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Clarke is tired.
She’s tired of having the weight of the world on her shoulders.
She’s tired of having to save the world over and over again.
She’s tired of constantly having to bear it all.
She's tired.
Her arm hurts, the black blood in her veins thumping, a reminder of what she just did. She can see it through the paleness of her skin, a testament to how much this is all taking from her. Gone are her rosy cheeks from when she first came down to the ground, gone is the innocence in her blue eyes, the fullness and roundness of her face and bones. Now, she's all sharp curves, pale skin, black blood.
She's truly become Wanheda, the Commander of Death.
But whats hurts more than her aching body, is the fact that she was almost willing to let Emori be used to save them, what hurts more is the venom in Murphy’s voice, the anger in his eyes, as they lead Emori to the table, and the tears on her mother’s face as she smashes the radiation chamber, shattering the last chance they had to save all of her people, begging silently for Clarke's forgiveness.
Forgiveness that Clarke of course will give because her mother, because except for Bellamy, her mother is all she has left.
She’s failed them.
She's failed them all.
Their hope now lies elsewhere and she’s tired.
She’s dreading having to tell Bellamy about what happened, knowing that he will be worried about her, about the fact that she once again sacrificed herself.
He will be angry that he couldn't have been there to take the night-blood himself because that who he is, selfless king.
She's dreading having to tell the others that they have no way of knowing if the night-blood will work, if it can save them, if she can save them. That her mother's love for her, her mother's attempt to make things right after sending her to the ground, after murdering her father has once again condemned them all to death.
She’s tired.
As soon as she is cleared by her mother, she takes off to her room, not having the strength to see the tears on her mother’s face, to deal with her apologies, apologizes that she will have to accept because her mother is alive and an alive mother who betrays her is much better than a dead mother. She doesn't want to see the despair on Miller’s face and the betrayal on Raven's, Luna's, and Murphy's faces, the confusion on Emori's face over the fact that she chose to save her.
She too tired to deal with it all.
Everything hurts, from the soles of her feat to the needle mark in her arm to the strands of hair on her head.
She’s tired but she knows sleep will not come easy to her.
Sleep has not come easy to her, not since they came to the ground and her nightmares were full of people dying, of the delinquents disappearing one by one turning up with a spear in their chest or their limbs missing, all of them dead, her unable to save them, of Charlotte jumping, of Lexa delivering Bellamy's head to her.
Clarke sinks down on the bed and runs a hand through her blonde hair before burying her face into her hands, choking back a sob.
She can’t help but wish that Bellamy was here, he would know what to do- a squeeze on her shoulder, his hand wrapped around the back of her neck as he hugs her tightly to him, pulling her into the comfort of his chest, offering her comfort when no one else can. Letting her be weak in his presence. Giving her some of his strength.
But at the same time she grateful that he’s not here, she has a feeling that if he had been around when she injected herself with the nightblood that he would have plenty to say or even worse would try to convince her mother to inject him instead.
She can picture it, the way he would yell, tell her that it wasn't worth the risk, that she can't keep risking her life, she can feel his arms cradling her as she sways on her feet, the blood in her body changing. She picture him looking for another needle, another vial of night-blood because if she was going to risk it, than so would he. Because together is what they do.
But Bellamy isn't here, and the blood in her veins is black not red and she has no way of knowing if the blood will protect her.
If it will protect them.
Shes got nothing to save all her people and Murphy’s upset and Luna, she’s angry and she doesn't blame her.
She’s failed.
She's failed them all.
She’s failed them all and she doesn’t deserve Bellamy’s comfort.
Her people, her mother, Jasper and Octavia, Miller, Monty, Harper, Bellamy, they will all die and she can’t save them.
Luna and Roan's people, Indra, Niylah, all the grounders will die and it's on her hands.
She failed them all.
She pulls her shirt over her head and it lands on the floor in a crumpled heap. She needs to shower as a way to stop herself from spiraling. She needs to feel the sharp needles of cold water on her skin. She needs to focus on the sound of the water hitting the floor, of anything but the blood that she can hear roaring in her veins. She needs to drown out the sound of her people's blame or black blood in her veins, that calls her name.
