warnings: smut, perhaps could be viewed as dubious consent, with like a heavy filter… it is a sex pollen fic
Clarke hated being polite, sometimes she just wanted to say no, I want to go back to my tent and sleep
for a couple of days. But sometimes, life didn’t work like that, sometimes
you just have to man up and do the right thing. Still, when you get stuck get
stuck in this situation, you just want to be back in your own bed, curled
beneath a tattered blanket trying not to think of Bellamy Blake… wait, what?
No, just relaxing, just relax and do nothing for once.
here she was, seated on a lavish chair with Bellamy kneeling beside her, a clay
plate piled high with strange fruits that Clarke had never seen before. It was so
strange to be seated with this group of Grounder women surrounding her, men all
kneeling before or beside them.
of the Kru’s who shared a border with the Trikru had invited Clarke (and by
extension Bellamy) to the Harvest festival. She had been reluctant to attend
the festival, not entirely sure why it was necessary for her to attend when any
number of their people could have gone. But their emissary had insisted it be
her, and when Lincoln had whispered something in Bellamy’s ear and he had
volunteered (volunteered isn’t a strong enough word, not for the way Bellamy
cornered her after the meeting, standing just close enough that she could feel
the heat radiating off his body and it felt like his dark eyes were piercing
straight into her soul, the way he practically told her with a stern look that
he was going, whether she liked it or not).