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chazz-anova · 5 years ago

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My official Far Cry 5 fanfic!

Alrighty everyone! After a LONG time, I’ve finally finished the first section of this fic and I am so excited to start posting it everywhere lmao, so please feel free to leave your comments in the replies I’d love to hear what people think! Now without further ado; here’s chapter 1!

Veronica glanced lazily at the clock, which read 3:28am. She'd gotten off work about 4 hours earlier, but couldn't seem to lull herself to sleep no matter how many drinks she had or smoke breaks she took. Lately, the young sheriff's deputy had felt unsettled, like she was stuck in a rut. Ice clinked in her Crown Royal glass as she raised it to her lips, finishing it with a swig. "What's wrong with me Olive?" She asked the calico cat that padded silently into the room. The cat replied with a dainty mew and climbed into Veronica's lap. While petting her companion, she glanced around her modest townhome.

It was a tastefully furnished two story home with a balcony and a neighborhood pool. She sat on a powder blue couch that was joined by an armchair off to the side. The TV screen in front of her read 'Are you there? Press X to continue" Answering the question aloud, she muttered "Sometimes I wonder if I am still here" She lifted Olive off her lap and replaced her with an engraved silver tray, a baggie of weed, and a Cherry Dynamite flavoured Swisher. She may be a deputy, but some vices she was reluctant to give up.

A few moments later- Veronica stepped out onto her balcony, blunt in hand. She slowly took in the familiar scenery, living right on the outskirts of Hope County afforded her one of the best views. The Whitetail Mountains towered over the town beyond, the neon lights of various restaurants and gas stations glowing upwards and framing the tall peaks in a surreal glow. Her gaze turned up to the stars, dazzling like diamonds on the velvet black sky. As she lit up and the lighter illuminated her balcony, the atmosphere shifted a degree 'Everything will be different soon.' The thought flew through her mind without warning, and she shivered as though possessed. "Jeez..." She murmured and took a long drag of the sweet smoke, shaking her head and praying for rest to come quickly, after this she’d go and try to lay in her bed until sleep overtook her finally.

Running. Feet pounding the ground. Lungs shriveled and screaming for a full breath. Tears welled up in Veronica's eyes as she wind cut at her skin. In front of her, millions of faceless souls reached their hands out; grasping for her as she ran, seemingly suspended between them and what she ran from. The group was insistently whispering "Help. Help us." Veronica turned around, slowing a fraction. Behind her there was a plume of green smoke billowing out of an unseen source, threatening to take her mind and steal her heart if she got too close. The entities in front of her were murmuring "Please help us" "We need you". With each pleading moan their voices grew; louder and louder until their words were a guttural, rasping cacophony of screams. And just as suddenly as they appeared, they were gone and replaced by deafening silence. The air seemed to be holding its breath, and Veronica turned to see the smoke gone as well, leaving her alone in the blackness.

Upon waking, Veronica gasped and clutched her heart, which was fighting to escape her chest with each beat. “Fuck!” She exclaimed and looked around her room. In the darkness she saw everything was normal, her desk and computer stood in front of her and no one occupied the chair in the corner to her relief. She took her phone from the nightstand and saw that it was only 6:20am. “Man, screw this.” She burrowed back under the black covers and pulled them over her head.

The next time she awoke- gentle sunlight streamed in through the half open curtains and her eyes fluttered open. Checking her phone, it was now 10:42am, and relief filled her. Looking underneath the time she saw a message from her co-worker and good friend, Joey Hudson. It read “Come to your shift ready for some bull today!” Veronica sighed, typing out her response “Always do!”

Soon enough, Olive jumped onto her bed and sat, giving her an impatient look. “Alright you little beast, I’ll get up.” She smiled at her furry friend and swung her feet over the side, striding into the kitchen and grabbing the cat food while also setting her coffee pot to brew.

In about 20 minutes- she was sitting on her balcony with a hot cup of mostly cream and sugar with a little coffee, and a quickly rolled joint. ‘Please let today go by quickly...:’ she prayed to no one in particular. Her work outfit looked creased from not being washed recently, and she knew Sheriff Whitehorse would have something to say about that. ‘After this joint I should probably get going.’ V thought, looking through the balcony windows at the clock.

Veronica stepped into the grey/white walled sheriff’s office; seeing Nancy at the front desk on the phone, examining her long nails disinterestedly. She gave her a quick wave before heading back to Sheriff Earl Whitehorse’s office, where a commotion could be heard.

“I don’t care how scared of him all you backwoods hicks are, where I’m from we get shit done!” An aggressive man declared, venom dripping from his words. ‘This must be the aforementioned bullshit Hudson mentioned.’ Veronica sighed before pasting a professional smile over her frown and stepping into the room. “You’ve got no right to just come in here like-” Hudson’s confident voice was absorbed by the same angry voice that had started the yelling, “Oh I’ve got every right missy. Know why? Because I’m a federal marshal, and what I say goes.” The tension in the air was malleable. Between Hudson glaring daggers at the stranger and Whitehorse’s dejected look, Ronnie knew she had just walked into a shitstorm. “Woah, let’s take it down a notch okay?” She said, directed at the man in front of her. He was of a bulkier build, and his stance said he was used to having things his way or the highway. “Oh great, another dumbass deputy to deal with! Sheriff, get your team and your shit together.” The man pushed past Veronica and Joey, shouldering his way out of the room. “Nice to meet you too!” The youngest deputy called before turning back to Hudson and Whitehorse. “So, who pissed in his cheerios?”

Hudson just shook her head angrily, as Whitehorse replied grimly “Joseph Seed.”

“That pastor who’s been causing trouble in Hope County?”

“That’s the one. He’s formed some kind of militia and is kidnapping folks… I’d get yourselves ready, because as soon as the judge fills that warrant we’re all going to pick him up.”

V met his words with an incredulous look, retorting “He’s bad enough that we all get to join Captain Sunshine there on a simple warrant like that? I mean, every time we’ve had to deal with him and his followers it’s never seemed that severe.” Hudson spoke up, pulling her phone from her pocket and presenting a video “Look for yourself. Someone sent this in a couple days ago.”

Grainy footage showed a tall, shirtless man in aviators preaching to a flock of similarly dressed people. The video zoomed in on the man’s chilling blue eyes; and the camera suddenly fell to the ground, showing the owner of the device being dragged forward and put on his knees before the preacher. In a casual manner he reached forward and placed his thumbs against the man’s eyes, pressing while his victim’s screams grew louder and more pained. Soon the man fell to the ground, and Joseph flicked the blood from his hands as though it were water. Veronica’s eyebrows raised in surprise as the scene was cut off and a new image appeared on the screen.

The recording was now taking place outside. There was a sizable wooden stage and Joseph stood in the center, a large curtain obscuring what was on a stand behind him. “My children, we must repent for our sins!” Joseph called while pulling the curtain down with some flourish. Veronica gasped in shock upon seeing the man from before who’d had his eyes crushed. He was lifted up onto a wooden pole, his eyes had been replaced by a white flower in each eye socket. Looking down his body- it was clear someone had mutilated his chest cavity as well, carving out space for a bouquet of the same flowers. On both sides of his head antlers had been impaled into his skull, where dried blood decorated the base of each antler in grotesque detail.

When the video finally faded to black, Veronica handed the phone back to Joey. “Wow, I’m glad I didn’t have anything heavy for breakfast.” She deadpanned, shaking her head. “This is a mistake, we need more people.” Whitehorse murmured and walked out of the room with an exasperated look. “Old man’s taking this real hard… I think he saw something real messed up on the last call out to Joseph’s compound.” Hudson looked after him with worry clear on her face. The other deputy nodded, unable to clear the images from the video from her mind. “Even though he’s clearly an ass, maybe the Marshal is right and we’ll just go snatch him up real quick.”

“Hopefully..” Hudson murmured and left the office as well, leaving Veronica alone.

The rest of the day- Marshal Cameron Burke holed up in a back office making heated phone calls, trying to find a judge to sign his warrant. V spent most of the day riding with another deputy, Staci Pratt. Veronica couldn’t stand Pratt, so every call they went on was a chore. However, the shift was finally drawing to a close as the pair pulled up once more at the station.

As soon as they walked in the door, Burke was on them. “You two, I suggest getting some rest tonight, because I found a judge. Once I’ve gathered everything I need, we’ll be flying out to Joseph’s compound.” Veronica checked the clock in the lobby, nodding “Well it’s 9 now, when are we leaving?” The Marshal sighed, as though responding was a chore, “We leave when I call and tell you we’re leaving.” V narrowed her eyes while crossing her arms, “You know, I’m not sure what your problem is, but don’t talk to me like that. You’re an adult, not a petty child, act like it.” The federal marshal was shocked someone had stood up to him, and unsure what to say. Seizing the opportunity to make her escape before her mouth got her into more trouble, Ronnie rushed past the man, shaking her head. ‘What an asshole!’ She thought as she punched numbers into the timeclock, hurrying out of the building without further incident.

About 20 minutes later, Veronica was speeding down the winding country roads in her beat up Mazda Miata. The roads were entirely empty, save for a deer she saw on the side of the road while taking the next turn. Upon rounding the corner- a large flare of light and an earth-shaking explosion caused her to slam on the brakes. “What the hell…” She peered out of the window. “Guess I should go check on that.. being an officer of the law and all…” Her murmured words were enveloped by another explosion, causing her to jump. Some days the job of a deputy wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

Ronnie had finally reached the area where the explosions had been coming from, after breaking several traffic laws to get there. Stepping out of the car, she drew her gun and took a preliminary look around the clearing. There were almost cartoon-worthy scorch marks on the ground that had wiped away any sense of greenery on the ground, but no one seemed to be around. V kept the gun at her side and started her sweep of the area. Right as she was going to start heading back to her car to report this to the station, she heard someone walking through the woods to her left. “Note to self, don’t light the fuse before you’re ready to have it blow up..” She heard someone mutter to themselves before she yelled “Freeze! Who are you and what’re you doing here?” A man of medium build walked out of the treeline, holding his hands in the classic ‘I surrender’ style. He wore a green sweatshirt, and a matching ballcap. “Charlemange Victor Boshaw at your service ma’am, I apologise for the bother-”

“You describe an explosion as a ‘bother’?” Veronica interrupted, gun staying trained on him.

“Well yeah. It sure bothered me that it exploded.”

“May I ask what you were exploding?”

“So my totally awesome cousin Hurk gave me some dynamite that he made himself, and of course being a good buddy I told him I would try it out! Well, silly me I didn’t realise that Hurk only knows how to make short-fused dynamite! So when I went to light it, it exploded preemptively so that’s why there’s those scorch marks… ma’am.”

Veronica cocked her head to the side, giving the man an incredulous look, “Would you be offended if I said that was the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard?” He thought about it for a moment before responding sincerely “Nope.” The deputy nodded, saying “Well I appreciate the honesty! Unfortunately, I’ve gotta call the station for this one.” She fished her badge from her pocket. The man crossed his arms, asking “Well what exactly are the charges?”

“Uhm… detonation of an explosive device and illegal possession for one.”

“I supposed I can’t argue with that.” He said amiably, watching Veronica reach for her radio off the utility belt she still hadn’t removed after work.

The pair sat on the curb together, one handcuffed one not. “So you’re the Sharky Boshaw?” Ronnie asked, giving him a mischievous smile. Sharky grinned and shrugged modestly “The one and only!”

“You’re a legend around the station, I’m surprised I haven’t seen you before! Out of curiosity… why choose this spot for blowing shit up?”

“Well I was actually on my way to the store when I saw this spot and thought to myself ‘That would be a good field to set off some fireworks’. Then I remembered Hurk had put his stuff in my backseat, and that dynamite is just a less pretty firework, so here we are!”

When his story was finished, V gave him a look that was part amused, part withering glance. “I can’t tell if you’re joking.” He shrugged with a lackadaisical smile. Before either of them could continue the conversation, a light brown Crown Vic pulled up and the sirens on the roof let out a quick whoop before one of the night shift deputies stepped out. “Hey Veronica! Boshaw, the backseat’s ready for you!” He said, helping Sharky stand and turn towards the car. Veronica stood with him, and gave a curt nod to her coworker, “Thanks for coming out, Sam.”

Finally after that detour, V was almost home. It was a relatively long drive back and forth, but she didn’t mind it. Working with Sheriff Whitehorse was worth it since she’d known him almost half of her life. Veronica and her mom had moved to Hope County when she was only 12, her mom found work as an officer and then an office administrator for Earl until Nancy came along and gave her mom the chance to take her pension, and start a new job as a conservation officer at a small national park nearby called Polebridge.

The actual sheriff’s office was in Missoula, about two hours away from Hope County, making Veronica’s drive home take about an hour since she lived practically in between the two.

Keeping her eyes on the road, she dug one-handed through her purse for her phone. Once it was in hand she said “Hey Google, call Mom.” and a soft chirp came from the device, processing the demand before dialing. Three rings in- a cheery voice answered. “Hey sweetie!”

“Hey, mom, I just had a question?”

“Sure what’s up?”

She paused, rethinking her request for a moment. In that second, her nightmare from last night danced through her thoughts and her mind was made up. “Oh um, well I’m going out on a warrant tonight, and I was wondering if you could watch Olive for me? It’s probably nothing, I just had a weird feeling.”

“Of course! I’d love to see my grandkitty! I’m glad you know when to listen to your gut.”

“Well I learned from the best! I just got home now, can I pack her up and head over?”

“That’s fine! I’ll be here for a bit. Can I plan on you staying for dinner?”