Wanheda.
Wanheda.
Wanheda.
It calls to the darkness in her heart, to the ice in her veins, to the part of her brain that is screaming that love is weakness.
Besides, in the shower she can cry to her heart's content and no one will hear her.
She can surrender to the emotions she feels, to the pain and anger in her heart.
She's kicking off her boots, managing to finally unlace them, when she hears a knock on her door.
She debates on pretending to be asleep but the knock is loud firm, demanding of her time, of an answer.
“Wanheda.”
Roan.
Her shoulders slump in relief that it’s not her mother but she can feel the blood in her veins throbbing, a reminder that the alliance between them is fragile, hanging on a thin string, and her muscles tense as she walks toward the door.
The floor is cold under her bare feet and she takes a quick breath, curling her toes, grounding herself before turning the doorknob to let him in.
Roan stand before her, tall imposing, a wall of pure muscle wrapped in black cloth, his ice blue eyes piercing.
“How many time have i told you not to call me that?"
“Got you to open the door.”
"What do you want? I'm kinda busy."
He steps into the room forcing her to move backwards to let him in.
Clarke closes the door, rolling her eyes.
She crosses her arms across her chest and his eyes drift downward and she freezes as she realizes that’s she just in her pants and a bra that has seen better days.
She uncrosses her arms but realizes that she's still giving him a good look and she shifts.
“What do you want Roan?”
She crosses the room and bends down to pick up her shirt from the floor, she's trying to decide what's more awkward standing in front of Roan in her bra or pulling her shirt back on and letting him know that she's on edge.
Roan steps closer to her and she can feel his eyes on her and she lingers, straightening her boots, feeling his gaze on her ass.
It feels nice, to have eyes on her that aren't watching her waiting for her to fail. To have eyes on her body, that appreciate what they see. She's forgotten what it's like.
"Wanheda..."
She turns, the shirt dropping from her hand and he sighs.
"Clarke...Look, I’m not your Blake. I don’t know or have the words to make this all better. But you are, Wanheda, the commander of death, if there was anyone to survive this, it would be you.”
Clarke ignores the *your Blake* comment and instead sinks down onto the bed, burying her face into her hands.
She's not use to letting anyone but Bellamy see her like this, but if anyone understands what it's like to lead it's Roan.
“But I don’t deserve…”
Roan snorts and she watches him from between her fingers, as he squats down in front of her, his hands gripping her legs and she reluctantly pulls her hands away from her face to look at him.
“Deserve to live? Do any of us? We’ve all done horrible things and we all will keep doing bad things for the sake of our people. It’s what leaders do. We make the difficult choices and we live with it.”
His eyes are dark, staring straight at her and Clarke is suddenly aware of how big Roan’s hands are on her thighs.
It sends a spark down her spine, to the lower part of her body.
She's aware of how much smaller she is, how large his hands are, how big he is.
She looks down at them and the way they encircle her thighs,the weight of them heavy.
She wonders how they would feel on her hips, around her neck.
She licks her lips and she meet his eyes.
His eyes are dark, and heavy with lust and his hands squeeze her thighs, testing the waters.
She dips her head slightly and then she's falling backwards onto the bed, tits bouncing as his hands dip into the waistband of her pants and her panties, tugging, yanking them off and tossing it over his head.
He wrenches her legs apart and she can feel the cold air of the room hit her skin, for a second before the heat of his mouth covers her cunt.
Clarke cries out, arching her back, her hands twisting into Roan's long hair.
Roan's merciless, his hands pressing her thighs flat against the bed as he licks into her, his tongue probing deep, moaning into her cunt, his tongue moving quickly the harder she tugs on his hair. Seems like the king is a fan of pain.
He moves a hand off her leg and inserts two fingers into her cunt, his mouth sucking on her clit and she gasps, her hands tightening in Roan's hair and his fingers moves faster and his other hand squeezes her thigh so hard, its sure to leave a bruise and mere idea makes Clarke's cunt clench around his fingers and she comes with a loud cry, pulling on his hair so tight that he moans against her cunt as she whimpers at the sensation, her body relaxing, eyes closing.
