss you were giving him. Tongue pushing past your lips, he played with yours, smirking into the kiss at being able to tease you as much as you were teasing him. Pulling away, his eyes were locked on yours, pupils blown and he scanned over your face, eyes finding your swollen lips, and flushed cheeks.

“It’s like, midday. We absolutely can’t. There is so much to be done.” He mumbled, having to literally force himself to drag his eyes away from your lips, by turning away to face the half-built fencing beside you. Hearing a solid agreement from you, he ran a hand through his hair roughly, trying to focus and letting out a breath he didn’t know he had. 

Making the mistake of glancing up, he watched you flip your hair over your shoulder, taking your bottom lip between your teeth as you leant over, tits falling forwards as you did, almost spilling from your top. “Fuck it.” The words left his mouth quietly, and as you opened your mouth to ask what he said, his mouth descended onto yours, silencing you with a passionate kiss, hands slipping straight around to squeeze at your ass as he pushed you backwards, walking you out of sight of other people.

Locking a foot around your ankle, he let you fall back into the long grass with a soft thud, your eyes wide as he looked down at you, undoing the buckle on his belt. “What, here?” He could see the shock on your face as you popped yourself up on your elbows, and he reached behind his head, tugging his shirt up over his head and removing it once his belt had come loose.

“Yep.” His grin was wicked, and he dropped to his knees, falling forwards and pinning you to the grass, the sun beating down on his back as you fell into his touch, his kiss, not caring who might decide to come and check on the two of you at some point.

Angry Kisses

It wasn’t you that he was really angry at, it was himself. But he’d already taken it out on his sister, on Clarke, on everyone on the ring, and now, now he was just brewing in silence while looking out of the window at a decimated earth. He hadn’t spoken to you for days, just sent you heated glares, filled with longing and need at you from across the room, but his heart and pride didn’t allow him to talk to you yet. 

Deep down within him, you knew he was still just the same barely-a-man Bellamy that had come down with you so long ago, taking control of the camp and the delinquents. Of course he had changed, but he still loved with everything in him and gave all he had. He just wanted to be in control and safety for once in his life.

Watching him move about, his shoulder shoved roughly into Murphy’s as he stormed from the room, and your eyebrows furrowed as he didn’t even look back to apologise, and yet even Murphy knew not to test him right now. Getting to your own feet, you padded over, placing a hand on John’s shoulder and apologising on your boyfriend’s behalf, not missing the angry look shot both your ways at the contact as he rounded the corner. 

Chasing to catch up with him, you slipped into the room you were sharing just before the door shut, and you heard the heavy sigh that left his lips merely at your presence. When he made to walk away, however, your fingers wrapped around his wrist, bringing him to a stop, before he roughly yanked his arm from your grip, pulling you forwards roughly as he did, underestimating how tight your grip was. 

With a gasp, you raised your hand to your shoulder, rubbing at it gently, and he spun around to face you, guilt swimming in his eyes as but anger still bubbling under the surface, rage painted on his features. “You-” gritting his teeth, you knew the storm he’d been brewing for a few days was about to break loose, “You were fully prepared to leave me.”

“Bel-”

“No!” His eyes finally met yours, tears lining them, and yet flames still burnt aggressively within them “You.. you weren’t even going to say goodbye! You were going to waltz off with a smile on your face and a ‘see you soon’ with no intention of coming back! Back to me!” His chest was heaving and you clenched your jaw, the insinuation angering you. 

“That is not what happened and you fucking know it!” You snapped, turning away from him and pacing the room, hands squeezed tightly into balls, fingernails digging into the palms of your hands as you tried not to shake, knowing you needed to stand your ground. “Everything that could have gone wrong with that damn satellite did, Bellamy! Me and Clarke had one job, it should have taken less than five minutes, and in reality, my best friend is dead, and almost me too!” His eyes softened as he watched you, his own heart aching at the loss of such a good friend. He’d found it so hard to close that door, to say goodbye when he wanted to hang on, but when he’d seen you come stumbling back in with a tear-streaked face, he knew he had no choice, but it didn’t excuse it.

“That is no reason for you to-”

“To what, Bellamy? Give up myself so she could live? I couldn’t lose any more friends Bellamy, I loved her like a sister! She was your friend too, I couldn’t stand the thought of losing anyone else! You shouldn’t have lost her!” You cried, wiping away the tears spilling down your cheeks as he took a step towards you, hands tightly woven into his hair.

“What makes you think I could’ve lost you?” The silence around you both was deafening and you swallowed thickly, taking a shaky breath, while his shoulders rose and fell rapidly as he took deep breaths, trying to calm himself. “I love you more than anything, on earth or up here, and you-” cutting him off, you pulled his lips down to meet yours, wet cheeks pressing to his hot and flushed ones, his teeth biting into your bottom lip as he marched you into the wall, the cool surface meeting your back roughly. 

It was all tongue and teeth as he tugged at the shirt on your body, ripping it over your head, barely breaking away for the action, before repeating wit his own, your hands smoothing along the skin of his chest, traces the littered scars he’d gained from your time on the planet. 

“I can’t lose you. Don’t- don’t leave me.” His words were ragged and spoken angrily, but you cupped his cheek, pulling your lips from his as he captured them once again. 

“I promise. I couldn’t. I don’t know how to.” He let his lips trail down along your neck, sucking angrily at your skin and leaving wet, red marks that would soon blossom into purple ones as he guided you towards the bed, his lips never leaving your skin.

Middle of the Night Kisses

After everything you’d all been through on earth, nightmares weren’t uncommon. One minute you’d be falling asleep happily in Bellamy’s arms and the next you’d be waking up in a cold sweat and kicking the sheets from your legs. 

You’d spent the better part of the night lying awake in the dark, staring at the ceiling as Bellamy slept beside you. You were exhausted, but you were afraid to close your eyes. Every time you did, you saw the bunker full of your friends burning to the ground. You couldn’t help it, you couldn’t help but assume the worst, and the images were haunting you every time you closed your eyes. 

With tears lining your eyes, you rose your hands to cover your face, muffling your sobs as you tried to contain them, to be as still as possible and not wake the sleeping man beside you, who was finally getting some sleep of his own. Fingers wrapped around your wrists, pulling your palms from your face and as you met his twinkling eyes in the dark, you could see the pity on his features, the understanding. Using his thumb to smooth away the tears, he pressed a gentle and sleepy kiss to your lips, pecking your nose, each of your cheeks and then your forehead. 

Curling into his body, you cried freely against him, face buried in his neck as he simply held you, fingers running through your hair and massaging your scalp, easing you into silence as you hiccuped occasionally, steadying your crying and easing you down until it was just steady breaths. 

Nightmares weren’t an uncommon thing, for either you or Bellamy, but when they did happen, it was easiest to just hold one another and kiss away the worries until the sun came around the earth, light flooding into the room and a new day starting. 

[onemilliongoldstars]

better to be fake - chapter 1

Since she started at St Anne’s private prep school, Lexa has prided herself on her ability to fly below the radar, even if she sometimes is forced to waitress her classmates’ socialite events. That all changes the moment she comes to the attention of Clarke Griffin, the princess of the upper east side, as wealthy as she is beautiful and used to getting her own way.

Determined to shake off the hold of her over bearing mother, Clarke presents Lexa with a proposal that she can’t turn down: pretend to date her and she will make sure Lexa never has to waitress again.

–

please note the tags and warnings on ao3.

read on ao3.

clexa high society au.

1/13

"I hate these sorts of things."

"Yeah, I know. You've said so about ten times in the last two hours." Anya casts her a look from where they stand, backs against a wall, watching elegantly dressed socialites swing in and out of one another with strained smiles and tight words.

"Well it's true," Lexa slumps back a little against the wall, shifting her heavy tray into her other hand. She adds, sullenly, "They all look like they're having a miserable time anyway."

"Of course they are." Anya rolls her eyes, "don't you know anything about the Upper East Side? They all hate each other."

"So why bother having expensive parties and forcing yourselves to interact with people you don't actually like?" Lexa snaps, eyeing the glasses of champagne on her tray resentfully.

"Why are you asking me this stuff? Do I look like I belong with them?" Lexa hesitates, pretending to look her over thoughtfully and Anya grunts at her, laughter in her eyes. "Don't insult me Lexa."

"No," Her eyes flicker back to the long evening dresses and the expertly pressed tuxes. "We're about as far from their world as you can get."

"Says the prep school girl." Anya teases and nods her head at the returning waiters, "That's our cue, come on."

Lexa lets out a soft sigh, but follows the older girl out into the room. She shadows the straw coloured braid for a few seconds before Anya jerks her head to the other side of the room and she steps away, alone in the sea of diamonds and jewels. Her hands are trembling just a little, but she steels herself. She's worked these things before and just because there are a few familiar faces around doesn't mean that she will be recognised. She's just a dinner jacket and a tray of sparkling champagne to them after all and as she offers out glasses, stepping easily around the milling crowd, she feels herself start to relax. There's a certain skill to being invisible, one that she's perfected over time and she seems to manage it beautifully now, gaining barely a glance from the woman who used to teach her English and the headmistress of her school.