“Uh… yeah that’ll work, I don’t have any plans. I’ll see you soon, love you!”

“Love you too!”

The line disconnected with a click as Veronica pulled into her driveway and stepped out of the car, fetching her keys from the caribinger she kept it on. As she approached the door, she heard insistent meowing on the other side. “I’m comin’…” She chuckled and pushed the door open to reveal Olive, who immediately rushed to hug her legs as she stepped over the threshold. “Hey monster, ready to see grandma?” She asked in a baby voice and grinned at her, reaching down to pick her up. As soon as she did- the cat clambered up to her shoulder and balanced precariously “Why are you like this?” She joked, removing her before making her way to the hallway closet and pulling out the cat carrier and a half-full bag of cat food.

Once she’d put a few more odds and ends into an overnight bag, she took out her decorative, pink bong and loaded a bowl. The water bubbled and pure white smoke filled the center chamber as she lit the greenery in the bowl. After coughing her lungs up for a few moments she set the glass piece on the table and stood up, “Okay, now we can go!” She declared and bundled Olive and all her things into the Miata.

In a quick 15 minutes- the two of them pulled up in front of her mom’s. It was a tidy ranch style home, painted robin’s egg blue with crisp white shutters. V knocked on the door, Olive’s carrier in one hand.

Her mom answered the door with a sweet smile on her features, immediately wrapping the deputy in a tight hug, “Hi Ronnie!” She exclaimed before pulling back. “Hi mom!” She responded and stepped through the door, setting Olive down. Sarah Rook looked like an older version of Veronica except her hair was a chestnut brown as opposed to V’s dirty blonde; they shared aquamarine eyes and a light spattering of freckles.

The younger woman pulled the zipped and freed the hyper cat, who immediately jumped from containment to survey her surroundings. “Someone’s impatient!” Her mom chuckled and watched the cat sprint off into the hallway. “She takes after me I guess.” Veronica smiled and inhaled deeply, “Is that steaks and mac and cheese I smell?”

“Well I thought I’d at least fatten you up before you leave tonight.” Her mom said and ushered her into the dining room. There was a round white table there that was joined by a tall china cabinet filled with memorabilia. The places had already been set, two red and white checkered table mats sat across from each other at the corresponding seats and the silverware was laid out neatly. “Sounds good to me, I’m starving!” Veronica took a seat and watched her mom buzzing about the kitchen as she put the finishing touches on their meals.

Once everything was done, the table was filled with food. A bowl of salad in the middle, with a basket of rolls to the side. Their plates were adorned with juicy t-bone steaks, mac and cheese, and potato salad. “I knew there was a reason I hadn’t put you in a nursing home…” V joked as she savored a bite of the rare steak, just how she liked it. Her mother scoffed, and took a sip of water, “As if you could.” They both shared a smile and then turned to see Olive padding into the room, her head in the air as she scented the air. “What a brat.” Veronica said as she jumped up on the table expectantly. “You did say she took after you!” Her mom retorted, picking up the naughty cat and setting her on the floor. “So, what’s this warrant you’re going on?”

“Mom, you know I’m not supposed to divulge any details...”

“Oh please, I used to be in the game, and still kind of am. I worked for Whitehorse long before you did, I don’t think I need to be counted as a citizen.” She said, rolling her eyes. Veronica looked uneasy as she considered it for a moment, then relented; “It’s some doomsday cult leader… Joseph Seed. Something about him really freaked me out.” She confessed, almost hanging her head. Being freaked out was not the norm for this deputy. “Why’s that?”

“I think it’s just his ability to brainwash all of these people… anyone who can do that has too much power. Also Earl is scared of him, which is weird. He’s usually so gungho about catching the bad guys, but he doesn’t even want to go on this warrant.”

“That’s certainly odd. I’ve never seen that man back down, there must be something seriously bad going on.” Her mom looked off, her brow furrowed in deep thought. “Hopefully this mission will just be in and out. That way I can get back to my baby!” She said the last part in a higher pitch, directing it at the cat, who was sitting in the window behind them. “I hope so too sweetie. People like him are the reason I’ve got a bunker.” Ronnie smirked, saying “Yeah you and everyone else in Hope County, it seems like.”

“It never hurts to be prepared!”

“I guess so.” She relented, standing and grabbing their dirty dishes.

After all the dishes were cleaned and hugs were shared, Veronica stretched and glanced at the clock which showed 10:45pm. “Man how’d it get so late so fast?” She mused and stroked Olive’s soft little head. “Hopefully a late dinner won’t give you any nightmares.” Her mother thought out loud and wrapped Veronica in another suffocating hug. “It was nice having dinner with you baby, I love you!” She smooched Ronnie on the cheek before pulling away and giving her a loving grin. “I had a good time, and the steaks were amazing. Thanks for having me over, I love you too!” She returned the kiss on the cheek and put her hand on the doorknob. As she stepped out her mother wished her luck on the warrant later, and then she was in her car once more.

20 minutes later, V was brushing her teeth, staring at herself in the mirror wearing a simple black night dress that fell to her thighs and was fringed with lace at the bottom. Long day… who knows when that asshole Burke is gonna call me.’ She thought, spitting out the toothpaste and wiping her mouth with the back of her arm. As she flopped into bed, the black sheets felt cold without Olive’s presence, but she felt it was for the best. It was 11:11pm as she glanced at the clock. “Make a wish…” She murmured while her eyes shut, the feeling of a full stomach lulling her to sleep.

A blaring ringing tore through the dark silence in Veronica’s bedroom. It was her phone, blasing her generic android ringtone. Her eyes snapped open and she grasped for her phone, having to blink the bleariness away before seeing that it was Hudson calling her. She looked at the clock for the second time that night to see only two hours had passed, making it around 1am. She slid the green answer icon across the screen and answered, her voice thick with annoyance, “Hello?” Instead of Joey’s pleasant voice, she was met with Marshal Cameron Burke’s gruff one, “Rook, get your ass up and get dressed. We’re executing this warrant now.”

“Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“Yeah, time to arrest that asshole Joseph Seed.” Burke practically shouted, and then Veronica was met with a dial tone. She scoffed, pulling the phone from her ear to look at it and see only her lock screen, a photo of Olive in a taco costume. “Guess I’m getting ready.” She grumbled and turned on the lamp sitting on her nightstand. The light flooded every corner of the room, forcing V to squint as she flipped the covers off and walked over to a chair in the corner of the room that was covered with clothes and blankets. She snatched her green work button up before finding a tank top and some jeans. On top of her dresser, she eyed her jewelry box and plucked out a rose gold heart-shaped locket with a matching chain. It was engraved ‘To Veronica, Love nana’ Once she was dressed, she buckled her utility belt and hurried down the stairs to the front door.

Something forced her to stop and take a look at the open plan townhome. All was calm and nothing stirred in the living room, yet she felt eerie as she left. Almost like she was abandoning her castle. She shook her head, shaking the thought off and stepping through the door to lock it. As she was walking to the car she pulled out her wallet from her back pocket, it was a replica of the one used in Pulp Fiction that said ‘BAD MOTHERFUCKER’ on the side. She opened the zippered secret pocket, pulling out a faded scrap of paper. On it was written ‘Good luck on your first day! -Mom’. She’d slipped her that on her first day at the sheriff’s department. At the time, V had laughed and said “I’m not a kid!” But stowed it away nonetheless as a good luck charm. A sudden, bone-chilling breeze whipped across the land, forcing a shiver to wrack her body. Veronica stepped into her car, feeling like this was going to be a long night.

The deputy’s hands clenched the steering wheel- frustration written all over her features. She’d already been to the station only to get redirected to some field by Nancy, who was the only one not joining this adventure. Apparently the sheriff had asked her to come in and man the scanner, just in case things got out of hand and they needed to call reinforcements. Ronnie shook her head as she saw Hudson, Whitehorse, Pratt, and Burke standing in front of a matte black helicopter that had a badge on the side. Upon walking up to join them, Veronica called “Well this is fancy!” Staci stepped up next to the marshal, exclaiming “Yeah, the feds decided to help us out on this one!” He clapped Burke on the shoulder- earning him a heated glare. “Anyways… everyone pile in. Hudson, you’re flying us.” The grumpy man got to the point, motioning everyone into the copter.

In no time they were in the air, flying to Joseph’s Compound on an island in the middle of Hope County. Veronica looked at the screen of the gps in the front, searching for the time. She found that it was 2:37am, and asked “So what exactly is the benefit of going to get him so late?” Cameron replied- his voice dripping with unearned confidence “The benefit, Rook, is catching him by surprise.” As Ronnie was about to speak up, Pratt cut in with, “You don’t catch men like Joseph Seed off guard.”

At that moment Joey spoke up, “Crossing the Henbane now.” Everyone looked out of the wide windows, only to catch sight of a perfect rendition of Joseph Seed’s face captured forever in stone in way of a towering monolith. “Crazy motherfucker…” Burke murmured, his gaze held by the monument. “Jesus Christ.. we’re officially in peggie country.” Hudson shook her head before looking back to the skies. “You know, they call this Angel’s Peak. It’s a holy place for them.” Pratt said, sounding almost wistful.

“How much longer?” Cameron asked.

“Just long enough for you to change your mind so we can turn this bird around.” Whitehorse insisted. “You want me to ignore a federal warrant, sheriff?” Burke scoffed.

“No sir, I want you to understand the reality of this situation. Joseph Seed… he’s not a man to be fucked with. We’ve had a few run ins with him before and it hasn’t always gone our way. Sometimes.. sometimes it’s better to just leave well enough alone.”

Burke scoffed, lifting up the warrant. “Yeah, well we have laws for a reason; and Joseph Seed’s gonna learn that.” Instead of replying to that, the sheriff radioed Nancy to make sure she was still there, and told her that if she didn’t hear from them in 15 minutes to call backup. V looked down and saw a white church surrounded by other smaller buildings, she was mystified. The whole situation didn’t even seem real. ‘Maybe it’s just because it’s late and I haven’t gotten any good rest lately.’ She thought, trying to comfort herself. Somehow it didn’t help.

“So what’s with calling them ‘peggies’? I’ve never heard anyone at the station call them that.” Veronica asked, hoping to lighten the mood. “Project Eden’s Gate. P. E. G. It’s what the locals call them.” Earl explained. Somehow she knew he was trying to distract himself as well.

As they got closer, it was obvious there were people everywhere. “So much for taking him by surprise.” She muttered, shaking her head and thinking ‘I could be asleep right now.’ The helicopter jerked slightly as it landed on the ground, the blades whirling to a stop. All of them exited the bird, taking in their surroundings. Peggies surrounded them on all sides and the compound had as many as 12 buildings; dorms, a barn, and various other houses. The cult members regarded them suspiciously, casting daggers their ways and muttering insults. Ronnie looked to her left as they walked down the main path, there was a man wielding a flamethrower and keeping a pire of fire sufficiently lit. “They don’t fuck around…” V commented, her brow furrowed.

The group made their way into a fenced corridor topped with an arch that said ‘Church of Eden’s Gate’ with the cross adorning the center. As they walked, a creaking then metal clanging could be heard behind them, causing Veronica to whip around only to witness them closing the gate behind them. “Why are they closing the gate?” Joey asked, looking to her partners for answers but receiving nothing. They approached the door to the church and could hear a choir of members singing a hymn as Whitehorse motioned for them to hold up. “Going in there, we do this my way, quietly.” He said sternly, mainly for Burke’s benefit. Cameron smirked and put a hand on Earl’s shoulder, “Relax sheriff. You’re about to get your name in the papers.” Veronica couldn’t help but shake her head, something was wrong here.

As the white double doors swung inward, V took in the scene and was enthralled. Joseph was standing at the front of the church delivering a sermon, “Something is coming… you can feel it can’t you? We are creeping towards the edge, and there will be a reckoning. Because we know what happens next; they will come for us… to take from us. Take our guns, take our freedom, take our faith. We will not let them!” The church patrons were captured by his presence, hanging on every word.

The deputy, marshal, and sheriff made their way to the platform Joseph stood on. White candles surrounded him, casting a holy glow on his features. “We will not let their greed, their morality, or their depravity hurt us anymore!” The preacher’s voice grew as Marshal Burke reached him and held the paper warrant aloft. Whitehorse murmured “Goddammit…” and Cameron said forcefully “Joseph Seed, we have here a warrant for your arrest, under suspicion of kidnapping with intent to harm. I’m gonna need you to step down with your hands where I can see them, and come with us.” Veronica noticed three figures she hadn’t seen practically melting out of the shadows to stand behind The Father.

“Here they are, the locusts in our garden. They’ve come to take me from you, to destroy all we’ve built!” The peggies started to converge around Joseph, their voices joining together as they objected. He parted through them, his calm demeanor quieting their shouts. “We knew they would come. This is what we’ve prepared for. Go…” He sent them off and came to stand in front of the pews, raising his hands up. “I saw the lamb of the first seal and I heard the noise as if of thunder as one of four beasts sang ‘Come, see’-”

Cameron cut him off, “Step forward!” Joseph stepped closer- undertered from preaching, “And I saw and behold, it was a white horse... and Hell followed with him.” He finished while looking from Earl to Ronnie and finally holding out his hands, a worn brown rosary dangled from his wrist. “Rook, cuff this son of a bitch.” Burke growled.

