˗ˏˋ @damnworlds radioed, 😘 ( bellamy ) it's international kissing day! send 😘 to kiss my muse.
it’s something about his eyes, there’s always been something about his eyes that have left her feeling undone, that have toyed with her frayed edges until she unravels before him. no one has ever done that to her before, unwrapped her guard without a word, it feels like he could take a piece of her with him when he left. maybe he will. maybe he already has a long, long time ago. and even with all that, even with the knowledge of knowing what his eyes are capable of doing to her, ripping her open and mending every ache she’s ever had, there’s something so jarring about this, about his eyes watching her with a terrifying clarity as his lips map her skin, every curve and valley and dip.
it scares her, what she feels when he’s near. he elicits something different out of her, something raw and real and beautifully terrifying in its authenticity. and she’s never known what to do with that, she’s never known how to ravel herself back up. even in moments where she wears layers and layers, he makes her feel undressed, he makes her feel — he just makes her feel, in the most purest, technical sense of the word. and perhaps the scariest part is it scares her less than she thinks it should. clarke griffin has weathered emotions that could crumble any person to their knees, but she’s still stood, because she’s had to, because there has never been any other option. and yet, when it comes to bellamy blake, somehow falling to her knees doesn’t sound too bad, somehow she thinks it would give her strength instead of a crippling weakness.
a gasp falls from her lips, when she feels a flash of teeth and tongue against her skin, she shivers and she knows he feels it just as much as she does, knows it in the feel of dull fingernails in her sides, knows it in the curve of lips against her skin, knows it in the heavy gaze of his eyes that seem to never let her go. her head drops back in an instant, can’t cope with seeing and feeling, has to close her eyes to the sensation. it doesn’t stop, continues the path he’s drawn out on her body, but she at least gets the gratifying pleasure of pressing her fingertips into his shoulders, concentrates on the strong muscles moving beneath her touch as he moves up, up, up.
it feels like both heaven and hell, when he finally meets her in the middle, pulls her in like she’s the ocean and he’s the moon, like it’s his purpose to move her like this. she gasps into it, wraps herself around him, nails scratching down his back, accepts whatever this magnetism it is that draws them together. he’s warm and firm, every part of him, and his kiss is just like him, sure and confident and purposeful, this intoxicating mixture that leaves every inch of her on fire. this — this right here is what it feels like to fall into bellamy blake, this oxymoron of danger and safety, and as she kisses him back with an untamed fervor, clarke realizes there’s no going back. what a lovely way to burn.