Just as she likes it.

She's been avoiding the group of teenagers in the corner, but there's no way she can just miss them completely unless she wants to be fired, so it's with a heavy heart that she ducks her head and starts towards the loud, laughing group. They stand together, heads thrown back in jovial conversation and she tries not to notice the twinkling accessories that drape their necks and wrists- the price of one alone could probably cover the rent of her apartment for a month. Tonight they'll put them away in velvet cushioned boxes and not retrieve them for six months and the thought makes Lexa's blood boil.

She holds the tray out to them, dropping her eyes to the floor in hopes that they won't notice her and she feels the shift in weight of her tray before she starts to move around the group.

"Hey, do I know you?"

The voice makes her startle to a stop and she freezes, eyes darting up to see the dark haired girl, in a dress that plunges at her neckline and is covered in black sparkles, who is eyeing her with curiosity.

"Uh, no, I don't think so." She tries not to stumble over her words, taking a step back from the girl who is cocking her head to the side.

"No, I think I do." Octavia Blake frowns at her and Lexa can feel the heat spreading to her cheeks as Octavia tugs on her boyfriend's arm, distracting him from his conversation "Lincoln, don't we know her?"

Lincoln turns and Lexa knows in that moment that she is done for. She wonders what the chances are that the earth will open up beneath her and sends a silent prayer to whatever deity watches over her, but nothing happens and instead Lincoln's dark eyes meet hers and widen in delighted surprise.

"Lexa! Good to see you."

"Uh, yeah you too Lincoln," She can feel all of their eyes turning to look at her, likely noticing her for the first time since she stepped up to their group. "How's it going?"

"It's good," his smile is wide and genuine and she clings to it for a minute like a life raft before he turns to his friends and gestures to her. "Hey, this is my friend Lexa Woods. We used to get the train from Brooklyn together, right Lexa?"

"We... sure did." Her words are strangled, tight and she forces herself to smile at them. Their parents sign her pay cheque .

"These are some friends of mine, Bellamy Blake," he nods to the guy with dark, floppy hair who raises his hand in greeting and then to the guy's sister, "and Octavia. Raven Reyes."

The brunette, clad in a silky purple dress, nods at her, smiling a little. "Yeah, I know you Woods. You're up to be Salutatorian right?"

"Only because you got Valedictorian." Lexa smiles a little wryly and Raven shrugs, as if the honour means nothing to her.

"Yeah, kind of a bore but it looks good on my transcript."

Lexa can only hum softly in agreement, pressing her lips together as she tries not to think about how much more time she would have had to study if she hadn't been in and out of work since she was fifteen. It's done now and Salutatorian is almost as good. Almost.

"And, that's Clarke and her boyfriend Finn." Lincoln nods across the circle to where the familiar blonde stands, arguing hotly with a dark haired boy and Lexa has to hurry her eyes away, trying not to stare.

"Well, it's good to see you guys but..." she raises her tray, desperate to get away from their company and to her relief they nod. "Maybe I'll see you around."

She knows she will, she shares almost every class with at least one of them, but there doesn't seem a lot of point in telling them that.

"Hey, wait!" The voice pulls her back around again and she sees the boy Lincoln called Finn reach forward to pluck a glass off her tray.

She turns again and none of them try to stop her.

Just a dinner jacket and a tray of drinks .

She'll happily keep it that way.

----

It's late and she's about to clock out. The party is slowly winding down and she has to get across the river to Brooklyn; her boss is kind of a jerk but Anya had pleaded her case and told the asshole not to make a seventeen year old travel after midnight in the city, so he'd grudgingly let her leave. She's just collecting her coat from the closet when she hears the slight thump from the door outside and freezes. She's no stranger to hidden make out sessions and she's pretty sure that someone was just pushed up against the wall.

For a moment she is frozen in indecision, caught in a closet the size of her bedroom as she dances between the door and the far wall, fingers reaching out hesitantly. In her coat pocket her phone buzzes and she sees her mom's name appear on the screen, asking when she will be home, so she steels herself and pushes the door open.

The hallway outside is low lit and deserted apart from the couple pressed up against the wall, as she predicted, a few paces away. Pausing to pull on her jacket, she can't help the way her eyes flicker to them, brows creasing when she sees the way that the girl is pressing against his shoulders, shoving at him. Slight squeaks and grunts reach her and she is about to dismiss them and start the gruelling walk home when she hears the girl snap, angrily.

"No, get the fuck off me!" She shoves him again, harder this time and the boy goes stumbling away. "I swear you're such a jerk when you drink!" She hisses the words and Lexa is about to leave when the boy, regaining his balance, goes veering towards her again.

Lexa's feet carry her towards them before she can stop herself and she reaches out, pushing at his shoulder hard enough to bring him to a halt.

"Hey! She's not interested."

The boy is breathing heavily and at this proximity she recognises, with a jerk of surprise, the dark, bloodshot eyes of Finn. Her gaze flickers back towards the girl and sure enough there stands Clarke Griffin, golden hair ruffled and dress creased, staring at her in surprise.

"Get out of my way." He's clearly drunk, his words slurred and stinking heavily of whiskey and she cringes away from the smell, glowering at him.

Her hands come to rest at his shoulders, jerking him to a stop when he tries to step towards Clarke again. "You don't get to treat people like this." She snaps and he growls and before she knows it his fist is flying towards her face. She staggers away, letting out a breath of angry, shocked air at the impact, her hand going up to hold her face as she peers down the corridor, bracing for another attack.

What she sees, however, is Clarke Griffin punching her boyfriend squarely in the nose with a satisfying crunch of bone and cartilage. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" She hears the blonde shout, furiously, "Stay away from me and from her, Finn, or you'll get what's coming to you."

She turns her back on him, marching the few steps towards Lexa as if the towering heels on her feet are no problem at all and squatting down beside her. Gentle fingers press against her hands and she feels them slowly eased away as blue eyes scan worriedly over her face, brows furrowing with concern.

"You're not in a great state but it's not broken." She tells her, in a voice as soft as silk and Lexa tries to nod, but the fingers shift and holding her head still, cupping her cheeks even as she sees Clarke's lips twitch upwards in a smile, amusement dancing in her eyes. "Okay, no moving. Let's get you cleaned up." She eases her upwards, helping her to her feet and a slim arm is slung around her waist. She can feel Clarke's fingers spreading like a web across her hip, hot through the thick material of her uniform and her breath catches just slightly in her throat, her eyes flickering from Clarke to her feet and back again.

Clarke leads them to a large, marble filled bathroom and she blinks as the lights flicker on and she is deposited on the closed toilet seat, watching the girl in front of her lean up in her light blue evening dress and start to rifle through a stranger's medicine cabinet.

"Huh, seems like Mrs Dwyer is on some harder painkillers than we thought," Clarke casts an amused glance over her shoulder at Lexa, but she can only blink, her head slightly fuzzy as she stares at the blonde, watching her intently. Clarke returns to her side moments later, falling to her knees and reaching up with a warm, damp washcloth to dab away the blood that has been trickling from her nose.

She is incredibly close and Lexa can smell her soft, floral perfume and count the diamonds of her necklace, following the beautiful piece down to her exposed clavicles and swallowing heavily.

"You can stop staring if you want?" Clarke's voice is gentle and teasing, but Lexa jerks back away from her regardless, her cheeks heating impossibly as she feels her breath catch in her throat.

"I'm sorry I... I just..."

"Hey, it's fine," Clarke soothes her easily, fingers running up to catch her jaw in a tender touch again for a moment, keeping her still, "I'm not going to complain about a beautiful girl watching me."

"You... you think I'm beautiful?" The question escapes her on a strangled gasp and Clarke's focused eyes don't move from where she is dabbing at her cheek.

"Of course I do, I have since the moment I met you Lexa Woods." The boldness of her reply makes Lexa feel almost faint and she struggles for a reply for a moment before Clarke beats her to it, continuing. "I don't know if you know me, I'm Clarke Griffin, I'm in your math class... and your history class."

"Yeah... yeah I know you."

How could she not? Clarke sits three rows in front of her in math and a row behind and to the left in history. She excels at the latter, but struggles with math and her friend Octavia likes to flick bits of eraser at her. Lexa wonders whether she could be considered a stalker, but really it's not her fault. One of the perks of being invisible is the ability to observe anyone around her and Clarke is the talk of the school for a reason.

"Well, now we can meet officially," Clarke pulls back a little and pushes a strand of hair behind her ear, scanning her eyes over her clinically. "Nothing is broken and you'll be okay, just some bruising."

"Great, thank you." She's feeling significantly less fuzzy, her head thumping with pain and she rises to her feet carefully, stepping towards the mirror to flinch a little at her reflection, examining the bruises that are blossoming across her cheek.

