#not technically one of the prompts for best of bellarke | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

aadmelioraa · 6 years

Note

For the prompt thing - Bellarke + "is there a reason you're naked in my bed?" (I'm looking forward to seeing what you do with this one) 😉😙

Hehe this was fun, thanks Elly {read on ao3}

As far as academic conferences went this one had been extremely grueling, though not without its merits. It wasn’t exactly why Bellamy had gone into education, but if Kane wanted his favorite teachers to attend endless lectures on integrating technology into the classroom and the powers of student driven learning, he’d go along with it.

By the last panel Friday afternoon, Bellamy was just looking forward to taking a shower and collapsing in his own bed. He thought of little else from the time he boarded his flight, and when the airport shuttle finally pulled up outside his house he was so fixated that he didn’t notice the strange set of keys on the entryway table.

He dropped his bags in the living room and immediately headed for the shower. The hot steam cleansed his soul of the inane conversations he’d been forced to overhear on the plane ride home when his iPod had died. The apartment had been dark and still when he arrived, which meant Murphy was probably spending the night at Emori’s. Nothing out of the ordinary there.

Wrapping a towel around his waist and gathering his belongings from the living area, Bellamy dropped his bag inside the door of his room and turned on the light. Sleep could not come too soon.

The second the lights flicked on, he realized he wasn’t alone. The bed was unmade, like he’d left it. What he hadn’t been expecting was for it to be occupied.

Tousled blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and sheets grabbed in panic to her chest…he was face to face with an apparently naked Clarke Griffin.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here? I live here, this is my bedroom…what are you doing here?”

Clarke flushed and clutched the sheets until her knuckles went white. “I…Murphy said you wouldn’t be back until Saturday night.”

“Do you always sleep in my bed when I go out of town, or just on special occasions?”

“I don’t…my place is being fumigated this weekend, and since you were going to be out of town I thought, Murphy said I could crash here until you got back. I was going to leave tomorrow morning, you’d never even know I was here.”

“That’s creepy.”

“I just mean,” Clarke rolled her eyes, “it wouldn’t have been an imposition.”

“Mhmmm. Well I guess that explains why you’re in my bed, though it doesn’t explain why you’re naked…”

“You’re one to talk!” Clarke shot back, giving his entire body a sweeping look. “That towel is…not doing a whole lot. And I’m not naked,” she pulled down the sheets to reveal the strap of a worn tank top.

Bellamy chuckled and adjusted his towel slightly. “Ok. Fine. Neither of us are technically naked.”

He took a seat at his desk without exposing himself, not an easy accomplishment, and noted with pleasure that Clarke was fighting to keep her gaze at a respectable height.

“So what are we going to do now?”

“I’ll go crash with Raven at Shaw’s, I guess…”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“Well, we’re not going to share your twin bed, Bellamy. Seriously, what grown ass man sleeps in a bed this small? What do you do with overnight guests?”

“My ‘overnight guests’ aren’t usually as demanding as you, Clarke.”

Clarke rolled her eyes again. “Yeah, ok. Seriously, you need a real bed. This is barely big enough for one person.”

“It’s big enough for you. I’ll crash on the couch.”

“Now you’re being stupid. I can go sleep in Murphy’s room, I guess.”

“Murphy hasn’t washed his sheets in at least three months. Why do you think he’s always at Emori’s?”

Clarke wrinkled her nose. “Gross.”

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” Bellamy said magnanimously, standing up and moving to his dresser. He rifled around for some comfortable clothes, feeling Clarke’s eyes on his back. He turned around. “You’re not going to fight me on that? You could at least pretend.”

Clarke shrugged. “I mean, I’m already here…”

He snorted. “Yeah, can’t argue with that.”

“You really don’t mind?”

“I mind a little.”

Clarke considered. “I guess I can live with that.”

Bellamy laughed and grabbed his phone charger out of his bag. “Have a good night, Clarke.”

Clarke smirked. “I will.”

—

Bellamy woke the next morning to the smell of strong coffee. Clarke was standing over the stove, holding a spatula.

“I didn’t know you could cook.”

Clarke turned, grinning. “I can’t. But I can toast bread and scramble eggs with moderate competency. Hungry?”

Bellamy sat up and stretched. “Starving.”

“Good. Breakfast’s almost ready. You still take your coffee black?”

“Mhmmm. Thanks.”

“So what I still don’t understand,” Clarke said over a bite of toast, “is why you arrived home a full day early.”

“I didn’t. Murphy got the days wrong, I guess.”

“Yeah, I guess…”

“You sound suspicious.”

“Of Murphy? Absolutely.”

“What possible ulterior motives could he have?”

“Just general fuckery,” Clarke shrugged. “Anyway, I’ll be out of your hair soon. I just got a text from our landlord, we can move back in this afternoon.”

“It’s nine a.m. What are you going to do until then?”

“I dunno. Murder Murphy, maybe.”

“He’s not worth it.“ Bellamy’s eyes darted from Clarke’s face to his plate and back, trying to deny the sudden nervous feeling in the pit of his stomach. “If you’re free, I could use help with something.”

Clarke narrowed her eyes. “Help with what?”

“I was thinking about buying a new bed. You know, now that you’ve ruined mine with your Clarkeness.”

“Moron. Most people would consider themselves lucky to find me naked in their beds.”

“You weren’t naked, remember?”

“Not that time.”

Bellamy almost choked on his coffee and Clarke dramatically patted him on the back.

“There, there. Are you really going to buy a new bed?”

“Yeah, I mean…you weren’t wrong. I’m twenty-five. It might be time.”

“It’s definitely time. Come on, if we hurry we can still make the best garage sales. You never know what kind of deals you’ll find. ”

“Ok, but we’re definitely buying a new mattress.”

“Obviously.” Clarke gathered her hair up into a ponytail, and headed back to his bedroom. “Frame first, then mattress.”

She emerged a moment later wearing jeans and an oversized tee.

“Is that my shirt?”

“Yeah, I figure if I ruin this you’ll let me take you clothes shopping too. Your wardrobe needs serious help, Bellamy.”

“I’m not made of money! And my wardrobe is fine.”

“You own the same two shirts in four colors. That’s it.”

“Whatever. I know what I like.”

“You like boring things.”

“Maybe. I also, for some reason, like annoying blondes who have way too many opinions on my personal life.”

Clarke paused by the front door. “Like…as friends?”

Bellamy hesitated too, biting his lip. “Not exactly. Wasn’t that obvious?”

She turned back slowly, a funny expression on her face. “I mean, I wasn’t sure…”

“Well, now you know…” He shoved his hands into his pockets and fixed his eyes on the floor. “If you don’t want to go shopping that’s fine, I can forage out on my own. Might be better, since I know you’ll be obnoxious about what styles and sizes are acceptable—“

Suddenly Clarke was right in front of him, and she was resting her hands on his chest, and then—

He was kissing her, and she was kissing him back, and they were leaving a trail of clothes on their way to his bedroom.

Clarke very thoughtfully refrained from critiquing his mattress until they’d finished fucking, and she was laying back in the crook of his arm while he played with her hair.

“We could get really good at this if you had a better set up here, I’m just saying.”

Bellamy snorted. “I think we did just fine.”

Clarke propped herself up on her elbow. “Fine, yes. Excellent even. I’m talking really mind blowing, acrobatic sex—”

“We had to be pretty acrobatic at one point…”

But the covers had fallen away from Clarke’s breasts and Bellamy found himself slightly too distracted to carry on a verbal conversation.

“Well,” she continued, after round two. “We missed most of the good yard sales. I say we try again next Saturday. We can find you a good deal, we just have to start looking early enough.”

“Ok.” Bellamy ran his thumb over her cheek. “Next Saturday morning. It’s a date.”

“We’re going to have sex at my place in the meantime. My entire left side is cramping. This bed is tiny, how do you live like this? How do you get laid like this?”

“It’s a daily struggle.”

“Yeah. Daily. Sure.”

“In my defense, we just had sex twice.”

“I remember. You still think I’m annoying?”

“Yeah, but I’m not gonna hold it against you. You still think I’m a moron?”

“Mmmm…I may have to reconsider.”

“Keep me posted on your decision.” Bellamy pressed a kiss to her cheek.

Somehow, despite the lack of room and lumpy mattress, Clarke managed to drift off to sleep a few minutes after Bellamy did. Murphy found them there when he arrived home that afternoon. If he did take a photo, it was only to prove to Raven that he’d won the bet.

#kat writes #bellarke fanfiction #amm celebration #sorry this took so long!! <3 #frecklessbellamy #yes Bellamy still uses #an iPod #you know it's old as fuck too #but it works

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bellarke · 6 years

Text

And so the Feeling Grows

Bellarke Christmas Calender 2017

December 23rd:

by Rosie [bisexualbellamyblake] [ao3]

Word count: 7538

Rating: M

Thank you so much to Rosie ♥ for participating in our bellarke christmas. Please go and check out her other great work.

In general, Christmas is a sucky time to be in unrequited love with someone.

Not that unrequited love is ever that great, but the holiday season always makes it sting a little bit more. With the seemingly global sense that the end of the year is also the most romantic time of year, a lot of annoying practices start to take place when the weeks tick over from November to December: extended family and friends start wanting to know if you’re seeing anyone new, every movie on TV begins centring a couple falling in love over the holiday season, and going to any shop ever means having to look through stands of items that would apparently be perfect for a significant other.

Which is annoying, but usually tolerable.

Specifically to Clarke, this Christmas is a sucky time to be in unrequited love with someone, because the person she’s in unrequited love with also happens to be the person she’s eight months pregnant with.

And specifically to Clarke, it’s because that person is Bellamy, and today she has to come to terms with the unfortunate reality that she is still stupidly attracted to him when he’s wearing a ridiculous Christmas sweater.

Seriously, the combination of Christmas and pregnancy is not a good one.

“Are you seriously wearing that?” Clarke asks, after she manages to get her voice working again. She may have been standing by the door for a few long beats, eyes roaming over him, taking in the stupid tight red and white knit he’s got on, the pattern of reindeer and Christmas trees somehow not looking awful on him.

Bellamy looks over his shoulder and grins. He’s in their still mostly bare nursery, tape measure in one hand and a notepad in the other, and the fact that they’re about to go baby furniture shopping probably doesn’t help with how fond of him she is. Not that much does, these days.

“To your mum’s Christmas party? Probably not,” he teases, and Clarke rolls her eyes. “But today, yeah. That was the deal, wasn’t it?” He asks, which is technically true, but Clarke didn’t think he’d actually follow through with what was mostly just his response to her petulant grumblings. “You wear that one and I wear this one?”

She looks down, huffs out a short laugh at her own Christmas sweater. It’s not as ridiculous as Bellamy’s, could probably even be considered nice in different circumstances, but it still feels a little silly when it’s stretched over her very ballooned belly. But Bellamy bought it for her, so she’s wearing it. And apparently he’s wearing his one too.

“Yeah, I guess it was,” Clarke says, looking back up to give him a fond smile. “Anyway, you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be, yeah.” He slips the little notepad into his back pocket before walking over to her, a hand unsurprisingly finding her belly as he presses a kiss to Clarke’s forehead. “And how is little Persephone today?”

Clarke laughs, ducking her head with a smile. “Bean is doing just fine. Woke up early this morning, but didn’t get too active until I was up myself, so that was nice.”

“Very considerate, Persephone,” Bellamy says, giving her belly one last rub as he grins teasingly at her, and seriously, it’s really, really unfair of him to do that to her.

So yeah, Christmas can suck it.

She had been sleeping with Bellamy for about a year when she found out she was pregnant, and it happened in what was probably the most clichéd way possible: sitting on the bathroom floor with a positive pregnancy test in her hand, about two weeks after realising she had fallen in love with him.

Which was honestly just really inconvenient timing.

