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be so unholy with me

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The only reason Clarke joins a sorority to start with is because she's grasping onto straws trying to keep her strained relationship with her mother together. Abby's a Delta Veni alumni, one of the founding members of the country's youngest sorority. The thought of her daughter following in her footsteps is almost the only thing that's given them a reason to talk to each other in the last couple of years.

Her mom would probably have a stroke, if she found out how much sorority life has changed. Just as cult-like as before, but kinkier somehow. Filthier. The initiation process including but not limited to binge-drinking at least one of them into the ER, sending a professor of their choice a pair of their used panties, their future sisters treating them to a blind-folded golden shower in the middle of the night, and having the Delta Veni symbol tattooed somewhere on their body like a brandmark.

The most fucked up part is how the 'fresh meat' initiates are paired off to all the senior guys of Theta Vici, their affiliated fraternity, to be used in 'any way they please'. She's sure the current president, Josephine, has plenty enough to do with it.

It's not like Clarke is above it all. She's the odd one out. She’s always been. The only reason she even joined had nothing to with her, and everything to do with the death of her father two years back. He'd want her to try, for her mom. To keep the family together, or whatever. To make sure she's not entirely alone on this godforsaken planet. On a surface level, she fits in. Blonde, rich, skinny enough.

Unfortunately, Clarke is also an uptight, anti-social, type A personality. She enjoys a party here and there, but not until five a.m. in the morning, and definitely not on a school day. She's planning to go to every class, scheduling all her homework on a color-coded sheet and using typographical symbols to prioritize. She’s bad at making friends, especially with her sisters. It's not like all of them came straight from hell, like Josie. Luna is cool, and Harper seems nice enough, but their lovely dictator has forbidden them from talking to each other during their inauguration into sorority life, claiming a deeper, Chakranian level of bonding could take place like this instead. Clarke's pretty sure they're just scared they'll band together and convince themselves to quit.

It's all one big, phony litmus test of loyalty and like she said, she's not above it. She probably could've swallowed her pride and followed through on the whole being owned by a frat boy for the night thing if it had been anyone but the fucking self-awarded king of toxic masculinity, little consequence for his actions and taking whatever the hell he wants. If it had just been someone lower on the totem pole, like that dude Finn that nearly came in his pants when she gave him a polite smile at class sign-up, or Riley, whose palm was clammy when he shook hers in greeting at the Greek Life mixer.

No, it had to be the fucking asshole who hit on her the first night there, trying to get her to be part of his bi-weekly threesome. He looked kind at first, asking her if she was okay, if she regretted the initiation process already, if anyone had warned her about Diyoza's Art History classes because she was definitely a hard-ass, questions and teasing comments designed to get her walls down, put her at ease. It was mostly his smile though, bright and beautiful and reaching all the way up to his brown eyes, that made her feel a little less out of place, that almost made her let her guard down. Then he glanced over at some tall, impatient-looking leggy brunette by the keg, nudging his head toward her, saying something she's sure wasn't far off from 'we saw you from across the room and we like your vibe'. In an instant, Clarke's mood had dropped, like a bucket of cold water had been dumped over her head and she could finally see how well he played her. Bravo. He had known just what to say, what to do. Touch her shoulder, offer her a drink. It was stupid, but she felt dirty, betrayed. Here she was, thinking she was making a friend, her first real friend here, and all he turned out to want was a one-and-done. She was supposed to be smarter than that.

So it was mostly the humilation and disappointment in herself that made her dump her drink down his shirt, yet she also thoroughly enjoyed the look on his face as she did it. From day one it had to be clear, even to people with their heads as far up their asses as him, that Clarke Griffin was not to be messed with. To hell with friends. If that made her seem cold or off-putting, well-deserving of the phrase 'bitch' muttered under breaths if she passed by, that was a price she was willing to pay. She'll get by on her own. She always has.

It's probably exactly why it is him. She bruised his ego by publically rejecting him, not used to word 'no', and now he wants payback. It's not like he actually suffered. His future white-collar criminal friends only cheered him on when he played it off by tugging his shirt over his head and making a show out of tossing it into a crowd of college students chanting his name like he was some kind of God, remaining shirtless and oggled at for the rest of the night. Every time she glanced over at him he'd had a new girl under his arm and an even more defiant look in his eye, like her drink-down-his-shirt had only made him more popular. That somehow pissed her off even more. The amount of trouble she has to go through and effort she has to put in in order to get people to see past her hard exterior and like her, and then dicks like Bellamy red flag Blake get people dropping at their feet with just a simple flash of a smile.

Well, she hoped he enjoyed all the pity-fucking, because he's not going to enjoy tonight.