“No, thank you ." Clarke appears in the mirror behind her, a hand coming to rest against her shoulder, her manicured nails stark against the black of Lexa's dinner jacket. "I mean... Finn's normally harmless, but..." Blue eyes meets hers in the mirror and her smile is strained, fear dancing behind it, "I was pretty scared then. So thank you for saving me."

"I wasn't going to just walk away." She can't tear her eyes away, tugged relentlessly into her gaze and she can feel goosebumps prickling up her arms. "Your boyfriend seems like kind of a dick."

"He is," Clarke agrees, with a sardonic twist to her voice. "And he's not my boyfriend anymore."

"Are you going to give him the memo?" She raises an eyebrow.

"When he's sober."

"Good. You deserve better than him." It escapes her, her words cluttering out over the marble countertops awkwardly and she stiffens a little, ripping her eyes down to look at her hands, clenched around the edge of the sink.

"Yeah, I think I do." The hand on her shoulder tightens and she looks up again to see that Clarke's smile has grown.

She can only nod, looking back to her own reflection and cringing when she sees the drips of red that have run down from her nose and fallen into pinpricks on her white pressed shirt. "Shit," she reaches up to touch it, but fingers grab hers to stop her movements. "My boss is going to kill me..." the realisation dawns slowly and she lets her head fall back, a groan torn from her. "Especially if he hears about the fight. I'm so fired."

"Don't worry, Finn won't spill." Clarke's voice comes from her side, reassuring and easy. "And here, I can help with the shirt. Just don't touch it okay, you're going to stain it."

Lexa's eyes fall open again and she turns, following as Clarke tugs on her hand, leading her out of the room and back down the dark hall towards the closet. Lexa realises, with a jolt, that her dress cuts low and shows off the majority of her bare back, soft, sun kissed skin and the elegant curve of her spine, the dark swirl of a tattoo peeking out from behind the sleeve and she feels her eyes widen, drinking in the sight while she still can. Clarke slips inside and Lexa lingers at the door, her eyes darting nervously down to the kitchen, watching for any familiar faces.

"Hey, come on." Clarke's fingers wrap around hers again and she yanks her through the door, into the closet, pushing the door shut behind her. Lexa's breath is caught in her throat and Clarke laughs a little at her stunned expression. "Sorry," she murmurs as she begins to browse through the coats, "didn't mean to surprise you."

"No, I was just startled." She rubs awkward fingers over the back of her neck, watching as Clarke digs in her purse for something, "I'm not used to being pulled back into the closet." The joke falls from her with surprising ease and Clarke looks at her with surprise.

"Oh yeah, I remember you were dating that girl in freshman year weren't you? You guys still together?"

"No..." Her eyes dart away, “She moved to London at the end of the year."

"Oh, that sucks, I'm sorry." Clarke grimaces in sympathy, "Here," She thrusts a bunch of notes into Lexa's hands and she struggles for a moment, mouth dropping open at the sight of so much money.

"What- Clarke, what is this?" She holds the money gingerly, uncertainly and Clarke shrugs over her shoulder.

"Just something to cover the dry cleaning," She says, as she hangs her purse back with her coat. "I wasn't sure how much it would be, so I figured that would probably cover it."

"There's almost a hundred dollars here!" Lexa exclaims, shaking her head, "and I'm not even sure where I would find a dry cleaner in Brooklyn."

"Oh," Clarke frowns, thoughtful for a moment before her eyes brighten and she offers, carefully, "Have you got another shirt under there?" At Lexa's nod she smiles and continues. "Awesome, then you can give the dress shirt to me and I'll have it dry cleaned for you."

"Oh... you don't have to do that."

"Please, it'll be my pleasure," her eyes are so soft and inviting that Lexa's fingers inch upwards and she's tugging off her jacket before she even realises what she's doing. "Anyway," Clarke moves slowly back towards her. "It's the least I can do for my knight in shining armour."

Lexa laughs quietly at the words, shaking her head as she begins to unbutton her shirt. "Honestly, it's no big deal. I just did what anyone else would have done."

"Yeah, but you're the one who did it." Clarke raises an eyebrow, fingers going to fiddle with the necklace around her throat as she watches. Suddenly aware of her audience, Lexa pauses, her fingers stilling as her eyes dart to Clarke's, heat rushing to her cheeks.

"I, uh... could you maybe...?"

"Oh, sorry!" Pink tinges the blonde's cheeks and she turns, the skirt of her dress flying around her ankles. "So," She speaks awkwardly, "How long have you been a waiter?"

"Just a few months," Lexa resists the urge to snort at the question, "So the risk of him firing me is pretty high and I need the money."

"Do you?" Clarke sounds perplexed.

"Well, yeah." She folds the shirt over her arm, straightening out her singlet a little self consciously before slipping her arms into her jacket again. "You can look, by the way."

Clarke turns, but she makes no move to leave the room as she leans back on a coat rack. "I just figured that with you going to St. Anne's money wouldn't be an issue."

"You'd think," Lexa quirks her eyebrows, her voice dry of amusement, but she continues, "Actually I'm a scholarship student. I thought that was pretty common knowledge."

"No, actually. You seem to slip under the radar pretty well." Clarke steps towards the door, opening it and gesturing Lexa out in front of her and she can't help but wonder how many doors the girl actually opens for herself over the course of a day.

"Apart from your radar," she observes, waiting as Clarke steps out into the hallway with her before she starts walking. "You noticed me."

"I did." Is all Clarke says, but the knowing smile lingering at her lips at the warm affection in her eyes sends a rush running through Lexa. Clarke comes to a stop by the archway to the rest of the apartment and gestures. "Well, this is me."

"And that's me," She nods to where the door waits for her and glances down at the shirt still held in her hands. "Um, sorry do you want me to go and put this back in the closet for you? You really don't have to bother with it, I can figure it out."

"No," Clarke reaches out, pulling the material from her grasp, "Don't worry, I'll hide it somewhere and get it back to you on Monday."

"Alright, thanks," There's a smile on her lips, unbidden but wide, pressing her lips upwards. "It was nice talking to you Clarke Griffin."

"You too Lexa Woods," Clarke lingers, watching as her unwilling feet start the slow walk to the elevator. "Hey," she turns embarrassing quickly to meet blue eyes and a pink lip caught between a set of white teeth, trapped nervously. "I'll see you Monday?"

"See you Monday." She agrees, not even trying to school her smile and it's only once she's in the elevator that she realises she is still clutching Clarke's money in her hand.

----

"Okay, what the hell is wrong with you?"

Clarke's head whips around, looking over at where Octavia is lounging back on the steps, ignoring the people trying to file up around her, throwing her head back to catch the last of the fall sunshine. Her hair falls in a long, complicated dark braid down her back and Clarke watches, suppressing her snigger, as Raven bends over from where she is leant against the railing to steal one of the sugared strawberries from the pot on her lap. Octavia doesn't open her eyes, but she reaches out to slap at her friend's hand.

"Hey, get your own." Her eyes flicker open again and she sits up, looking through the rails at where Clarke stands in the brick lined, ivy coated courtyard, bag clutched in hand. "Seriously Clarke, what's up with you?"

"I don't know what you mean." She holds her head high, her chin stiff but she can feel the telltale blush creeping onto her cheeks. "I'm just stood here."

"Yeah and if you were a cat your fur would be bristling." Octavia points out, ignoring the way that Raven rolls her eyes and doing nothing when the girl steals another piece of fruit.

"Give her a break O," Raven chews on the tip of the strawberry. "She's just had a break up."

"Yeah, but with fuckboy Finn," Octavia flops back against the steps again. "Good riddance.”

"Doesn't mean she can't be upset." Raven points out and goes in for another steal but Octavia is watching through cracked eyes and darts forward, grabbing at her hand and yanking her forward so that she stumbles.

"Seriously Raven, get your own damn fruit! You know I need my morning snack!"

Clarke is distracted from their antics, however, when she catches sight of a familiar head of dark hair. Lexa's locks are braided up and around her head in a detailed halo braid, with a few strands falling around her face and Clarke is momentarily dumbfounded, caught by the sight of her sharp features and pale face, eyes like spring leaves cast to the ground. She has two hands fastened around the straps of her rucksack, holding it tightly to her back and for a second Clarke thinks she will walk right by her, but Lexa's eyes dart up and she spots Clarke's over eager smile and returns it, stepping hesitantly through the students to meet her.

"Hi," Embarrassingly, she's a little breathless when she speaks and Clarke clears her throat, trying to hide the blush on her cheeks. "I, um, got you your dry cleaning."

"Thank you, you really didn't have to." Lexa takes the offered bag, swinging her rucksack off one shoulder to pull it around and roll the shirt up neatly, beginning to slide it into her bag when she is jostled from behind and goes stumbling forward. A few of her books fall, hitting the floor with a thud and Clarke turns, spotting Murphy's head.