He reacted basically how she expected, shifting from shocked to supportive before Clarke had even finished her rambling confession, and they decided that night that they were going to keep the baby and raise it together, as best friends. Which was a term that felt all too significant to Clarke, when Bellamy said it, and the part of her that had hoped that this might give her the courage to say something quickly died, leaving a bittersweet sense of happiness and excitement as Bellamy placed his hand over her still-flat stomach.

“We’re doing this,” he had said, almost a question, and Clarke had nodded, even managed a sincere smile. He was still her best friend, and that would always be enough.

“Yeah,” she said, placing her hand over his and squeezing. “We’re doing this.”

They saw the baby for the first time a week later, and both of them teared up when their little blob appeared on screen, when they heard the quick beat of its heart.

“You’re eight weeks along,” the ultrasound technician had told them. “Your baby is about the size of a kidney bean.”

And so they started calling their baby Bean.

The following months went by quickly, Bean growing bigger, Clarke getting a proper baby bump, and Bellamy beginning to buy tiny baby clothes and proceeding to send photos of them to her with an array of heart and smile emojis. Baby names started being discussed, and it wasn’t long before he was suggesting ones in the same vein as Octavia. Augustus was the easy one to start off with, but in a matter of weeks he’d flown through Hera and Neptune, Vulcan and Demeter, always managing to make Clarke lose herself in a fit of giggles, unable to help herself when he so seriously sung a lullaby to their dear Hermes. And when Bean started moving about, kicking and punching, she also grew used to Bellamy’s hovering, how much he loved touching her belly, talking to the baby and playing little games with it, always so loving and close.

None of which really helped with the fact that she was stupidly in love with him, but not much did; these were all just little things that she was slowly getting used to, that were becoming part of her routine.

He asked her to move in when she was six and a half months along, adorably formal as he went through what appeared to be a rehearsed speech outlining why it was a good idea, and two weeks later they were packing up her stuff and moving it into the room Miller used to reside. The spare room would become a nursery, which, as Bellamy pointed out, would allow him to be there whenever she or Bean needed. And so she grew used to that, too; sharing Bellamy’s space, seeing him sleep-rumpled before work each day and sitting at the kitchen bench to watch him cook each night, going grocery shopping and bickering over food choices and hanging out on the couch to binge watch something on Netflix.

And it all felt so good, living together and getting ready for the baby, Bellamy buying a photo album to put the first ultrasound pictures in and Clarke getting a onesie with I LOVE MY DAD printed on it, placing bets on whether it’d be a history nerd or an art nerd, that Clarke’s heart felt like it was just on a continuous cycle of bursting with excitement and love and fondness.

And now she’s wearing a stupid Christmas sweater that he bought her, while they’re shopping for Bean’s room, and honestly, she will admit that her life is a bit of a mess.

“Okay, so, yeah, I think we should get this one.”

Clarke startles, blinking up from where her eyes were fixated on Bellamy’s arms, to find him looking at her expectantly. Apparently she’s missed some of the conversation, but that’s not really surprising. His Christmas sweater is really and truly distracting.

“Hm?” She asks, and he huffs out a small laugh, eyes fond as he looks at her.

“This one,” he prompts, hand moving to the side of her belly to turn her to the crib in question, because he loves any excuse to touch it. It doesn’t really help with her being distracted, but it’s still nice. Unbelievably so.

“Yeah, this is a good one,” Clarke agrees, looking the crib over again. They’d done their research before shopping, and have looked at the various choices carefully in person today, and unsurprisingly, she was leaning towards this one too. “Plus, I liked the matching changing table we saw earlier,” she adds, nodding towards the previous section of the store. “And it goes with the dresser you’ve already got, so — colour co-ordination.”

“The most important aspect of a newborn’s bedroom,” Bellamy teases.

“Shut up,” she says, receiving a bright, happy grin in return, one that makes her melt a little bit.

Which is basically how the whole day has gone so far, just a series of Bellamy-interactions that have been simultaneously the best and the worst. His excited enthusiasm mixing with an adorable seriousness about anything baby-related. The fact that he can’t seem to stop touching her, even though they’re in public, always wanting to keep a hand on her belly, always so close. How he keeps talking to the baby, asking what its opinion is when they can’t agree on inane things like which Winnie the Pooh wall-art is best, trying to get a reaction to whatever he wants.

It’s honestly a surprise she hasn’t been more distracted, but she has had six or so months to get used to this side of Bellamy. By the time Bean arrives, she’ll probably be a pro.

“Okay, so, this crib, the changing table you liked, and then we just needed a stroller and a car seat, yeah?”

“Just that, yeah,” Clarke says, letting her head drop onto his shoulder and feeling his hand come up to rub at the nape of her neck. They’ve been here for an hour and a half, already, and he knows how quickly she gets tired on her feet these days. “I might need a power nap before we put any of this up today,” she adds, as his nails go to scratch at her scalp softly. “So be prepared for that.”

Bellamy chuckles, and Clarke makes herself stand back up, return his fond smile with a tired one of her own. “I’m prepared,” he assures. “But if you need a pick me up, I did see something earlier that I reckon you’ll like.”

“Yeah? What is it?”

“I’ll show you,” Bellamy says, and he takes her hand before leading her to the part of the store housing children’s toys and accessories, making her increasingly suspicious. “Now, you gotta close your eyes first. The reveal is as important as the item.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You love it,” Bellamy counters, raising his brows until she does as he asks and closes her eyes, but not before she rolls them at him pointedly.

And then he’s gone, pulling his hand from hers as he does something about a foot away, from what she can tell, coming back in less than a minute and shifting her slightly so she’s apparently standing in the right direction.

“Okay, open,” he says, and when she does, he’s holding a little wooden carving of the letter ‘A’ up to her face. A smile grows immediately; after months of this, she knows exactly where it’s going, and Bellamy doesn’t disappoint. His own grin is huge. “Okay, so picture this: crib on the wall opposite the door, and just above it—” He gestures for her to look behind him, and she snorts as soon as she sees what he’s set up. The same little wooden alphabet carvings sitting on a ledge, spelling out H E P H A E S T U S. “Hephaestus. Definitely a good name.”

“You’re ridiculous,” she says again, and Bellamy grins.

“And yet, you still love it,” he throws back, and she shakes her head with a laugh. “And it helped, didn’t it?”

“Yeah, it did.”

“And now you’re ready to spend another two hours deciding which stroller is best?”

“Of course I am,” she says, biting back a smile as she squeezes Bellamy’s hand in thanks. “Let’s go find ourselves a stroller.”

Thankfully, it isn’t actually two hours. Between deciding on both a stroller and a car seat, it’s another hour at the store before they’ve decided on everything, and they manage to get it all paid for and packed into Bellamy’s car in another twenty minutes. Clarke’s still considering passing out on the drive home, but Raven texts as soon as they’re on the highway, and she’s feeling nice enough to hold out on her nap a little longer.

Raven: How fancy is “smart casual” in your family though Like, if I don’t rock up in a gown will I be turned away at the door? Srs answers only

Clarke: You don’t have to wear a gown, but that’s on the condition that your outfit contains colours like “mauvulous” and “zesty lemon” And is low-key ugly so rich ppl think it’s the new trend Think multiple types of fabric

Raven: Damn I knew it

Clarke: But actually, basically what you’d expect Probably no jeans and sneakers, but jeans and boots with a nice top will do

Raven: I guess that’s do-able What’re you wearing? Maybe i’ll just wear the same thing, but like, a hotter version

Clarke: Dick I don’t know I’ve complained about what I’m wearing to this party so much that Bellamy bought me this sweater yesterday and said I should just rock up in it [Img attached]

Raven: What the fkuc He bought you a fucking christmas maternity sweater??? And you’re wearing it??????

Clarke: It’s really comfy Shut up And besides I made him wear this in return [Img attached]

Raven: God you two are disgustingly together You’re literally wearing matching christmas sweaters what the fukc

Clarke feels herself flush, and can’t help but glance up at Bellamy, but his eyes are still focused on the road ahead of them, and he’s softly singing along to the Christmas carols on the radio.

Clarke: Shut up For that I’m making you go shopping with me next weekend But seriously, this kid won’t stop growing, and it’s making it impossible to choose something to wear in advance, unless it’s sweats with a very elastic elastic band

Raven: With boots and a nice top?

Clarke: Now I’m making you buy me lunch too

Raven: Yeah yeah Go make out with your “roommate” If only in the hopes that both of you will take those stupid fucking tops off

Clarke: [middle finger emoji] I fuckin WON’T

The thing is, Clarke knows Bellamy loves her.

They’ve been best friends for too long for her to think otherwise, have been there for each other through various shitty times, break ups and crises, that there’s no way Clarke could doubt it. He loves her, and it’s enough; his friendship has always been and will always be enough. She’d never want to ask him to give her something he doesn’t want to, would never want to risk how important he is to her, and so if they just continued down the path they’re on, continued being best friends, partners in every way but romantically, and raised their child together, she’d be happy.

As long as he’s in her life, Clarke’s good.

But right now, she’s thirty-five weeks pregnant, lying in Bellamy’s bed, with his arm wrapped protectively across her belly, and it’s a little hard not to want more.

Clarke: [Img attached]

Raven: Is this your way of telling me you finally figured your shit out?  Like, hey, here’s a pic of us in bed after we had sex all last night

Clarke: No I couldn’t even have sex all night if I wanted to, I’d get too tired

Raven: Pregnancy sounds awful

Clarke: Not always great, no  I couldn’t get to sleep last night bc of the storm  And I still feel like I’m crashing in miller’s room while I’m here And I made the mistake of knocking on bellamy’s door and complaining about it And he told me to come sleep with him and then proceeded to rub my belly and READ TO ME  To like, relax me idk  Anyway I woke up like this

Raven: What the absolute fuck You realise this isn’t normal right Like normal people don’t behave this way  Fuck I don’t understand your life

Clarke: Neither tbh

Raven: Okay but none of this explains why you’re basically naked

Clarke: I’m wearing pants And my top rode up during the night I promise I’m still wearing clothes, you just can’t see

Raven: A likely story If I could be bothered I would send a gif of “cut the bullshit, and share the damn bed”

Clarke: I’m literally in his bed right now

Raven: The implication is that you’re sharing the bed to GET LAID

Clarke: Whatever Stranger things was really good tho wasn’t it

Raven: Don’t change the subject

Clarke: I thought it was the natural progression of the conversation

Raven: It wasn’t, but I’ll let you off the hook Still on for today?

Clarke: Definitely Pick you up in an hour?

Raven: If it takes longer I’ll assume you couldn’t force yourself to get out of bed

Clarke: [Middle finger emoji]

To be fair, Clarke does give herself another minute before she tries to slip out of bed, and even that is mostly fuelled by her desire to prove Raven wrong. Unfortunately, as she tries to go, Bellamy’s hold on her tightens, and he pulls her back to him. She huffs out a small laugh as he wakes a little, hiding his face in her shoulder.

“Bellamy,” she says, soft so he can get back to sleep once she’s gone, receiving a hum in response. “I need to get up. I’m meeting Raven in an hour.”

“Mm-kay, princess,” he mumbles, still half-asleep, but he loosens his hold enough that Clarke manages to push herself up and out of bed.

She lets herself watch him for a moment, once she’s up, just taking in the sight of him, topless, hair a mess, sleep-rumpled in bed, looking so goddamn good it’s unfair. It’s not an image she’s witnessed in a long while, and it’s a little overwhelming, after sleeping in the same bed as him for the first time since she found out she was pregnant. And it was so easy last night, no awkwardness, both of them so effortlessly comfortable with one another, but she knows how it is: there’s obviously just a lot of left over ease with this kind of domesticity from when they were sleeping together.