V stepped forward, about to pull out her cuffs when the people behind him caught her eye once more. She recognised them to be his family. From right to left; there was a gruff looking man with scar tissue climbing up his side, next to him a beautiful young woman wearing no shoes and a lacey, floral dress. Veronica’s gaze lingered on her a moment before she took in the last figure- a tall man wearing an expensive looking duster. His piercing stare found hers and she felt as though he was seeing straight into her soul. Ice filled her veins and she froze in place, suddenly feeling like a gazelle who had just realised the lion was upon her but only when it was already too late. There was so much animosity in the man’s eyes, like he hated her for even thinking of taking his brother.

“Earth to Veronica.” Burke’s annoyed voice snapped her from the trance she was in, causing her to shiver before finally producing the cuffs. The metal clinked around Joseph’s small wrists, and right as she was about to secure the second ring, he turned his hand to grip her wrist tightly and V looked into his eyes. “God will not let you take me.” He said calmly without an ounce of doubt. “Good thing God doesn’t get to decide in the end.” She retorted before shaking off his hand and slapping the final cuff on with a resounding click.

As they walked out the church doors with Joseph in cuffs, armed peggies started to surround them. “Back up!” Hudson yelled, taking lead. Burke pushed a woman down when she got too close, and the crowd became more riled up, closing in as they walked to the helicopter. Soon, they started throwing rocks at the group and screaming, trying to defend their Father. The whole time Joseph stayed eerily silent, even as they were getting into the copter. Pratt fired off a few warning shots to the cultists that were trying to mob the vehicle, Veronica and Burke pushed a few of them from the copter as they gained height, yet the peggies continued trying to swarm them.

One of the cultists did something, because the helicopter went into a tailspin, and the engine sputtered. Joseph looked skyward and began singing Amazing Grace, his tone calm despite the chaos. They made impact with a tree, then another and everyone but Joseph was screaming, their lives flashing before their eyes. Upon impact, the whole world cut out and everything was black.

Veronica’s eyes opened, and the world spun in streamers of color. Nancy’s frantic voice could be heard over the ringing in her ears, she was yelling into the helicopter’s headphones. She looked around and saw Burke across from her, dangling by his seatbelt, Earl was next to him, doubled over; and Joey was to her right. She tried to take in a deep breath and sputtered on thick smoke that was no doubt coming from the engine. Before V could swing forward and grab the headset to alert Nancy, she was pushed lightly back into her seat by a battered Joseph Seed. He smiled at her softly, grabbing the headset on his own while maintaining eye contact. “I told you that God wouldn’t let you take me…” He murmured soothingly. “We’ll see about that…” Veronica persisted. He shook his head and spoke into the headset mic, “Dispatch? Everything is just fine here. Call no one.” Veronica scoffed, ‘Surely Nancy will know something is wrong-’ The thought began to cross her mind before she heard her last hope’s response: “Yes, Father. Praise be to you.” Her mouth dropped open in shock and horror, watching the man she came to apprehend smirk before whispering “No one is coming to save you.”

He climbed from the wreckage and met a handful of his flock, reassuring them in a hushed tone. V started to struggle against her seatbelt, which was stuck fast. “Fuck, fuck, fuck..” She muttered and beat at the clip. Her companions began to wake and she turned to see Joseph standing on the hood of a car, his hands raised as he delivered an impromptu sermon, “The first seal is broken… now we must take what we need, for this world will be no more. We must stop all those that stand in our way- including these harbingers of doom. Begin the reaping!” He screamed the last sentence into the night air, his followers cheering.

They swarmed the copter for the second time that night, Veronica, Joey, and the others squirmed trying to get free. Hudson freed herself finally, only to be savagely pulled from the wreckage kicking and screaming. “Joey!” Veronica yelled, reaching after her only to just miss her hand. More peggies ran over and were about to reach in, when a ring of flames surrounded them instead. “Fuck!” V exclaimed, pulling frantically at her seatbelt. Burke was able to free himself and dash out of the small opening in the wall of fire. Heat was searing her skin and desperation made her claw at the restraint harder and harder, finally the belt snapped and she tumbled forward to what used to be the roof of the vehicle. Ronnie caught herself just barely and found herself sprinting away into the foreboding woods.

Branches whipped at her face, scratching her cheeks and forcing her to hold her hands out in front of her. Not far behind, the men who hunted her yelled, “She’s escaping! Grab her!” Emotions overwhelmed her; panic, fear, anger, confusion. “Goddammit give me a break!” She huffed, breath ragged from sprinting. She spotted a soft light in the distance, a campfire. V ducked behind a thick tree trunk- whipping her head around in both directions wildly, adrenaline and fear coursing through her. The angry voices were distant enough for her to turn and survey the campsite.

There were two lawn chairs on either side of the fire, and a cabin beyond that. One of the cultists patrolled the perimeter, both hands on his handgun. She caught sight of a sizable branch in front of the fire, and knew what she had to do. Ronnie crept forward on the balls of her feet, trying to avoid any stray twigs as she made her way to the branch. Finally she was there, taking the worn wood in her hands and feeling the weight of it. ‘This should do..’ She thought with a grim look. The deputy continued forward, waiting for just the right moment to slip behind the guard. Veronica gripped the bat harder and was about to swing when the guard turned around, surprise on his features. She wasted no time slamming the branch down on his head with a crack as he turned his gun towards her. The first blow slowed him- and for good measure she delivered the finishing blow. Through the branch, she could feel his skull give and an initial spray of blood shot from the wound, flecking V’s face in red freckles. She gasped and looked down to see his body twitch twice more before stilling, his heart steadily pumping out his life force.

Veronica felt cold as she watched the light drain from his eyes, shock starting to take over. She’d never actually killed anyone before. The world faded back piece by piece as she grabbed the man’s gun, and more screams came from the woods. She had to keep moving. A small drop off into the woods was her escape, and she crouched in the ferns on the woodland floor. There was another fire in the distance, and her enemies were scouring the area for her and Burke.

Suddenly- her radio crackled, causing her to jump and grab it from her belt to muffle the speaker. “Hello? Hello.. it’s Burke… I think I lost them.. I see a trailer ahead across a bridge and I’m going to try to get inside. If anyone is still alive, if anyone is out there...” The signal was lost and it cut out. “Well I guess that’s where I’m going.” V sighed, and started slowly making her way through the woods. She passed the second fire, narrowly avoiding detection by two guards standing there. From there, she ascended a small hill that led to the bridge the marshal had mentioned. It creaked as she took to the wooden planks, practically crawling her way to the other end. When she got there, a white trailer with a green roof stoof in front of her. There were steps leading up to the back door which she pushed open cautiously, eyes darting side to side straining to catch any movement in the darkened abode.

As soon as she cleared the door Burke was to her left, hands out and ready to attack. Veronica grabbed his arms, stopping him in midair before he regonised her. “Oh my god, Rook… you’re alive!” He cried with relief. “Yeah, no thanks to you, asshole. You left me to die back there!” She scoffed, glaring daggers at him. “I… It was just fight or flight, I was-” He struggled to defend himself.

“It doesn’t matter. Whitehorse told you this was a bad idea, this is your fault no matter what you have to say.” Ronnie cut him off, pointing an accusatory finger at him. When he had no retort she continued, “Now we have to find a way out of this shit show, and to rescue the others. Did you have a plan?” Burke sighed, walking further into the trailer, motioning for her to follow. The walls were wood panelled, and words were scratched into most of the walls; ‘The Father’, ‘Walk the path’, along with other mantras and bible verses. Pictures were also posted all over the spots that had no words. They all depicted the members of the Seed family in various poses and situations. One such picture was a framed portrait of all of them, Cameron grabbed this and stared into their eyes. He looked haunted.

“The plan is to put all of these fuckers in jail. No matter what it takes.” He gathered himself before tossing it on the table and going to point out of one of the front windows. “To get out of here, I was thinking I could try to hotwire that truck, unless the keys are in it. It’s probably only a couple hours back to Missoula, then we’re gonna come back here with the National fucking Guard, and take care of these lunatics.”

“Fine, let’s just get out of here before-” Veronica was cut off by a shot ringing out, and one of the windows behind her shattering into a spray of glass. “They’re in there!” Screamed a man, and more shots were fired at the trailer. “These guys just don’t give up!” She exclaimed, exasperated. Burke took shelter against one of the walls, pulling out his gun to fend off the attackers. V scanned the room and found a gun mounted on the wall, she grabbed it and cocked it before crouching under the shattered window, sitting up to aim outside. There were four peggies firing at them. She took aim at the first, shooting him square in the chest and knocking him to the ground. Burke took out one on the other side then turned to say “Cover me! I’m gonna go get that truck started!” Veronica nodded curtly before turning to shoot out the window twice more.

Even more cultists were arriving at the scene and taking up arms, it seemed almost hopeless. V fired shot after shot, taking out as many as she could until she finally heard the sweet roar of an engine, and Cameron shouted for her to join him in the truck. “Finally, fuck!” She gasped, dashing from the trailer and ripping open the door to the vehicle. “Let’s fucking go!” He yelled while she slammed the door and immediately leaned out of the window to shoot at the peggies behind them. Burke careened down the simple dirt road, Veronica shooting at their enemies as they approached a chain link fence and busted through the gate with no problem, then they were crossing a bridge to the main road.

Burke was gasping, close to panic, while V just felt numb. ‘Shock must be setting in, great.’ She thought distantly. “God, I had no idea Rook. I didn’t know how bad it was, how right Whitehorse was… I wish we’d never served that warrant.” He rambled, glancing between the deputy and the road. “It’s too late for wishes, Burke… they’ve got the road blocked!” She exclaimed at the sight before her; peggies had their trucks and sawhorses blocking off the next section of street. She lifted her gun once more, shooting at them while Cameron swerved wildly to avoid the obstacles. One of the cultists to their right set off a flare, letting the rest of them know where they were.

The pair crashed through another barricade, and Ronnie kept shooting at the people pursuing them that were in an identical looking truck. “We aren’t losing them marshal!” She shouted. “Alright, I guess we gotta try something else.” He huffed before taking the truck off road, almost going airborne as they crashed through a wooden fence. Blinding headlights were blazing behind them as more and more peggies joined the chase. Veronica happened to glance in the bed, and spotted some red sticks. “Oh fuck yeah.” She chuckled, reaching out of the window and grabbing a stick before producing her simple purple lighter that had miraculously stayed in her pocket. She lit the fuse on the dynamite, squinting her eyes as the cord came to life and the flame hissed. V chucked it at one of the trucks behind them, causing a loud boom and fire bloomed from the wreckage. “Shit! That’s pretty satisfying.” She commented, turning to Burke who still looked too scared to be impressed.

After lighting a couple more sticks and tossing them out, causing some major chaos, they found themselves about to go under an overpass. Right before they passed underneath, a sleek white plane flew out of the clouds and began shooting at them, hitting some green crates on the side of the road only for them to explode. Keying into this as they finally passed under the bridge, she fired quickly at the crates scattered around an upcoming roadblock, sending people flying in every direction. “A plane, are you kidding me?” Burke yelled and pounded a fist against the wheel.

A gargantuan bridge waited on the other side of the roadblock, there was a sign mounted near the top that read ‘Henbane River Bridge’. As they raced across, Cameron took a deep breath before saying “Home free, after this we are home free!” Veronica wasn’t so sure as more planes swooped overhead, and suddenly a high-pitched whistling could be heard getting closer and closer, before V yelled “Bomb!!” and orange flames whooshed across the bridge, enveloping their truck and sending them tumbling into the river below.

The vehicle was in a freefall with chunks of concrete, the river’s waters rushing up to meet them. Neither of them had time to say anything before they made impact. Veronica was incapacitated for a moment and when her eyes opened they were underwater, trapped once again. She saw Burke across from her pounding on the window, shattering it on his third try and swimming up to the top, leaving her to drown. Ronnie gathered together her last bits of energy, slamming her elbow into the passenger side window until it finally broke, and she maneuvered her way from the descending car. Her arms flailed as her lungs screamed, daring her to take a breath before breaching the surface, and then it went black.

Not too long later, her eyes snapped open and she grasped at the wet silt underneath her, she was on the shore. On the bridge there were countless flashlights casted down upon the water, looking for her. She heard Marshal Burke yelling off in the distance, and saw a group of peggies pulling him away as he shouted “I am a federal marshal! You can’t do this!” Veronica tried to get the will to get up and run, knowing she was next; but her muscles screamed with exhaustion and wouldn’t cooperate. She was able to lift herself to crawl maybe a foot before collapsing once more, staring up at the sky and trying to accept that this was the end.

A figure came into her field of vision and the barrel of a shotgun was dangerously close to her head, she didn’t even have the energy to protest as the person lifted her over their shoulder with a grunt, and began carrying her through the woods. Her vision faded in and out, allowing her to see them pass by a radio tower and then a cabin, only to walk down some metal stairs. Then she could fight no more; and everything went black.

#my writing #veronica rook #john seed #joseph seed #faith seed #jacob seed #earl whitehorse #staci pratt #joey hudson #cameron burke #sharky boshaw #fc5 #far cry 5 #...and hell followed with him #ahfwh

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octannibal-blake · 7 years ago

Text

sad songs for dirty lovers 1/4

by: bellamysdelinquent rating: mature word count: 15,005 part: 1/4

based on a prompt from @whyclarke from months ago.

special thanks to @pensieve-foryour-thoughts for the awesome advice and edits!

part i. we have scars to cover

May 2013

When Clarke Griffin imagines how she thought her senior year of high school would go, she didn’t imagine it would begin with a severe back injury and losing her best friend. She didn’t imagine it would be filled with whispers in the hallway about how it was actually her fault, that if she hadn’t gotten shit faced drunk at a party, walked in on her boyfriend with his face between another girl’s legs, and called him to come get her, Wells Jaha would have been alive to walk across the stage and receive his high school diploma. He would be well on his way to Stanford to become the best lawyer in the United States. According to the same whispers in the hallway, she took that all away.