"Hey, watch where you're going asshole!"

"Miss Griffin!" Mrs Yates, their algebra professor, snaps a warning from where she's passing and Clarke opens her mouth to argue when Lexa's hand tugs on her wrist, pulling her down to the ground with her.

"It's so not worth a fight," Lexa informs her sternly, but there is an undercurrent of bemusement to her voice and Clarke scoops up the book closest to her, reading the cover with interest.

"Yeah, well I like a fight, ask anyone." She laughs softly, standing when Lexa does and handing her the final book as she swings her bag back onto her back. "Looks heavy, you take Mandarin?"

"Yeah, I like it." Lexa hugs the book close to her chest but meets her gaze steadily, shrugging.

"It looks hard," Clarke eyes the book with caution. "I can't even do French."

"It just takes a bit of work, you get used to it."

" You do," Clarke raises an eyebrow, laughing softly. "I think you're over estimating me ."

"I don't think so," Lexa tells her, softly and she can feel herself starting to blush again, biting on her lip as she smiles nervously. "Um, I have your money by the way."

Behind them, the warning bell rings and Clarke shrugs, smiling lightly. "Give it to me later?"

Lexa smiles and nods, then teases with a twinkle in her eyes. "Are you just trying to find excuses to hang out with me Clarke?"

"Maybe," she admits, openly and Lexa blinks at her, obviously surprised by her boldness and she hurries on, "Maybe I want to be your friend."

"Friend?" Lexa raises one sleek eyebrow and Clarke smiles a little, eyes flickering unabashedly up and down the girl before her.

"For now." The words are something of a promise and she turns on her heel, Lexa's gaze burning into her back as she saunters back towards where her friends wait.

----

Lexa is caught by her linguistics professor at lunch and ends up wasting most of her recess talking to him about college opportunities, despite her constant insistence that she's already applied and been accepted conditionally to Yale and by the time she escapes Clarke is nowhere to be found. The next day she is late to class, barely running through the classroom door before the final bell rings and she spends her lunch break with Anya in a small deli downtown, talking about work and mutual friends over foods that she's sure would make Clarke Griffin wrinkle her nose.

"What's this girl actually like?" Anya asks around a mouthful of Cuban sandwich and Lexa sighs, resting her chin heavily in her hands as she stares down at her chicken sub.

"She's terrible," she admits at last and at Anya's cocked head, continues. "She's filthy rich, entitled, careless, basically everything I hate about the city."

"But?" The older girl prompts her expectantly and Lexa lets out a soft groan, letting her head fall into her hands.

"But she's also pretty and nice and proud and gorgeous and protective and clever and-" she breaks off to take a breath, giving Anya a look that she knows is pathetic. "Did I mention she's really hot? Like... unfairly so."

"Only two billion times this whole conversation." Anya rolls her eyes, "I don't get it, if you like her so much why don't you just date her? Seems clear she's interested."

"Because she represents everything I hate Anya!" Her voice draws attention, turning heads and she lowers the volume slightly before she continues. "And I have principles."

"Oh of course ," Anya's words are dripping in sarcasm, "I forgot you like to pass up hot girls because of principles. My bad. Totally logical choice you're making there."

"Shut up, you know I don't have the time to date anyone right now, not with things like they are." Lexa snaps, taking a bite of her sandwich as Anya clicks her tongue impatiently.

"So you don't want to date her, just fuck her?"

Lexa almost chokes on her sandwich and Anya snorts at her reaction, sliding her soda across the small table for her to drink.

"I'm serious, if she's that hot just fuck her and get it out of your system. It's clear you're dying for it."

"Okay, no ." Lexa shakes her head, "you're crazy."

"Hey, I'm older and wiser." Anya reaches over to grab her soda.

"Older is right, how are the crows feet coming, grandma?" She grins, eyes bright with mirth and Anya chucks a balled up napkin across the table at her.

"Shut your mouth, kid. I'll throw you in the fountain, don't test me." They settle into comfortable silence for a moment, both eating and flicking on their phones for a second and Lexa frowns when she hears Anya's voice, softer this time. "Hey, I know it's not really any of my business but how's your mom?"

"Still sick." Lexa doesn't look up from her phone when she speaks, eyes fixed fiercely to the screen until she hears Anya clear her throat quietly, expectant eyes rimmed with sympathy. She sighs and sets down her phone, meeting the older girl's gaze reluctantly. "What do you want me to say? The drugs get more expensive, she just gets sicker and she needs more drugs."

"Do you have enough cash?" Anya asks bluntly, voice steady but Lexa feels herself flare defensively.

"We don't need charity," She snaps, furiously.

"Don't be stupid," Anya retorts, glaring at her, "If you need money I can lend it to you."

"We don't take handouts." Lexa slams her hand down on the table, standing with the loud scrape of her chair against the cheap linoleum floor. "Keep your fucking money."

"Lexa!" Anya shouts after her, but makes no move to chase her down as she storms from the deli, letting the door slam behind her.

Anya’s words sting all the way back to school and she turns the volume up on her headphones until her music drowns them out.

She's late getting back to school, but she has a free period so it doesn't much matter and she considers making her way to the gym but she can feel the weight of her work pressing down on her shoulders so she sets a slow pace towards the library.

The noise she hears coming from the girl's bathroom makes her pause, momentarily. She considers walking on, ignoring it, but she has little desire to sit down and start on her Latin essay, so she pushes open the door, stepping inside and frowning a little when she realises the noises are breathless, angry sobs.

"Um, hello?" She calls out into the room uncertainly, "Are you okay?"

Only one stall is locked and though the sobs immediately quiet to a muffled, hitching hiccup, she lingers outside, knocking softly against the wood.

"Hey, would you like me to fetch someone?"

There's a moment of silence, broken only by the stranger's hesitant sniffles and she considers leaving, is close to turning back to the door when there is a shifting and the click of a lock before the door swings open.

Clarke stands on the other side, cheeks splotching with red, eyeliner running but her regal air still firmly intact as she marches past Lexa as if she is barely worth a glance, striding towards the mirror in black boots that Lexa knows aren't regulation - but of course, this is Clarke Griffin , so it doesn't matter one bit - and leaning over to start powdering her nose. For a second she wants to leave, because Clarke seems every bit the upper east side bitch in this moment, but she knows a defence when she sees one, has been living with one for the last three years and so she stays, watching from a few steps away.

"Do you want to talk about it?" She asks at last and Clarke slams her powder down on the counter so hard that it spills over the side of its little plastic case.

"Do I look like I want to talk?"

"Not particularly," Lexa admits at last, stepping slowly closer until she can lean against the counter a few paces away from the blonde, watching her carefully. "Do you want me to leave?"

"You think I care what you do?" Clarke growls it out, reaching into her bag for a makeup wipe to smooth away the smears of black beneath her eyes.

Lexa stays where she is, watching stoically as Clarke starts to reapply her eyeliner and it's only when Clarke curses for the second time, scrubbing away her hard work and beginning again, that Lexa realises she is still shivering with suppressed tears, her fingers shaking.

"Hey," she moves closer and lets her hand rise to settle on Clarke's shoulder, relaxing slightly when the blonde doesn't immediately pull away from her touch. "It's okay."

"I just... she's going to ruin my life . Why does she do this to me? Why does she insist on fucking my life over?" Clarke talks quickly, as if she can't stop and Lexa rubs her hand over her shoulder tentatively, eyeing her uncertainly.

"Who?" She asks at last and Clarke throws down her eyeliner, rubbing her palm over her forehead agitatedly.

"My mother ."

"Your mom is ruining your life?" She cocks her eyebrow, confused and sceptical but Clarke doesn't look at her as she turns and continues talking, pacing across the bathroom anxiously.

"She wants me to go to medical school, medical school ." Lexa cocks an eyebrow at her outrage, "and it's just not what I want for myself. Just because she's obsessed with being a surgeon, doesn't mean that I want to be a doctor as well. I just- I can’t even- not after-" She cuts herself off, biting down over her words furiously.

"You seemed pretty good at it when you checked me out in the Dwyer's bathroom," Lexa observes carefully, flushing at the double meaning of her words, but Clarke rolls her eyes, shaking her head as she continues to pace.

"That was different, I was just looking after my friend ."

"You didn't know me."

"I wanted to," Clarke shoots her an irritated glance and Lexa's eyebrows shoot up, treading a fine line between amused and outraged when Clarke waves her hand. "That's the difference."

"What do you want to do instead?" She asks, her earlier annoyance flaring again. "Be a socialite?"

"No." The blonde snaps, glaring at her, "I want to go to NYU and study art."

She feels a flush of shame at her assumption and softens a little."That's pretty cool," She nods, smiling despite herself. "I've seen some of your work around school. You're a brilliant artist."

"Thanks," Clarke cracks a small smile in return, "Try telling my mom that... she just demands that I'm the best all the time, but her version of the best. It’s just not who I am, not anymore at least."