“That doesn’t even sound like a real sentence to me,” Raven says, when Clarke shares the theory, and Clarke huffs, hip-checking her friend as they make their way to the less-awful maternity-wear stores. “I’m serious. It’s definitely not a thing. There’s no way I could wake up in bed with Finn and be all — comfortable with it, just because we used to share a bed all the time.”

“But you and Finn didn’t end on great terms.”

“At least we actually broke up,” she says, pointed. “Not that I’m — Finn was a shitty boyfriend, no doubt, but we actually had a conversation after what happened, spoke about it and ended things. You and Bellamy stopped having sex and haven’t even acknowledged the fact that you were fucking for like, over a year. It’s not like that doesn’t make shit awkward, too.”

“It’s more that we’ve got something else to focus on, I think. Like, having a kid together is a lot to organise, and we’ve mostly just been — getting ready for it, I guess.”

“What you’re describing is avoidance.”

“Probably,” Clarke agrees, before sighing, running a hand over her face. “But just let me have it, okay? I’m trying not to let my subconscious get its hopes up that Bellamy might — you know.” She groans. “Unrequited love fucking sucks.”

Raven chuckles softly, before taking Clarke’s hand and giving it a comforting squeeze. “Babe, I know I’ve told you this before, but I swear, if you said something, I’m about 99% sure Bellamy would combust with happiness right on the spot. You may not realise what you two are like from the outside, but I do. And it’s not just the baby, it’s just — how Bellamy is with you. How you are with each other.”

Clarke’s throat goes tight, and she swallows heavily as Raven’s words settle. It’s nothing her friend hasn’t said before, but for some reason it hits harder than usual. Still, she doesn’t want to think about it now, and so she just settles on clearing her throat and moving on.

“Okay, enough about this, tell me your relationship goss instead. Does Jaha know that Wells is dating you yet, or is that gonna be a fun Christmas surprise as he tries to set him up with someone else?”

Raven snorts a laugh, giving Clarke a knowing look, but thankfully she’s feeling kind enough to talk about her own stuff, and the conversation continues on from there, as they begin looking for clothes that will ideally fit over Clarke’s belly. It’s a long process that involves various shops and a stop for lunch where Clarke curses Bean’s desire to make clothes shopping literally impossible, but eventually they find a dress that works, that actually looks really nice.

Raven wolf-whistles, and Clarke bites back a smile as she looks at herself in the mirror.

“Yeah, that’s definitely the one.”

Clarke raises an eyebrow, catching her eye in the mirror. “So now we should find you something similar, but hotter?”

Raven snorts, shaking her head. “Nah, I’ll let you have this one. I’m still holding out for a dress made out of at least four different types of fabric.”

Clarke laughs. “Yeah, that’ll probably look better anyway.” She does her equivalent of flattening down the dress, which is more like feeling up her belly, and grins. “But I still like this one.”

“Clarke, if you’re not out in five minutes, I’m naming our kid Chronos.”

Clarke frowns, leaning back from the mirror. It takes her a minute, but she gets there. “The God of Time?” She calls out, smiling fondly when there’s a pause before —

“Yes!”

She rolls her eyes before focusing back in on getting ready. It’s not like she’s even taking that long, but Bellamy hates being late in the best of circumstances, let alone when it’s to her mum’s Christmas party. He’s never really accepted Clarke’s assurance that Abby likes him, and maybe Clarke should tell him about all the unsubtle hints her mum’s been dropping lately, about her and Bellamy just trying being a regular couple, but she’s not sure it’s come to that just yet.

If he’s still worried in a year’s time, she’ll give it a go, but for now, she’s keeping it to herself.

Ten minutes later, she’s done, thankfully with no more hassling from Bellamy about the time. She doesn’t love getting dressed up regularly, but once or twice a year it can be fun, and tonight’s actually looking promising. Bellamy, Raven and Wells will be there as back up, and Clarke’s actually excited to see some specific members of her extended family. Plus, she looks hot. The dress she bought is dark navy and long-sleeved, and it fits snug without being too tight. She’s got tights and boots on, because it’s winter and therefore fucking freezing, and her lips are stained red, with the rest of her makeup simple.

All together, she looks good, and it’s an exceedingly nice feeling whilst very pregnant.

She gives herself another half minute to get all her stuff together before heading out to meet Bellamy, passing the nursery and feeling her heart swell as she sees it mostly set up now, with a crib and changing table, a bookshelf and a dresser. They’re still putting all the smaller stuff in, still deciding on little pieces of art and which mobile they want to set up, but it feels so good, seeing how it’s come together. But Bellamy would probably be very dramatic it he found her ready, just standing in the nursery doorway, would probably tell her she’s sending him to an early grave, and so she makes herself continue on into the lounge room before he has gets the chance, finding him scrolling through his phone on the couch, dressed nicely in a good pair of navy trousers and a well-fitted blue shirt. His curls are in slightly more order than usual, and his glasses are perched on the bridge of his nose, and he looks so handsome that Clarke can tell she’s going to get distracted staring at him tonight.

But at least she’s prepared.

“Are you ready?” She asks, and he snorts a laugh, standing up from the couch.

“I was the one who was trying to hurry you up.”

“And yet here we are,” she says, going to grab her coat, and she looks over her shoulder to shoot Bellamy a teasing grin, only to find that he’s stopped a few feet from her, and is looking at her with an expression she can’t pin.

And no matter how good she was feeling just a minute earlier, she can’t help but feel self conscious as Bellamy looks her up and down, eyes focusing on her belly for a long beat before he meets her gaze. She hasn’t tried being this dressed up whilst pregnant, hasn’t had any reason to, and it’s a little intimidating, now that she’s standing right in front of him.

“Do I look okay?” She asks, after a moment. “Not too — pregnant?”

Bellamy clears his throat before a small smile pulls at his mouth, gentle. “You look very pregnant,” he tells her as he walks up to her, voice a little teasing. One hand unsurprisingly finds her belly, a touch Clarke always appreciates, and his eyes flit over her face as his smile widens. “Very pregnant and very gorgeous,” he continues, soft. “You look great, Clarke.”

She feels herself flush, head ducking down to hide her slightly ridiculous smile, and when she looks up, there’s a glint in his eyes that has Raven’s words echoing in her mind.

“You sure? There’s still time for me to get the sweater you bought.”

“But then I’d have to wear mine, too,” he reminds with a chuckle, bringing his free hand up to tuck a loose curl behind her ear. “And I’m sure. You’re beautiful, princess.”

She would say her breath hitches, but she’s not sure she’s been breathing at all since he walked over to her. She doesn’t know how to respond, and silence stretches between them for one beat, and then two, before Bellamy smiles again, something almost wistful about it, before he lets her go and steps back.

“Come on, we better go now if we don’t want to be late.”

Clarke nods, feeling a little like the axis of her world has shifted just slightly, and follows Bellamy out of their little house. He takes her arm as they walk down to his car, since the ground’s a little icy and he’s overly protective, and opens the passenger door for her too, waiting until she’s sitting before he goes to close the door.

She grabs hold of his arm before he has a chance though. “Bellamy?” She says, a little loud and a little quick, needing to come up with something to say before they leave.

“Yeah?”

“You look — you look really beautiful, too,” she says. “I like your shirt.” The words somehow sound even worse aloud than they did the half-second they were in her head, but all he does is snort a laugh, and shake his head with a fond grin.

“Thanks, princess. It means a lot.”

He’s teasing, letting her off the hook, and Clarke smiles a little helplessly, before letting him go. He shuts the door and makes his way to the driver’s side, getting the car in gear and pulling onto the street to make the half hour drive to her mum’s place.

Clarke: You’ve broken me Bellamy said I look nice and my brain shut down

Raven: Only nice? Poor game, blake

Clarke: Okay, he said beautiful But still, my brain shut down and I’m blaming you for breaking me

Raven: I read this text to Wells and he legitimately laughed for like 30 seconds “I hope those crazy kids get their shit together”

Clarke: Your mockery is appreciated I’ll see you soon

Raven: If you don’t make it I’ll assume you pulled onto the side of the road for a quicky

Clarke: Stop using that line Also [Middle finger emoji]

They’re still one of the first people to arrive, despite Bellamy’s stressing, but it gives them time to talk to her mum and Marcus properly, for Bellamy to give them the bottle of wine he brought and for Clarke to try and shake off what both his and Raven’s words are doing to her and for Abby to insist on taking photos of them together.

“Your last Christmas before baby is born,” she says, as she snaps one of them in front of the perfectly-decorated Christmas tree, and Clarke feels Bellamy’s hand flex on her hip. It’s pretty amazing to think about: this time next year, they’ll be parents, getting ready for Bean’s first Christmas.

Other guests start pouring in throughout the next hour, until the living room is warm and lively, filled with people drinking and laughing and dancing and talking. Clarke’s pulled into various conversations, and by extension, Bellamy is too, and unsurprisingly a lot of them revolve around the baby. Questions of when it’s due, if they know the gender, whether they’ve landed on a name yet (she tries her hardest not to share an amused look with Bellamy, but when he leans in and whispers Chronus to her, she does have to hide her laughter in his shoulder).

They hang out with Wells and Raven once they arrive — Clarke unsurprisingly getting teased relentlessly when Bellamy goes to grab them champagne — dance together when her favourite Christmas song comes on, and even get roped into playing with some of Clarke’s cousins’ kids, none of which is really helping with how her mind is kind of spinning, how she’s hyper-aware of Bellamy’s every touch, of his every smile.

She makes it through to eleven before she’s tired enough to pull the pregnancy card, and after a long line of goodbyes, she and Bellamy manage to escape. She’s dozed off a little by the time they get home, and when he shakes her shoulder lightly to wake her, she opens her eyes to find him smiling at her fondly.

“Come on, princess, probably better to pass out in bed than sleep all night in the car.”

“If you say so,” Clarke sighs, letting him help her up and keep an arm around her going back into the house. It’s still slippery out. “I might just pass out in bed with my clothes still on, though,” she says sleepily, as they flick the lights on and she shrugs off her coat. “I’m not sure I have the energy to change into my pyjamas.”

“You’ll be uncomfortable,” Bellamy says, and she snorts a soft laugh, sending him a fond smile as she feels them come back to their centre. His returning one is wry. “You know I’m right.”

“I know you’re ridiculous,” she says.

“And yet, you’ll thank me when you don’t wake up in the middle of the night cold and uncomfortable. You hate wearing constricting things at night,” he reminds, and sometimes it is a little annoying how well he knows her, how much he listens when she complains. “Especially with Bean.”

“Fine,” she relents, making sure her voice is a grumble, because she knows he loves when she’s petulant. “But you’re helping me get out of the dress, because it took me like, five tries to get the zipper all the way up, and I’m not putting myself through that again.”

Bellamy chuckles, ducking his head before giving her a fond grin. “Whatever you say,” he says, indulgent. “I’ll lock up first.”

Clarke nods, and goes to start getting ready for bed. She washes her face first, and then brushes her teeth, because she knows that as soon as she’s in her pyjamas she’s likely to just collapse in bed and pass out, but soon enough she’s back in her bedroom, pulling off her boots and tights as Bellamy knocks on her door. He must’ve followed a similar routine, because he’s shirtless, only in his pyjama pants, slung low on his hips, and a little bit of toothpaste is still in the corner of his mouth.

And suddenly Clarke realises that this is a very bad idea.

But she’s asked him for help, and he’s said yes, so she smiles, turns her back to him, and pushes the hair from the nape of her neck.

And it feels so familiar, with it dark outside and in the quiet of night, having Bellamy touch her.

His hand finds the top of her dress, and the rough pad of his thumb runs lightly over her neck, making her shiver, and it’s like a jolt to her system, this heightened awareness of her body, of what Bellamy’s doing to her; what he always does to her.

He brings the zipper of her dress all the way down, the air cool on her now exposed back, and they just stand there like that for a lingering moment, Clarke feeling herself sway backwards slightly, into his warmth.