It took her a majority of the year to realize Wells’ death hadn’t been her fault, it was just the wrong place at the wrong time. It took some therapy, some nights spent in the sheets with whoever she could find that was willing (girls, boys, she learned a long time ago she didn’t care), and even more nights spent curled into her father's side, broken and afraid of the world. But she’s coping, or she’s trying, at least. In the fall she’ll be heading to Northwestern for her freshman year of college and to her, it’s a new beginning. It’s a new life.

Needless to say, the last thing she wants to do is spend her summer with her mother. Abigail Griffin is many things -- renowned surgeon, respected researcher, and benefactor to multiple non-profit organizations (though, Clarke knows this is more for image than for actually caring). Being a good mom? That’s not exactly in the same category. In fact, motherly skills is not something she could put on her list of accomplishments. Her parents divorced when she was ten years old, though it hadn’t come as a surprise. As far as Clarke is concerned, she was raised by her father. Her mom had spent countless hours at work, out of town for research shit and conferences and whatever else she could do to stay busy. Eventually, she decided to stay gone altogether. She moved to Boston, taking some prestigious job in a research center hoping to one day cure paralysis. Clarke and her dad stayed in Arkadia, the small town on the outskirts of Maryland. She had been fine with this arrangement.

But Jake Griffin ensured his daughter maintained some relationship with her mother, whether (it) be agreed visits over breaks or forced phone calls between the two of them to check in. She never liked them much, but it made her dad happy, so she would suffer on his behalf. Which is exactly how she finds herself in this predicament: currently standing in the middle of downtown Boston, lost and sweating her ass off. All because she loves her father.

“You need to get away from here,” he told her late last week, “And I know you’re going to Chicago in the fall, but it’s important for you to spend time with your mom.”

She had all but kicked and screamed to get out of it, though when asked she couldn’t provide any concrete reason not to go. She had learned to hate Arkadia and everyone in it, and she felt Wells’ ghost follow her everywhere she went, like some sort of reminder that she made it and he didn’t so she should be grateful. It’s the worst kind of haunted. She let him convince her, and in a moment of weakness, got on the plane.

She regrets it(coming to Boston), especially now that she’s become lost and is exactly the kind of person to refuse directions from anyone. When she arrived, her mom had been just as awkward as expected, but she has to give her credit for trying. She took the day off to show her around the city, give her a tour of the local hotspots and entertainment within walking distance. It turns out there are a lot of things within walking distance as her mom’s condo is located in the heart of Midtown. She isn’t surprised- Being a doctor means having money. Being a good doctor who is very well-known and respected? It means more having money than absolutely necessary. She can’t complain, she supposes. Her mom is at least paying for college. Some fucked up penance for child support over the years.

Their reunion had been short lived. The day after she arrived, Dr. Griffin had to go back to work and she’s only caught glimpses of her since. It’s been a whole week and she’s already to go the fuck home. She huffs in frustration as she turns the map in her hands again, trying to pinpoint exactly where she is. Realizing she just isn’t cut out for topography, she stuffs the map into her backpack and pulls out her phone, typing the nearest address into Google maps and finding her location. It’s a ten minute walk from the condo to her spot.

She’s making an effort to be active, even when all she wants to do is lie on her mom’s expensive sofa and binge watch Netflix on the big screen. That’s what she had done her first three days alone, wallowing in her own misery and silently cursing her father for putting this on her. But then she realized this is the first time she’s had true freedom and who the hell is she to sit around and waste it?

She checks out some of the local shops and galleries, feeling a particular pull to the small art studios. When she walks in, often times she’s ignored by the owner. They are, no doubt, pegging her to be some disruptive teen pretending to be a know it all for the sake of being pretentious. She feels a particular satisfaction when she asks the artist about their pieces and goes into a deep discussion of the technique and well-meaning behind them. She manages to walk away with invitations to local art shows and even the number of one of the shop owners. His name is Nyko, and she’s almost positive he was hitting on her. She’s also almost positive he’s in his thirties.

She stuffs the phone number into the back pocket of her jeans without a second thought and continues her journey around the city. She doesn’t get far before her stomach begins to growl aggressively. She tries to Google restaurants around the area, but decides instead to try out one of the food trucks parked on the curb. She finds one advertising a messy looking sandwich, filled with cheese and onions and her mouth practically drools. She steps up to the counter and orders. They prepare it fairly quickly and when she steps to the side to enjoy the Boston-take on the Philly Cheese Steak, she notices the looming building across the street.

Architecturally, it’s gorgeous, with ancient brick and large arched glass windows. Engraved at the top is: “Library of the City of Boston Built by the People and Dedicated to the Advancement of Learning”. It reminds her of something out of the Harry Potter books, if only for it’s long descriptive title It could have said Public Library and had the same effect.. She remembers hearing her mom mention the library to her in passing, saying she would bring her here to show her around and perhaps give her an early start on pre-med books. She had been less than excited about it. But now, as she stands outside without her mom, it actually seems quite interesting.

When walks in, she understands why it has such a fancy title. The inside is something out of a regency period novel, perhaps even something out of a castle in kingdoms long ago. A soft, sand colored marble graces the floors and the walls, shining brightly as though they had just been polished. The ceiling arches over them, engraved with elegant designs and paints. Pillars are placed sporadically through the entrance hall, making it seem more daunting than anything. She runs her hands along the walls, where art flows freely around and up the stairs. She moves between galleries, admiring their respective themes and Googling any piece that seems unfamiliar. She likes knowing artists- It’s kind of her thing.

She isn’t sure how long she spends gazing at all the pieces, recognizing some from her high school art history classes and others from her dad’s old art books. She’s completely zoned out when someone startles her.

“This panel represents epic poetry,” a deep voice says from behind her, “it represents Homer, the author of The Iliad and The Odyssey. They’re crowning him.”

She turns to snap at the person who had taken it upon himself to pretentiously explain the art piece to her, but stops when she sees a nameplate, gold plated and bold name, staring back at her. She pauses, taking a good look at the owner of said nametag and notes he can’t be much older than her. Based on the BU hoodie he has paired with his well-ironed khakis, he’s a college student. And he works here.

He nods at the painting, “It’s by an artist named ---”

“Puvis de Chavannes,” she finishes for him, “I know.”

It comes out a little sharper than she intends, but he seems not to mind. Instead, he moves to stand next to her and pulls her attention back to the other panels, “So, I’m assuming I don’t need to explain these to you, either?”

He’s looking at her with a crooked smile and renewed interest. He had clearly not been expecting her to know. It isn’t common pop culture knowledge by any means. She takes a good look at him, admiring the freckles that pepper his nose and the way his dark hair is all chaos in curls. When she locks eyes with him, dark, chocolate orbs, gleaming with something that almost looks like excitement. Like he truly enjoys talking about art history. She decides to humor him.

“No,” she says finally, “But I guess it’s your job to explain it to me, so go ahead.”

He laughs, and she finds she likes the way it sounds. It’s deep, rich, and sends a small tingle up her spine.

He then launches into a grandiose explanation of the rest of the panels, talking passionately with his hands about each piece and their historical significance. She finds it’s refreshing to hear someone talk so passionately about art. She counters him a few times, telling him the correct facts about the artist and their techniques in painting it. By the end of it she’s almost criticizing the pieces and he immediately becomes offended.

“Back then, this technique was popular!” he says in disbelief, “The lines are beautiful.”

She shrugs, “I don’t know...I just don’t think he captured the true emotion of the time, though.”

Bellamy scoffs, “I don’t think emotion is what he was going for. He was just recording history!”

She can’t hold in her laugh at the way he seems so offended by her opinion and this seems to soften him up a little bit.

She shakes her head at him, “I guess you’re the expert, huh?”

He gives her a mischievous grin before backing away from her slowly. It’s then she notices an abandoned cart full of books a few feet away. He grabs it and pushes it towards her, stopping when he’s next to her again, “I’m just the guy who puts away books.”

She nods, like it was the most obvious thing in the world (even though he had definitely convinced her he was the art guy), “Right. Next time I’ll be sure to find the actual art expert.”

He shrugs his shoulders and begins to push the cart away, but not without the last word, “Well, if you don’t want to be bored to tears, I’m here Monday through Friday...”

“I’ll keep that in mind…” she makes a show of squinting as his nametag, “Bellamy.”

“I’ll be sure to warn the so-called art experts about you…”

“Clarke.” she fills in for him.

“See you around then, Clarke.”

He doesn’t give her a chance to respond before he rolls away, leaving her thinking she might just have to visit the library on a regular basis. For the art, of course.

She falls into an easy routine. Her mom shows no signs of slowing down at work and she has eaten dinner more times alone than she would have liked. She can’t help but be a little perturbed by the whole thing. She had come to Boston with relatively low expectations but even so, she can’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment. To compensate for her mother’s lack of interest in hanging out with her daughter, Clarke has made it a goal to go out and at least try to have fun for the summer. Her dad had sent her here for a reason, whether it be to simply get away from her shit town or for her to find some way to fully heal and move on with her life. Somehow, she knows it was probably for both of those reasons.

Her routine begins with a morning walk around the neighborhood; she stops at the bakery to grab a cup of coffee and continues walking, mostly to people watch. She finds it quite entertaining. Post cup of coffee, she’ll walk to the park and sketch. Drawing has always been her best outlet, the thing to keep her sane even when she felt the furthest thing from it. Over the months, she’s filled more sketchpads than ever in her entire life and though it didn’t cure her, it definitely helped. Her mom calls it a hobby, but it’s always felt like more than that. She gets lost and pours her soul into it.

Sketching will keep her busy until the afternoon at least. She’ll walk home, grab some food, and shower. Then, she’ll make her way back to the library to simply read. Something about it makes her feels safe. It gives her something to pass the time and their collection of old literature piled with old biology and anatomy records is quite interesting. Admittedly, during the hours she spends there, she checks out the book cart guy, Bellamy, while she’s there. She doesn’t see him everyday but when she does, it’s usually when he passes by her table, a squeaking cart in tow, and he comments on something she’s reading or offers a fun fact about one of the million art pieces located around the gallery. They’ll talk briefly and then he’ll bid her goodbye and move right on along.

When she talks to her friend, Raven, she can practically hear the girl roll her eyes through the phone, “Jesus, you would be the one to do some weird, artsy flirting with a librarian.”

Raven is a spitfire, part of what draws Clarke to her. She had been devastated to find out her boyfriend had been dating someone else at the same time (though, Clarke was the actual side chick), but it led her to Raven Reyes and she is actually pretty fucking grateful for that.

“I didn’t come all the way here to date,” she argued, “I’m not emotionally ready for that.”

“Well, at least make some friends while you’re there. You could use them.” Always count on Raven to put things in blunt perspective. It’s a blessing and a curse.

She isn’t sure how to make friends. Right now, Bellamy is the closes thing she has and she has no idea how to push that mere acquaintanceship into friend territory. Does she ask him to hang out? It seems like that could easily be misconstrued into a date, which is definitely not what she wants to happen. Though, she could probably make it clear that she only wants to be friends. She’s never been good at this stuff. Wells was always the more popular one of the two of them. She had just always been part of the deal with him.She doesn’t have to overthink it much more because as luck would have it, Bellamy makes the first effort.

She’s buried deep into an old anatomy book when she hears him clear his throat,“You do realize it's nine p.m on a Friday night and you're sitting in a library?”

She looks up from her book to find him leaning against her table, collar of his library issued polo unbuttoned and name tag missing. Off the clock, she assumes.

“I suppose there are better things to do?” she crosses her hands over the book she had been engrossed in and smiles sarcastically. There are probably a million things she could do that would be more appeasing than reading books about the human body, but going home to an empty house is not one of those. She doesn’t do well with silence and emptiness. That’s when her thoughts become the loudest.

He shrugs and shoves his hands into his pockets, “Probably. I was about to meet some friends for a drink.”

She leans back and shuts the book with an aggressive thud before grabbing her bag off the back of her chair, “A nerd like you has friends? I figured you spent your free time talking to yourself about all the inaccuracies of the Hercules cartoon.”

He laughs at her dig, “I save that for weekdays.”

“Mmm, of course.”

She slings the bag over her shoulders and stands there awkwardly, fiddling with the straps. She wonders if he is actually trying to ask her to come out with him or if he’s just telling her his plans for the night. When the pause becomes a bit too overwhelming, she starts for the door.

“You in?” he asks, falling into step behind her.

She skids to a halt, her Keds making an uncomfortable screech against the polished marble. He stops too, eyebrow quirked, “Or not?”

She considers him for a moment. She's known him for a solid two weeks now. Granted, their relationship extends as far as first name basis and artistic opinions. But, it’s not like she has any other options available. It beats spending all night in an old ass library (even if it is beautiful).

“Sounds great,” she finally answers. Raven would definitely tell her to go. Plus, she wants something to occupy here time. It’ll be good for her, too, to put herself out there. He’s fairly cute. Win-win.

She follows him out of the library, where he immediately untucks his shirt and runs a hand through his hair, pushing the curls into their natural chaotic look. All professionalism vanished from sight. The disheveled look works for him, she decides.

“So,” he says as they fall into step together, “What's your story?”

She tries to hide how uncomfortable that question makes her. She’s never been one to talk about herself, but now it’s become especially difficult. She decides to take a more sarcastic route.

