
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/5253248.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/F
  Fandom:
      The_100_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Bellamy_Blake/Clarke_Griffin, Clarke_Griffin/Cage_Wallace
  Character:
      Bellamy_Blake, Clarke_Griffin, Cage_Wallace, Octavia_Blake, Abby_Griffin
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Modern_Setting, Explicit_Sexual_Content, Underage
      Sex, Love_Triangles, Moral_Ambiguity, Smut, Drabble
  Series:
      Part 2 of anything,_anything_(i'll_give_you)
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-11-21 Words: 1992
****** false colored eyes ******
by littlefoxfires
Summary
     As a child he’d read as much as he breathed, was teased for keeping
     his nose in a book as he walked down hallways and crashed into walls
     and people. So he supposes that from an outsider's point of view,
     this all has to be a fucking marvel.
Notes
     So, I wrote this a while ago as a continuation, got a new laptop, and
     read it over. I really liked this story, despite it being just a tad
     disturbing, and decided to post it as part of a series of drabbles.
     This is a continuation of 'sonder' and you definitely need to read
     that before you read this.
     About the subject matter, MissMarissa really said it best (who is
     awesome and gave me a great comment, thank you, I love you). In those
     first couple episodes...I don't know, man. CW has a thing about
     pairing up underaged girls with older guys, (Hollywood in general, I
     suppose, and that implication is completely gross, btw), and all
     those girls cycling in and out of Bellamy's tent were definitely
     under eighteen. Also, Octavia is one of the younger characters in the
     first season at about sixteen, and Lincoln is obviously several years
     older than her. That's part of the reason why I'm not really of fan
     of them together, to be honest. Might make me a hypocrite as far as
     Bellarke is concerned. Anyway, I'm getting off my soapbox. Please
     enjoy.
     Trigger Warnings (!!!!) underage sex, statutory rape, explicit sexual
     content.
See the end of the work for more notes
The story of how they end up like this, Clarke’s hands running all over him,
tentatively, as if she really can’t believe it and the guilt steeped so dark
and low in his chest, is an interesting one. Even from his perceptive, right in
the middle of it all, encircled by her soft, creamy legs, thrusting hard into
her—he’s sort of intrigued about how this happened, and most of all, how it
will play out. Perhaps it is an obsession with stories. As a child he’d read as
much as he breathed, was teased for keeping his nose in a book as he walked
down hallways and crashed into walls and people.  So he supposes that from an
outsider's point of view, this all has to be a fucking marvel. 
Luckily there is no one watching at this moment, because Bellamy is definitely
fucking his little sister’s best friend (she also might be his best friend,
Jesus), head falling back on her impossibly fluffy pillow, trying not to watch
himself disappear inside her as she rides him because it would be over much too
quickly. Instead he grips her hips and just looks up and watches her face, head
thrown a little back and slack in bliss, a little smileon her face like she’s
finally got everything she’s ever wanted.
A knock comes from her door, soft, but he’s sure he heard it, and he freezes in
complete and utter terror. Like, it gripshim. Because no matter who it is, if
they walk in and see them having sex it’s going to be bad. It’s a specific,
detailed knock, and he knows exactly who the fuck is behind the door, and
Clarke doesn’t even bother to address it, just leans forward to put a small
hand on his mouth, actually says, “Shh.” And, inappropriately, it turns him on,
he groans into it. At this, her smile turns breathless and amused as she rolls
her hips harder, and he really does not want to think about who taught her how
to do that.
In the morning, when they have breakfast, he is trying not to be awkward, and
angry. He is trying not to be a lot of things. But that is difficult when he
comes down the stairs and Clarke is chatting and laughing with his sister like
nothing fucking happened. Like he didn’t find out she was having an affair with
her step-father and then fucked her right after. Which would be fine, if Cage
Wallace wasn’t with them, sipping on coffee in his disgustingly expensive suit,
sneaking glances at the line of Clarke’s small, cotton shorts that look like
glorified underwear. It makes him feel better that none of his lascivious looks
are directed at his sister, but he’s still pissed, and most of that is self-
hatred, because instead of trying to convince her to tell her mother he got
distracted by her pussy. Also, a part of him is decidedly jealous, because he
is pretty certain she wore those shorts to draw Cage’s gaze.