Her fingers relax in Roan's hair and he gently pulls them out and starts to kiss the inside of her thighs, gently nipping at the skin, leaving some marks, as she sighs, her eyes opening.
He stops kissing her thighs and moves to rest her head on his stomach, the move surprising sweet for someone like Roan.
Of course he had to ruin it by smirking, "Does Blake not help you relax?"
She scowls lifting her foot to push at his shoulder but he stops her, nipping at her stomach.
"You know it's not like that."
"The boy cares for you and you care for him."
"The world is ending, and isn't it odd for us to be discussing another man while you are in between my legs?"
He winks at her and pushes himself up and off the bed and Clarke watches him pull his shirt of revealing a set of abs she could do laundry on. It also revealed several scars on his body and she sits up, her tits bouncing as she moves quickly, she hurries to unfasten her bra, tossing it to join the pile on the floor. She runs her fingers down his chest, tracing the scar and pauses at his pants, the end of the scar hidden from view.
She slides off the bed, her fingers pulling his pants down as she kneels on the ground. Her nipples pebble from the cold as goosebumps spread across her skin but although the room is cold, Clarke feels hot- a wave of hot arousal spreading through her veins to her clit as his pants hit the ground and his cock is in full view.
She swallows, she had a feeling that Roan would be large, everything else about him is large but she had only been with Finn who had been average and Lexa and Niylah. Despite her feelings for Bellamy and the rumors of his large size, there never had been time for them to sit and talk about what they mean to each other, let alone have sex.
Roan would be her second and her biggest cock she has ever taken and she wraps a hand around him, her thumb swiping at the precum on the tip, before she wraps her lips around the tip. She looks up at him, blue eyes wide and Roan gasps fisting her hair in his grasp.
“Do you know how hot you look? The great Wanheda sucking my cock?”
She opens her mouth to tell her not to call her that and he thrust his hips forward his cock sliding in deeper into his mouth and she nearly chokes and he does it again.
She kneels there as he fucks her mouth, his hand tight in her hair and she loves it.
She presses her legs together tying to relieve the pressure but he notices and clicks his tongue.
“Legs open Wanheda.”
He pulls his cock out of her mouth, saliva connecting her mouth to his cock for a second, a sight that has Clarke flushing.
"Legs apart."
His voice is low, promising something if she disobeys and Clarke eager to please spreads her legs.
Roan studies her for a second before shaking his head and Clarke's heart drops but then his foot is nudging her legs apart even wider and the room is silent- silent but if Clarke focuses enough she can practically hear her pussy dripping onto the floor.
Roan's cock nudges her lips again and Clarke opens her mouth obediently as his hand in her hair tightens, and she gasps, his cock pushing past her gag reflex and she can feel the tears in the corner of her eyes as he thrusts.
She loves that’s he’s not afraid to be rough not afraid to take what he wants.
It’s what she wants- to not to be in control.
To surrender.
He laughs as tears slip down her face, "Pretty Wanheda, what would people say seeing you, naked, choking on my cock like a common whore. "
The thought excites her and she moans, the vibrations cause Roan's grip in her hair to tighten as he tilts his head back, jerking his hips and spilling down her throat.
Clarke takes as much as she can down her throat before pulling away slightly, the last bit of his cum hitting her her bottom lip, chin, and dripping onto her breasts.
When she looks up at him, Roan's eyes are darker, taking in the sight.
Wanheda, naked and kneeling at his feet, hair a mess, lips and tits painted with his cum, legs spreads wide, her cunt dripping.
He wished that he could have someone draw this, capture the magnificence of this moment. Capture the way she looks for his pleasure.
The world is ending and he has the great Clarke Griffin, the fearsome Commander of Death, Wanheda kneeling as his feet, her eyes glazed with arousal, his cum on her body, legs spread like a wanton whore.
He can die a happy man now.
He has had his mouth on her cunt, her mouth on his cock, only one more place for his mouth to go. Well two if he counts her tits.