Josie looks almost delirious from happiness, doing their final inspection on the big winding stairs before the initiates are sent off like lambs to the Theta Vici slaughterhouse. She unbuttons a top here and there, fixes bangs and smoothes out lipstick, then dwindles to a stop at the bottom of the stairs, next to Anya and Ontari.

There's a smirk on her face that can't be described as anything other than sinister, clasping her perfectly manicured fingers together in front of her pelvis. "Remember ladies, no holes are off limit." Her eyes narrow slightly, a warning. "Nobody likes a gatekeeper."

Ontari signals for the initiates to start following her towards the bright pink front door of their sorority house, but Josie's gaze falls onto Clarke, perched on one of the top stairs, who resists rolling her eyes at her commander-in-cunt. She waits before Clarke's almost down before cornering her, separating her from the other girls.

"You look pretty," she comments cheerily, although she looks far from like she believes it, tugging on the cowl neckline of Clarke's satin emerald dress like it wasn't Anya who picked it out for her and told her to wear it. Clarke knows girls like Josie. They like you as long as they're not threatened. She's sure Josie's not her biggest fan, with her Griffin name and no-bullshit defiant attitude that served mostly as her plan B. Maybe she couldn't quit, but she could get kicked out. Even if Clarke knows that's wishful thinking at best. There's no way Josie would get away with cutting a founding alumni's only daughter from the programme, and they both know it. They're stuck with each other, unfortunately.

"Thank you," Clarke mutters, resting her hands in the crooks of her opposite elbows. She stands there, expectant, not foolish enough to think that was it, all the tricks up her sleeve exposed. She's sure Josie has a real reason for signaling her out.

Josie cups her chin, tracing her thumb over Clarke's bottom lip. "Don't forget contraception is forbidden tonight," she reminds her quietly, stroking the soft skin of her cheek before tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. It's a devilish dichotomy -- the gentle ministrations of her fingers and the obvious power trip she's on at the exact same time. "You can just grab a plan B with your scrambled eggs in the morning, we'll have them served with pancakes and fresh fruit."

"I was aware," Clarke replies through gritted teeth, forcing her face to remain straight, whole body tense with apprehension. Her sorority sister looks like the cat that got the canary and after another beat of tense silence, it makes Clarke snap. "Why him?"

She thinks it would make her feel better about being an asshole tonight if she got it on the record that the name-pulling from the fraternity's shared cumsock was rigged. If Josie confirmed that this was all Bellamy's masterplan and not some sick twist of fate accidentally pairing them off. Her luck's better than that.

"Don't be so self-important, sweetie," Josie starts, sugary sweet, a duplicitously compassionate look in her hazel brown eyes. "It's a right of passage. We've all been there."

From what Clarke's heard the other girls talking in hushed whispers about, Josie's initiation three years ago was one for the books. It's a legend on campus even still. She was a first-class virgin and took on two of the frat's most highest ranking playboys -- Roan and Gabriel -- like a champ, zero complaints despite the additional rumour they both had monstercocks. The Theta Vici graduates are working at some of the country's top and most well renowned businesses today, despite spending the bare minimum amount of time in class, the perfect products of the power of nepotism and old money. And networking, Clarke guesses, if tonight's grand finale is anything to go on.

Josie inches closer, making Clarke swallow the string of insults on the tip of her tongue. It's true, after all. None of the other girls have been exempt. And Clarke did choose to be here, however much she hates it. It's futile to protest about the custom in question, she can better save it all for Bellamy. At least him she'll never have to see again after tonight.

The other girl must see her defenses waver, a satisfied little smile stretching across her face. "You're Delta Veni royalty, my sweet Clarke. You deserve the best," Josie offers as a final explanation, the smile contorting in a full blown smirk, no longer holding back. Of course it was her idea. Clarke stiffens as Josie's hand pats her on the ass like she's a cash cow bringing in her money's worth at the trading market. "And he's definitely the best."

When the two of them catch up to the rest of the girls the frat house is already eerily quiet, like the calm before the storm. Clarke's not sure what she expected, some cressests, Latin chanting. A Girls Gone Wild camera set-up. Maybe a blood oath, a few cloaks.

Mel is the only one of the initiates still left in the main foyer, and it seems to like Ontari is badly trying to talk her out of an anxiety attack. "Get it together," she hisses, sharp nails digging into the other girl's biceps, "You're embarrassing us. You're embarrassing your sisters."

"Poor girl," Josie whispers lowly, nearly startling Clarke, gaze fixed on the small, mousey brunette. The hero stories of the girls who've gone before them must've had a completely adverse effect on her. She's not awed, willing to lay there and take it in the name of sisterhood, she's scared. Clarke wants to comfort her, but she's not even sure what she would say. God speed? "Not all of us were made for this life."