“Bell!” Octavia has her eyebrows raised, “Where have you been? You never sleep
this late.” She doesn’t seem suspicious, if anything, the tone is a little
joking, lifted in typical Octavia Sass. Thankfully, the lack of edge to her
voice means that their mother is alright, and there is light a weight lifting
from his chest, but guilt settles in deeper.
Clarke leans against the counter with her own cup, mouth in a genuine smile and
eyes swirling with secrets. He clears his throat as he brushes past her to pour
himself coffee from Abby’s glass French Press. The woman is obsessed with
coffee, but insist that a French Press is the only way to brew it. The first
time he’d taken a sip, he felt like he’d entered another world. It was smooth,
bold, and not as bitter as he was used too with his family’s old drip machine.
Abby is a tad bit pretentious. She grew up with money, unlike Clarke’s father,
but nonetheless, the women is decidedly friendly, all warm brown eyes and tough
love. She is a good person, a good doctor, and looks after Bellamy’s family
more often than not. She is kind. And of course, that always made him wonder
about the thinly veiled contempt in Clarke’s eyes when her blue gaze was
directed at her mother. So often had he seen Abby look at her daughter’s back
with regret, feel him looking and turn to him with a self-depreciating smile.
“Your mom’s fine. They just wanted to run some more tests. You know how my
mother is. She’ll probably okay her tomorrow for discharge.” Clarke says, and
he has to avoid her gaze, but Bellamy nods nonetheless.
Yes, he does know how Abby is. Meticulous and fair. 
Wait. “You should be in school,” Bellamy realizes, turning a harsh glare at
Octavia, who is immune to his disappointment by now, and just sips on her
orange juice with an unimpressed look. She’s not a coffee person. It upsets her
stomach. It’s about eight AM, and usually Octavia and Clarke always go to
school together, without fail. He doesn’t have enough money to buy her a car,
and she’s too snooty for the bus, so Clarke picks her up before they head to
school, and they come home together following extracurriculars. Cheerleading
(for Octavia), Lacrosse (for Clarke), tutoring, group projects etc. Even when
one doesn’t have anything to do, the other busies themselves until they’re
ready to go home. They are attached at the hip. Bellamy hates himself.
“We’re going to visit Mom, later,” is all she answers, and he supposes he can
accept that answer, as long as he can force her to go to class after.
At that moment, Cage lifts himself from his seat at the island, clicks the lock
button on his iPad and sighs in something like content, “I’m off!” he says,
sliding the device into his briefcase, “Clarke?”
Bellamy turns to her as the girl lifts her head nonchalantly, a display of not
giving an utter fuck about what he has to say.
Cage takes her reaction with a smile, “Your mother told me she was working
late. Why don’t we have dinner at that café you’re so fond of? The one that
uses a French Press.”
Clarke doesn’t hesitate in her answer, seamless and blasé, “I’m have Lacrosse
practice, there’s a game on Friday.”
Bellamy knows damn well that practices usually end at six, at the latest. But
he also knows it would be odd and downright suspicious for Cage to argue this
fact and insist that she meet him after. Clarke probably knows this too,
because he sees her little smile and challenging eyes as she takes a sip of her
coffee. When he turns to Cage, there’s a little pop in his jaw and a hardening
of his expression before he smiles and nods, “Not a problem. I’ll pick
something up for you.”
“For Octavia and Bellamy too?” Clarke asks innocently, “O wants to stay until
her mom gets better.”
Bellamy opens his mouth to protest, but Cage only directs his hard gaze at him
and says, “Of course,” like a threatening snake, though, all quiet, interested
anger and promises and jealousy. 