He lets his hands fall and she turns around, looking at him to find a flush to his cheeks, a flustered and maybe even guilty expression that has her heart beginning to race. He meets her eyes for one long moment before stepping back and turning to leave, but she catches his hand before he can.

And suddenly, it feels so simple.

“Bellamy,” she says, her voice coming out soft, pleading.

He meets her eyes again, but this time his gaze doesn’t waver. It feels like there’s both a question and an answer in there, all at once, and it makes it so easy to step forward, into his space as much as she can with her belly between them, and rise up onto her toes to press her mouth to his.

She remembers the last kiss they shared exactly, at their first ultrasound together. After seeing Bean for the first time, hearing its heartbeat, and feeling overcome with emotion, Clarke had reached out to Bellamy, tilted her head to bring her lips up to his. It was short but sweet, intimate, and like sleeping together, they never acknowledged it, and haven’t done it since.

Now, though, Bellamy melts into her, lets out a soft and familiar sigh as his free hand moves up to her face. He cradles it gently, before tilting her head slightly to deepen the kiss, and Clarke lets herself fall into it too, lets her hands slide up into his hair, curl into it and tug a little, just like she knows he loves. Lets herself part his lips with her tongue, kiss him deeper, harder, longer, until she can taste the champagne he’s been drinking, until she needs to tilt her head back to draw in a few shaky breaths.

She makes herself look at him, his eyes dark with lust, but with a glint of something more there, too, something heavy that makes her heart burst. He’s as wrapped around her as he can be, one hand on her side, thumb absently rubbing her belly, and the other now at the base of her neck, keeping her close, and there’s a long moment where they just watch each other, soft and unobtrusive, a warmth building between them, before they’re both moving again, Bellamy dipping as Clarke rises. And it’s quicker this time, him swallowing her whimper with a kiss that’s desperate, that feels like it’s pouring seven months of separation into it. It’s hot and wet in seconds, a perfect combination of tongue and lips and teeth, and it sends a rush through Clarke’s whole body, one she hasn’t felt since the last night they spent together, before she told him she was pregnant.

She presses against his chest, and he pulls back for a moment, smile confused.

“Bedroom,” she murmurs, already leaning back in when he chuckles.

“We’re already in a bedroom,” he points out, but she’s already shaking her head.

“Your bedroom,” she insists, pushing him again, until he catches up and starts walking them to his room instead. “I don’t like my one,” she says, between more kisses. “It still doesn’t feel like mine. And your bed is more comfortable.”

Bellamy kisses her one more time, laughing a little as he pulls back properly, smile so wide it feels like it could split his face in two. He pulls her into his room and shuts the door, despite them being the only ones here, and unsurprisingly it slows them down.

“Are you sure?” He asks, eyes moving across her face like he’s trying to memorise her, memorise the moment. “Because I don’t want to move things more than you want, but — fuck, Clarke, you gotta be sure.”

He sounds about as wrecked as she feels, in the best way possible, and Clarke leans up pointedly, claiming his mouth in a slow, loving kiss. When she pulls back, she’s smiling, and Bellamy’s responding one is the best thing she’s ever seen.

“I’m certain,” she says, taking the opportunity to pull her arms free from her dress, tug it down over her baby bump and let it slip onto the floor, leaving her only in her underwear.

And it feels a little like being in the dress again, the way his gaze shifts, moving down her body and once again lingering at her belly. He’s seen her in various states of undress, of course, and is very familiar with her bare baby bump, but it’s different from being this exposed to him when they were sleeping together, different from laying on the couch with her top up so he can have some baby time. It somehow feels more intimate, puts Clarke in a more vulnerable state than she’s used to being in front of him. But Bellamy’s eyes find hers again, and when he smiles, she’s not sure she’s ever seem him so filled to the brim with happiness.

“God, you look good,” he says, something like awe in his voice, and Clarke chokes out a slightly watery laugh. It’s all a little overwhelming, despite how much she wants this, despite how good he’s being. “I don’t want you to think, pregnancy’s like — a kink for me, or something. But fuck, Clarke, it’s been so hard to keep my hands off of you these past few months. You’re fucking gorgeous.”

This laugh comes out stronger, and she steps forward to slide her hands up Bellamy’s chest and to his shoulders, his skin warm under her touch, as she leans up again to kiss him again, long and deep and perfect.

“Better start making up for lost time, then.”

And he does, kissing her until she melts right back into him, walking her back to his bed like he used to, helping her settle onto it gently, so achingly careful with her.

And it’s both familiar and new, being in bed with him again. A combination of ease from their past experience with each other, and working things out around her belly, but of course they figure it out, until it’s comfortable, until it’s good, until Bellamy starts mouthing at her jaw, starts dropping kisses down her neck and onto her chest, until he’s unclasping her bra and sucking a nipple into his mouth, careful because of course he remembers she might be sensitive.

He learns her new body slowly, indulgently, touch reverent and mouth achingly loving, shuffling down and leaving kisses until he’s back right between her thighs, parting her slowly and licking into her, driving her crazy with his talented tongue and fingers. She comes twice with him settled in the cradle of her thighs, fingers curled tight into his hair as he brings her over the edge, and when he kisses his way back up to her, he’s unsurprised that she catches his mouth in a desperate kiss, licking her taste off of his tongue like she used to.

And still, after that, it’s easy. She’s done her research on getting off by herself whilst pregnant, just to be safe, and reading about sex was a natural progression to that, so it’s not hard, telling Bellamy which positions are best for them, and it still takes some getting used to, of course, still re-learning each other, but it’s still just so good.

And when he spoons her from behind, mouth on her neck as he presses into her, it’s perfect. Shallow thrusts that have her arching into him, that have her skin alight with pleasure and need and happiness, his fingers at the apex of her thighs to bring her up one last time. She tilts her head back before she comes, finding his mouth in a hot, desperate kiss, and he follows as she clenches around him.

They’re both panting by the end of it, and after Bellamy pulls out Clarke gets up the energy to turn over and face him.

His hand finds her belly, moving over it gently, and she smiles.

“I’ve missed that.”

Bellamy chuckles, ducking his head with a rueful smile. “Yeah, I’m not sure why we stopped.”

“Because we’re idiots,” Clarke says, but she feels like she could burst with happiness, and when Bellamy finds her hand, slips his fingers between hers, that feeling doubles.

“I, um — I was planning on saying something before you got pregnant,” he says, voice low and a little rough. “But it felt like too much, once you told me. I mean, fuck, I was having enough trouble trying to ask my best friend if she wanted to date, let alone my best friend whom I’d just gotten pregnant to date.” Clarke laughs softly, and Bellamy’s responding smile is a little helpless. “Miller called me an idiot about fifty times. I’m pretty sure he moved out just so I had an excuse to ask you to move in. But, yeah—” He clears his throat, takes a breath before he continues. “I just wanted to say, it’s not just because you’re pregnant, and that we’re having this baby together. I love Bean, too, don’t get me wrong, but I fell for you before that. I love you. Just you.”

And it’s impossible not to lean in and kiss him again, impossible not to feel overwhelmed with how much she loves him.

“Yeah,” she says, and it’s incredible how easy it feels now, after months of worrying. “I love you, too. And I’m really glad to be having this bean with you.”

“Little Poseidon?”

Clarke grins, can’t help but break into a small fit of giggles. “We can discuss it in the morning.”

Bellamy grins too, wraps him arm around her and pulls her in close. “Sounds perfect.”

Clarke: [Img attached]

Raven: Do I want an explanation?

Clarke: Say what you said last time

Raven: God you’re needy, gimme a sec Is this your way of telling me you finally figured your shit out? Like, hey, here’s a pic of us in bed after we had sex all last night I’ve copied that word for word btw

Clarke: Proud of you And yeah, it is

Raven: Congrats on the sex And I’m glad you figured this all out before bean is born Bc really, that would’ve been a clusterfuck

Clarke: Probably But I’m glad I won’t have to find out

Raven: Wow pregnancy has made you sappy

Clarke: It’s true [Img attached]

Raven: Jesus, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen Bellamy smile so hard Now stop texting me and go make out with your boyfriend

Clarke: Yeah, good plan

She puts her phone down, places her hand on top of Bellamy’s, where it’s unsurprisingly rubbing over her belly. Bean is already up and active, and he presses down on where their little foot is poking out, just saying hello.

“I think Bean knows,” Bellamy murmurs, and Clarke laughs softly, shifting to look at him properly, take in his happy, sleepy grin. She’s pretty sure she’s never seen anything better, and she can’t help but lean in to give him a sweet kiss.

Bean shifts, and Clarke pulls back to laugh.

“Yeah, feels like it,” she agrees. “Maybe just knows I’m happy.”

Bellamy swallows. “Yeah?”

“Stupidly so,” Clarke says, a little helplessly, and his grin widens, slow and perfect. “Best Christmas ever, definitely.”

“I don’t know,” Bellamy says, pulling her back close, lips finding her jaw, leaving a trail of soft kisses. “I reckon the next few will give this one a run for its money.”

(And on Julia’s first Christmas, Clarke can’t help but agree.

Her husband is a smart man.)

#bisexualbellamyblake #bellarke fanfiction #the 100 fanfiction #bellarke fic #bellarke #the 100 #bellamy and clarke #bellamy blake #clarke griffin #bellarkechristmas2017 #bellarke christmas calendar #by rosie

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kinetic-elaboration · 6 years

Text

oh well, you’ve got me under your spell: chapter one

A Bellarke High School AU

Clarke is sophomore class president, assistant copy editor on the school paper, and a member of the debate team.

Bellamy is her best friend's tough, troublesome, protective older brother.

They barely even know each other. And yet for some reason he keeps showing up at her house.

For the prompt “this is the last time I’m letting you into my house,” from this prompt list, requested by @loreley02 (about a million years ago; technically the request for anything from this list for Bellarke).

Chapter One: ~8,900 words

READ ON AO3.

Clarke is in her living room, two-thirds of the way through a horror movie marathon with Raven and Octavia, when a knock sounds on the front door and she almost jumps out of her skin.   

It's past midnight, her parents are asleep, and all the lights in the house are off. Octavia's response—"What the fuck? What was that?"—is a fair one. So is Raven's: "Should I get a kitchen knife?" And so is the beating of Clarke's heart and the chill that runs down her spine as, silently and slowly on bare feet, she leads the trio of them down the front hall and to the door.  

"Who is it?" Octavia whispers, when Clarke leans up on her toes to look out through the peephole. "Axe murderer? Serial killer?"  

"Close." Clarke breathes out a long, relieved sigh as she settles down on her feet again. Then she starts to unlock the door. "It's your brother."  

Any comfort Clarke felt at learning she was not about to die at the hands of a chainsaw-wielding psycho melts away, though, when Raven hits the light switch and she gets a look at Bellamy's face. There's a bad bruise already starting to purple around his eye, his mouth is bloody, and his hands are even worse. His shirt is torn. He sways back a little bit too hard when Octavia jumps forward and wraps her arms around him.  

"Did you know your phone is off?" he asks her. His voice is gruff, parched with exertion and stress, but Octavia doesn't seem to notice. She just holds him out at arm's length, scanning over his face to catalogue every cut and every sign of blood.   

"Bellamy, what happened?" Clarke asks instead, and then Octavia's eyes snap to meet his and she asks, "Did mom's new boyfriend do this?"  

"What? No—no," Bellamy insists, a hard warning on the last word. "I was out, and I got into a fight. It's not a big deal but mom can't know."  

Clarke rolls her eyes when she hears that it's not a big deal and steps a little closer, her arms crossed tight against her chest. "There's obviously more to the story than that—"  

"No there isn't—"  

"Clarke, just don't right now, okay?"  

"Guys, hey."  