Clarke swallows the sick stuck to the back of her throat, accepting the little shove Josie gives the small of her back without commentary as she slowly makes her way up the stairs, fingers dragging along the railing. She makes herself feel better by imagining there's no way he'll last very long. Or at the very least he will be under-endowed. All that cocky posturing's got to be hiding something.

A group of younger frat boys in loitering down the hallway but she ignores them, nostrils flaring as she knocks down the door reading 'Blake, B'. There's a dick with the last B as balls drawn on the nametag, a weathered number written down in pencil on the top right corner that he never bothered to take off. Asshole.

Her fingers curl into fists and dig deeper into her palm the longer he makes her wait. She won't be surprised if he has another girl in there right now. She's near the blood drawing phase when the door finally opens, revealing the manwhore, the legend him-fucking-self. There's a shit-eating grin on his face as he makes no secret out of her checking her out, slowly taking her body in from toe to head.

"You're not fucking my ass," is the first thing out of Clarke's mouth, pushing him past him. She's not going to give him the satisfaction of seeing her face heat.

His room is surprisingly tidy. His laptop is open on his desk, decorated with a few yellow-sticky notes, beside it a tall mirror propped up against the wall. An old weathered photo of two small children is tucked into the clean black frame, between a ticket stub and a party flyer, obviously taken on a disposable camera a long time ago. There's a king-sized bed in the middle of the room and the sheets are dark, a stack of books that seem well-used tucked away on the nightstand on the left.

Bellamy lets out a huff of humoured air that quickly turns into a full-blown chuckle, shutting the door behind her. He leans against the dresser next to his door, arms crossed over his chest. "I don't think you should write it off entirely before you've tried."

Clarke glares at him over her shoulder, then decides to take a seat on his bed. "This is a bit dramatic, isn't it?" She remarks bitingly. A small part of her can't even believe he'd waste his night of no consequences on her. "I thought you would've just gone ahead and put a roofie in my drink."

If he's offended he doesn't show it beyond a brief clench of his jaw and a flicker of something dark in his eyes, remaining rooted on his spot across the room from her. "I prefer my hook-ups to be fully conscious when I make them come."

"Cocky much?" She shoots back, even if her traitorous heart lurches. Clarke doesn't understand her own body. Hates it for the way it reacts to the simplest of lines despite knowing better. So what he can make his string of girls orgasm once or twice, perhaps sometimes by pure luck? The bar is quite literally in hell.

He assesses her slowly, making discomfort prick at her skin. She doesn't like the way he looks at her like he's got her all figured out. "Don't pretend like I'm some bad guy here, princess," Bellamy presses calmly, finally pushing off the wall to come closer to her. "You came here on your own volition."

Like this, she has to crane her neck to stare up at him. Her teeth clench together for a moment, heated fire in her eyes as they bore into his. "Because it's expected of me."

She's been humiliated over the past week, ridiculed, exposed, pushed past every one of her hard limits, spat and pissed on, used and given away like cheap cattle, reminded over and over again that this is exactly how far she'll go, how desperate and pathetic she is to keep from ending up alone. The deep dark truth stares back at her then, because it's not sisterhood she craves. It's not sorority sleepovers and empty affections, nor is it a tense dinner with her mom, both letting out a sigh of relief when they get to turn the television on to fill the silence. Deep down she knows. She knows those people will never -- truly -- understand her. She knows she'll never fit in, that she won't be able to fix what's broken beyond repair. And possibly part of the reason why she was so embarrassed when he proposed that threesome to her last week, was because she got it in her head that maybe he felt it too. It couldn't have been more than twenty minutes that they'd been talking, but she felt it. That connection, that draw between them, like he saw her, and she saw him.

"You don't look the type of girl who does things just because they're expected of her," he challenges smugly, making her want to scream at the top of her lungs. He's right, and she hates it.

Clarke swallows tightly, fingers clasping onto his sheets. "Just do what you want and get this over with."

His eyes seem to spark at that, at last, pushing her down onto the mattress. His knees straddle her hips on either side as he crawls on top of her, hands politely resting on his own thighs as he smirks down at her. "If you want it to be like that, fine with me."

"What, did you expect me to tear up and beg you to be gentle?" Clarke's face scrunches up with disgust, an acid tone to her voice. "To please spare me, make love to me?"