When Cage is out of the door, Octavia jumps down from the counter, “Such a
creep. I’m going to take a shower.”
Clarke only laughs, but his own heart is pounding as Octavia leaves the
kitchen, and everything is happening in slow motion until he hears Clarke set
down her mug on the marble and feel like move closer to him. She pulls his cup
of coffee his hands slowly, so meticulous and fluid that he’s actually watching
the movement.
He barely has time to process what is happening before she is pressed against
him, mouth on his. She tastes like coffee.
“What are you doing?” he hissing as he pushes away firmly, looking behind her
as if someone will materialize any moment, as if Octavia will burst in and see
her brother making out with her underaged best friend.
Clarke only looks at him with something that can only be described as amused
adoration, running her fingers up and down his chest, over his shoulders, up to
his neck and into his hair. Her eyes are bright and heavy lidded, body pliable
against his. He closes his eyes and exhales, long, deep, suffering.
She doesn’t say anything, just kisses him again, deeper, mouth hot and sliding
sinfully against his. When his hands reach down roughly squeeze her ass, she
smirks against his mouth and then he realizes she wore the shorts for him, not
Cage. At this sudden insight, his dick actually hardens against the soft fabric
of his pajama pants and she has the gall to roll her hips against him.
“Clarke, stop,” he hisses against her mouth, when her hands dip into the
waistband of his bands and just grabs his cock and twists her hand.
“We only have a few minutes, but Octavia takes really long showers when she’s
over here—“
“---I really don’t want to talk about my sister right now,” he groans.
“Okay,” she says with a breathless little laugh, and then pulls him forward by
his shirt, walks back until he is crowding her against the island, and turns
around.And then, if things cannot get anymore impossible, she starts to pull
down her shorts. He’s pretty sure his jaw is to the floor as she bends over. He
closes his eyes against swell of her ass, and really starts to pull away until
she pushes against him again and wraps a hand around to pulls him closer, leans
back, lifting her self on the tips of her toes.
He’s weak. Worse than weak, because he pulls down his pants just slightly and
frees his cock, grinds against her ass, plush and firm and perfect and when he
slides his hand to her pussy she’s already wet. He takes a little bit of time
teasing her, easing two fingers into her slick, wet heat. 
“We don’t have time for that—“ she gets caught off with a soft cry when he
enters her, nice and fluid.
She’s pushing back on him, and he makes the mistake of looking down. It is a
terrible mistake, because when he’s almost all the way out of her, he can see
his dick is slick and shiny with her wetness and her around him and— 
His eyes pretty much roll back into his head, and he closes them, concentrates
when he grips her soft hips and fucks her hard, relentlessly, biting his lip
hard in order to keep from groaning. 
Clarke, on the other hand, is having a tougher time, she’s sobbing a little
with each thrust, and with a little humor, he cups her mouth harshly, presses
her mouth against her ear, and whispers, “Shh.”
She’s laughing into his hand, and then not laughing when his fingers are
sliding against her clit and she’s coming and squeezing so tight around his
cock and muffling her cries. 
He bites her shoulder hard while he’s thrusting, and thinks, God, he wants to
leave a mark, he wants…
He keeps thrusting hard and deep into her cunt and tightening his teeth on her
shoulder. 
He can’t think of his guilt, of anything, of the implications of what he doing,
he doesn’t think of any of this until she gasps out, “I love you.”
And then his heart stops dead in his chest but his dick won’t stop pulsing
inside of her. 
When his heart starts beating, albeit shallowly, she’s pulling up her shorts
and turning around with a brilliant smile. She kisses him, an amorous presses
of soft lips on his before she says, “Gonna shower,” extremely chipper and he’s
still stupidly standing there with his dick out and his heart racing and his
eyes wide.
 
 
End Notes
     Thank you very much for reading, please feel free to leave a comment.
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