Octavia's voice was all plea, but the look on her face had as much warning in it as her brother's words did a moment before, and Clarke feels a defensive anger, made all the worse by how bone-deep worried and honestly, secretly scared she is, starting to boil to the surface—all of which is sure to make the situation escalate at top speed. It's only Raven's sudden re-appearance in the hallway that cuts the growing argument off at the head. She's holding up a bag of frozen peas, wrapped in a dishtowel, and staring at them with a combination of surprise, concern, and judgement that puts Clarke utterly to shame.  

"I know Abby has a real first aid kit around here somewhere," she says, "but I improvised this for your eye, just to start."  

She holds the peas out, but it takes several long moments before anyone thinks to take them. And then it's Clarke, at last, who steps forward and passes them off to Bellamy. He winces as he presses the misshapen cold bag to his cheekbone. It's weird, but not that weird, that Clarke didn't even notice Raven stepping out into the kitchen. And it's weird that Bellamy, under the single hallway light, looks so worn and exhausted, so secretly fragile, and maybe a little scared, too.  

But not that weird.  

"Clarke will fix you up," Octavia promises, slinging her arm through his and leaning against his shoulder. "And I won't tell mom anything, I swear."  

She still has questions, too many of them, crowding in her mouth, jostling together in her brain, but all Clarke does is nod. Yes, of course. She'll fix him right up.   

The first aid kit is in the downstairs bathroom, tucked in under the sink, and even though the room is just a tiny half-bath, not even the edge of a tub to perch on, they all crowd inside anyway: Bellamy seated on the closed toilet lid while Clarke kneels in front of him and Raven and Octavia stand awkwardly against the walls. Raven had the presence of mind, at least, to turn off the hallway light, so now the house is dark again. No need to alert any parents here.  

The light in the bathroom seems that much brighter, though, in contrast: a hard antiseptic yellow bouncing off the tile. Clarke can see too well every break in Bellamy's skin, every new lilac-colored bruise just beginning to deepen to purple and blue. His hands are in worse shape than his face, which she supposes means he gave worse than he got. But she's not really up for offering him any congratulations. For a long time, she doesn't say anything at all. None of them do, still scared perhaps, or still too tense, although Bellamy sucks in a sharp breath every now and then through his teeth, as Clarke cleans and disinfects his cuts and scrapes. "Just another minute," she murmurs, as she watches herself as if from far away, watches her hands that look like someone else's hands, caring for him with such caution and such gentleness.  

Read the rest on AO3.

#bffnet #bellarke fanfiction #bellarke #clarke griffin #bellamy blake #the 100 #mine #my writing #oh well verse

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prosciuttoe · 7 years

Note

do you take prompts? would you write a friends-to-lovers bellarke au where they decide to volunteer at a dog rescue or pound or something and the sight of bellamy playing with the dogs and puppies makes clarke's crush on him even worse? bonus would be if they end up adopting a dog together or something (also i would adore mutual pining !!!!) or anything along those lines of a prompt! bellarke + puppies is my secret weakness

A|N: Technically, this isn’t 100% fall-themed, but I’m a sucker for puppies and the friends-to-lovers trope so I’m just going to kick off my Halloween bash with this, tbh! Let’s just pretend this fic takes place in fall and hence is entirely On-Theme. _______________Ironically enough, she’s the one who comes up with the idea of volunteering— which means that there’s no one to blame for this entire situation but herself, really.

“Run this by me again,” Bellamy asks, dry, “but how is this not a entirely self-serving move on our part where we get to play with numerous dogs on a regular basis?”

Arching a pointed brow over at him, she tilts back her screen, bringing up the shelter’s website. “Because, that’s not what fostering is,” she says, folding her arms across her chest. “We’re providing dogs with a chance at finding their permanent homes by giving them a place to stay in the meantime, see? It’ll reduce a load on the shelter’s resources too, so.”

The problem with living with her best friend for the better part of the year is that he knows her too well, really, so the only reaction she gets from that is a unimpressed sniff. “So what you’re saying is that we’ll get to play with several different dogs on a regular basis?”

Glaring, she manages a scowl, which only serves to make his smirk grow wider if anything. “Fine,” she bites out, slamming a pen down onto the sheaf of application papers before them, “maybe. Now will you please fill these out?”

“Only because you asked so nicely,” he grins, tickling at her wrist before reaching over to pluck the pen out of her grip triumphantly.

Their first dog arrives, a week after— a husky mix called Peanut, of all things— which as far as Clarke knows, is the beginning of the end.

Because as it turns out, the sight of Bellamy taking care of a tiny, helpless puppy is a whole new level of distracting.

It’s not as if she’s never noticed that her best friend is stupidly handsome, but it’s different when he’s holding a wriggling, squirming mass of fur in his arms, cooing and kissing at her nose constantly. Or when he comes home, all sweaty and dishevelled with his shirt sticking obscenely to his skin and leash in hand. One time, they’re watching TV when Peanut starts getting a little restless, so he literally scoops her up with one hand and starts lifting her, much to her delight, until she tires out and falls asleep on him, which is just… a lot for Clarke to handle, honestly.

The fact that she has feelings for him isn’t exactly a novel discovery on her part, but seeing him being so good with Peanut is distinctly not helping things. Prior to this, her plan had mostly involved suffering in silence over what surely must be unrequited feelings for him, but raising a dog together had sort of thrown a wrench into those plans. It’s almost entirely impossible to ignore how good they work as a team— or as a couple, and it’s getting harder with each passing day not to convince him of it, too.

In the end, it all comes to a head during one of their regular walks to the park.

They’re sitting at the bench, trying to teach Peanut to keep from jerking on her leash (with Bellamy providing unhelpful commentary like, “Maybe she would stop doing it if you stopped steering her into trees so much.”) when a woman comes up to them, fawning over Peanut as she runs giddy, excited circles around them.

“You can pet her, if you want.” Clarke offers, patting at her rump until Peanut flops down onto the ground, panting. “She’s friendly.”

“And a real cutie,” the woman says, grinning. “How long have you guys had her?”

“A few months?” Bellamy shrugs, leaning over to secure Peanut’s harness. “I’d say close to a year.”

“Ten months,” she reminds him, kicking lightly at his shin. “We got her in January, remember? You started baby-proofing the apartment then.”

“Only because you leave the blender out constantly. Have you seen how sharp those blades are?”

“You’re telling me that Peanut is somehow going to be able to scale our dining room table and stick her face into the blender?”

That pulls a impatient noise out of him, which she generally takes to mean as a sign of victory. “Sorry,” he says pleasantly, directing his attention back to the woman. “It’s just one of those things we can never agree on.”

“I know the feeling,” she says, shooting him a sympathetic look. “I get like this with my husband, too.” Then, with one last pat to Peanut’s head, “You have a beautiful family.”

She can practically feel her cheeks flooding with color at that; Bellamy sputtering in response as the woman strides away, Peanut tugging at her leash until Clarke gets her to settle back down.

“It’s not a big deal,” she says quickly, at the ensuing silence. “I mean— it’s just— it’s stupid how society doesn’t think that guys and girls can’t just be like, friends, and platonically raising a dog together without automatically assuming they are a couple, but—”

“Would it be so bad?” he interrupts, worrying at his lip. “I mean, if we were. A couple, I mean.”

For a minute, all she can do is stare, her mouth dropping open instinctively to gape over at him. “What?”

“Never mind,” he says hastily, looking away. “I just meant, like— not a couple couple, but uh, more like a—”

She kisses him then, sliding her hands into his hair like how she’s wanted to for years now, nipping at his bottom lip until he catches on and kisses her back, deep and warm and everything she imagined kissing Bellamy Blake would be like.

“How long have you wanted to ask me that?” she asks when they pull apart, breathless and mouths red and swollen. (It’s a good look on him.)

“Uh,” he laughs, dropping his head so it’s resting against the side of his neck, nuzzling at the skin there, “for the longest time? But if we’re talking specifics, I would say about a year ago. Way before we got Peanut, that’s for sure.”

“And you didn’t think about just asking me?”

“I was working up to it,” he grumbles, nosing at her jaw until she gets the message and presses a quick kiss against his lips, another on his eyelid. “I just— these things are delicate, Clarke Griffin.”

“Sure,” she agrees, biting back a smile. “You nerd.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters, running his fingers absently over her knuckles before tangling his hand with hers. “So that’s a yes, right?”

“Yeah,” she tells him, dropping a kiss against his cheek; Peanut tugging impatiently on her leash until Bellamy relents and picks her up, slathering them with kisses on her own. “That’s definitely a yes.”

#my best line in this fic is 'why can't people PLATONICALLY RAISE A DOG TOGETHER'#bellarke fanfiction #bellarke #bffnet #ems writes #prhalloweenbash2k17 #anon #asks

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ponyregrets · 7 years

Note

ngl i was hoping you'd reblog the reunion prompts list, “you’re famous and just got asked if you were ever in love this should be good– WAIT WHAT” au seemed super bellarke and also super your thing, slight preference for famous clarke but either way is great

under 2k it’s still good it’s still good

Bellamy would like to say he doesn’t care that his ex-girlfriend is famous. It’s not really a big deal, after all. Her fame came long after they’d stopped dating, high-school sweethearts who broke up in the natural way when they went off to different colleges. They kept in touch for a few years, saw each other on breaks and over summer vacations, but then his mother died and his sister went to live with his grandmother, and he started going home to a new state for breaks, and two years after that, Octavia told him Clarke was a singer.

So now he knows that his ex-girlfriend is still beautiful, still bright and just a little too serious and not great at being a celebrity, and if he still knew her for any reason except that she was famous, he’d probably call her up.

But it’s the fame thing, so instead he just keeps track of her as best he can without feeling like a creep. He buys her album, which is amazing, doesn’t actually follow any of her social media, but instead checks her official Twitter, which she absolutely does not run, and keeps track of all her singles and public appearances. Which is, he has on good authority, hilarious, because he’s generally the least musically aware person on the planet, and now he is an expert on exactly one pop-culture figure.

“You should absolutely call her,” his sister tells him. “Like, come on. It’s not like you’re some random creepy fan.”

“Yeah, I’m a specific creepy fan. That makes it so much better.”

“You guys dated,” she points out, not unreasonably. “Not that I want to think about this, but I assume you’ve seen her naked.”

“I don’t think I’ve seen you naked is a great way to start a conversation with a celebrity, O. It just makes them think you’re threatening to release a sex tape. Which I don’t have,” he adds, quickly. “Don’t worry. Just–seriously, it would be weird. I probably don’t even have her number any more.”

“I’m just saying, actually talking to her would probably be less creepy than what you’re doing now.”

“Thanks. That makes me feel so much better.”

Then again, given he’s spending his Sunday afternoon waiting for a stream of Clarke answering questions at some music festival in New York State, she might have a point. He’s already pretty creepy. Just talking to her would probably be an improvement.

Actual interviews with Clarke are pretty rare, but she’s got a couple Q&As set up while she’s at the festival, and he’s looking forward to just–seeing her talk. Finding out if the first girl he ever loved is still in there. And, okay, maybe if she is, he’ll call her up.

Like basically every livestream he’s ever watched, it starts off with technical difficulties, so by the time it’s working, the session has already started. Clarke is sitting on stage with a moderator, looking a little uncomfortable, but not in a way anyone other than him would notice, he doesn’t think. She’s always dealt with stress with a confident front, which is probably a good trait for a celebrity.

“I just started singing in college,” she says. “Which is pretty late, but I never felt like I had time before that. I tried out for an a capella group with my roommate, they said I was good, and it went from there.” She smiles. “Which I know sounds terrible. Easiest rise to fame ever! There was a lot of hard work and luck in there, but–that’s how I found out it was an option, and that I wanted it. Just random chance.”

“Next question,” says the moderator.

“Yeah, Dan, I’m from Massachusetts.”

“Cool, me too,” says Clarke.

“Yeah, I wanted to ask about that. Do you ever come home?”