"Well there's no point going to medical school if you're just going to leave after a year or so." Lexa observes, quietly, "it's a waste of time and money."

"Exactly!" Clarke throws her hands up, raising her eyes to the ceiling. "But she won't listen to me."

"You'll have to make her," Lexa crosses her arms, shrugging. "This is your life Clarke, make her sit up and notice that you can do whatever the hell you want."

"Right, you’re right.” Clarke is quiet for a minute and she pauses in her pacing, eyes fixed to the floor and flickering back and forth for a second, quick with thought before she looks up slowly, meeting Lexa's gaze with a ferocious determination that is almost frightening. "I have an idea... date me."

"Date you?" Lexa blinks at her, mouth dropping open in surprise. "That's... that’s not how girls normally ask me out, Clarke."

"Oh come on," Clarke takes a few quick steps closer to her, until she is backed up against the counter, nowhere left to escape to. "You know I'm attracted to you and I know you think I'm hot. My mother will freak out ."

"I'm not really... looking for a girlfriend right now," Lexa tells her, edging slowly out of her grip. "And we only just met!"

"We've known each other for almost a week!" Clarke counters, outraged. "Marriage proposals have happened in less time."

"Maybe in your world." Lexa raises an eyebrow, "but out in the real world we normal people take a little while longer."

"Time is of the essence! Applications are due soon!"

"I'm really not up for dating at the moment Clarke, I'm sorry." Her brows crease when she sees the bewildered outrage cross Clarke's face.

"You flirted with me." Clarke accuses her, face falling, and for the first time her confidence seems to falter. “If you didn't mean it, then... well, then that was really low Lexa."

"No, I did! I mean-" She stumbles over her words, "I mean I did flirt with you, because I do find you attractive. But I never thought anything would come of it! And I just can't handle a relationship with everything else that's going on in my life."

"Then just fake it."

"Fake it?" She echoes the words, mouth falling open in alarm. "Is this some kind of bad sitcom? No !"

"Seriously, Lexa you're perfect," Clarke drags her by the hand and pulls her over to the mirror, lacing their fingers together and Lexa tries to ignore the way that her heart thumps at the feeling of their palms pressed together. "Look at us," she demands and Lexa follows her instructions, watching her reflection beside Clarke's in the mirror. "We're a great couple," Clarke insists, a little more softly. "We've got chemistry, I find you attractive and you're perfect ."

"Yeah, you've mentioned that," Her eyes flicker uncertainly to Clarke's in the mirror, "But I’m not sure it’s a compliment."

"You're a girl," Clarke points out and she can't help but cut in.

"Ah yes. Ideal."

"You're a smartass ," Clarke continues, slapping at her arm. There is a playful smile on her lips and Lexa has to force her eyes away from it. "You're from Brooklyn and you have a like... edgy, outsider vibe going on."

"Edgy?" Lexa repeats, skeptically. "I have a 4.8 GPA and a perfect record."

"Yeah but my mother doesn't know that." Clarke points out smoothly and turns, their hands still interlocked, to look at her. "Will you do this for me? Just a dinner or two. You'll be doing me a huge favor."

Lexa considers, watching the girl and feeling the heat of her hand, the swell in her heart when she hears Clarke laughs. Where's the downside, really ? "Fine." She concedes and Clarke lets out a squeal of joy, throwing her hands around her neck and dragging her in for a stilted, unwilling hug before pulling back to say, her voice sternly somber.

"Lexa Woods, will you be my fake girlfriend?"

"I already said yes." Lexa rolls her eyes, pushing her gently and Clarke laughs, more loudly this time, and for a second Lexa feels impossibly light. Clarke reaches to grab her bag as Lexa digs in her pockets for a second, fumbling for a folded envelope as the blonde starts towards the door. "Oh, I wanted to give you this back." The envelope is crumpled and she pushes it towards Clarke. "Your money." She explains, redundantly and Clarke shakes her head, nudging her hand away with a slight smile.

"Consider it my thanks for your favor."

"You're going to pay me for fake dating you?" Lexa stares at her, somewhere close to aghast, but Clarke doesn't seem to notice, shrugging.

"Don't think of it as payment, think of it as a gift."

"A hundred dollars worth of gift, Clarke."

Clarke just shrugs again, stepping through the door without her and saying, with a light smile, "Definitely worth the money."

The words leave a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach, and as Clarke saunters away she glances down at the money in her hands and tries to ignore the part of her that says this is a mistake.

----

[thebachelordiaries]

Mental Breakdowns And Little Dick Energy: ‘The Bachelorette’ Ep. 5 Recap

The show went from Salt Lake City, aka Mormon country, to Las Vegas, aka the only place in the U.S. where prostitution is legal, in the span of one week. I’m low-key impressed with how on-brand this is.

1-on-1 With Colton

Colton has terrible fashion sense, craves attention and has a mediocre personality. If he wasn’t a former professional seat-warmer for the NFL I would think he could be a virgin...oh wait.

To warm Colton up with the idea of humping, ABC decides to have Becca and Colton take a camel ride along the Virgin River. You can’t make this stuff up.

This is my ideal aesthetic right here.

During the dinner portion of the date, Colton talked about his former relationship (with Aly Raisman.) We learn she never said “I love you” back to him and she dumped him. I mean, we already knew Aly was a savage, so I’m not surprised.

Becca said something interesting to Colton. She said “Out of anyone, I feel like it’s out story.” I guess that means Becca likes him, but he’s still trash. They have great physical chemistry. That’s it.

Group Date With Wayne Newton

*Heavy sarcasm* Producers really went on a creative limb to come up with new date ideas this season. It’s almost like we had a songwriting date two episodes ago...but this time it’s with Wayne Newton.

The guys had to come up with their own rendition of “Danke Schoën,” which yes, I did have to Google to figure out how to spell. All of them were cringeworthy, but the worst was Chris, who somehow actually thought he was doing a good job. His personality makes it seem like he’s overcompensating for something. Can you say: little dick energy? 

It’s obvious to me the two front runners are bug man Blake and Andrew Keegan impersonator Jason.

Blake told Becca he’s falling in love with her. Becca, in an ITM, she said she’s falling for him too, and she knew it from the beginning.

Becca always hangs on to Jason like a needy child, but in a cute way...? I’m probably not explaining that right. When she got up to leave the date, she whispered a special “See you later” to Jason and grabbed his hand.

No other guys stand a chance, tbh.

The highlight of this group date was the beginning of the downfall of Chris, who did not get time with Becca on this date. Stay tuned for an upcoming mental breakdown. Note: I knew he was a douche all along. I just knew it.

2-on-1 With David and Jordan

There are some people out there who are actually Team David. I want to gather up all of those people, put them on an island, put a giant fence around said island and take away all forms of water transportation so they can never leave. 

All 2-on-1 dates are intentionally designed to be awkward and no fun at all. This date was in some sort of desert and had a striking similarity to the most iconic 2-on-1 date in Bachelor history: Ashley I. vs Kelsey.

While that date still reigns supreme, I will argue that this date comes in a close second. 

So David, who is only on this show to antagonize Jordan, told Becca that Jordan said he would be “settling” if he ended up with her, and some other lies for good measure. The below tweets sums up how I feel about David pretty well.

Jordan, understandably, was very angry with David’s lies, which he defended as being his perception of the truth. Jordan, however, ripped David a new one (see Jordanisms below) and won that battle. The creepy part was that while Jordan was destroying David, David just kept talking over him in a monotone voice saying things like, “I’m a genuine guy,” and “I’m such an honest person.” It made me want to punch him in the face. Kudos to Jordan for having self-control. Then again, he’s a Wilmehelma model and has an image to uphold. And David’s nose is already broken anyway, so it would all be for naught.

Jordan not only won this battle, but won the war. Becca ended up sending David home first. Becca didn’t even hug David goodbye because even she knows he’s a little liar. 

David said Jordan doesn’t care about anyone but himself, but all David cared about was Jordan, so how is that any better? Actually, talking crap about someone else is way worse than being egocentric. That’s why you lost, David.

Jordan was sent home later during the dinner portion of the date because all he did was talk about himself. Still, he won. David lost. May we all rejoice in the name of karma.

Here’s our final round of Jordanisms until Bachelor In Paradise:

“It blows my mind. Honestly, like, the wind is leaving my sails. I’m looking for a handle to grab onto, because I don’t know which way this is going.”

“Love is the greatest power on earth. Being me is my greatest power. You get that? Being you isn’t your greatest power. That’s why you got to talk about me.”

“You’re uninspiring. You lack integrity. You lack passion. You lack charisma. You lack your own personality.”

“Go in the real world and make a f*cking name for yourself before you try to ride mine, ok?”

“Why did the chicken cross the road? To get buried in the f*cking desert.”

“[David] ran his beak too much and got his head chopped off.”

“Aw, I should shove my foot right up your f*cking ass.”