"Whatever makes you feel better, princess," he replies idly, pressing a kiss down to the hollow of her throat in a way that makes the muscles in her chest strain, her next breath coming out stuttered. Bellamy pulls back up, slowly dragging the thin straps of her dress down her shoulder, one by one. "We can pretend I'm the villain." He lowers his mouth to the newly exposed skin, open-mouthed kisses and murmured words sending frissons of pleasure up her spine. "That you're not here because you haven't been able to stop thinking about me." Clarke lets out an offended scoff at the suggestion, forcing her eyes to stay open and fixated on the ceiling, and her palms to stay flat and limp on the mattress, and her throat to swallow the small moan that wants to escape when he exposes her chest to the cool air, sucking a nipple into his mouth without warning. He lets off with a wet pop, glancing up at her to see if he's worn her down yet, she bets. "That just the thought of what I can do to you gets your panties completely drenched."

Clarke can't control everything. She can't control the way her nipples harden at the deep timbre of his voice, or the way her panties probably are fucking drenched enough to be staining her thighs. She can control not giving him the satisfaction of seeing her give into the pleasure, but of course, he sees right through her.

First there's a groan of pleasure as he cups her tits in his palms, pushing them together, an action that seems less to get her to crack, and more for him. Then he's flicking his eyes back up to her face, his pupils dark and fat with want. The sound of his groan caught her by surprise, made her curious, so she happens to not be staring at the ceiling, catching his gaze instead.

The corner's of his mouth turn up at her expression, as if he's amused with her adamance. "You might as well let yourself enjoy this, babe," Bellamy coos, pinching both nipples between his thumbs and forefingers at the same time to perhaps remind her again of that joy. Clarke bites down on her tongue harshly to keep from making a single sound. "Either way it's happening."

She pushes up on her elbows, glaring as she watches him grab his shirt by the back of his neck, pulling it off in one smooth move. His shoulders are broad, chest muscled, so much smooth brown skin on display, and fuck, it only enrages her more.

"God, you're so fucking arrogant," she snaps, to start with, even if her head tips back into the mattress when he starts to kiss her neck, nip at her pulsepoint. "You really think you're something, huh? That you got it all figured out? The world at your feet?" The huff of laughter that follows sounds strained, when his teeth graze one of her nipples, one of her hands flying to his hair, grasping onto the curls tightly. He pushes the material of her dress up, continuing his path of teasing nips and wet kisses down her soft stomach. "Let me -- let me tell you right now that this echo chamber you and your little buddies have created for yourselves will crumble into pieces by the time you enter the real world." His thumbs hook around the lace band of her thong, her hips obediently lifting without her permission so he can drag them down. Bellamy's nuzzling the crease where her hips meets her thigh then, and then noses closer to her centre, the feel of his breath fanning out over her shiny, swollen cunt making her shiver. There's a curse of something under his breath, ignoring her completely, too busy peppering kisses down her mound in a way that makes her lower belly flip. "Doing whatever the hell you want, just, oh, just because you think it's owed to you and your assortment of tiny dicks and fragile egos--"

He lets out a frustrated grunt against her cunt, effectively cutting her off. She clenches down around nothing, longing. "If you'd cut out your sixth wave feminism bullshit crusade for even just five seconds, you could tell I'm trying to go down on you."

Clarke remains quiet, tells herself she's finding it hard to pick between which insult to toss at him next, but knowing that really it's the dark timbre of his voice that has her mute. Has her waiting. Anticipating.

"I won't tell anyone, I promise," he offers, brows pinched together as he stares down at her. He almost sounds upset, but in her head she changes it to annoyed. Annoyed he's not getting his way. That she's not just laying there like a meek little doll and taking it. "If they ask, I'll insist you were kicking and screaming the whole time."

Another beat of silence follows before he looks off to the side, nostrils flaring before he looks back down at her, big hands burning into her sides. "I'm only going to ask this once. Do you want me to stop?"

Her eyes widen imperceptibly in surprise, mouth drying up. For all his bad guy talk and his take-no-prisoners persona, he's doing a terrible job at not giving a fuck.

It's bad, but she finds herself giving in. Her mind's thick with want, thoughts too foggy to make out. It doesn't matter anyway. It's not like she has a reputation that can be ruined if word got out she let him go down on her, that she might possibly even have liked it. He can have his fun, and so can she. If he goes on to believe she isn't worth more than a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of his shoe tomorrow after he's done with her, it won't be worse because she enjoyed it. It's not like she has some sort upperhand here. Like he said, this is happening.

She lays back down without another word, ignoring his pointedly dry murmur of, "Thank God," against her lower belly as he lowers himself back over her. Two fingers spread her wide open for him, and then he's licking a broad stripe up her cunt. Her pulse stutters, pussy clenching down around nothing, because oh, fuck.