“Oh, you want my biography?”

He shrugs, “Just the basics. So I know you aren't plotting to kill me or something.”

“Says the guy who lured me out of the library after dark,” she counters.

He doesn't respond and she takes that to mean he's waiting for an answer. She decides he probably isn’t a serial killer. Mostly because she just doesn’t get that vibe from him and she thinks she has a good judge of character. Plus, they’re on a well lit street so if he tries something, she should be able to escape pretty easily. She has a mace.

“Visiting for the summer,” she tells him finally, “Divorced parents. Different cities. Nothing crazy.”

“So that explains why you hang it out in a library for fun.”

“It's close and free.”

“Fair enough,” he concedes. She takes it as her opportunity to question him.

“And you?” she probes, desperate to take the attention off her, but also curious to learn about the mysterious librarian once he’s no longer in the library.

He seems to think about his answer carefully, “I live here full time. I go to BU. The library is a summer gig. My professor hooked me up.”

So he’s a student. It makes sense; It explains all the random history knowledge he seems to have stored in his brain and also the fact that he actually seems to enjoy working in the library. She doesn’t know many people this age who would find joy working in a place like that (though, she is part of the minority along with him.).

“Let me guess,” she taps her chin with her finger, “History major?”

Predictable.

He feigns shock at her assumption, “How did you know?”

She laughs and finds herself feeling more comfortable around him. He’s a bit intimidating, with his sharp wit and rugged good looks. She had planned to just admire him from a distance, which definitely sounds creepy but it isn’t. She figured he’d remain an anomaly she told Raven about -- just the cute guy in the library. She hadn't thought they’d actually speak. She definitely expect him to ask her out, or well, whatever it is they’re doing.

“How about you?” he breaks her from her thoughts, “What's your major?”

She almost tells him she hasn't declared since she's only just starting. But then she doesn't because he's taking her out to, presumably, a bar and her ID says that she’s 21. Not that she has any interest in drinking, but she also doesn’t want miss out on this opportunity. This trip is about expanding comfort zones and putting herself back out there, at least, that’s what Raven told her to use it for.

“Pre-med,” is what she finally settles on. He lets out a low whistle.

“That explains all the anatomy books you've been checking out,” he says passively and she stops again, narrowing her eyes at him.

“Have you been stalking my check out record?”

He turns to face her, “Someone’s flattering themselves. You realize I can see what you’re reading when I pass by your table.”

“So you’re just creepy from afar then?”

“I think you’re projecting,” he scoffs, “Don’t act like you had any intention of coming back there until I so eloquently explained those art pieces to you.”

She finds herself having to bite back a smile, their banter coming quick and naturally. She’s already having fun, “I’m not the one that goes out of the way to walk by your table.”

He laughs at that, holding his hands up in surrender, “Fine. You caught me. I was trying to be smooth.”

“And why is that?”

He stops them in front of, what she can only presume to be, the bar they’re meeting his friends at. It’s got an old-time feel to it, with a sign hanging above a chipping wooden door. She can faintly hear music thumping from behind it.

“Cute girl who knows history?” he offers and this time she doesn’t bother to hold back her smile.

He doesn't give her a chance to respond and she's somewhat thankful because she isn't sure what to say. He pulls open the door and gestures for her to enter first. She mumbles a quick thank you.

The bar turns out to be an old pub. The Ark, it's called. It's cozy, reminiscent of the ones you'd see on a modern sitcom. Full of hipsters and draft beer choices. Every day of the week holding a special event: Trivia on Wednesdays, Karaoke on Thursdays and Fridays,live music on Saturdays. She can't say she's surprised.

She follows him over to a booth in the back where he is greeted warmly by a group of people, who are seemingly already a bit tipsy.

“Everyone, this is Clarke,” he announces, “She was reading biology books in the library for fun.”

“Anatomy,�� she corrects without thinking. Her cheeks grow red when she does. Smooth.

She's met by choruses of ‘Hi Clarke!’ and ‘We love nerds.” which makes her feel slightly better about the whole thing. He pulls up a couple of chairs from a nearby table and she plops down next to him. She’s trying not to be awkward, but damn if it doesn’t come naturally. She pulls her phone from her back pocket and shoots a quick text to Raven.

Clarke: “I’m socializing. You should be proud of me.”

Raven: “Bloom, my beautiful flower”.

She giggles and stuffs her phone into her backpack. She wouldn’t say she’s an introvert by any means, but meeting new people has always been an awkward experience for her. She never really knows how to start. Luckily, Bellamy seems to sense her discomfort and introduces them one by one.

“That’s Miller,” he points at a scruffy guy currently sporting a beanie despite it being summer, “My roommate and a total dick.”

The guy, Miller, glares at his friend before extending a hand, “Nice to meet you. Also, he’s projecting his own insecurities onto me. He is the actual dick in the relationship.”

She smiles at that. The others get similar introductions: Harper, the peppy blonde, Gina, the kick ass bartender, Murphy, the kindest asshole she’ll ever meet, and Emori, the asshole’s equally asshole-y girlfriend (in a loving way).

“Bellamy, do you have a radar for finding lost souls?” Harper nudges him on the shoulder playfully.

“You know, I’d be careful,” Murphy comments, “With the way you target young, attractive, lonely people, you might start coming off like a serial killer.”

She decides to give the whole being friendly thing a go. She pipes in, “I definitely got serial killer vibes.”

Bellamy gives her a faux wounded look while the others laugh, “Don’t feed into it!”

She smirks back but finds herself questioning, “Does this happen often?”

“God, yes,” Miller groans. And that’s how they spend the next hour, trading each other’s stories about how they met Bellamy. Miller is the original friend (or OF as he calls it), having been friends with him since high school. They met after Miller had been subject to severe bullying when other kids found out he was into guys.

“Talk about fragile masculinity,” Miller rolls his eyes as he recounts the story, “Anyways, Bellamy here so valiantly defended my honor and punched one of the guys on the football team for using some pretty nasty slurs.”

“We spent the rest of high school as the mystery couple,” Bellamy confirms, “Some people figured he was my boyfriend and that’s why I got mad.”

“Best fake boyfriend ever,” Miller tilts his beer into the air and takes a long sip. Gina goes next, explaining that she had come to this bar, to drink her pain away after suffering a pretty nasty breakup. Bellamy forced her to sing karaoke and made sure she got home safely. They ended up dating for almost a month before both realized the romantic chemistry wasn’t there and stayed friends.

“You’re not a good real boyfriend,” Gina pats him on the shoulder, “But you’ll make a good mom.”

“Mother hen, Bellamy,” Murphy agrees, and launches into his hilariously unexciting story about how he had been the brooding freshman in their biology lab and after a long and painful semester of being forced to work together, Bellamy had ensured that Murphy passed Biology with flying colors. Though Murphy does seem to be the most cynical of the group, he does seem appreciative of his friend.

Harper is the last to go, “This is going to sound like some bad college PSA, but I got drunk at a frat party and I guess some douche tried to slip something in my drink while I wasn’t looking. I’m sure you can guess what happened.”

“He saved the day?” she asks, watching Bellamy with curiosity. His cheeks are glowing red, seemingly embarrassed by the sudden revelation of all the good deeds he’s ever done.

“He saved the fucking day,” Harper confirms, “Launched the guy right out of his own Frat house and called me an Uber to get back to the dorm.”

“So, what I’m hearing is that you have a savior complex?” she concludes. He chugs at least half of his beer he had poured from the table’s pitcher, smacking his lips at the end.

“Sure,” he responds shortly, and she watches something like annoyance pass through his eyes. Before she can think further into it, Miller seems to notice the slight exchange and changes the subject.

“So, you read anatomy books for fun?” The conversation flows easily after that, and she realizes this is the first time she’s truly had fun in a while.

“I had just watched Mary Poppins for the first time!” she’s defending herself, hours later, and the group laughs at her sheer idiocy. By the end of it, she nearly forgets they had all been strangers when she walks through the doors. She thinks making friends may not be a lost cause after all.

“Can we keep her?” Gina asks Bellamy as they all pack up to leave for the night. She pretends not to hear, fiddling with her backpack like she’s searching for something.

She has to keep herself from grinning when she hears his response.

“Definitely.”

“We’re going out for Gina’s birthday tonight.”

She is currently helping Bellamy sift through the return cart, reshelving the books in their appropriate sections. They have been working diligently for the last couple of hours and the cart seems to finally dwindling down. Over the last couple weeks, since Bellamy took her to meet his friends, they’ve managed to make a smooth transition into friendly territory. When she stopped by the library the next day, he sat with her on his break and they bickered over the value of reading medical books from the 1940s when medicine has made such big strides since then.

After that, it sort of became a part of the day.. He’d come over for breaks and they would chat, sometimes about the weather and other times about the meaning of life (he had been skimming the philosophy section on those particular days). She preferred keeping conversations light, away from personal territory. The closest they had gotten is when they were in the theatre section placing the mere two returns for it, she mentioned that her ex-girlfriend’s favorite play had been Othello.

“I’m bi,” she had essentially word vomited, though he hadn’t even asked. He hadn’t even hinted at wanting to know her sexuality but she threw it at him anyways.

“Sorry,” she apologized, blush creeping into skin, “You didn’t ask.”

She expected him to just shrug it off and go on with the day. She had been surprised when he had offered a sympathetic smile and told her very nonchalantly that he also identifies as bi.

“You know, in case you ever wanna talk about,” he added. It’s not much in the way of revealing deeply personal things, but it makes her acutely aware that she’s struggling to keep him at arm's reach. That feeling bubbles up on occasion and when she’d begin to feel as if the conversation was turning too serious, too personal, she’d excused herself to the restroom or rapidly direct them back into the safe zone.

It wasn’t until a couple of days ago that she had offered to help with his work. He had passed by to let her know he was going to work through his break, a very cluttered cart being pulled behind him. He looked like he had been hard at work, his cheeks flush and curls sticking to the sweat beading on his forehead. She isn’t sure what possessed her to offer, but she shut her own book and followed him into the stacks to ask for the rundown on how to shelve them.

“You don’t have to help me with my job, Clarke,” was his first response, but she had shushed him and repeated her questions. With a defeated sigh, he reluctantly explained the catalog system and the shelving etiquette.

She’s currently shoving three copies of Fifty Shades of Grey onto the shelf with a smidge of aggressiveness.

“Can you believe people really read this shit?” she muses aloud, completely missing his previous statement. She likes erotica as much as the next person but that? (It’s )A monstrosity.

“Believe it or not, some people don’t care to read academically all the time,” he jokes and she gives him the finger in return.

“I was reading a regular book, earlier,” she argues and he rolls his eyes, pushing another book onto the shelf.

“I would consider trying to read any part of Infinite Jest academic reading as well.”

“There’s just no winning with you is there?”

“Nope,” he pops his lips dramatically on the word, “But as I was saying, you should come out with everyone tonight.”

She’s been out with the group a handful of times now. She was given a trial run on the trivia team, and as luck would have it, they scored first thanks to her unmatched knowledge on the human body. They had quickly extended a permanent invite to their savior. She accompanied Bellamy from the library to their usual weekend outings, whether it be to a movie or to the Ark just to hang out. She fits in well with them. Even Harper has made an effort to hang out with her, solo. They exchanged numbers and have gotten coffee a couple of times, Harper joining her on her morning walks. She finds that she really likes the girl, her positivity a much needed change in her life.She really is trying.

“Oh, should I?” she responds with a quirked eyebrow.

“I’m sure you have better things to do,” he says sarcastically. Of course, he knows she doesn’t. Hell, she’s made it pretty damn obvious by the amount of time she chooses to spend with him at the library. She even volunteered to help him work.

“I might,” she twists one of her blonde curls idly between her fingers, looking at him innocently enough.

He rolls his eyes, “Well, when you inevitably get bored doing whatever it is, you can meet me here at ten. Wear something nice.”

She doesn’t respond but he seems okay with that. They continue placing books side by side and she decides to take off once they finish. She begins to feel the familiar dull ache of her back and knows she should go home and take a hot bath and rest. Just as she’s pushing the door open, she hears him call behind her.

“See you at ten!”

She shows up at 945. She’s sitting on the stairs when he walks out, running a hand through his curls, no doubt to recreate the messy bed head look he’s learned to perfect. When he sees her, he shakes his ruefully.

“Shut up,” she grumbles before standing up. She swears she sees his eyes slide down her body, but he turns away quickly to cover it up. In his defense, she does look good. She hadn’t been intending to dress to the nines, but when she had called Raven for advice she had been fully advocating for the tightest pair of jeans she owns and the most revealing top. She settled somewhere in the middle, going for the jeans, but opting for a loose fitting, off the-shoulder blouse.

“Finished the all important task you were doing then?” He says instead as they descend the stairs on their way to...wherever the hell they’re going. She assumes it's not to the usual bar. He would have never told her to dress her up. She’s certain she’s seen people dressed in pajamas sitting at the bar which she is totally fan of.

“Yeah, I managed to pencil this into my busy schedule.”

“Oh, I'm so glad you made time for us peasants, Princess,” he tells her sarcastically and she shoves him playfully on the shoulder. Another new element to their relationship -- playful touches.

“I try to be kind royalty,” she smiles before changing the subject, “So where are you dragging me, anyways?”

He scoffs, “Dragging, is that what I'm doing?”

She gives him a pointed stare.

“Gina likes going to more...I don't know how to describe it. Club-y type places?” his voice rises at the end.

“Like the ones with the obnoxious music and douchebags wearing polos?”

