Bellarke one shots- smuts

I've got a simple room

Clarke would be the first to admit she was a little wasted. Okay, she was a lot wasted. She was currently stumbling through some house that was off-campus, red solo cup in hand, and she was wasted. Her blonde curls were plastered to her cheeks, and she was sure that her eyeliner was running, but that was more from the tears than the heat of a large number of bodies in an enclosed space. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a dark head of hair headed her way, and she felt the clench of panic fill her belly. It made her stomach churn, a sour taste filling her mouth, and she placed a hand to her chest, willing herself to not upchuck in the middle of the crowded living room. The thrum of music pounded an unrelenting beat through her head, pearls of sweat trickling down her back and between her breasts. The wave of nausea passed, along with the fear, when the dark-haired individual turned out to be the wrong color. The hair was almost black, and the slope of the nose different, the upturn of the lips not the same, and the body too muscular. The girl pushed past her, giving her a curious look, likely because Clarke was gaping at her. Clarke closed her eyes, raising the solo cup to her lips, and she takes another long gulp of the mixture that was mainly vodka and very little orange juice.

She continued on, stumbling through the house, looking for a familiar face to hide away with, to drink away her problems with. Unfortunately, she'd lost sight of her friends; Monty had snuck off somewhere with a guy with tanned skin, scruff on his chin, and a beanie on his head. (Who wears a beanie inside of a hot house party?) Jasper was doing shots with Fox and Harper in the kitchen, getting ready to 'dominate at drunk twister,' but really he was likely going to face-plant multiple times and maybe even break his nose. She was alone to wallow in her misery that was a breakup with the upperclassman that had told her that she was beautiful and helped solidify in her mind that she was, in fact, bisexual. The same upperclassman that told her love was weakness and that they were just having fun before shoving her tongue down the throat of a chesty blonde named Olivia.

Clarke stopped dead, raising the cup to her lips once more, grimacing when she realized that she'd drunk the last of it already. How did she drink the last of it without even noticing? Shit, she was drunk. She stumped in the direction of the kegs, planning on filling up on beer, because maybe if she drank beer, she'd plateau in her level of drunkenness. (Later, she'd regret this, because when sober, and very much in pain, she would realize that mixing types of alcohol would only make her feel even worse in the morning.)

She reached the kegs, holding her empty cup out to the guy manning them, a guy with scruffy blonde hair and blue eyes who looked her up and down like she was a meal. She frowned, taking the beer from him and backing away before he could say anything lecherous to her, because he was too blonde and too blue-eyed, and their hookup would make her feel like she was fucking a sibling or a cousin. No, she had a type-dark hair. They had to have dark hair, at least.

Lexa had dark hair, but her eyes were light. They were a blue-green that reminded Clarke of the ocean-beautiful, vast, open, and dangerous as hell. Clarke had gotten lost in Lexa's eyes, and it'd left her drowned and empty and a shell of herself. Maybe it was just her? Maybe she was the failure? Her relationship with Finn hadn't fared any better than the one with Lexa. Finn had made her a slut, the other woman, the sidepiece while he had beautiful talks of the future with his real girlfriend, the woman he was supposed to spend his life with.

Clarke raised the cup to her lips, gulping down the bitter beer as she continued to stumble back, away from the blonde man who had moved on to his next victim, a petite redhead wearing a bikini top rather than a real shirt. She stumbled over someone's foot, and she was falling. Falling down. Thud.

Beer spilled out of the cup and over her hand, and there were arms wrapping around her waist, and she realized that she was sitting on someone. Shit, how embarrassing. She winced as she turned slightly, her eyes landing on a handsome face-tanned skin, dark chocolate eyes watching her with amusement, a wide set nose, full lips with a small scar hooking into his top lip, unruly black hair settling across his forehead, a smattering of freckles that made her fingers itch to trace, and a smirk that was positively sinful. His grasp on her waist was strong, and she saw the bulging of the veins in his arms as he shifted her more firmly onto his lap. His navy blue t-shirt was stretched across his skin, torn and tattered at the neck. He flicked his tongue along his bottom lip, and his eyebrow quirked slightly.