“I’m happy I could be a better man than David, but it doesn’t really feel too much like that, because I’m going home in the same day.”

Rose Ceremony/ Chris Unhinged

Now let’s get back to Chris’ meltdown: Chris tried so hard to manipulate situations with his words during the cocktail hour and failed miserably. The desperation in his eyes got more apparent as the night went on.

Firstly, he interrupted Wills after already having time with Becca, and then got mad that Wills wouldn’t give him more time after Wills let him have an additional two minutes. But Wills stood his ground like the mature, well-dressed, bootylicious man he is.

Next, Chris complained about Wills to the other guys, and when Wills returned, Chris claimed Wills was getting defensive and attacking him. Wills was calmly like, “Um no, I’m not doing any of those things. I didn’t have to give you time at all,” and Chris was like, “blah, blah, blah, whine, deflect, attack.” and claimed everyone was “acting like a victim” (which is SO RICH coming from him) after Garrett and Connor sided with Wills.

Wills left the conversation after it started heating up. We love a nondramatic king.

Long story short, Chris doesn’t give a rats ass about anyone’s time with Becca besides his own. And for some reason, he thinks that’s okay.

Also, Garrett seemed pretty annoyed with Chris which almost makes me almost like him. Almost. 

I feel like we’ve all met a “Chris” at some point in our lives who makes everything about him. His time is most important. His opinions matter most. His word is gospel. Well guess what, Chris? I know a loser as soon as I see one. See below:

P.s. Saying a woman “owes you” like 50,0000 kisses is incredibly wrong. No woman owes you anything. Ever.

Damn, we JUST got rid of David and my blood is already boiling over.

Next episode, we’re heading to the state for lovers: Virginia. 

The face you make when you realize you made it to the fifth week and haven’t left the country yet.

At least Jason will soon get the one-on-one he deserves, so maybe Virginia won’t be that bad after all.

[ofseaandsky]

Fic: Rain

So I wrote a thing. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt a really strong desire to write anything that isn’t my current HP Marauders WIP so I embraced it and went with it. It’s rough and I’m the only one who has read through it. I wasn’t going to post it, but I’m trying this new “being courageous” thing so I thought it was worth a go!

It’s mainly a response for my nerves in anticipation of Roan’s fate I think. I would say it’s mainly introspective Clarke, but with a RoanxClarke pairing.

The usual disclaimers apply: Nothing is mine.

Rain

1.

Clarke Griffin was born in space. In the metallic, climate-controlled, dry world of artificial gravity and the constant dull hum of a massive engine working its hardest to keep a desperate few alive despite all odds against them. Every day follows a similar pattern to the one before; deviations were small and rarely unexpected. Every part of her life was regulated. What she ate, what she wore, what she read, what she learned. Sure, there was an illusion of freedom to be had on the Ark. You were free to love and laugh and bond with friends. There were movies and books and games carefully preserved and somewhat surreal memories of a world they would never know to be their own.

One day she discovered an old fragmented file of books which were nothing near educational or supposedly worth her time while searching the archives for a text on regional botany. It was not Ovid, Shakespeare, Rowling or King. It was a collection of romance novels which were apparently kept for the simple reason that it was important to keep every part of life Before. She read through them with an appetite she had never known she was capable of. The books were horrible, clichéd and nothing but endless cotton candy for her overly scientific mind. If her mother found her reading one of them she would have been furious. But they made her dream. Until she fell to earth, it was the only taste of rebellious freedom she had had.

The first time she felt rain was the moment a new part of her came alive. It was only a few nights after their explosive arrival onto the ground. The delinquents were busy setting up camp but had abandoned efforts for a few hours of rest. Clarke couldn’t sleep. She hated being inside the metal walls now that the world was so full of life and noise and clean fresh air that no book could have prepared her for.

She had noticed a change in the weight of the air around her that afternoon, but so much was new that it was hard to understand its significance. It smelled heady and more pronounced. She gave up her battle to sleep before it started and sat near the fire pit watching sparks chase each other through the flames when the first drop of rain hit her nose.

The slow pitter-patter amazed her. Showers heavily regulated on the Ark. There was not enough provision for water to be used for such mundane reasons. Every drop was accounted for and recycled. But Clarke had treasured every second of her three-minute time slot under the rush of water every other day. And she should have recognized the meaning of the small droplet on the tip of her nose. It was horribly stereotypical after all.

The blonde peered up into the darkness above her and startled as another drop fell on her forehead. It was soon followed by a steady pitter-patter of drops that quickly turned into a deluge of water pouring from the sky. And Clarke, born in dry, empty space, sat smiling madly up, eyes closed as tiny rivers flowed down her cheeks, soaking through her hair and clothes making her so deliciously and thoroughly wet.

She stretched out her hands, palms up, capturing the water as it fell in glorious abundance from the sky and reveled a feeling she couldn’t name. She was home.

She opened her eyes when she sensed the heat of another person next to her; it was amazing how in tune she was to the differences in temperature around her here on earth. Bellamy Blake loomed over her, dark eyes painted with an unreadable expression that was far from hostile.

“It’s raining,” Clarke smiled widely up at him in awe, too wrapped up in how amazing it was feeling the drops hitting her skin was to worry about the moody older boy.

She closed her eyes again, allowing the sensation setting her skin and heart to life to engulf her once again. She heard him huff out a nonverbal reply and the rustle of fabric moving as he shifted beside her. When she glanced over at her silent companion, she saw that he too had turned his face up toward the rain, allowing the cool beads to slip down the angular planes of his face. His lips were turned up in a soft smile.

It was a moment Clarke carried with her for many years to come, to remind herself of the simple joy of being on earth. How much potential was held in the cleansing drops that fell from the sky and nourished the earth below their feet.

 2.

The gag in her mouth rubbed against her dry lips, causing the already cracked skin to burn. She glared daggers into the back of her captor’s head as he tugged her along behind him. She would find a way to escape him. To get away from the man whose sharp eyes saw too much and glinted with dangerous knowledge.

“You could read the weight of a man through his eyes if he lets you, Clarke,” her father had once told her. “It will do you good to learn to be wary of those who choose hide too much or nothing at all.” A week later he was dead and the lesson was forever ingrained in her.

As they trudged through the fields towards a destination only her captor knew, the sky above them changed from blue to pewter, dark clouds gathering quickly and heavily above. She had learned in her short time down on earth it signaled an imminent, and often violent, storm. Her captor seemed aware as well as he searched for shelter, the first few heavy drops of rain smattering down on the ground around them. A dense copse of trees seemed to serve his purpose as he pulled Clarke in close beneath the canopy as the full weight of the rainstorm unleashed itself.

Rain poured down in sheets, obscuring the view of the area around them, dampening the noises of the forest in the dull roar that came with it. It would mask the steps of anyone fleeing or attempting to come up behind them. Clarke threw a calculating look at the man beside her.

“You don’t stand a chance,” he said, those haunted pale eyes scanning the world around them beyond their sanctuary from the worst of the storm.

Clarke shook her head in denial, not giving voice to her disagreement, but knowing that he was right. She stared at him a moment longer, annoyed when he refused to spare her a glance, before she settled with her back against the tree. They would wait here until the worst of the rain was over, of that she was certain.

Clarke’s attention then focused on the rain instead. She allowed the noise to fill her mind and leave her with a pleasant buzz of empty thought, her mind a little quieter, less filled to the brim with the screams of the people who suffered under her command.

Wanheda.

Commander of Death.

What a title to be bestowed. She felt the bubble of sick rise in her throat as it always did after hearing it. The screams of the dying echoing in her mind as images of bodies distorted and burned as they melted in the radiation flickered behind her unseeing eyes. She shifted forward and stretched her bound hands out to the edge of the tree line, where fats drops were steadily dripping in, catching the stray beams of light enough to fill them with life for the second before they slipped and shattered on the ground below.

If that wasn’t a metaphor for herself and all the children of the stars she didn’t know what would be. If she was honest with herself, she was the one who deserved the soul-shattering impact the most. To fall apart into molecular pieces of stardust, lost to this harsh and all-consuming land below her feet. Left to feed the world around them and become a whisper of memory on the breeze.

“Heavy thoughts, Wanheda?” the low, deep rumble of her captor’s voice startled her out of her own mind and back into her body where her outstretched fingers were decorated in a myriad of tiny raindrops, creating a path down her arm and to the ground in a steady drip.

She glared at him, refusing to talk when she was gagged, which caused a smile to crack the scarred and sharp face, surprisingly wide and full of mirth. She had thought him utterly incapable of it. Deft fingers dug into the back of her gag and released her mouth to grant him an answer. She stayed quiet for a long time after the gag was removed, watching the rain.

“The first time it rained after we came to earth,” Clarke started, breaking the silence that had again settled over the pair, ignoring his initial inquiry. “I stayed out all night. I knew I would probably get sick, and I did, but I couldn’t bear to stay inside when I was finally experiencing something I had dreamed about since I first heard about it.”