“Sometimes. Most of my friends moved away, and so did my parents, so I don’t usually go to my home town, but I always love getting a chance to see Boston.”

“What’s the most stereotypical Masshole thing about you?”

She grins. “Dunkin Donuts addiction, definitely. My manager always wants to get good coffee and I’m sitting there with my extra-large iced Dunkies. It makes her want to cry. Thanks for the question. Next?”

“Hi, I’m Ally!” says a girl. She looks maybe twelve, at the oldest. “My friend says you don’t have a boyfriend or a girlfriend right now, but–have you ever been in love? Because you write the best love songs.”

Clarke is smiling, fond, and Bellamy can’t help a smile of his own. The kid is cute, and so hopeful.

“Yeah, I’ve been in love,” Clarke says. “I’m not saying you have to be in love to write a good love song, but–not to be a total cliche, there was this guy in high school. My first boyfriend.”

Suddenly, it’s not funny. Or, not ha ha funny. More the girl I never totally got over is going to discuss our relationship in front of a bunch of her fans funny. An entirely uncharted kind of funny.

“What was he like?”

“He was awesome. My best friend. I always wanted to try to make it work with him again, but–we fell out of touch. It sucks, but it happens. And I’m glad we had the time together that we did.” She wets her lips, looks down on her smile. “Anyway, yeah. Next question?”

Bellamy only half-hears the rest, his brain working overtime, unable to stop knowing that Clarke is talking about him. Writing songs about him, even.

“Are your love songs still about him?” a girl asks, right toward the end. “The guy from high school.”

“A lot of them aren’t about anyone,” she says. “Just the idea of love.” She bites her lip. “But yeah. Some of them are about him.”

He doesn’t really think about it, doesn’t weigh the pros and the cons. He just thinks–Clarke is still into him. Clarke hasn’t gotten over him. And if he’s not over her either, it just feels stupid, to not at least mention it.

And, really. New York isn’t that far away.

Her set the next day is great, even if he’s so far back he can barely see her. And she has another Q&A right after, so he leaves early to get a good place in line, feeling only a little anxious. He could just try to call, but, well. He’d honestly like to see her face when she sees him.

Besides, he doesn’t really want to wait.

Clarke comes out to applause, and she smiles, a little tired around the eyes, and waves. He looks away when she looks over the crowd, hiding under the brim of his hat, and when she says, “Hey, thanks so much for coming, guys! I hope you enjoyed the show!” he sees no indication she knows he’s here.

The crowd cheers, and she smiles again.

“Okay,” says the moderator. “Please keep questions short and appropriate, guys.”

The people in front of him ask a few standard questions, songwriting process, when her next album is coming, favorite artists, and he gets more and more nervous the closer he gets to the front of the line. She still doesn’t seem to have seen him, and he could just bail. Pretend he was never here and talk to her later. He could probably get to her. There isn’t a ton of security.

But then he’s at the mic, and she’s taking a drink of water, and he just leans in and says, “Hi, uh, I’m Bellamy, I’m from Northampton,” and she chokes. “Big fan,” he adds, when she meets his eye.

Her voice is a little weak, but she’s smiling. “Hi, Bellamy.” And then, when he fails to say anything either, she grins. “Did you have a question?”

He clears his throat. “Yeah, uh–my favorite song of yours is "Orion’s Belt.” I was wondering if you could tell me about the inspiration.“

"That’s really your favorite?” she asks, sounding a little offended, and he laughs.

“Sorry, am I supposed to have a different favorite? They’re all good. It’s not a competition.”

“Thanks, that means a lot.” She seems to remember they’re in front of a crowd. “Um, yeah. Of course that can be your favorite. It’s about my first date with my high school boyfriend. He took me out to teach me the constellations. He was kind of a giant dork, but–it’s one of my favorite memories.”

“Sounds like a nice night,” he says. “Thanks.”

“Thanks for coming, Bellamy,” she says, and he catches her looking at him through the rest of the Q&A, quick glances to where he’s sitting. When she’s done, he goes up to the stage with a bunch of other fans, waits as they get autographs and selfies.

When she’s done, she jumps down off the stage and hugs him, warm and close.

“Seriously, is that actually your favorite song, or did you just want me to have to admit it was about you?”

“It can’t be both?” He buries his face in her hair, breathing her in, and she holds on just as tight. “Hi, Clarke.”

“Hi, Bellamy. Good to see you.”

“Yeah,” he says. “You too.”

#catja

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naireides · 7 years

Text

top 5 and bottom 5 kudos fics

tagged by my favourite furry @prosciuttoe whose fics are always ah-maze-ing and we are #blessed to have her in this hell fandom

rules: tag the person who tagged you, always post the rules, answer the questions, and add the date!

What are your five most popular works? (in descending order)

1. But They Ain't Doing It Right (bellarke, 14.9k, posted 29/08/16)

“So,” he begins, running a hand through his hair. It’s a lost cause trying to work it back into some semblance of order. “What is this?”

“What do you mean?”

He doesn’t meet her eye when he says, “Once is a mistake, twice is a pattern,” too busy picking at a loose thread in his hem.

“Wanna go three times and just make it a habit?” she jokes weakly, and his head snaps back up, eyes boring into hers. She flushes under the intensity of his gaze.

“Actually,” he begins slowly, “That doesn’t sound that bad.”

or, the friends with benefits au that got away from me

this was the first ‘big’ fic i wrote for the fandom (as in something with a definitive plot and not an empty oneshot) and it was all kinds of ridiculous

2. The Giant Squid's Got Nothing On You (bellarke, 6.1k, 07/09/16)

“That is what stalking is though, technically,” says Raven, stirring cinnamon into her coffee. She’s joined her today on her sketching run, and the cafe is packed to the brim. “And it’s not normal either. Soon enough someone is going to show him those drawings and then there’ll be a lawsuit on your hands. And I’m not going to bail you out.”

Objectively, Clarke knows she’s probably right, but she still can’t help but lift her chin determinedly and say, “He is not going to find it.”

She can barely hear her scoff in reply over the din of the cafe. “Yeah right,” says Raven, “The internet is forever, Clarke Griffin. He will find it eventually.”

or, Clarke finds her new muse at the local cafe

my ‘merging my two favourite couples together’ fic. i really, really liked writing this one and i was honestly kinda surprised at how popular it got?? it was completely 100% self indulgent lol

3. Feel Me Running Through Your Veins (bellarke, 22k, 24/09/16)

The interviewer’s smile freaks her out. “So,” she asks, sounding far too perky, “What’s the deal with you and Bellamy Blake?”

Clarke wills herself not to flush as her brain processes the question. What is the deal her and Bellamy? He’s her sometime friend who argue and bicker like no other but she also craves the taste of him on her tongue. They’re people who sling insults at each other from their respective stages, only to find him later pulling her hair so that he can attack her neck with sloppy kisses. That’s what’s going on with her and Bellamy Blake.

Instead, she gives her a charming smile and says, “Nothing. We’re just friends. Sometimes.”

Next to her Raven begins to cough and Clarke slaps her on the back, perhaps a bit harder than necessary.

or, Bellamy Blake and Clarke Griffin definitely do not like each other. No matter what the tabloids say.

friends with benefits is one of my all time favourite tropes (which is why like half of my fics fall into that category whoops) and actor aus are one of my favourite aus out there so this was also pretty fun to write. if i could change one thing about it i maybe wouldn’t have switched between the times like i did? but all in all i like this one.

4. Gimme That Sugar With The Sweet Talk (bellarke, 5.4k, 30/10/16)

“Are you supposed to be me?” he asks, delighted as he pulls on the strings of her hoodie.

She swats him with the Iliad. “Well, it is pretty scary, right? If only I could have gotten the mask to go with it, then I’d be a true nightmare.”

The mirth on his face doesn’t seem to be going away anytime soon. If anything, Bellamy looks like her showing up in too big clothing and eyeliner dotted across her face as freckles is the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

or, we’re secret friends with benefits and you came dressed as me for a party and it's really, really distracting.

this is another self indulgent fic that’s just straight up smut (surprise! it’s also a fwb fic!) and again, i loved writing it, especially the non smut parts where bellamy and clarke are being their dumbass loser selves

5. who's scruffy looking? (bellarke, 4.9k, 08/05/17)

“What, the beard isn’t doing it for you?” she snickers at her own joke and then her jaw drops when Clarke averts her gaze, blushing. “Oh my god! You’re totally into his shitty beard!”

“Keep your voice down!” she hisses at her.

i predicted bearded bellamy back in may i’m fucking psychic. okay no, i’m not, it was because bob was sporting a beard at a con that weekend and like clarke, i was both horrified and kinda into his shitty beard because i obviously am Deep in this Pit

What are your five least popular works? (in ascending order)

1. Remus Lupin: Matchmaker Extraordinaire (jily, 7.8k, 06/03/16)

Remus Lupin, werewolf, prefect, Marauder, now has another title to add to his ever growing list: match maker. Because really, sometimes your friends need that extra little push in the right direction. Or maybe a shove… and a good few hits with a potions textbook once in a while.

i originally wrote this back in like 2013 i think?? it’s funny because this was one of my more popular ones on ffnet but it’s my least popular one on ao3. idk, i liked it when i wrote it, but that was over 4 years ago when i was like 15 so my writing has changed a lot since then.

2. your eyes are like starlight now (jily, 1.2k, 31/12/16)

“The first snow is magical, you can’t deny it,” and Lily grumbled, but she did have to agree. It was beautiful.

Of course, that moment lasted exactly thirty seconds before James squashed a snowball into her face.

written for december's jily challenge prompt!

ngl i wasn’t a huge fan of this fic mostly because i haven’t written canonverse jily in years so i can’t really say i’m surprised.

3. to count the stars (jily, 1.6k, 27/02/17)

seven times james and lily meet on the train, and one time they don’t

... i also didn’t like writing this one and i guess it shows lol

4. Ready Aim Fire (bellarke, 1.8k, 18/02/15)

Clarke and Bellamy finally come to head over what happened in ton DC

technically this was the first blarke fic i ever wrote but i don’t really consider it a proper fic if you get what i mean?? it was based off of a wishful thinking list i made sometime during s2 that warped into a ‘fic’

5. so tender and mild (jily, 2k, 01/12/16)

5 Christmases at the Potter-Evans household.

i don’t really have any particular feelings about this fic tbh. i don’t hate it but i don’t like it it’s just kinda... there so it doesn’t really surprise me that it’s here. (not really surprised that the majority of these are jily fics tbh; the jily fandom is constantly on the verge of death, especially on ao3 lol)

tagging @mellamymake @prongsno @gxldentrio and @padfootdidit

#tag games #my writing

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octannibal-blake · 7 years

Note

"Im going to need you to put on some underwear" or something prompt for bellarke... hopefully its bellamy saying it to clarke, or both situations x

I love this one. I love it. Thanks for the prompt, nonny! This got a little….risque but with a prompt like that, how could I not?

A normal relationship looks like this: mutual trust, honesty, passion, and respect. Eventually, love. For Clarke, well, she’s never been any good at normal relationships. Hell, her current one was built off mutual hate and loathing paired with constant bickering. There is definitely passion, oh yes, and that was discovered the first time she and Bellamy ever slept together. She’d like to say they were both drunk and just stumbled upon it but the truth is, it was bound to happen. One moment they had been arguing, probably over something small, and the next they were ripping each others clothes off and falling into bed together. There is definitely passion.

Sometimes it manifests itself in unique ways. They argue over Netflix documentaries and their historical accuracies (and usually she loses because Bellamy Blake is a history NERD), over how to properly fry an egg, and even over stuff they normally agree on. Okay, maybe they argue because they enjoy it sometimes and when Bellamy gets fired up, he’s extremely attractive. All this to say, their passion is never absent, just present in specific moments. Like this one, as she stands in the mirror trying to make herself look like a sex object but not for the reason you would think.

