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octannibal-blake · 6 years

Text

this must be the place

rating: mature (for language)

words: 2,287

(ao3)

The universe tries to tell Bellamy not to go out, of that he’s almost certain.

One of the students in the class he’s TA’ing for decided to have a mental breakdown over finals and kept him in his office for almost an hour longer than normal. It was a lot of awkward reassurances and going over their final paper in minute detail, something which exhausted him far more than it should have, After that, his truck mysteriously wouldn’t start, but only just long enough to put his day completely off track. Two cars tried to jump him, the first being unsuccessful but the second somehow having the magic touch. He barely got home in time to change into the stupid costume Miller had picked out for him, some gladiator outfit that was supposed to reminiscent of 300 because -- “Dude, it’s perfect for you and your nerdy greek fetish!”

They had a few issues calling the Uber, their order repeatedly getting cancelled, before deciding to just walk the mile to the bar. (Note: Greek-designed sandals are not ideal for long walks.) And upon arrival, Bellamy discovered he left his I.D at home, meaning another walk back to their house to grab it because damn it, after the day he’s had, he needs a fucking drink.

He arrives at Grounders during the second band, a local punk band who are appropriately singing only Halloween songs -- a punk version of Monster Mash in not something he knew he needed until now -- and tries not to think about all the shit that’s gone wrong in the last ten hours.

He should have followed the warning signs because now he’s here alone at the bar mid beer-sip, as Clarke Griffin, of all people, strides toward him wearing a spandex Deadpool outfit with a purpose that equally scares the shit out of him and turns him on.

“Blake.” she greets casually as she moves in front of him. He’s still getting used to her hair, the choppy platinum blonde locks with red peeking out from under the edges. It’s a new thing, something she did when she decided to, as she explained her mother’s description to him during a library study session: “Completely throw her life away!” He liked her hair before, long golden curls cascading down her back (not that he’s paid that much attention), but this look suits her more.

“Griffin.” he smirks. It’s an automatic reaction around her, mostly because he knows she hates the Blake Smirk™ but also because he enjoys the way she pops out her hip in annoyance every time he does it. It’s routine, at this point.

(Again, he’s not paying that much attention.)

“I need a favor,” she reaches up to tousle her hair, something she only tends to do when she’s anxious, her eyes flit over her shoulder.

He should make some joke and move on. It’s not like they’re, you know, friends or anything. They just so happen to be in the same circle of friends. And maybe they’ve had classes together over the past couple of years...and been project partners in most of them. But she’s also his sisters arch nemesis so, no, they aren’t friends. It’s against the code.

“And what’s that, Princess?” he sips his beer again, trying to pretend the way she bites her lip doesn’t make his heart thud against his rib cage.

“Kiss me.”

If this were a romantic comedy, he’s almost positive a screeching record scratch would be inserted here.

He manages to cough up almost the entire drink he just took, “I’m sorry, what?”

He really never got the full story about Clarke or why his sister seemed to hate her. They were in the same class in highschool and Octavia wasn’t her biggest fan. He believes her words word: “That fucking snot-nosed spoiled bitch thinks she’s so much better than everyone!” And it’s his sister, so of course her enemies are his enemies. Except she joined the Marines and hauled ass as far away from Bellamy as she could get and he ended up at Columbia with Clarke so, really, it’s her fault because she left.

(Note: The code, as far as he knows, is dead and it’s really just an excuse for him to pretend he’s not madly in love with Clarke Griffin.)

He tried to keep his distance, especially after their fight at Freshman Orientation, also known as The Blake-Griffin Blow Out, a very well known screaming match that they are often reminded of any time they walk through the quad. Not one of his finer moments, where he was feeling particularly hateful because his sister decided to run off to the armed forces and he was looking for a fight. She was an easy target but he had not anticipated her to fight back, especially in a series of expletives and insults he had no idea she was capable of -- the problem with knowing someone in high school is that they know some of your more embarrassing moments, and having those put on blast during fucking freshman orientation was NOT part of the plan.

Sure, they’ve come a long way since then. Friends, mostly, and the bickering is all part of the relationship. The very platonic relationship in which he’s never, ever thought about kissing her. No, not at all.

(Fact check: that’s bullshit, Bellamy Blake has, in fact, imagined kissing Clarke Griffin many times. So many times, he should be embarrassed.)

“You remember the guy I was dating a while back?” she continues. He nods, because words aren’t really forming for him in this moment. “Yeah, he’s here -- don’t fucking look!”

His head snaps back to her and she reaches up to touch his shoulder. His blood feels warm.

“Anyways, he’s here and I’d like to not interact with him so if you could pretend to like, be my boyfriend for a few minutes that would be awesome.”

Her words oddly sound far away, almost like he’s underwater. Maybe she’s mistaken him for someone else. Maybe it’s a joke. They play pranks on each other all the time. There’s no way she’s asking to kiss him. Right?

“So instead of just not talking to him, you want him to think you’re dating me?” he’s proud of himself for sounds remotely normal because his heart is probably at 150 beats per minute and his brain hasn’t really caught up.

“Yes?”

He glances over he shoulder again and see someone approaching quick. He’s shorter guy, glossy hair, and frankly, not what he pegged Clarke’s type to be. He seems to have her in his sights, so he has to act quick. He turns his attention back to her.

“Backstreet boy? Desperation and a tad bit of psychopathy seeping from his pores? ”

“Ew, you know I hate that word,” she groans and he doesn’t have time to joke because now he’s within earshot.