He pulls her up and pushes her toward the bed.
Clarke climbs on the bed and he wraps his hands around her ankles before she can turn over.
She turns her head to look at him, an uneasy look on his face as he stares at her ass.
"Roan?"
He ignores her and instead his hand strikes her ass, and she gasps, her hands fisting the sheets.
He runs a soothing hand over her ass before striking it again and Clarke lets out another gasp but she doesn't say anything, doesn't tell him to stop.
Instead she arches her back, rasing her ass a little higher and spreads her legs a little bit more.
He continues to strike her ass until it's a soft pink color and her cunt is wet, clenching over nothing.
Clarke's pratically vibrating in antcipation, and she can't stop the needy sound she makes when Roan stops spanking her ass.
She can feel the weight of his gaze on her and it makes her cheeks pink, flushed with embrassment and with need.
She needs him to fuck her- hard.
His hands come to rest on her ass, rubbing it as she closes her eyes, ready to feel him sliding into her, to feel his large cock in her cunt.
But instead she feels his hands spreading her ass and her eyes fly open.
"Roan...oh."
She's cut off by his tongue circling her asshole, coaxing her to relax.
It feels weird and she's embarassed at first but the more Roan licks her asshole, the more she relaxes and then she's moaning, pushing aganist his face.
Roan wants to grin when he hears Clarke moaning as he's got his tongue in her ass and he pulls for a second.
"Play with yourself Wanheda."
Clarke slips a hand under her, fingers finding her clit easily as Roan goes back to her ass, licking her like it's the best meal he has ever had.
She moans and rubs her clit, sliding two then three fingers into her cunt, and Roan uses his hands to spread her even more, and Clarke's moaning even louder.
He can tell she's on the verge of coming and he pulls away from her and grabs her hand and Clarke lets out a whine,
"Roan,please. Please."
She wiggles and falls forward onto her shoulders in an attempt use her other hand to play with herself but he grabs that hand too.
"You come when I say you do Wanheda. You may be the Commander of Death, but you don't command me. In this room, I'm the King."
He thrusts into her and Clarke screams into the blankets at the sudden intrusion.
Roan presses a surprising gentle kiss to her shoulder before he starts to move, pulling out of her only to slam back into her.
Clarke's moans are muffled but she's squeezing his cock and the room is full of the sound of skin hitting skin, his balls slapping her ass as he fucks her hard.
It's a wonder that no one else hears them.
Or maybe they do, Roan doesn't care.
And Clarke's too busy being fucked to care.
And if word gets back to Bellamy, well then maybe the man would pull his head out of the sand and fuck Clarke the way she needs to be fucked - rough and fast but with love.
Roan wants to feel her fall apart around him so he let's go of her hand in favor of playing with her clit.
Clarke nearly cries when he finally touches her clit, bringing her over the edge.
Roan grunts as her cunt squeezes him and she gasps as he cums in her, sending her over the edge again.
Roan is careful not to put his entire weight on top of her and presses another kiss to her shoulder.
"Good girl."
Clarke's stomach flutters and she turns her head, "Say it again please?"
She hates how soft, how needy she sounds.
Roan smiles to himself but it also makes him sad because when was the last time someone that wasn't Bellamy, praised her.
Has anyone thanked her for constantly trying to save them?
For carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.
"You're such a good girl, Wanheda.
Clarke shudders at the nickname but for the first time ever,it doesn't sound like an insult, like a threat, a mockery of who she is, it sounds soft, kind- a woman with blood on her hands but who is still capable of being loved, or in this case respected.
And Roan has always treated her with the respect she earned as a leader.
Roan eases out of her cunt and Clarke whines at the loss, but her body relaxes and she can feel trickling out of her.
She's too tired to move.
Roan gets up and paddles to the bathroom and she hears the water running.
Roan comes back and looks at Clarke- nearly fucked out and on the verge of sleep.
But he's not done.
He nudges the blonde, "On your back Wanheda. i'm not done with you just yet. "
Clarke's eyes snap open at the command and she turns out to her back.