No, she’s currently sporting one of Bellamy’s dress shirts complete (or incomplete, depending on how you look at it) without anything underneath. No bra. No panties. No shorts. Zilch. While, technically, her endgame is exactly what you think it would be, it’s not without making him suffer first. After all, he started the war. She’s ready to end it.

Pranks are nothing new to them. Even during their mutual hatred, pre-passion, stage, they played pranks on each other often. Stupid shit, sometimes embarrassing shit. Now that they’re together, it’s only gotten worse. Today he took off the toilet seat in the bathroom causing her to fall into the toilet bowl as she shuffled in, half asleep, for her morning bathroom break. It’s just as childish as it sounds and all because they had gotten into a fight over the toilet seat two days ago (he’s used to living alone now, he can’t help old habits!).

Is she taking this too far? It’s possible, but she’s already committed and honestly, it’s way better than falling ass first into a nasty toilet. He’s currently sitting in the living room on some important conference call (college professors do this, apparently) completely unexpecting. Show time.

He pays her no mind as she walks into the living room, typing away at something on his laptop and nodding profusely at something someone on the other line is saying. She’s trying to go for casual, so she walks to the TV stand and pretends to be looking at movies. He’s sitting directly across from her, so she knows he is seeing this. As she bends over further, she hears his sharp intake of breath as the shirt reveals her perfectly round ass. She’s been doing squats specifically for moments like this. When she turns around, she sees his face has gone completely slack and he’s watching her in reverie.

“Um, yeah,” he says into the phone, “I’ve just been trying to figure out ways to engage students in the content more. Make them want to show up for class and participate…”

Always a dreamer, that one. Now that she has attention, she moves towards the couch with a devilish smile. On instinct, he leans back and watches her saunter towards him. He is humming into the phone, pretending to really comprehend what the person is telling him. She crawls onto the couch and straddles him, letting her naked bottom half rub against him. His eyes are hooded and he has completely checked out from the conversation, struggling to hold the phone to his ear.

“Yes sir, I’m listening,” he manages to get out with a steady voice. She grinds down on him for extra measure and she swears he whimpers.

She kisses his neck, right in the spot she knows he likes, and he seems to lose all self control in the worst way possible.

“I’m going to need you to put on some underwear!” he hisses and both their eyes go wide. She has to cover her mouth to keep from laughing at his mortification.

“I’m sorry, everyone. I’m watching my nephew,” he recovers fairly quickly, a little to her displeasure, “I’m going to have to dial back in once I take care of this.”

Luckily, he hasn’t moved her from his lap so she grinds back down for good measure. He presses down on the red button aggressively and tosses his phone on the table. Before she knows it, he has her pinned to the couch below him.

“Very funny,” he growls, and she’s happy to know there is no real malice in his voice.

“That’s what you get for the toilet seat.”

He laughs and pokes at her sides, “Is that the best you got, Griffin? Seducing me while I’m on the phone?”

She shrugs innocently and leans up to kiss him. She squeals in delight when he picks her up from the couch and throws her over his shoulder.

“Shouldn’t you call them back?” she asks.

“I can think of something else I’d rather do.”

Like she said: passion.

#bellarke #bellarke fanfiction #bellarke prompt #ask

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queenofchildren · 7 years

Text

Love and Vandalism

This was inspired by this tag from ao3tags, which I found hilarious. It features both Minty and Bellarke and @leralynne had to put up with a lot of ranting from me as I wrote it, so thank you! (And also, please write that prompt too one day.)

[Read it on ao3]

"Vandalism is not a valid form of flirting, you know."

Leaning against a row of shiny brass mailboxes in his co-worker's apartment building, Nathan Miller watches exasperatedly as his other co-worker and best friend is poised to turn an innocent mailbox into a glittery nightmare. Not for the first time, Miller wonders how the hell he got dragged into this.

Bellamy makes an annoyed sound and angrily stabs at the mailbox with his key, because for some reason he seems to believe that will get it open.

“I'm not flirting.“

“Right, I forgot,” Miller says and rolls his eyes, “that's what normal people would do if they were in love with their co-worker.“

“I am not in love with Clarke!“ Bellamy grinds out, then lets out a triumphant little shout as the mailbox creaks open. “I'm trying to teach her a lesson.“

Miller almost rolls his eyes again. “You keep telling yourself that.“ He watches quietly for a moment as Bellamy covers the inside of the mailbox with glue, then stuffs the plastic bag of pink and purple glitter in there and presses it against the back and sides of the rectangular metal box to make sure it sticks. “Still vandalism though,“ Miller adds lightly, although at this point he doesn't have much hope of convincing his friend to abandon this stupid plan. Or better yet, end that stupid prank war altogether.

And indeed, Bellamy shows no sign of giving up. Instead, he coats the inside of the mailbox's little door in glue as well and closes it, pressing against it for a little while to make sure the bag really sticks to the door. The plan, as Miller can infer, is for the flimsy plastic bag to be ripped open when Clarke opens the mailbox so that the glitter pours out. And since her mailbox is installed on the highest of five rows of identical boxes and Clarke no doubt has to reach up to open it, that means most of it will land on her hair and be a nightmare to get out. So, as far as stupid pranks go, it does promise to be somewhat entertaining, although Bellamy will probably use it as an excuse to stare at Clarke's blonde mane even more than he already does.

Miller sighs. This very absurd moment right now is the peak of a months-long prank war taking place at their usually rather professional workplace. It started less than a month after Clarke started working at their firm and immediately butted heads with Bellamy, and since then the two of them, both technically adults and highly successful lawyers, have been at it with the stupid pranks when everyone around them knows what they really want is to tear each other's clothes off.

It started when Clarke asked Bellamy to send her the files for a case she was taking over from him, and Bellamy printed it all out and covered her entire office in it, taping the pages to every available surface so that it took Clarke almost an hour to tear it all down. Clarke retaliated by telling Bellamy that an influential client they were both wooing was a big fan of French cuisine, especially escargots, and Bellamy fell for it and took the man out to a French restaurant and tried to impress him by ordering a big plate of escargots as his appetizer. He didn't even make it through more than a handful of snails in butter before he got nauseous and had to excuse himself. By the time he returned to the table, Clarke had snatched the client out from under his nose, and turned herself into an office legend.

After that, it was on.

For a while, their shenanigans were amusing, a playful distraction from their hectic lives. After six months of steadily escalating pranks, however, Miller is starting to long for the peaceful days of yore, when everyone just ignored each other and went about their day, and when he could actually get some work done without Bellamy coming over to brainstorm new pranks or Clarke raging about the fallout from his newest idea.

But instead of cooling down, the two seem to be taking it up a notch – and taking it out of the office, too. Miller has never even been to Clarke's place before, and now he's suddenly helping to install a glitter bomb in her mailbox. Which reminds him....

“How did you manage to get that open? Did you steal her key or something?”

Bellamy shrugs. “Nope.” He pops the “p” with a smug smile. “She told me the lock on her mailbox was broken and that it's possilbe to open it with anything remotely key-shaped.” He shakes his head as if to say that he can't believe Clarke would be stupid enough to tell him something like that. Miller is more inclined to shake his head at Bellamy's stupidity. Clearly, Clarke was fishing for an offer to repair the mailbox himself, perhaps followed by a glass of wine at her apartment... But if Bellamy's too stubborn or stupid to go after what he wants (honestly, Miller isn't sure which one it is) it's not Miller's job to make him see sense.

As a rule, Miller stays out of his friends' love lives. He's held firm to this rule so far, and he's not going to abandon it now.

Until the moment, less than a day later, when he finds out that the stupid prank war actually hurt an innocent person.

With the glitter bomb successfully installed, Miller and Bellamy head to their favourite bar for a nightcap, and Miller just hopes the fallout won't be too vicious.

But to Miller's great surprise and Bellamy's obvious disappointment, Clarke looks decidedly dull and glitter-free the next day. Either she spent the entire night scrubbing glitter off her hair and face, or Bellamy's plan wasn't quite as foolproof as he thought. She definitely looks a little tired, Miller thinks, with bags under her eyes and the slightest little slouch to her posture. But she still greets everyone brightly and jumps right into the day's tasks as if nothing at all had happened. Not a minute later, Bellamy sends his first text of many badgering Miller about whether or not he thinks it happened.

It's only much later, when Bellamy and Miller are sitting in the courtyard to eat lunch and discuss whether or not Bellamy's great prank worked, that they get their answer: A shadow falls over them, and suddenly Bellamy is being showered in glitter.

“Are you mad?“ Bellamy yelps and tries to shake the glitter out of his hair and shirt – a plan that is clearly doomed to fail.

“Yes, actually,“ Clarke replies, but her voice is cool and instead of sporting a look of triumph at having bested them, she looks grim – and decidedly angry. Which, of course, pleases Bellamy to no end.

But before he can get some sort of dig in – and inevitably call Clarke „Princess“ to rile her up even more – Clarke continues.

“And so would you be if you got a face full of glitter and spent the entire night vomiting it up again!“

Bellamy snorts, but doesn't seem altogether at ease – and Clarke's next words make his grin drop off his face altogether, and Miller's own stomach turn with dread too.

“Which is exactly what happened to my sweet and considerate roommate Monty when he offered to get the mail. That stupid glitter? It went everywhere. His eyes, mouth, nose... he inhaled a bunch of it, of course, and until this morning, I was wondering if I should take him to the hospital to have his lungs checked out. Are you happy now?“

There are actual tears in her eyes now, and Bellamy snaps to his feet, abandoning his glitter-covered sandwich on the bench beside him to grip her arms.

“Fuck, Clarke, I had no idea... I never meant for any of that to happen! I didn't think...“

“Of course you didn't think,“ she says, definitely choked up, and wrenches out of his grip. “You never do!“ And with that she storms off, two big pink hand prints on the sleeves of her white blouse.

Bellamy stares after her until she's disappeared back into the building, while everyone else sitting in the courtyard is busy staring at Bellamy instead.

“I fucked up, didn't I?“

“Big time,“ Miller confirms, never one to sugarcoat the ugly truth.

“What do I do now?“ Bellamy sounds truly lost, Miller almost feels pity for him. Almost.

“Now you get that stuff out of your hair, change into your spare suit, and as soon as we get off work, we're going to Clarke's to apologize to her roommate.”

“We?”

“I didn't exactly try very hard to stop you, did I?” Because that's the truth: Miller is just as responsible for making Clarke's poor roommate suffer as Bellamy is.

Four hours later, they're standing in front of Clarke's apartment building again, Bellamy clutching the bouquet of brightly-coloured flowers they bought on the way here.

One more deep breath, a shared look and a determined nod from Bellamy, and he's ringing Clarke's doorbell.

Miller has thought about what he's going to say all afternoon, how he's going to explain his role in the whole debacle without making it look like he wants to get out of taking responsibility.

Unfortunately, as soon as the door opens, everything he planned to say flies right out of his head.

Because Clarke's roommate is cute. Seriously, seriously cute.

Luckily, Bellamy takes up the role of leader of their mission, which is only fair seeing as the whole mess is his fault. This leaves Miller free to stare at the man before him, the shock of black hair contrasting with the soft red sweater he wears, his eyes glittering animatedly despite the dark circles underneath them. He hears Bellamy ask if the man before them is Monty and, once that is confirmed, rush out his apology and hand over the flowers, which are received with a soft little laugh. Only when Bellamy seems to be winding down does Miller even start to fully listen to him again.

“So, again... I'm very, very sorry this happened to you. I didn't even know Clarke had a roommate!”

Monty laughs that soft laugh again and Miller's stomach does a little flip and honestly, what is up with that laugh? Is he still high on glitter particles? Or is it possible that one person could actually be this forgiving and good-natured and smiley?

It's quite the puzzle, and Miller narrows his eyes and keeps staring at the roommate as he tries to figure him out.