Fuck it.

He tangles his free hand into her hair and pulls her gently towards him. Her lips are soft and warm, her chapstick leaving behind a small hint of mint. She melts into him, causing him to smirk victoriously into the kiss. Her nails scrape the back of his neck as if telling him to shut up and before he really even knows what’s happening, he’s running his tongue along the seam of her lips and she’s more than enthusiastically accepting of him. As far as make out’s go, it’s fairly tame. But he feels every moments of the kiss deep in his core, like puzzle pieces falling into place or lightning striking three times in a row. Satisfying and something that doesn’t happen every day.

Things Bellamy should absolutely not be doing right now:

Kissing Clarke Griffin

Enjoying kissing Clarke Griffin

It could be minutes or hours later, he’s not really sure, but when they finally pull back the entire bar suddenly feels too crowded. He searches her face and if the far away look in her eyes is indicative of how she feels, well, he imagines she’s thinking the same thing.

Things Bellamy is doing now:

1. Wanting to kiss Clarke Griffin again.

2. Possibly, maybe suggesting they continue doing it.

“Are you really interested in seeing the last band?” he asks and she laughs, hand still wrapped around his neck. She leans up to peck him again, grinning wildly at him and God, he really loves making her smile.

“No. Let me tell Harper I’m leaving.” She winks, fucking winks, and heads off to find her friend and he turns to close his tab, trying not to act like a love struck idiot. The bartender gives him a look, something along the lines of seriously, you just opened it? And he shrugs, signing off on the bill and leaving a good tip because he’s in a good mood and he’s feeling generous.

He catches sight of Miller at the other end and approaches, trying to hide the goofy smile threatening to overtake his face. He must fail because Miller greets him with a kinked eyebrow, “What the fuck are you so happy about?”

He’s not sure what say. Clarke’s coming over. We just made out and I’m hoping we can do it more. Or maybe, I finally made a move on her, you can stop making jokes about sexual tension.

(Fun fact: Miller has long believed that he and Clarke just had a bad case of sexual tension. Bellamy is dreading the moment he has to tell him he’s right.)

“I’m taking Clarke home,” is what he settles on. Simple and not really a lie. He doesn’t specify whose home. Or what that entails.

Miller’s shit eating grin tells him he already knows what that means, “Yeah, I saw you attached at the mouth a minute ago. Wish you would have done that like six months ago. I owe Monty fifty bucks.”

“What?”

“Yeah, there was bet going on when you guys would get your heads out of your asses and apparently, I had too much faith in you. Took you long enough, Jesus.” Miller actually seems genuinely grumpy about this.

Of course their friends bet on it. He should be mad that someone was making money on his love life, but his mood is hard to ruin at this point.

“So Monty won?” He won’t admit that satisfaction of Miller losing. Serves him right for getting involved and being a dick about it.

“I hate you.”

“See you later,” he claps him on the shoulder and Miller flips him off as he passes.

He searches the crowd for the blonde bob and scowls when he finds her next to the glossy-haired ex-boyfriend. She looks uncomfortable, not making eye contact with they guy and instead searching the room. He heads towards them, trying not to feel triumphant when she perks up at the sight of him.

“Bell!” she calls when he gets closer and the Harry Styles knock off glares.

“You ready to go?” he asks, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her closer. She leans into him, doing her best to look apologetic towards Justin Bieber.

“I’ll see you around,” she tells him and Bellamy leads her off. He keeps his arm around her as they leave and once they find the exit she lays her head on his shoulder and laughs. His hand finds its way back into her hair, scraping at her scalp as he chuckles along. It’s almost like now that he’s touched her, he doesn’t want to stop.

It’s completely unhealthy and irrational, but he’s never been rational around her.

There is a comfortable silence as they stand outside, just leaning into each other. Exploring new territory but tentative to move forward. The lines between real and fake have become blurred, but he’s feeling particularly bold now, perhaps because of the show they just put on or because deep down, he knows it wasn’t a show at all.

“I hope you know that kiss wasn’t fake for me,” he murmurs. She lifts her head from his shoulder to look at him, her blue eyes searching his face for any indication that he might be joking.

“Me either,” she says quietly.

“Good.”

And they start laughing again, because it really is ridiculous that this is how it happened. They’ve been dancing around it for years, it’s always been there even when they didn’t want to see it. The opportunity has presented itself under less awkward circumstances -- late night study sessions, times she’s fallen asleep on his shoulder. The time she stayed with him for two days when her heat went out.

(The Truth: he’s been afraid because Clarke is terrifying and amazing and he wonders why someone like her would want to be with some like him. But he’s done questioning it.)

“I’ve had a crush on you since high school,” she mutters into his shoulder, avoiding his gaze but continuing with her confessions, “I was just terrified Octavis would kick my ass.”

“She probably would have,” he confirms and she smacks his arm playfully. “I’ve been going crazy trying to be just friends, for what it’s worth.”

“Really?” he hates how surprised she sounds, but he’ll spend however long she needs proving it to her.

“You have no idea.”

“Oh, I think I do.” She grips the plastic breastplate of his gladiator costume and she pulls him towards her, smiling against his lips as he holds her waist.

This kiss is better than the last. This time it’s on their terms, no ex-boyfriend storming towards them. No crowd watching. Bets being made. It’s just them. How it’s supposed to be.

Fuck the universe and it’s attempts at preventing him from this moment. He wins.

#bellarke fanfiction #my writing #modern au #fluff #prompt fill

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