She didn’t expect him to respond. He had turned hard eyes toward her when she spoke, one eyebrow arched.

“I can’t imagine life without it,” Roan said, the smallest hint of astonishment in his voice. He pulled a bag of dried meat from his pocket and started eating. Clarke glared as he continued, “Or snow, or wind, or even blistering heat. A life without would seem empty.”

“It was,” Clarke confirmed. “I didn’t know it until I experienced the earth. But it was. The ship was just metal and cold. Nothing felt like it had life. But one minute on the ground was all it took to see that this is what life was always supposed to be. We were never meant to live in space. To run and hide like cowards.”

He didn’t say anything, just watched her closely with sharp, calculating eyes. When she met his gaze and refused to back down, he grinned again, eyes softening a little before he leaned back against the tree to ride out the storm. He took another piece of meat from the pouch and tossed the rest to her. She wanted to ignore the offer but her stomach growled rather loudly so she warily chewed a piece of the offered meat. She still didn’t trust him not to poison her, but she was starving.

When the rain cleared hours later he didn’t gag her again until they reached the gates of Polis.

 3.

Clarke was watching the rain outside fall steadily from the doors leading to the balcony. She was back in Polis. Back under Lexa’s watchful eye. To what purpose she was unsure, and she was equally uncertain how she felt about it at the moment. Part of her felt the thrill of attraction and all it carried with it, but another part was wary of the sudden and overpowering interest the young woman had in her.

“Is this something common to you on rainy days?” Roan’s deep rumble started her from her thoughts, and she watched him approach. He looked from her out to the storm outside as if it made his question any clearer.

“It helps clear the mind I find,” she replied evasively. “I used to read about it in meditation journals and I’ll admit I often borrowed the audio files on the Arc.”

“Do you miss it?” he asked, leaning against the windowpane next to her, eyes on the storm outside. He wore a fur vest over a tight fitting shirt, accentuating his lean musculature. Clarke couldn’t help but notice when she had become acquainted with just what the warrior prince hid under all those layers after witnessing his somewhat savage form of personal first aid.

“The Ark?” Clare asked, frowning. He didn’t confirm or deny so she continued. “I don’t miss space, but I miss reading. I miss game nights, school and movies. My father. And knowing I was safe when I came home at night. When life was more simple, I guess.”

He hummed a reply of sorts, ever enigmatic but his eyes appeared a little farther away, lost to his own recollections.

“Do you miss home?” she asked, tracing the paths the rain made on the window. She didn’t think he would answer; he was always the stoic during her time in his company. She assumed a heavy sigh was his way of not answering, so when he spoke up again next to her it surprised her into meeting his gaze.

“Sometimes,” he acknowledged, eyes flicking back outside. “Like you I miss the things a child misses about their home. And I miss my people.”

Clarke nodded, but she didn’t think he saw the motion, lost in contemplation. She eyed the door to the balcony and was suddenly overcome with the need to be out in the heart of the chaotic wind and rain. She smiled and made her decision, quickly taking a few long strides to the door and pulling it open with a little too much glee.

The wind was bracing as high up as she was and the rain was icy cold and felt like needles against her exposed skin and face. But she raised her eyes up to the heavens and spread her arms wide, allowing the falling water to cascade around her. The laughter that bubbled through her may have had a maniacal edge to it, but it released a knot of tension buried in her chest.

She was soaked through by the time she came back inside, having forgotten about her captor turned ally for a few moments. Roan was leaning against the glass, eyes glittering with suppressed mirth when she shook her heavy hair out of her face. She felt a blush warm her frozen cheeks, but couldn’t help the smile that stole across her features.

As he straightened to his full height and walked toward her, he reminded her of the great cats that prowled through the forests around Polis. Dangerous and deadly when they caught sight of their prey.

“You look like a drowned cat,“ he said as he held out a length of material toward her with a shake of his head. She was oddly touched at the gesture.

“What’s the point in growing up if you can’t act a bit childish sometimes?” Clarke said, quoting one of her father’s fictional heroes. When Roan laughed in surprise she joined him, grabbing the towel from him. She didn’t stop smiling until after she had changed out of her wet clothes and into dry ones, and long after her shivers have finally subsided.

4.

The acrid smell of the black rain reminds her a little of the metallic smell the Arc had. It brings back memories of isolation and entrapment as it coats the back of her throat. Of tight, enclosed spaces without the wide sky overhead. A sky she has learned to love and rely on to keep her breathing slow and steady as waves of panic crash over her when she faces mortality and certain destruction again.

Clarke thinks back on the last few weeks of her short and tumultuous life on earth. The king of Azgeda sits heavily on a weathered throne, a very tenuous grip on the reigns of control. Chaos hangs heavily in the air all around her. So many will die. And soon. This time, destruction is bound to be even more all encompassing. Humanity will struggle harder against destruction once more. There is one bunker, one treatment, one hope. She desperately wants to save everyone, not just her own.

The weight of expectation settles in the bitter air as she watches the rain from windows that seem to strain under the assault. The storms are getting wilder, the rain more destructive, the panic more deeply engrained in the populace. Clarke feels herself starting to struggle under the weight of it all. She is no Atlas.

“Not going to laugh your heart out at the powers that be today, Wanheda?” Roan. Of course, it’s Roan. The monarch seems as much of a constant in her life as any she has had since crashing into this unforgiving rock. The fresh scar on the palm of her hand itches. She feels so much older than she was that day on the balcony.

“I don’t imagine it would be quite as uplifting this time,” she murmurs, not turning to face him, though she hears his footsteps as they approach her. He walks heavier since taking the crown, whether it is with purpose or burden is not clear. The sound of the rain and wind drown out the ambient noise around the two warriors.

“Indeed,” he agrees and Clarke turns her head slightly, catching his grim profile in her periphery. He looks tired. Heavy lays the head and all that. She understands. Maybe his bones feel heavier too, the way hers do. Her skin doesn’t seem to settle and stretch the way it should any longer.

“Will you be able to stay underground for so long?” Roan asks after a moment’s silence.

“I have survived longer without the sky,” she answers, surprised at the question. But she’s unsure if she believes her own words. The sky is as necessary to her now as breathing. As the ground beneath her feet and the falling rain. She thinks she understands why mountains try so hard to reach the heavens now.

“There will be no rain in your future, Clarke,” he murmurs, watching her face intently as he steps closer, crowding her personal space a little. “At least not until we are free again. And I do not believe any of your audio files survived the crash.”

Clarke’s breath catches, panic gripping a bit tighter around her throat, making her breathing quicken, chest straining slightly against the laces of her shirt that suddenly feels too tight. Her eyes still fixed on the acid rain, not willing to show any more signs of the fear settling like bile in the back of her throat. The panic could swallow her whole if she allowed it.

She meets the king’s pale eyes after a calming breath. There is a storm brewing within them, one she didn’t see coming and she doesn’t know if she understands.

She has never truly noted the colour of Roan’s eyes before. If asked she would have said they were blue, but now she sees the bursts of grey and dark indigo that gives them depth.  They are a calming shade, but there is a danger in them that reminds her of the sky before it rains. She finds her breathing easing once more as they flicker down to her lips.

She doesn’t feel him move toward her, but the last thing she thinks about is how the rain feels against her skin under the wide-open sky. His lips are warm and firm against her own and softer than she imagined they would be. Her worries and fears melt and run down her body, into the ground like the trails left behind the errant drops on the window, feeding the ground and giving life where there was none before. Clarke allows herself a little bit of hope.

5.

Showers in the bunker become sacred. Not only for Clarke, she’s sure that everyone else treasures their own bi-weekly timed cleansing ritual, but for her, it is a treasured release. The filtration systems in the bunker are amazing and cater to the needs of the 1200 assembled remnants of the Azgeda, Trikru, and Skaikru alliance. The people designated to survive the end of things by the conclave after her attempt to take the role of commander. Time gives you perspective, even on naïve decisions, no matter how well intentioned. 

In the end there were three. The champions for Skaikru, Trikru and Azgeda faced off while nervous clansmen watched. She was the one who threw herself between the remaining trio of Octavia, Indra and the king of Azgeda in the hope to prevent more death. Blood bonds were not binding to Skaikru she knew, but she couldn’t watch Roan’s flow into the dirt. Or Indra’s after they had gone through so much together. Few understood, but it didn’t matter to Clarke.

Humanity needed genetic diversity if it were to survive. That was the argument she had prepared frantically as the nominated champions for each clan fell. So to the remaining three clans, there was now an often-shaky alliance. Old hatred festered and poisoned minds, but they seemed to be working through it. They would not be able to spare a life come their reentry into the world.

Marcus led her people, along with Indra and Roan as representatives of the old clans. New blood allegiances were sworn and respected. Integration was slowly succeeding. Tensions often ran high in the tight confines, but it seemed even some of the most hardened warriors were slowly accepting that they may be the last hope.