Her eyes slam shut on their volition as he briefly takes his fingers off her to curl both of his hands around her hips, dragging her closer, hooking one leg over his shoulder and lapping at her. Long licks, short licks, none of it matters because they all have him make the same kinds of eager, appreciative sounds in the back of his throat. There's little finesse to it, his mouth warm and teeth sharp, and he's definitely not being careful with her. Low groans press into her flesh, the vibrations only making the fire in her gut burn hotter.

Bellamy draws the first honest-to-God moan from her when he slips two fingers in her at once, scissoring her wide open. The stretch hurts for a moment, and then it ebbs away, replaced by an even bigger desire to come. Her hips start bucking up into his hand, fucking herself on his fingers. Trying to get there, fighting for release.

Bellamy looks up at her with a devilish smirk, the dark tone in his voice drawing her attention to him, even through half-lidded eyes. "That's it, isn't it?" He encourages her, only seems thrilled by her own enthusiastic participation, spurred on. He's so handsome, almost boyish in his features, his hair a mess thanks to her, only making her cunt ache worse. "Want to come so badly you've turned into a desperate little slut? So needy, all for me?"

Clarke wants to protest out of principle, lips already curling with disdain, but her chest's heaving, struggling for air, and her forehead beaded with sweat, skin overheated and tight like she's about to burst at the seams, and then she's definitely too busy moaning when he holds her gaze as he sucks her clit into his mouth, an unfairly hot vision.

The last thing she remembers is her toes curling and then she straight up blacks out from pleasure, her orgasm bursting through her like fireworks, high-pitched whimper after whimper falling from her lips.

When she comes to, he's hovering above her, simply watching her. It's obvious he's tried to wipe her arousal off his chin, but he's done a terrible job of it, streaks of shiney come staining his skin.

"Such a pretty mouth," Bellamy mutters, thumb swiping over her bottom lip, then her beauty mark, lingering there for a moment. "I gotta fuck it. You want me to fuck it, don't you?"

"Fuck you," Clarke spits, still panting, even though a fresh surge of want forms between her thighs at the thought.

He tsks, ducks his head to nip at her pout, soothing it over with a kiss. "Such filthy words from a pretty mouth like that."

She barely manages to let out a squeak in answer, her cunt throbbing in beat with her lip, as he lifts off her all at once, manhandling her around so her head's near the end of the bed. Blood rushes to her face as she watches him, upside down, big strong hands working to unbutton his pants, push down his boxers. She barely gets a glimpse of his cock, since he's turning around to kick them both off, stroking his length when he does come back to her.

So all that attitude really isn't for show? Her jaw nearly drops open, knees pressing together to release some of the rapidly building pressure at the apex of her thighs. Clarke usually doesn't form opinions about dicks, she doesn't think of them enough to have one. It's obvious women are the superior sexual beings, but now she's even starting to question that. Jesus Christ, did Josie drug her? Is that what's happening? Her eyes follow the way his hand pumps his cock up and down, stretching the skin, pre-cum leaking at the tip. It's thick, big. So big.

"Mhm, look at those pretty lips," Bellamy compliments her, dark brown eyes fixed on her mouth, running his thumb over the top, spreading his arousal to the rest of his length. Her tongue darts out unconsciously, wondering what he might taste like. His praise has her feeling warm, seen.

Then he comes closer, just a step, lining himself up with her face, and it's just -- a lot.

"Bellamy, don't--" She starts, eyes widened with slight alarm. She doesn't get intimated fast, but this is definitely a lot. Her throat is aching just at the thought. "I don't think--"

He pets the hair at the top of her head, combing it back, and instead of it making her feel humiliated, as if she's some kind of dog, it puts her at ease, makes her relax a little bit more into the mattress. "I think it's time you stop talking for a while, hmm?" His hand slides down her cheek, curling around her jaw to tilt her head back.

His cock bumps into her lips, and for a moment she presses them together tightly, wondering what he might do if she really kept it up. "You were going to be good for me, weren't you? Be a good girl for me," he hums, voice a low baritone, stroking the side of her face gently. His cock bumps into her mouth again, brushing pre-cum over her lips. "Open up."

Clarke obeys, tilting her head even further back, tasting the salt on her lips. He pushes inside of her with a drawn-out grunt, just a few shallow thrusts at first. She swallows audibly, watching him with careful eyes. There's a laser-focus on his cock driving into her mouth, watching himself barely go half in every time. After a minute, he starts to push in deeper, lengthen his strokes, enjoying the way she chokes around him, throat fluttering to adjust to his size. The sounds they're making are filthy, loud and wet, and her vision turns blurry from tears, fingers helplessly clutched into his sheets.