Roan looks at her for a second, taking her in, full breasts blue eyes peering up at her, red lips.
He nudges her legs apart and runs his hand up her sides, cupping her tits in his hands, giving each nipple a little pinch that has Clarke gasping.
He wedges his knee in between her legs and lowers his mouth to her tit.
Clarke grinds against his knee as Roan sucks at her tits, his teeth tugging on her nipples. His tongue soothing the sting.
Pain and pleasure- it seems to be the King's speciality and what Clarke needs right now.
---
Roan loves the way Clarke's tits bounce as he fucks her, her hips thrusting up to meet his.
He’s snaps his hips, making sure that hits that spot in Clarke that will have seeing stars.
Her eyes are closed, her hands fisting the blankets under her, her back arched, head tilted and her neck is there, tempting him.
Beckoning him, beckoning his hand like a siren's call.
His hand flexes and then he moves it to her neck.
The second his hand touches her neck, her eyes fly open and they lock with his and all Roan can see is want, need.
Clarke wants his hands around her neck.
She needs them.
So he gives her want she wants.
He chokes her, Clarke's eyes wide, a smile on her face, nothing but trust in her eyes and Roan feels a blast of pleasure course through his body.
He starts to move his hips faster, and his grip gets tighter and Clarke's hands let go of the bed sheets to wrap around one his wrists, keeping him there, while the other grabs the headboard.
He's moaning and then Clarke's moaning as he stops choking her, letting her breathe before he wraps his hands around her throat again, choking her.
Roan gasps as Clarke's cunt flutters around his cock, and he can feel her on the verge of falling apart.
"Come for me Wanheda. Come Little one."
And Clarke, like the good girl she is, does.
She comes with his hand around her throat, his cock- the cock of the Ice King,- in her sweet tight little cunt.
Roan moans as he cums too, filling her up.
A part of him worries about the possibilty of a child but the world is ending and regardless of anything Clark loves Bellamy and Bellamy loves Clarke.
But as he eases out of her, his cum trickling out of her cunt, he can't help but use his fingers to try to scoop it back into ther, the sight of him cum tricking out of her mesmorizing. Clarke giggles and Roan can't help but smile and he crawls up to kiss her before getting up to fetch a towel.
He gently wipes her thighs and Clarke sighs, eyes sleepy,blinkng to stay awake and Roan shakes his head again.
"You did good Little One."
Clarke hasn't felt this relaxed in ages, not since they came down to earth to die.
Her body aches in the best way possible.
Roan lies down next to her and Clarke turns to look at him.
She looks at him and she takes a second to admire him.
His hair is long and now she knows how soft it is. His armor revealed the many scars on his body but it can’t hide the sheer strength of his body, strength he had used to fuck her until she couldn’t feel anything any more.
One of his hands reaches for her, brushing a strand of hair out of her face, his hand cupping her face, his thumb rubbing her cheekbone.
His touch is surprising soft, especially after all they have done.
She would never think to out the words Roan, King of Azegda and the word gentle together in the same sentence but there's no other way to describe his touch now.
She nuzzles the palm of his hand, the same hand that had been wrapped around her throat not too long ago, she thinks sleepily.
His thumb brushes her lips and she automatically parts them, Roan smirks and Clarke can feel herself blushing at her reaction.
He runs his thumb over her lips before trailing it down her chin and neck in between her breast and down her stomach to her clit sending sparks through Clarke's body- goosebumps appearing on her skin.
"You should rest, Wanheda. If those dark circles under your eyes, get any bigger, Blake will never let you out of his sight."
He gently rubs her clit, sending sparks of pleasure through her body.
This orgasm is not as intense as the other ones but it serves it's purpose to making her eyes drift close, and her breathing even.
Her last words before she drifts off completely are "Will you stay?"
She doesn't get an answer but Roan pulls the blankets over them both.
He will wake up early enough to sneak out of her room but right now, he surrenders himself to sleep, an arm around Clarke- who after a night of surrendering herself, her body to him, is having the best night of sleep in a long time.