He snaps his fingers, “Those are the one.”

Her mouth twitches, “I guess you'll fit right in.”

It takes her statement a moment to catch and then he realizes that he is, in fact, wearing a polo. And khakis.

“Miller is bringing me an extra shirt, thank you very much.”

They arrive at a place called Ground Bar. She can hear the music as they approach the doors, the windows vibrating with every bass drop. She can say, for certain, she’s never been to this kind of place before. She assumes it’s the sort place exclusive to big cities, not towns like Arkadia. The closest thing she had come to had been her Junior Prom.

“Oh this kind of music,” she remarks. She doesn't hate EDM. She has a few songs on her jogging playlist. But she can practically feel the migraine coming on. It’s then she realizes she has no idea how to do this.

“Yeah,” he agrees to her insinuation before pulling out his wallet, “Ready to sweat your ass off and pay ridiculous drink prices?”

As if to answer, she pulls her shirt down a little further, revealing a small bit of her cleavage, “I’m ready to make other people pay ridiculous drink prices, if that's what you mean.”

She watches him try to avoid looking, though she can tell he wants to. Maybe she's teasing him a little bit, but it's fun. Just fun.

“That's not fair,” he mutters.

When they enter the club, they manage to spot their group of friends crowded around one of the standing tables, clinking glasses and shouting into the void.

“You made it!” Gina yells, clearly already having had a couple of drinks. She throws her arms around Bellamy, planting a sloppy kiss on his cheek.

He doesn't seemed fazed by it, instead laughing and turning to the rest of the group, “Really? You started her off with tequila?”

Gina turns to her and throws her arms around her neck, causing her to stumble back slightly. She slurs something about being happy she made it and she can’t help but smile back, feeling genuinely complimented that the girl actually wanted her to be a part of it.

“Happy birthday!” she yells over the thumping music.

Clarke settles in next to Harper, who is still mostly sober. The blonde greets her with an enthusiastic half-hug, “You look great!”

She tugs on her hair self-consciously, the curls already beginning to frizz in the humidity of the bar. She had put a little product in it, in the hopes it would stay relatively tame. She can tell it was a failed attempt. She returns Harper’s compliments, commenting on the dress she picked out. It’s a tight fitting black dress that reaches to mid-thigh and hugs her fit figure in all the right spots. She’s paired it with a pair of blue heels and she tosses her long, blonde hair over her shoulder to model for her. She laughs at the girls antics before turning her attention back to the table. Somewhere in the midst of their greetings, he’s managed to change into a more comfortable looking t-shirt. It’s just a simple dark blue shirt, but it compliments him.

He sneaks off to the bar and she listens intently as Gina starts rambling on about the asshole she had been seeing that won’t call her back.

“I’m a great catch,” she slurs, leaning into Miller’s shoulder.

“Yes, you are.” he reassures with a pat on her shoulder.

“Maybe...” Gina’s voice lowers as she pulls her head in towards the group, “Maybe I’m an awful hookup.”

The group attempts to soothe her, even Emori offering a half-hearted, “No, I’m sure you’re great.”

When Bellamy makes his way back to the table, sipping from his overflowing beer, she proceeds to bombard him.

“Be honest!” Gina jabs his chest with her index finger, “Was I bad in bed?”

Clarke finds herself having to purse her lips to suppress a laugh. He looks completely blindsided by the question. More than that, very much unsure of how to answer. His gaze finds hers and she jerks her head towards Gina. The girl is waiting for an answer.

“No!” and she has to give him credit, whether he believes she is or not, his answer seems to brighten her up.

“It’s him then,” she concludes, smacking her palm on the table and rattling their drinks, “He did weird things with his tongue.”

“That’s why girls are better,” Harper offers and Clarke can’t help but high five her on that one. In her experience, girls are more self-aware of what they’re doing. And more apt to take direction.

This launches everyone into the great debate and Harper announces she needs a drink. Clarke decides to follow her to the bar, if only to get away from the drunken attempt at figuring out who’s better at sex. In all honesty, she’s a firm believer that gender has nothing to do with sexual prowess. It’s definitely based on the person, at least, that’s been her experience.

Harper takes her hand and guides her through the crowd and she finds herself having to squeeze in between bodies and having to take a couple of elbows to the boob in the process. Somehow they manage to squeeze into an open spot at the bar and Harper flags down the bartender. She orders a gin and tonic before turning to her.

“Clarke!” she yells to get her attention, “What do you want?”

This is where she didn’t think it through. She doesn’t drink. Not anymore. The whole idea of it makes her sick to her stomach, no doubt residual guilt eating away at her when she even contemplates picking up a drink. Every time she’s gone out with them, thus far, she’s ordered her own drinks at the bar. Usually a coke or a red bull. People just assume they’re alcoholic and she doesn’t feel like correcting them. As for now, she could just order a coke. She doesn’t owe anyone an explanation. But instead she decides to take the safer route, the one that won’t end in a potential interrogation.

“Bourbon and coke,” she announces. From behind Harper, she watches a greasy looking man admires her ass as she leans over the bar and then turns his eyes on her. He’s definitely older than them, probably in his forties. His beard is hinting at gray and he’s wearing an excessive amount of hairgel, something people her age have learned not to do.

“15 dollars, ladies!” the bartender hollers. Clarke makes a show of beginning to dig in her small purse for cash and she feels a rough hand touch her wrist.

“I got it, sweetie,” he says and tells the bartender to put it on his tab. She tries to keep her eye rolling at a minimal and instead offers as sweet a smile as she can give.

“Thanks!” she grabs Harper’s free wrist and drags her away before the creep can try to latch onto them.

It still amazes her how there still seems to be the assumption that if you buy a girl a drink, she’s suddenly in debt to you. Maybe he’ll learn his lesson. At least they got a free drink out of it.

“Was it free?” Bellamy asks when she moves into the spot next to him. She slides the drink to him and he gives her a confused look.

“Free for me, free for you,” she offers without explanation, “Bourbon and coke.”

She sees something pass across his face briefly, but she isn’t quite sure how to place it. Morbid curiosity? Gratitude?.

“You trying to get me drunk?” he has a charm about him, she can admit. The way he carries himself confidently but self-aware. He knows he’s good looking and he knows how to use it. She can’t complain.

They’re teetering into flirtatious territory and she feels herself going along with it, moving a bit closer to him and placing a light hand on his arm, “Definitely.”

She isn’t opposed to flirting with him. In fact, she’s opened up that gate multiple times. There’s just something about him that continues to draw her in without notice. It’s like she tries to remain friendly and distant, but he’s determined to make it as difficult as possible, though she isn’t sure he’s even aware he’s doing it. Based on all his interactions, he’s just a friendly guy. He’s affectionate with all of his friends, constantly teasing them and it could easily be misconstrued as flirting. Maybe that’s what’s happening here?

Their moment is short lived. Gina manages to nearly yank her shoulder out of socket trying to drag her to the dance floor. She practically orders everyone else to follow suit. Bellamy and Miller are the only exceptions, expressing just how vehemently against dancing they are. They prefer to watch the poor souls who don’t have rhythm make fools of themselves.

Clarke has nothing against dancing. She’s always enjoys it when she gets the chance to do it. She doesn’t make a big show, just sways her hips with the music and follows the rhythm. She actually enjoys the song that’s playing so falling into the movement isn’t too difficult. The lights are overwhelming, a kaleidoscope of colors surrounding them, but once she’s used to them she finds that likes them.

It doesn’t take long for Harper find someone to make out with. She moves into the crowd and Clarke does her best to keep at least a idea of her whereabouts. She’s watched too many true crime series to just let someone fade into the background without ensuring they’re safe. She and Gina are dancing with each other, though Gina is very much outdoing her, tossing her hair and twirling despite her balance being something close to awful. Emori and Murphy are dancing closely next to them, zoned in on one another like the rest of the floor doesn’t exist. The beat begins to pick up and she’s having fun throwing herself into the music until she feels hands grip at her hips.

She whips around to find the guy from the bar grinning at her lecherously. Her stomach takes a sharp turn. She tries to move away subtly, turning to face him and backing into Gina. She gives him her best smile, like she hadn’t just rejected him but he seems determined. He places his hands on her hips again and pulls her towards him, grinding his pelvis into her. The whole thing feels dirty and strange. She’s done her fair share of bumping and grinding, but usually the consensual kind.This just feels forced and all around terrible.

She places her hand on his chest and pushes back and it’s then that he seems to register that she doesn’t actually want to dance with him. He puts his mouth to her ear, “You let me buy you a drink.”

She pulls back and has to fight the urge to knee him in the balls. She leans towards him, “You offered, I don’t owe you anything.”

He wraps an arm around her waist, the direct opposite of what she was trying to tell him. Gina seems to come to her senses, though she’s a little too tipsy to offer any sort of support. She gets credit for trying.

“She said back off, dude!” she yells, trying to pull Clarke away from him. It doesn’t do anything besides make him more irritated.

“No one asked you,” he yells at her before waving her off like a fly. To Clarke’s surprise, Gina just takes a step back before disappearing in the crowd. She tries to locate Murphy and Emori, but they seemed to have disappeared at some point. Trying to decide what next steps to take, she concludes that he is actual trash and being polite isn’t going to make him let go. So, she rationalizes her next move and as she leans into him and he gives her a sickening smile, she rears her knee back and gets him squarely in the dick. He let’s go immediately.

He bends over in front of her with a yelp and she places a hand on his shoulder before leaning down to get on his level yelling over the music, “Word of advice: when a someone says no, you fucking listen!”

Feeling satisfied with her work, she gives him a small push and he leaves the crowd with his tail tucked between his legs. When she turns around, she finds Bellamy watching her carefully.

He manages to snap his mouth shut and give her grin, “Gina said some guy was being a dick.”

She nods in understanding. She went for help. She gives the girl her credit back, glad that she hadn’t actually left her in the dust.

She lifts her chin, “I can handle myself.”

That only causes his smile to widen, “Clearly.”

She stands there awkwardly for a moment, trying to shrug off the whole incident. A new song has begun and it’s a slower. Seductive almost. Almost instinctively, she begins moving to beat again. She kinks her eyebrow, daring him to join her. She expects him to shake his head and walk away, but as she moves her hips from side to side, she notices the way his eyes darken ever so slightly and he begins to move with her.

Instinctively, she moves in closer to him. It makes her feel a little more comfortable and she expects that no one else will attempt to dance with her, at the least. He seems hesitant at first, his hand only grazing her side. She feels like she’s in a trance. They’re watching each other intently, and she grabs his hand to place it firmly on her hip. Permission granted.

She leans in with a coy smile, “I thought you didn’t dance?”

He places a finger to his lips, “Don’t ruin this once in lifetime opportunity.”

He places his other hand on her and he’s holding her as she moves, letting himself follow her lead. It feels vastly different from her previous encounter. It’s tentative, but they gravitate towards one another. Her hand slides onto his neck, playing with the hairs at the nape and his arm slips around her waist. They press into each other, hips meeting and chests flush together. She’s feeling warm, all of a sudden, heat flooding her cheeks and her stomach. She doesn’t know when the last time she had been this close to someone. But what she does know is that this, the way he’s moving with her and watching her likes she’s something special, is something she doesn’t want to end.

As if thinking the same thing, he leans his forehead onto hers and their breaths mingle with the heat of the dance floor. She licks her lips in anticipation. There is only a second of hesitation as the song begins to fade into something new before he closes the short distance between them and presses his lips against hers. It’s chaste at first, just lips on lips but she tilts her head slightly and when he runs his tongue teasingly at the seam of her lips, she quickly grants him access.

He’s a good kisser, is the first thing that she registers. She gets lost in him almost immediately, the rest of the world completely drowned out, her own racing thoughts silenced. They’re testing the waters, teasing tongues and soft touches. They could be there for moments or hours, she isn’t sure but when they break apart, suddenly everything is too loud.

“I need some air,” she breathes and pulls away, trying to make her way from the crowd. Her heart is beginning to race and she feels herself beginning to panic. Her chest is vibrating under the bass and her head feels like it’s pounding. She forces her way out the door, taking a deep breath of fresh air.

Damn, he’s a good kisser.

Her head is a flurry of thoughts, wanting more but also wary of what it means. She leans against the brick building and closes her eyes, trying to ground herself. The air isn’t cool by any means, but there’s a light breeze that’s helping the fire burn low on her cheeks. She’s hears approaching footsteps and doesn’t even open her eyes to see who they belong to. She knows. And she isn’t surprised one bit.

He leans against the wall next to her, shoving his hands in his pocket and just gazing into the parking lot. They stand in silence, both taking in the meaning of the moment on the dance floor. What does it mean, if anything? Where do they go from here?

“Did I fuck up?” he asks finally, his voice low and contemplative.

“No!” she says immediately, her cheeks flaring once again in embarrassment, “You didn't do anything wrong. It was nice…”

Nice is an understatement. It was amazing. Mind-numbing, even. She can’t remember the last time her mind had ever been that quiet, That focused.

“But?” he can already tell there’s more to the statement. There is a but. A very big but. How does she explain it without going into her history? She’s not ready to reveal that part of herself to him, after all, they're nothing but strangers. Intimate strangers.

“I leave for Chicago in August,” she settles, revealing the least personal of reasons why kissing him was a bad idea, “I...I can’t commit to anything.”

He finally looks at her, shaking his head with a grimace, “It was a kiss, Clarke.”

She doesn’t say anything so he continues, turning his body towards her and relaxing against the wall, “I’m not asking for anything. I like you and it can mean whatever you want it to mean.”