Another minute, and he pulls out, stroking himself as he lines his balls up with her mouth. She laps at them, sucks them into her mouth like an obedient slut until he's groaning his praise. Isn't that what he called her? A desperate little slut. She finds she likes it, handing over the control, being nothing more but a vessel of want, need. He brings the tip back to her mouth and she kisses it, licks at it, sucks it into her mouth, laps down the side of his length. Revels in the noises she gets him to make.

Without warning, Bellamy grabs her by the shoulders, dragging her further towards the end of the bed so her head is hanging off, blonde hair spilling halfway down to the floor. She barely gets to gasp for a deep breath of air before he's back inside of her, so deep, so far, his balls slapping against her cheeks, tears falling from the corners of her eyes. Clarke can feel him in her throat, can feel her pussy ache terribly at being so neglected. She must be leaking onto his sheets at this point.

He pulls back out, slams back in, staying there for so long she's struggling for air, her throat convulsing around him as her hands come up to push at his lower stomach. Bellamy doesn't relent, watches her face turn red, the veins in her neck stand out, the bulge in her throat. She pushes him harder, shoves at his thigh, crying, choking on his name.

He shushes her, all sweet, hand flat on her throat, probably feeling himself throb inside of her. "Shhh, you can take it. Don't complain," he scolds her in a soft, tender tone, drawing his hips back. The pain abrubtly diseappears, relief coursing through her veins. Clarke gasps for air, pink cheeks tear-stricken, spit down her chin, giving him the perfect opportunity to slam back inside with a pleasured moan. This time, she struggles less against the fear pounding away in her ribcage, tries to breath in through her nose as she focuses on his calming murmurs, the almost blissful feeling of nothingness in her mind. "See? So easy, isn't it? So easy, taking me. Feels so good, baby."

"Touch yourself," he commands, sounding as wrecked as she probably looks.

Clarke nearly startles at suggestion, but one of her hands hurries between her legs, finding herself absolutely soaked. She's so keyed up a few hurried taps on her clit have her near-release already. Bellamy grips at her tits roughly, starting to fuck into her mouth in earnest.

One finger dips inside her heat, just to gather some arousal, her entire body twitching from oversensitivity when she returns back to the spot where she craves friction the most. Fast, small circles is all it takes for her to be moaning around his thick length in her mouth, impossibly full and still so empty at the same time, choking on a cry when she comes, hard.

Unexpectedly he pulls out of her, a string of spit between her mouth and his cock as it bobs back up to his abdomen, glistening in the light. Her chest is heaving, lungs straining for air as she slowly blinks her eyes open, watching him curiously.

His knuckles graze over her cheekbone, wiping some of her tears. "You did so well, baby. I was so close. Had to try so hard not to come all down that pretty throat of yours," he eases the worries she didn't even know she had, her chest glowing with pride. Then, the answer to the silent question in her eyes, "Gotta be inside your pussy first, sweetheart. I wanna come inside of you." He has more restraint than she does.

Clarke's too boneless to protest when he starts to lift her back on the bed, helping her up so he can pull her dress over her head. He cups her chin with his entire hand, starts kissing at her jaw, her chin, her neck, cleaning off the thick threads of spit and the fastly drying teartracks covering her flushed skin. "Wanna kiss me yet, princess?"

All she manages is a lazy hum, thinking about how nice his mouth feels, how much nicer it would feel on top of hers. She feels him hover above her, feels his lips just barely graze across hers, his hand on her throat again, right where she feels sore, then they press down more firmly, somehow still soft. There's a rough squeak in the back of her mouth when his tongue slips between her lips, exploring her mouth leisurely. He swalllows the soft sigh she lets out, melting into him as her fingers cart through the hair at the base of his neck.

She's panting, staring up at him with big, clear eyes when he pulls away, nuzzles her nose with his. "Not so bad, right?"

"I'm misestimated you," Clarke confesses, voice still hoarse from what they just did. "I thought you were overcompensating for something." She has to clear her throat then, put aside her pride, too. "Apparently not."

He kisses her again then, practically devouring her. "When I first saw you I had to have you," he breathes, near desperation, as if she'd been some sort of apparition. An hour ago, those words would've set her off. Now she recognizes them for what they are. She had to have him too. "I had to."

Clarke kind of regrets not just signing up for the threesome a week ago. She could've been having all these amazing orgasms helping her through the hazing process. The girl would've been an added bonus.

He kisses down her chest, pecks one of her nipples before lightly sucking on it, swirling his tongue around the hard bud. Fingers squeeze around the fleshy part of her hip once he's done."Can you get up on your hands and knees for me?"

Clarke nods, but he still helps her turn around, hands everywhere.