Grabbing her necessities and a fresh set of clothing, Clarke makes the trek down to the laundry and shower facilities. Everything in the bunker was very utilitarian and the shower rooms are open and facilitate four individuals at once. There was no separation between the sexes which caused uproar at the beginning with some of the elder Skaikru who had held onto the importance of modesty on the Arc and subsequently the ground. But the grounder clans held no such scruples and the few who objected were free to schedule their shower time as they preferred.

“Hey Clarke,” Miller nods in greeting as she enters the locker room adjacent to the shower stalls. He grins and tugs a shirt over his head, beard still glittering with remnants of water.

“Miller,” she returns his smile and busies herself stripping down to her underwear.

“You’ll come round tonight, won’t you?” he asks, sitting down to slip his boots back on. When she throws a glance at him over her shoulder, she meets his hopeful gaze. She had been avoiding her friends lately, feeling more claustrophobic than usual over the last couple of weeks.

“Yeah, of course,” she replies with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. Miller sees right through her, as he always seems to, but smiles and nods.

“See you in a bit then, yeah? I’ll be back after my shift finishes at seven,” he confirms as he backs quickly toward the exit, probably in an attempt to stop her from coming up with a plausible excuse.

She nods and turns back to the open locker to slip off her last two scraps of clothing. She may not be a leader any longer, but many of the grounder survivors are still happier to liaise with her than any other Skaikru, so she often helps negotiate disputes between individuals and help them bring queries to the council. She has a reputation for not taking no for an answer, one she’s happy not to oppose. But between her training in medicine with her mother and the grounder healers, and her semi-diplomatic role, she has little time for herself these days and it wears on her.

She wraps a length of cloth around her body and walks into the empty shower bay. She frowns, a bit surprised to find it empty, but is not about to look a gift horse in the mouth as she hastily hangs her towel on a hook near the entry and turns on the hot water.

Closing her eyes she stretches her fingers out to the spray and for a second she can pretend she’s outside and the heavens have opened above her before the water heats up enough to be comfortable. She keeps her eyes closed as she steps under the spray, letting the water saturate her hair and run down the valley between her breasts. As the warm water streams through her hair and scalp her skin erupts in goose bumps, causing a delightful shiver to race up her spine. At least she has these moments where she can at least pretend to still have the sky.

She sets about lathering shampoo through her long hair and throws a glance over her shoulder when she hears movement behind her. When she meets the eyes of the newest occupant she’s immediately reminded of oncoming storms. Roan enters, his eyes betraying a little surprise and quickly look around the room, finding it empty. Clarke’s eyes flicker quickly down the naked planes of his chest and when they meet his own once more she sees the small smirk on his lips. She huffs annoyed and turns back to her lathering.

Since their kiss before the conclave and in the six months underground there hasn’t been any other advances made. Roan would look at her in a way that makes her whole body shiver and run hot, but though they spend a lot of time together attempting to keep the peace between the clans, they have rarely been alone. Until now.

“Enjoying yourself, Wanheda?” Roan’s voice rumbles as he turns on the showerhead next to her own, a hint of teasing in his tone.

“How does that even come close to being an appropriate question when I’m naked in the shower, Roan?” Clarke bites back, feeling a bit embarrassed and shy though she has shared this space with plenty of men in their first half year below ground. And it’s not as if she hasn’t seen this particular man in question in all his glory before, on more than one occasion. But never alone.

He laughs, and the sound is rich and deep, echoing off the tiled walls.

“Is it not an entirely appropriate question when naked?” he asks, and she opens her eyes to glare over at him. He is leaning his head under the spray of the water, a look of intense pleasure over his features, one that does strange things to the butterflies who took up residence in her stomach with his arrival.

She huffs a laugh and massages some conditioner it into the ends of her curls in favour of a response. She runs fingers through the ends, loosening the tangles as much as she can, keeping her eyes firmly away from the man beside her. She remembers the intricate web of scars over his back and desperately wants to examine them again, commit them to paper, trace their raised ridges with the sensitive pads of her fingers. She feels the butterflies in her belly respond as her thoughts lead her down a dangerous path and reaches blindly for the soap dispenser to derail her thoughts.

As her finger brush against another’s, rather than the dispenser as she expected, her eyes open and she looks up to meet Roan’s. He’s smirking at her again, a knowing look over his sharp features, his eyes darker than normal. The storms she dreams about so often are brewing in them again. She blushes and looks down only to look right back up again when she realized where her eyes strayed in an attempt to break eye contact. Her eyes widen comically and shoot back up to meet Roan’s.

“I’ve never known you to be so shy, Clarke,” Roan says with a laugh at her flush, a glint of mischief in his storm cloud eyes. “Maybe I should ask you to scrub my back?”

Clarke inhales sharply, the joking suggestion skating too closely to her fantasy. She’s sure she looks more alarmed than is warranted as he frowns a little before shaking his head muttering about body taboos and breaking their eye contact to reach for the shampoo, running strong fingers through his scalp to distribute the suds evenly.

“Only if you return the favour,” she challenges with false bravado before she even realizes what she’s saying. She sees his eyes open in surprise, but the smirk he turns her way can only be called predatory.

“Really now?” he rumbles, the deep baritone rousing the butterflies in her belly to fly into riot. He stares at her for a long moment, assessing her, eyes flicking down to her chest briefly, where she’s crossed her arms out of habit.

He takes hold of her hand and tugs it toward the spout dispensing a measure of soap into her small hand and closes her fingers over the liquid before cocking his head at her. He then turns his back to her, presenting her with the scar-covered canvas of his back. He’s not a particularly large man, but he is solid and still towers over her short stature. Long, lean bands of muscle are evident in the wide planes of his shoulders. The months below the surface have not affected his musculature it would seem.

Clarke has never backed down from a challenge so she steps closer, reaching her filled palm up toward the crest of his right shoulder, his dark hair hanging down in a wet sheet. He hisses in a breath at the first touch of her hands and leans into them as she spreads the soap down one shoulder and across to the other. She feels the ridges of muscles and scars, the detail disappearing and reappearing as the soapsuds slide down and collect at the base of his spine. She presses her fingers into the tense muscles of his back, causing a low groan to rumble out of him and she can’t resist repeating the motion. By the time she is finished she has massaged his back, feeling out the hard knots between his shoulder blades with medical precision and catalogued each of the intricate scars in the process.

When Roan turns around to face her once again, his eyes are dark, pupils blown wide and the way he looks at her makes her nipples tighten in response. He looks down her naked body leisurely, halting briefly at her chest and lips before he meets her eyes once more. He seems to be more in control again and he smiles slowly at her.

“You turn, Wanheda,” the title a caress, rather than a curse. He uses his fingers to indicate she turn her back toward him, and with a last look at his eyes she turns her back to him, feeling oddly vulnerable.

She hears the soft click of the dispenser and then the muted sound of his palms rubbing together as she listens closely to the water rushing around them. At the first touch of his palms on her shoulders, she inhales sharply, echoing his earlier actions. His palms are rough, calluses earned from hard work and decades of fighting for survival in a hard land. Strong fingers skate along her skin deliciously, and she bites down hard on her lower lip to suppress the moan that is fighting its way to escape.

When Roan starts kneading her shoulders and along her spine, hitting all the spots in need of attention she can’t keep the sound in any longer. As he expertly manipulates the sore muscles she finds herself leaning closer to him, chasing his touch and the heat radiating from him. His hands slide down her spine to rest at the soft flare of her hips and she feels his breath as he leans down to place a soft kiss on her shoulder. This is what she needs right now. A way to release all that built up tension. And she knows he would be more than willing to oblige her.

With that thought she leans back against him, his ever-present stubble abrading her shoulder softly, the firm and obvious indication of her effect on him, hard against her lower back. His hands slide forward to meet on her belly as they hear the door to the locker room slam before laughter erupts in its awake.

“Fuck!” Clarke swears and laughs when the king behind her echoes the same curse. She disentangles herself from him, ducking back under her own showerhead to rinse off, watching Roan face the wall with a frustrated sigh, hands fisted against the tile.

“Are you busy now?” she asks him boldly, his eyes curious and hopeful when they meet hers.

“I had planned to be before we were so rudely interrupted,” he teased, an edge of frustration running through his tone.

“Well I hear the king of Azgeda has his own quarters down here,” she smiled cheekily as she turned off the water and walked over and grabbed her towel, wrapping it snugly around herself.

Roan’s eyes lit up with the almost feline look he had earlier. A great cat sensing prey is near. He quickly rinsed off, and she couldn’t help notice the bob of his arousal as it jutted out before him. She heard the sound of lockers banging shut in the room next door and tossed the towel hanging next to hers at the advancing man.

“That he does,” he confirmed as he wrapped the length of cloth around trip hips. “Care to investigate them with me?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Clarke replied with a wide grin before turning and rushing to dress.