What does she want it to mean? She likes him too, she knows that. But can it really be that simple? Like a friends with benefits type thing? They’re hardly friends. But maybe that’s what makes it a good thing.

“How can you like me? You barely know me...”

“Maybe so. Does it matter?”

She thinks about it carefully. If she had any interest in dating him, maybe it would. She'd want him to know everything about her -- her birthday, her history. She’d tell him about Wells. She'd want him to know the finer details. But she can't date him. She has three months in the city and then they're both on were their respective lives. Yet he’s making her an offer-they can just do what they want to do, summer fling. She always thought those were movie cliches but it doesn’t sound like a terrible idea. They’re pretty much together all the time, anyways.

“I guess it doesn't,” is her final answer.

“I know you’re smart, you’re kind of funny, and tough as nails,” he lists them off like they’re no big deal. Like he wasn't complimenting the hell out of her. She realizes that nothing really has to change from what they’re already doing. They had been flirting since they met.

“Kind of funny?” she raises an eyebrow and she swears she sees his shoulders sag in relief. He seems to understand that it’s her way accepting his offer...or whatever it is.

“You’re hot, so it makes up for the lack of humor,” he deadpans and she pinches his arm. He gives her another smile and she decides to go for it. What does she have to lose?

“So, what happens now?” she asks, inching closer to him, lips curving upwards as she grazes her fingers against his arm.

He offers a shy laugh, bringing his hand to the curve of her hip, “Well, for starters, if I kiss you again, are you going to run away?”

She smiles then, “No.”

“Good,” he replies, a slides his other hand onto her cheek and pulls her forward. Their lips are inches apart, “I like kissing you.”

She doesn’t respond, just closes the distance between them. The world goes silent again, her mind a comfortable quiet she could find solace in. It’s the happiest she’s felt in months.

June 2013

Two things change after Gina’s birthday. The first being that she now has everyone’s number and has been added to every chat group known to man. And they talk a lot. It's endearing but also annoying as her phone is constantly buzzing with activity. The second being that her and Bellamy are friends who make out on occasion. Or all the time. That’s a better description.

She continues to see him in the library and they put away books together, talking about anything they can, usually keeping the topic neutral and not very personal. She had told him that after a particularly intense make-out session outside of the Ark and he had been cool with it. The less they know about each other, the more casual they can keep it.

They talk about Harper’s currently dating crisis -- apparently the girl from the bar (Roma was her name) is extremely into her and really wants to date her, but Harper also really wanted to play the field this summer. They also talk about school, he tells her about some of his classes and his aspirations. Nothing out of the ordinary for friends. Perfectly comfortable.

At first, she had been wary on how to act with him while they were around his friends, seemingly not wanting to give the wrong impression.They’re all cool and don’t seem like the judgmental type, but she still hadn't been sure. Bellamy took the reigns on that one after particularly intense game of darts with Emori and Murphy, he snatched her into a victory kiss and no one cared. They seemed pretty unsurprised by it, in fact. She figures they know Bellamy well enough to know that relationships aren’t his thing, after all they’ve talked about it quite a bit. His longest relationship had been with a girl named Echo and that lasted about three months before he decided it wasn’t for him.

“Maybe I’m just picky,” he defended himself, but everyone chided him on his inability to connect emotionally. It’s somewhat of a relief to know that about him and it’s perhaps why he so willingly agreed to remain as distant as possible. She can’t complain, it makes staying unattached pretty simple.

“Do you know who Two Door Cinema Club is?” he asks her one day as they lounge in one of the book stacks of the library. They’re taking a well deserved break after shelving a large amount of encyclopedias and she has her head resting on his thigh, thumbing through one of the 1940 editions. He’s currently tracing idle circles into her scalp.

“Sure,” she tells him. Wells had always been her musically inclined friend, introducing her to bands and insisting she listen. They had been one of the few groups/bands she found herself actually enjoying.

“I have tickets to their concert tonight,” he tells her and she doesn’t think much of it. Maybe he’s trying to brag. He likes to do that, she’s learned. He plays the cocky asshole well.

“That’s cool.”

“Miller was supposed to come with me,” he continues, “But he went home.”

Miller’s family lives in Amherst, the most boring town in the world according to Bellamy, but she’s noticed he seems to be a bit dramatic.

“Everything okay?” she asks. She imagines he wouldn’t ditch without good reason. If there’s anything she’s learned about Miller it’s that he’s reliable.

“His dog is sick. He’s old, so you know...”

If she remembers correctly, his dog had been his screensaver on his phone and he had drunkenly told her all about him. His name is Ammo and he’s pretty fucking cute. It’s also adorable how much Miller cares about him. He’d had him since he was a kid.

“Poor guy.”

Bellamy hums and pulls his clipboard over to idly scratch out the returns he’s shelved, “What I’m trying to say is, I have an extra ticket if you’re interested.”

Oh. It sounds vaguely like a date. Her heart thumps aggressively against her ribcage at the thought.

“It’s not a date,” he seems to read her mind, “It’s just convenient that you like them and I have a ticket already paid for.”

“And you want to go with me?” she wishes she weren’t so self-deprecating. It shouldn’t come as a surprise. It’s very obvious now that he enjoys her company, and only partially because she’s a good kisser. Or so she assumes. She’s never had anyone else tell her otherwise.

“You were definitely my last choice.”

“Well, in that case,” she leans up to give him a pointed stare, “I’d hate for you to have to go alone. Knowing you, you’d probably find some unsuspecting introvert to prey on.”

The venue isn’t far from Midtown, so they make plans to meet at her mom’s place. She gives him the address and she watches his eyebrows shoot into his hairline.

“You're kidding,” he deadpans and she sighs, praying that he’s not another person who will decide to judge her based on wealth.

“We can leave around 6:30,” is all she responds.

“Damn,” he whistles when he shows up at the apartment, “You weren’t kidding.”

He’s fiddling with one of her mom’s weird fake plants while she slips on her shoes.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s amazing,” she practically shoves him out the door, not wanting him to spend too much time going over the historical artifacts lying around the apartment. She’s also not a fan of showing off money, which her mom’s apartment does quite a bit. It’s Not her thing.

They make it to the venue about thirty minutes before the concert, thanks to a very new Uber driver taking the wrong route and getting them lost. She thinks it’s funny, but doesn’t mind when the driver tells them to forget the payment and drives off.

“I’m not really big into standing at the front anyways,” Bellamy says when they walk inside to see a fairly decent crowd smashed against the stage.

“Me either,” she agrees, “Grab a drink and hang in the back?”

“You’re speaking my language.”

That’s how they spend the entire concert, leaning against a table and nodding along to the music. She dances a little, enjoying the infectious rhythm of their songs. When they play her favorite song, Sun, she can’t help but join into the jumping and maybe one or two hair whip’s makes it out. She wore her hair down for a reason.

He watches her amused, though makes no effort to join in. He did tell her the dancing was a rare thing for him. It’s fine, she enjoys dancing alone anyways.

When he steps away to grab a drink during a small break, the band has an issue with an instrument and arere in the process of tuning their back up. She’s fairly engrossed in watching them until she turns to make a comment to Bellamy and realizes he hasn’t come back. When she turns towards the bar, she sees him engaged in conversation with a tall brunette who’s putting on all the stops. She throws her head back with a laugh, looking like she belongs in a Crest commercial, and places a hand on his shoulder. Clarke feels something pull at her stomach but does her best to ignore it. He has every right in the world to flirt and have fun. They’re friends. Friends who like to kiss sometimes and she’s perfectly content with that.

She decides to move slightly closer to the crowd and engage a little more. They seem like a calm bunch. There’s been minimal pushing and some fairly tame dancing. She’ll fit right in. The next song starts and it’s one of their older ones. The crowd goes wild and she finds herself engrossed in the fist pumping, mouthing the words along with the person standing next to her.

When she feels a hand on the small of her back, she nearly pulls up her knee in reflex. But then she sees dark curls out of the corner of her eye and relaxes.

“Couldn’t resist, huh?” Bellamy says into her ear, her original idea of hanging out in the back and watching long lost. She gives him an innocent shrug. She ignores the fact that the knot that had been sitting in her stomach releases at the sight of him. It’s no big deal. He rolls his eyes but to her surprise, he starts to dance with her. It’s nothing much, just bobbing his head and swaying, but seeing him dance is not as rare an occurrence as he claimed. She tries not to feel satisfied by that.

They spend the rest of their night in the crowd and by the time they leave, they’re a sweaty mess. She pulls her hair up into the bun, desperate to get the hair from sticking to her neck. She hates the way it feels.

“They were amazing,” she gushes, pushing a loose hair from her forehead. He nods in a agreement and watches the crowd begin to scatter. She pulls out her phone to order the Uber and hesitates.

“Would it be easier to drop you off first or me?” she asks. She plans on paying for it, to equalize the fact that he brought her along, so she finds a solution that makes sense, “You, probably.”

“You could come home with me,” he says and she nearly snaps her neck looking up from where she had been typing the address in. He watches her reaction warily, “If you want.”

They haven’t crossed that line yet. They have only hung out in the presence of others, whether the general public or his close friends. It’s not like she hasn’t thought about it. In fact, when his tongue is down her throat and his hands are splayed across the small of her back, she thinks about it quite a lot. She’s trying to make better choices, to stop resolving her issues with sex and drinking and whatever destructive behavior she can come up with. None of those things would bring Wells back. Would stop people from hurting her.

But she’d be lying if she said she didn’t feel the temptation. She thinks about going home, to the dark and empty home, to another cold pizza on the counter from her mom, trying to make up for her absence. She thinks about the aching loneliness she feels when she’s stuck inside with nothing to distract her from reality. She looks at him and he’s watching her with reserved hopefulness and suddenly the answer is easy.

“Sure,” she finally says and types his address into the Uber destination bar. They stand in a comfortable silence waiting for it to pull up. Not ten minutes later are they in the back of the car and he’s debating the ethics of surge prices. He had caught a glimpse of her phone and saw the “3x” symbol next to the pricing and decided that this particular Uber driver deserved to hear his lecture on price gouging.

“Bellamy, it’s fine,” she groans, sensing the discomfort of the driver, “Write a letter to the CEO or something!”

He concedes with a dramatic sigh and she pats his leg sympathetically. She’s learned that he tends to work himself up about the smallest things, but she’s happy he’s easy to redirect. She slides her hand from his thigh and twines her fingers into his to give them another reassuring squeeze. That’s the thing about Bellamy. He’s an affectionate guy, free with his touches and often times has no semblance of personal space. He’s that way with all of his friends, often times hanging an arm around Miller or placing a chaste kiss on Harper’s forehead. He enjoys the contact of others and she can’t say she’s opposed.

There surge price debate becomes forgotten. The drive isn’t long and they pull up to a small brick house in a quiet neighborhood, vastly different from what she’s experienced thus far in the city. She likes it.

“It’s not much,” he says as he unlocks the front door and pushes it open, “But it’s home.”

It’s not big by any means. A two bedroom, single floor house. It’s a bit run down, paint chipping from the walls but well decorated and clean. She follows him through the hallway and into the living room, where it is joined with the small kitchen. She’s impressed by how well matched everything is. Most college students have mismatched cheap furniture. They haveat least put thought into their living room set.

“Most of it is Miller’s,” he breaks the silence, “He’s a bargain hunter. Got the couch and the chair for like 200 bucks on Craigslist.”

“Smart guy,” she responds. She moves to settle on the couch and grabs the book currently lying open on the coffee table.

“Are you seriously reading this again?” it’s a tattered copy of The Iliad, a book that she knows he’s read at least ten times- He’s told her as much.

“I like it,” he counters and snatches from her hands, delicately marking his page and placing it on the bookshelf next to the tv. She’s not surprised to see the shelf is filled with books, some clearly textbooks and others well read editions of classics. He seriously is a nerd but it’s kind of endearing.

When he flops onto the couch next to her, he picks up the remote to mess with the TV, “What do you want to watch?”

“Just turn something on,” she says casually and decides she might as well lay it all out on the table, “We probably won’t watch it much anyway.”

“Are you insinuating a Netflix and chill?” he asks sounding appalled, though his eyes seem to hold a sparkle when he looks at her.

“Don’t you have to have Netflix for that?” she asks dryly.

“Yeah,” he replies, “But Hulu and chill just doesn’t have the same ring to it.”

He finds a show on the front page of Hulu and clicks play, “Did you know Nick Offerman has his own woodworking shop in real life?”

The familiar theme song of Parks and Rec begins to play and smiles slightly, “You don’t say.”

He sets the remotes on the table and glances at her, “He’s also a skilled saxophone player.”

He’s nervous. She peeks at him through her peripherals and he’s stared fixedly at the television, habitually picking at his nails. That’s his tell. His sudden anxiety gives her a bit of her own. Maybe he hadn’t brought her over here for anything other than to hang out. Maybe she had misread the whole situation. But then she thinks about the way he kisses her, like he wants to consume her completely. The way he touches her so freely, like it's the most natural thing in the world. They’ve already agreed upon a no strings relationship, even if it was only in reference to kissing and heavy groping. She imagines that going further will be under the same rules.

She humors him and turns her attention back to the television, pretending to be fascinated by what Andy’s currently doing. She laughs, because dammit Andy Dwyer is hilarious. She hears him chuckle as well.

“Did you know he was only supposed to be in season one?”

The fact that he knows so much about the show doesn’t surprise her. He seems like the kind of guy to get on IMDB and read the trivia facts, which, she’s not judging because she has admittedly done the same. But is now really the time? She scoots closer to him so that their thighs are pressing together.