"There she is," he admires, pads of his fingers ghosting over the tiny Delta Vici symbol between her shoulder blades before pressing her down with a flat hand, pushing her into the mattress. His palm slides down her spine, over her ass, covering her dripping pussy with his entire hand easily.

One finger slips inside of her, then another. Her back arches, pushing her ass into him. He adds a third, easily, so fucking easily it should be embarrassing. She flutters around his thick fingers, still not full enough. "You need more, don't you, baby? Need my cock stretching you out?"

Her breath hitches in the back of her throat, and it takes a beat, but then she's nodding, cheek pressed tight against the pillow.

"I'm sure not going to be the one to deny you," Bellamy teases, dark voice rough and wrecked. Her response is replaced with a moan when he slides in, all hot and heavy and perfect, grunting onto her neck when he bottoms out.

"Fuck," he curses, staying there for a moment, completely still, heartbeat pounding hard enough against his chest she can feel it. "You were just made to take me, weren't you?" Bellamy leans back up, gripping her hips, seemingly staring down at where he's disappearing inside of her, making wet, filthy sounds. "Look at that pussy taking me so good, so well."

His thrusts are long and deep, exchanged with short, shallow ones every now and then, when it gets too much, when he gets too close. He's not done with her yet, tries to draw it out as long as possible. She grinds back into him, meeting him every time. Giving, taking, it doesn't matter -- all of it feels just as good.

Bellamy's hand circles around her hips to rub her clit gently, nothing too much, too painful, after the two she's already had. He starts pounding into her now, harder and harder, hitting a spot inside of her that has her vision whiting out, has pathetic whimpers fall from her lips in rapid succession.

"Beg me," he grunts, a simple command that could mean so much -- but only has one to her.

"Bellamy. Please. Please let me come," she begs, fucking begs like her life depends on it, her heart racing and the pressure in her centre building fast, teetering on the edge. She'll go insane if she doesn't find release soon, breathing ragged. "Please let me come. I need to come."

Sweat has gathered across their bodies, her whole skin hot and sticky, hair stuck to her temples, the back of her neck. Her fingernails dig into the bed, her mouth opening and closing with tortured sounds as he drives her further and further towards obvlivion.

"What about me?" Bellamy pants, blunt nails digging into her hips, sparks of pain only heightening her pleasure. "Do you want me to come?"

"Yes, God, yes," she practically screams, inadvertly clenching down on him, her release a light at the end of the dark tunnel, so close she can reach out with her fingertips and grasp it. She can feel him start to swell inside of her, feel him throb as his thick cock rubs every one of the ridges inside of her just right. She wants to be filled up. "Come inside of me, please."

Clarke's nearly sobbing with it, squirming and trashing. So close. She hears a wet pop, then feels two fingers press against her backhole, making her gasp. The pressure is so surprising, so new, her spine straightens, need burning inside of her, and then she's falling apart, crying out his name. For one blissful, mind-numbing moment her mind blanks out, blood rushing to her ears and blocking everything else out.

A strained grunt brings everything back into focus, and it's the slap of his hips against her ass that she hears, before he falters, movements stuttering as he spills his seed nice and deep inside of her. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," he mutters, circling his hips to draw out the most of his pleasure, making her hiss at the sensation.

"I don't want to pull out," he complains after he's caught his breath, petulantly, kneeding her ass.

"It's okay," she slurs, completely exhausted. She feels sticky and gross in the best of ways. "You can always come inside me again."

If he's surprised, he doesn't say, and instead reluctantly starts pulling out of her, making her shiver. He's warm come seeps out of her onto the mattress, the thought of it making her hot all over again. This, a brandmark she likes. Bellamy collapses next to her, slinging his arm over her back.

"You came around really fast," he tries out, as if testing the waters, only a minute later.

Her eyes slowly blink open, repressing a groan at how sore her body feels and instead replacing it with a dry smile. "Let's call it your irrestible charm."

He chuckles, the sound gravelly and deep, making goosebumps rise on the back of her arms. "They'll all know that's code for my cock."

Cock? Monstercock, he means. She's going to have trouble walking for days, she's certain. "I really don't care," Clarke finds herself saying, and meaning it too. He's broken something inside of her, and she can't get enough of it, wants to feel it over and over again. Wants to feel seen, understood. Called a whore. Be good for him.

"Would you--" He clears his throat, averting his eyes. "Would you want to come here again?" Oh, she wants to come.

A laugh prickles at the back of her throat. "Are you getting shy on me now?" Clarke prompts, thoroughly amused as she smirks over at him. This is too good. "Mr. This Is Happening Either Way?"

"Shut up," he grumbles, scrubbing a palm over his eyes. "I--" He starts, then trails off.