“I'm not really her roommate, not permanently. I just live here while I look for my own place. I only moved here last week.”

“Ah.” Bellamy says unintelligently, clearly having run out of pre-prepared things to say.

Monty doesn't seem to mind. His expression remains open and friendly as he fixes his gaze on Miller and addresses him for the first time.

“So, if he's here to apologize,” he nods at Bellamy, “what are you here for?”

Miller's suddenly feels like he's been caught red-handed at something naughty, and he wonders just how long he's been standing here, silently and creepily checking out the guy they almost put in the hospital last night!

“I...,” he croaks nervously, quickly clears his throat. “I came to apologize too.”

Monty raises an eyebrow, and the sharpness of the gesture tells Miller not to confuse good-naturedness with naiveté on this one.

“It took two people to stuff some glitter into Clarke's mailbox?”

Miller wishes the ground would open up and swallow him: Here is an insanely attractive man, and Miller has to apologize for hurting him in a stupid, childish, potentially dangerous prank.

Luckily Bellamy, protective as he is, jumps in to defend him. “Miller didn't really do anything. I just dragged him along as a look-out.”

It doesn't seem to appease Monty, whose expression turns more and more serious.

“So, technically that still makes you an accomplice. Ethically - just as guilty.”

Miller wonders if he'd feel less guilty about the whole thing if he started punching himself right now and not stop until he'd knocked himself out.

But suddenly Monty's face cracks into a bright smile.

“Relax, I'm just pulling your leg. I'm not mad, really. It was a good prank, as pranks go. I even made Clarke take a picture of my glittery self once I was done throwing up.”

Then he suddenly opens the door wide and walks inside, leaving it open behind him.

“Are you guys coming in for a beer?”

Miller and Bellamy share a stunned look at this unexpected development. Then Bellamy shrugs and follows Monty inside Clarke's apartment, looking around curiously.

Miller follows more cautiously, half-expecting to be hit with some sort of prank in retaliation himself. But nothing happens except for Monty reappearing from the kitchen with three bottles and handing them each one.

The drinks do wonders to cure their awkwardness and make Monty somehow even more smiley and beautiful, and soon Bellamy remembers that charming strangers is actually supposed to be one of his strengths, which means he handles the small talk and Miller can focus on doing some more staring. The whole adventure seems to have pretty much reached a happy ending when the door opens.

Clarke takes one step into her apartment, sees them, and stops dead in her tracks.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Her gaze shoots over to Monty, suddenly worried. “Monty, have they been bothering you?”

Monty lifts his hands in a reassuring “calm down”-gesture.

“Of course not, Clarke. They came to apologize for the mailbox thing.”

Clarke's lips draw even tighter.

“They better apologize. They could have killed you.”

“Clarke....” Bellamy is already on his feet and moving towards her again, face twitching with guilt.

“But they didn't. I'm completely fine.” Monty points to the bouquet of flowers which he put in a vase on the table. “They brought flowers and everything!”

Clarke is still not appeased, and Bellamy looks more desperate by the second.

“Clarke, please, can...” he swallows hard, looks around until his eyes fall on the balcony door. “Can we talk outside?”

A torturously long moment of silence, then Clarke nods and walks bristly over to the door leading out to her gorgeous balcony.

“Wow, that was... tense.” Monty observes as the balcony door closes behind Clarke and Bellamy. “It's weird, I always got the impression Clarke was enjoying that little prank war they had going.”

“She told you about that?”

“Are you kidding? She talked about nothing else. I heard more about Bellamy's pranks than about any other area of her life. Hell, I don't even know if she's been seeing anyone since she broke up with Lexa. But you better believe I know what Bellamy did this week. Honestly, it feels like this has been going on forever.”

Miller shrugs.

“Not forever. It's only been about six months.”

Monty gapes at him, eyes widening theatrically.

“You've been putting up with that for six months? Shit, you must have nerves of steel.”

Again, all that Miller can come up with is a noncommittal shrug. He's not generally easy to ruffle, and he's learned to tune out Clarke and Bellamy in particular. Still, the hint of admiration in Monty's voice makes him feel like somehow putting up with his friends' childish antics is an achievement to be proud of.

Then, with a secretive little grin that is altogether too attractive, Monty says casually: “You know, someone should really teach them a lesson about pranks and how they can go wrong.”

Miller swallows hard. “Someone should do that, yes.”

And before he can wonder if he's reading this correctly, Monty leans closer, knee brushing against his leg, to whisper:

“Maybe that someone should be us.”

Miller feels a shiver run down his spine that has nothing to do with the blast of Clarke's air condition and everything with Monty's closeness and the way he's referring to them as an “us”.

“Got any ideas yet?” He asks, throat dry despite the sip of beer he just took.

“Not yet. But I'll keep you posted as soon as I do, alright?”

Before Miller can process that yes, this is actually happening, Monty has whipped out his phone and is looking at him expectantly.

“So you should give me your number so we can plan our little secret mission.”

Another tiny thrill shoots through him, and Miller just barely manages to pull himself together enough to dictate his number to Monty just before Clarke and Bellamy come back inside, both looking thoughtful, and Bellamy declares that their ready to leave. To Miller's delight, Monty actually looks disappointed about that. But just before he walks out the door, Monty winks at him and mouths “Call me”, and Miller has to fight to keep a goofy smile off his face.

Two hours later, his phone lights up with the first text from Monty.

It begins with “so I've been doing some research” and ends with “we should probably meet and plan this properly”, and Miller feels like he's walking on a cloud the rest of the day.

They spend a full three weeks planning their big prank – which Monty stubbornly calls a “lesson” - and Miller slowly starts to understand why Clarke and Bellamy love doing this so much. It definitely is fun coming up with ever-crazier schemes, especially because Monty gets really into it as he debates everything from logistics to sound effects with flushed cheeks and wild gestures. It's entertaining but not great for his capacity for planning complicated pranks, because Miller's thoughts when he watches Monty like that tend to go back and forth between must protect and I wonder what else he does with that much passion and, well, it's a lot to take.

Plus, they have to meet in secret which rules out Clarke's apartment and also makes the whole thing feel like a secret tryst. Miller suggests meeting up at his favourite coffee-shop, which has amazing coffee and even more amazing brownies, and the first time Monty bites into one, he makes a positively obscene face and then moans:

“I love you just for bringing me here!”

Miller wonders if it's too early to propose.

Three weeks of planning and one trip to the electronics store later, they've finished their big project. Monty has also managed to find an apartment, which gives them the perfect excuse to get Clarke and Bellamy in the same place: A moving-out / housewarming party for Monty. Luckily, Clarke has brought Monty along to some outings with a few other co-workers because he doesn't know anyone else in town, so inviting Bellamy to their little shindig is perfectly plausible. Talking him into arriving earlier to help Clarke and Monty set up is just as easy, because Bellamy apparently still feels guilty about the mailbox incident and is looking for ways to redeem himself.

Which, oddly, is also what he's been doing in the three weeks since then, to such an extent that people at the office have begun talking. Bellamy has been perfectly nice and cooperative to Clarke, has brought her coffee when he went to get some for himself and Miller, and helped her with filing a complicated patent claim. As for the prank war, there has been absolutely nothing to report, and if he's being very honest about it, Miller has to admit that the two seem to have learned their lesson and don't really need another one from him and Monty. But of course, cancelling on Monty, who bought an actual drone for their prank, is not an option.

Miller actually only has a very vague idea what the drone is for – he has long since lost his grip on the finer details of their undertaking, and is now only carrying out what Monty tells him to do. It involves water balloons and a complicated system of strings and pulleys, and that's before the drone even comes in. But Monty knows exactly where he wants everything to go, thanks to a sketch he drew on what looks to be blueprints of Clarke's apartment, and Miller simply follows his orders and tries not to fall off the ladder Monty made him climb when his brain suggests that Monty ordering him about is actually pretty sexy.

By the time they've finally finished their preparations, Miller is a nervous, sweaty mess, but Monty seems happy.

All that's left to do now is get to their carefully chosen look-out spot on the roof, power up the drone, and wait. From their spot diagonally across from Clarke's apartment on top of the L-shaped building, they have an excellent view on the balcony, and can soon see Clarke and Bellamy step outside and look around with confused faces.

One click on a remote makes the shutters roll down inside Clarke's apartment, effectively trapping them outside. Then, while they're still dealing with that development, Monty deploys the drone. It whirs straight down to the balcony and triggers Monty's mechanism as planned.

A volley of water balloons rains down on them, from high enough above that they're sure to pop when they hit their target. Bellamy actually lunges protectively towards Clarke and tries to cover her head and shoulders with his arms, which Miller would find touching if they hadn't driven him up the wall with their antics before. Only when they're both completely drenched, sundress, slacks and white shirt clinging to them respectively, does the attack stop.

Miller watches with baited breath what will happen next, Monty's tight clutch on his arm suggesting that his partner-in-crime is just as anxious.

But for a moment, what happens is... nothing. The two just stand there, staring at each other, then staring around the balcony – and then slowly, slowly they seem to be putting together the pieces.

“We should have installed mics so we can hear what they're saying,” Monty says, truly regretfuly.

And that's when the yelling starts.

“Nevermind about the mics.”

Even without microphones, it's not too hard to piece together what's going on down there: Clarke and Bellamy seem to somehow both blame the other for what happened to them, and are now trying to out-shout each other with their wild accusations. But despite the anger in their voices, Miller notes with interest, they're moving closer and closer together, and Miller has a feeling it's not because they're each planning to wrestle the other to the ground.

"I don't think it's working." Monty comments, sounding a little disappointed. “They were supposed to realize the error of their ways and feel bad about their stupid pranks, but so far they're just yelling at each other.”

"Trust me, it's working." Miller says, completely confident that their plan is working, and Monty raises a sceptical eyebrow. "At least, it's working the way I was hoping it would."

"And how did you hope it would work out?" Monty asks, looking genuinely curious, and for a moment Miller is distracted when a gust of wind ruffles that thick, glossy hair of his.

When he tears his eyes away to look back down on their two victims, it is to find that his prediction came true. Smiling smugly, Miller nods his head in the direction of the balcony below, and Monty follows the movement to see that Clarke and Bellamy have stopped yelling at each other and are making out. Passionately.

When he turns back to look at Monty, the other man is staring, open-mouthed, at him and Miller definitely feels smug.

"Like that. There won't be any more pranks at work. They'll be too busy banging."

Monty makes a face, but when he tentatively peeks over the balcony railing again, Clarke has hopped up on the patio table and Bellamy, standing between her legs, has happily attached his lips to her neck.

Miller shudders and quickly averts his eyes as he realizes the downside of witnessing first hand how well his plan worked out.

"I will never get that memory out of my head, will I?"

"Probably not, no." Monty laughs, but he's beaming and Miller's heart skips a beat – and then Monty's expression changes ever so slightly: his exuberance is dimmed by hesitation, his eyes narrow briefly as if he's considering something. Then they fix on Miller's eyes, not without flickering down to his lips first, and Miller's throat goes dry.

"We could make some new memories though," Monty suggests innocently and licks his lips, and Miller growls and surges forward to kiss him. Who'd have thought Clarke's sweet, nerdy friend would have that kind of game? Miller thinks vaguely, then Monty pushes back and snakes his arms around his back and Miller stops thinking entirely.

He learns two things that day: 1) Glitter really doesn't come off easily because Monty still has some in his hair and 2) Monty is a phenomenal kisser and there's a chance Miller will never want to kiss anyone else again.

All things considered, vandalism may not be a valid form of flirting. But no one can say that it isn't effective.

#bellarke #bellarke ff #minty #minty ff #minty fanfiction #both bellarke and minty happen but with a little more minty I think #prank war #modern AU #coworkers #I have no idea if the glitter stuff woult work the way it does here #but oh well #my writing #look at that something productive did come out of my saturday after all

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