“It was supposed to be a spinoff of the Office,” his voice deepens a little and she sees his throat bob nervously.

“Bellamy,” she finally says, exasperation clear in her voice. Finally he looks at her, and she notices the way his pupils have gone dark, the way they did when they had been dancing. He’s definitely interested.

She hears the familiar voice of Tom Haverford and Bellamy points at the screen half-heartedly, “He went to business school.”

Deciding that she might as well make the first move, she moves into his lap placing her thighs on either side of his so she’s straddling his legs. She feels his hands slide onto her hips, “I am basically offering myself on a silver platter here and you want to tell me Parks and Rec trivia?”

He leans his forehead against hers, lips dangerously close, “I didn’t want it to seem like I brought you here just to hook up.”

She snorts, “Even though you did.”

“Whatever,” he says, “I’m trying to be a gentleman, Clarke.”

The last thing she says before crushing her lips to his is, “Fucking nerd.”

Seriously, she could kiss him for hours. Not only for the solace it gives her, but also because he’s very skilled with his lips. He can go from lazy to passionate to sensual in about three seconds flat and honestly, he could, quite possibly be the best kiss she’s ever had. She won’t confirm that, though. She wouldn’t want to stroke his ego any more.

However, when she thought it couldn’t get much better, it turns out he had been holding out. Being in the privacy of his own place without fear of interruption or the stigma surrounding PDA, he’s much hungrier. He nips at her lower lip before moving his own to the hollow of her throat and the sensitive parts of her neck. She can’t help the moan that escapes when he finds a sweet spot just behind her ear. The sound seems to drive him more.

She can feel his building excitement between her legs and she finds that she’s not worried or intimidated by it. It actually causes her own to grow. It amazes her how he’s able to drive her to this point with his lips alone. Instinctively, she grinds down into him and he sucks her bottom lip in between his teeth, grazing it and driving her completely mad. When she pulls back, her lips are red and swollen from the large amount of attention they’ve received but she isn’t quite ready to let them rest. When he seems ready to say something, she leaves a hot and wet kiss on his jawline. His hand creeps under her shirt and she flinches as his thumb nearly grazes the puckered scar on her back.

“Sorry…” he says quickly, snatching his hand from its place on her bare back. She gives him an apologetic smile.

“It’s fine,” she reassures him. It caught her by surprise and though she may be ready to cross some boundaries with him, letting him feel that part of her isn’t one of them. She feels her mind beginning to race again, thoughts of that night beginning to flash through her mind. She kisses him fiercely, trying to drown them out once more. He lets his hands travel her body, though this time remaining firmly above the shirt. He grazes her breasts and she feels her self-control begin to waiver. A want she’s never felt before settles into her stomach.

“Bellamy,” she groans when his hand brushes her breast and she feels them harden at the slightest touch.

“Tell me what you want,” he growls into her ear, lust coating his voice..

She stops thinking at this point, letting herself follow the moment for what it is. She’s picking up what he’s laying down, he’s putting the ball in her court.

“You,” she breathes, “To touch me. Everywhere.”

She lets out a loud yelp when he stands up, gripping her ass in his hands to keep her firmly attached to him. She wraps her legs around his waist and allows him to carry her off to, she presumes, his bedroom. She nuzzles his shoulder and lets out a giddy laugh when he drops her on his bed and she takes a couple bounces. The room is illuminated only by the dim lights coming through the blinds. She finds comfort in the dark,. They can be strangers here.

“Miller would kill me if I tainted the couch,” he explains and pulls his shirt over his head and though her eyes are still adjusting, she can see the smoothness of his chest and the tone of his abdomen. She can see the muscle definition and the way it disappears below his waistline. She does her best not to drool.

“Like what you see?” he asks smugly, her desire clearly written on her face.

“Eh,” she responds, trying her best to sound unfazed. He climbs on top of her and attaches his lips to her neck, sucking the spot he knows drives her absolutely mad.

“You’re alright,” she says half-heartedly and he grinds into her for good measure.

He leans up and she moves with him, lifting her arms in the air indicating she wants her shirt off. He obliges and pulls the offending piece of fabric off, tossing it to the floor with a soft thump. Thank God she wore her good bra today.

He watches her for a moment, taking it all in and runs his hands along her sides. Goosebumps follow the trail of his finger and he leans down to kiss her, slower this time.

“Have I mentioned you’re fucking beautiful?” he asks and the reverie in which he says it stuns her for a moment. Of course he’s called her cute plenty of times, but the way he says this feels...intimate. Like he really finds her to be the most beautiful creature on the Earth. It’s a bit intimidating and she tries to pretend her heart doesn’t flutter in her chest when he says it.

She twines her fingers into his hair scraping at the curls on his neck and then they’re kissing again while their hands are everywhere. She slides hers into the waistband of his jeans, tracing along his hip bones and she swears she feels him shudder under her fingertips. He reaches behind her back and skillfully unhooks her bra with one hand, finally allowing her chest to be free. He wastes no time, first palming at her breasts and replacing his hand(s?) with lips. He swirls his tongue around her nipple and she almost comes from that contact alone. He pays equal amount of attention to both nipples.breasts/etc and she’s forced to rub her thighs together to get some sort of friction down there. She’s already on the edge and he hasn’t even fully touched her yet.

She tries to hasten the process of clothes removal by reaching down to unbutton her own jeans and he takes the hint, hooking his own fingers into her belt loops and sliding them down her thighs along with her underwear. She’s fully exposed to him now and he looks nothing short of amazed. He reaches in between them and touches her gently, causing her legs to twitch. His touches are soft, first running a gently thumb over her folds and she can’t help but groan in frustration.

“You wet for me?” he’s smirking now, loving the way her body begs for him.

“Yes,” she breathes, “Please just…”

“What do you want, Clarke?” he applies more pressure to her now and she pulls her hips up to meet him as he begins to circle her clit.

“Fuck!” is all she manages to get out but he seems to understand perfectly.

He pushes her thighs apart, his thumb still working her and slides down on the bed, kissing her hip bone as he goes, “Just so you know, I’m really into foreplay.”

She doesn’t have a chance to respond before he replaces his finger with his mouth. Just as suspected, he’s just as good with his mouth down there. His tongue slides smoothly along her sex while his fingers move in and out. She slides a hand into his hair, gripping it a little tighter than she means to when he grazes his teeth along her. Apparently, he appreciates her enthusiasm because he buries his face further into her and she’s falling apart with a loud moan. He takes her through the entire orgasm, lapping up her juices like he’s never tasted anything like it. When he leans up, he wipes his mouth with the back of his arm before giving her a proud smile.

“Really into foreplay,” he reiterates and she offers a weak laugh before pulling him down for a kiss. She can taste herself on his lips. Deciding he deserves a similar show of affection for his effort, she perks up to her knees and gently pushes his shoulders back.

“Well, in that case,” she husks and reaches down to pop the button on his jeans. He helps her get them off and his erection springs free, waiting for her next move. She wraps a delicate hand around him, feeling him out for the first time. Not that she has a whole lot to compare it to, but she can already see he’s well equipped. She wraps her hand around him and slides it up and down slowly, testing him out. His hand grips the bed a little tighter. She should be more nervous than she is, after all this isn’t something she normally does, but she can’t remember ever being this turned on. She hardly has time to think and finds herself doing what comes naturally. In this case, she doesn’t hesitate to run her lips along the length of his erection before completely taking him in.

“Fuck,” he growls out, threading his fingers in her hair. She’s not very experienced in the blow job department, but she also never had any complaints. Either way, she wants to pleasure him as much as he pleasured her.

“Tell me what you like.” She says, pulling up for a moment to give him another seductive smile.

And he does. When she does something he likes, he makes sure she knows. Whether it’s grunting in pleasure or telling her how much he likes seeing her with his cock in her mouth. When he’s not reacting at all, she knows it’s not for him. She continues for a solid five minutes before he pulls her up.

“Not that...I mean I’m not expecting,” he’s the one having trouble forming coherent sentences now and she can’t help but feel satisfied with her work, “Guys don’t rebound like girls do.”

She has no idea what he’s talking about so he tries to clarify, “I’m...close and I don’t want it to be over...you know, before we get started?”

He’s getting flustered and she can’t help but laugh. He groans, clearly frustrated by his lack of cohesiveness.

“I’m just trying to say if you want to have sex and good sex, you shouldn’t keep going.”

She doesn’t answer for a moment, and not really because she doesn’t know what to say but because her mind is pretty hazy as well. She was perfectly content to finish him this way, letting him cum in her mouth because she knows it would blow his mind and she doesn’t really have an aversion to it. But, selfishly, she definitely wants to know what he feels like inside of her.

“Did I fuck up? I mentioned sex...fuck. I don’t want you to think that’s all I want….I,” she kisses him mid ramble.

“Relax,” she says when she pulls away, “I’m happy with sex or I’m happy to finish you off like this. What do you want?”

He considers her for a moment before he grips her hip firmly, “I really want to fuck you.”

She never thought she’d be into the dirty talk, but damn if he didn’t sound good when he told her all the filthy things he wanted to do to her.

“Condoms?” she asks and he points to his nightstand. She fumbles around in the drawer, keeping one hand firmly around his shaft so he stays hard, and pulls one from the drawer. She tears the wrapper open with her teeth and he moans at the sight. She just grins as she rolls the condom onto him. Just as she’s about to sink down on top of him, he flips her onto her back.

“I said I want to fuck you,” he clarifies and sinks into her with one long push. And it feels better than she could have ever imagined.

“Oh God,” she gasps as he fills her up, sinking her nails into his shoulder.

He starts of with slow strokes, pushing in and out at a tantalizing speed. She never thought herself to be loud or anything, but her breath is coming out in raspy moans and they get a little louder as the momentum increases. She pulls her hips up to meet him, flexing her inner walls when he’s completely inside of her.

“You feel so good,” he’s whispering into her ear, face buried in her neck and one hand firmly wrapped around her back, “Amazing, Clarke, so fucking good.”

She hikes her leg up and he slides it over his shoulder and the angle causes her to nearly scream. She grips his arm as he picks up speed and before she even feels it building, she’s falling apart again, shaking beneath him and crying out his name into the dark room. It only takes him a couple more pushes before she feels him come undone as well and he collapses on top of her with a groan.

She runs a hand idly through his hair and he doesn’t move for a good minute or two. Finally, as though he has to muster up the rest of his strength he rolls off of her and removes the condom, idly searching for the trash can near his bed.

“Fuck.” he says when sinks back down into the pillows. It’s a simple statement. She isn’t sure what it means. Wow? I fucked up? Or maybe, You were amazing?

“Fuck.” she agrees. She isn’t sure what she means by it either. She’s satisfied and the usual guilt that comes from these sort of hookups doesn’t come. She doesn’t regret it.

He turns to look at her and gives her a lazy smile, “Was that okay?”

He isn’t asking if he was okay in bed or if she’s satisfied. He’s asking if they stepped over any boundaries. If they violated the terms of their unspoken agreement.

“I’m okay,” she answers firmly, “You?”

He lets out a low chuckle, “I’m great.”

Neither makes a move to get closer to the other, which is fine by her. Cuddling seems too intimate in this moment and she almost laughs at the contradiction of it all. She can have sex with someone and still feel far away. But if there is cuddling, well, that’s just not allowed. She leans up and finds her discarded shirt on the ground, pulling it over her head in one swift motion, determined to cover up. She feels all too exposed and uncertain. What happens now?

“Relax,” he tells her, again seemingly reading her mind with ease. She hates how well he can read her already. It’s not fair.

“I’m still not going to ask you to marry me, Clarke,” it’s a reference to the conversation they had when they first kissed, “We’re friends. We had sex. It doesn’t have to be anything more than that.”

“You’re okay with that?” She feels like she has to ask. He hasn’t indicated anything to the contrary, but she can’t help but still be a little paranoid about it. The last thing she wants is to hurt him. That’s what it’s all about, isn’t it? She has a record of hurting people. She doesn’t want to add anymore names to the list.

“Getting laid on the regular without having to suffer through the relationship part that I know I’m not good at?” when she doesn’t respond, he clarifies, “I’m definitely okay with that.”

It doesn’t feel normal at this moment. That’s usually not something girls want to hear after sex, but to her, it’s a relief.

“Who said it’s happening again?”

He leans up onto his elbow, and opens his knees so that’s he’s practically posing for her, “You know you can’t resist.”

“You just think you’re hot shit, don’t you?” she teases, pushing his shoulders so that he’s on his back and she’s pinning him to the bed.

“Absolutely.”

“Well if you do manage to convince me to do it again,” she says dramatically, “Maybe it would be a good idea to set like...rules or something?”

He slides his hands onto her bare thighs and she has to suppress a shiver threatening to run up her spine, “What kind of rules?”

“I don’t know, to make sure we’re on the same page.”

“I’m listening.”

They manage to agree on three things.

No staying the night.

No cuddling (which he was reluctant to agree to because he likes cuddling almost as much as he likes foreplay.)

No falling in love (or feelings beyond lust.

He walks her out that night and gives her a chaste kiss on the cheek with a simple request that she let him know when she arrives safely home. She does. She crawls into bed, her body exhausted from the long day. Normally, it takes her hours to fall asleep. Her fear of the nightmares often keeping her awake long into the night.

She falls asleep almost as soon as her head hits the pillow.

#bellarke #bellarke fanfiction #my writing #in case you don't like ao3 here you go #modern au #road trip au #angst and tropey goodness

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