"Go on," she teases, tapping his sternum playfully. "Use your big words."

"God, nevermind. You're insufferable," Bellamy scoffs, even if it's half-hearted at best. His face heats, nostrils flaring out of frustration. "I don't even know how I got it in my head that I would want to date a brat like you."

All traces of humour flood from her system at once. "Date me?"

"Date you."

She blinks a few times, thinking it over. "Okay."

"Okay?" He repeats, a hint of confusion in his voice. "I never got the chance to ask."

"You didn't have to," Clarke assures him, finding it very easy to give in to the inevitability of it all. "You saw me and had to have me. You're dating me."

"I'm dating you," he confirms, a stupidly soft shit-eating grin on his face that she can't help but return.

The next morning they're one of the last people to get out of bed and show up for breakfast. Most of the girls have returned to their own sorority house, but there's a stray one here and there. Harper's in the dining room, curled into the side of an Asian boy she doesn't recognize. Clarke will gladly avoid Josephine for as long as possible too.

One of Bellamy's brothers whistles lowly under his breath, taking a swig of his beer despite it being before noon. He eyes the two of them curiously. "I take it you had fun last night?"

"Put her to good use, yeah," Bellamy taunts casually, possessively slinging his arm around her shoulder. Their presence has drawn some more attention from his roommates and other guests alike, so she gets it. He's putting up a front. Networking purposes and all.

The tall, leggy brunette from the other night who is standing beside the frat brother only rolls her eyes, expression unchanging as she turns around her heels, stalking out of the room.

"What was that all about?" She whispers with a lingering glance at the door as Bellamy sits down at the head of the table a minute later and tugs her into his lap, putting a mug and a plate stacked with food down in front of them.

He pulls her further into his chest, armed draped casually across hers, kissing her cheek. "She's just jealous," he brushes her off, blasé.

"Jealous?" Clarke echoes, the word tasting weirdly in her mouth.

He rips off a piece of waffle, stuffing it into his mouth as he shrugs. Swallowing the food, he tells her, "We broke up a few days ago. I came up with the threesome when I saw you, but I guess she picked up on my real intentions."

"I'd be into it," Clarke offers, scrunching up her nose as her hand settles on his forearm. She would like to try it sometime, with him. She loves eating girls out, and she's gonna miss it. "Just not with her." She looked nice enough from a distance the other week, but now that she knows she's Bellamy's ex, she'd rather die.

He pecks her nose, smiling down at her. "Maybe in a few months, okay? I'm not ready to share yet."

She lifts a shoulder, not really caring much either way. She supposes he'll keep her busy enough. So busy, maybe she won't even have time to miss eating out. "Deal."

"One condition though," he murmurs into the back of her shoulder, pressing his mouth there.

Clarke stiffens, narrowing her eyes as she turns her head to look at him. "I told you, you're not fucking my ass."

He laughs, loud and boisterous, making her stomach flip. "Oh, come on," Bellamy opposes, full of disbelief. "How did you know I was gonna ask?"

She raises her eyebrows, deciding to turn it around on him. "Can I fuck your ass?"

"Sure," he agrees, without giving it much thought, his smirk only growing when he watches the dumbfounded expression on her face. "It's only fair."

To be honest, she'll probably give in fast enough. She kind of liked it when he played with hers last night. She's just not going to make it easy for him. Clarke makes a frustrated noise in the back of her throat. "Can't we just -- I mean, I'd like to do that thing with my mouth again."

"Yeah?" He echoes, smiling fondly as he rakes her eyes.

"Yeah. It was nice," Clarke answers softly, refusing to feel embarrassed about it anymore. He likes it when she asks for things, when she knows what she wants. And she really liked not having to think about anything for a moment. "Kind of... peaceful, you know?"

Understanding glints in his eyes, making her pulse skitter. "We can do that any time you want, babe. Just say the word."

"Maybe not right now," she realizes as she pops a grape in her mouth and chews on it before swallowing, squirming at the soreness."It still hurts." As a matter of fact, everything still hurts. He really did a number on her. Most of her former sexual experiences lasted under ten minutes.

He offers her his mug of tea silently, kissing her temple in apology. "I know. I'm not sorry though."

Clarke smiles, leaning back into his chest as she takes a small sip. Her night didn't turn out so bad after all. "Me neither."

Josie looks pleased when Clarke arrives home a few hours later to get ready for the celebratory end-of-initiation party tonight, looking thoroughly fucked. "How was it?"

Clarke scoffs, hating the smug look on her president's face most of all. She sends her a saccharine sweet smile that doesn't reach her eyes, as she makes her way upstairs, throwing a sarcastic reply over her shoulder, "The best."