A/N- My second shot into The 100 Fanfiction! Hopefully I do it justice, and let me know if you all like it. Please, I love reviews like the 100 Fandom loves Bellarke!
He got the call about an hour into what his sister liked to refer to as his "pity party". He slammed back the tenth or was it the eleventh glass of the night, before answering.
"Something you need Princess?" He asked casually, while pouring himself another, waiting for her to answer.
"Bell." Her sweet voice called through the phone. With just the sound of her soft voice calling his name he knew he was done for. "Come on over Princess." He relented before hanging up and dropping the phone on the coffee table, and picking up the tumbler filled with amber liquid. Now all he could do was wait the eight and a half minutes it took for her to get from her, or rather their place to his.
She knocked so delicately that at first he thought he was imagining it being her, until the knocking got a bit more insistent and he nearly tripped over his feet running to get the door.
Blowing out a steadying breathe, he paused a moment before wrenching open the door to the blonde, blue-eyed siren standing in the hallway.
"I was going to call Octavia, but then I remembered she's with Lincoln tonight, and I-" he swung open the door wider, motioning for her to come in. The blonde strode past him into the house, and with it he barely caught the smell of her perfume that she wore, she smells like gardenias he thought as he shut and locked the door for the night.
"What'd he do this time?" he asked, coming to sit on the grey couch, and taking a good long look at his best friend.
"What makes you think he did anything?" she asked, while pouring a generous helping of the bitter liquid into his empty tumbler and bringing it to her lips.
"Well its past midnight, and you look like crap." He says not sugar coating it.
"Gee thanks." She says sarcastically sweet before pouring the numbing agent down her throat and relishing the slow burn.
"You've been crying." He states so quietly that at first she doesn't react or even acknowledge what he has said anything until the burning sensation in her throat has subsided, and she goes for another dose.
"Good eye you have their detective, let me guess next you're going to tell me that I had a chocolate croissant with a skinny vanilla latte for breakfast this morning based on the chocolate stain that's on my left thigh on my jeans right?" she spits vehemently at him.
"Hey there Princess no need to bite, I was just making an observation." He said raising his hands in mock surrender.
"No one asked you too!" she shouts, while wiping at her tear stained cheeks, then running a frazzled hand through her tasseled locks.
The room is eerily quiet as she waits on baited breath for him to saying something, anything.
"You might not have asked, but showing up at my apartment the third time this month is getting a bit ridiculous, so again what did he do?" He asks cautiously as he takes the tumbler from her hand and setting it on the table.
For a moment, it looks like she is going to concede and give in and finally tell him what all these late night visits are about before her eyes spark with an ember of fire and she stands and pushes past his sprawled out legs. "Bye, thanks for the drink" she calls making her way to the front door. Before he realizes what he is doing, he's up out of the comfy confines he had sunk in and following after her. "Hey wait a minute" he calls while gripping her arm before she has a chance to unlock the door. "Please." She sighs, and he isn't sure if it's a plea to let her go or to make sure she doesn't leave. He takes a moment to stare at her, and take in the stained, almost dry tear tracks imprinted on her skin, and the small pout of her lips before he slides his fingers down to her hand and gives it a gentle squeeze.
"Just talk to me, make me understand why you keep running to me; and don't give me the lame excuse about O being with Lincoln because I know for sure she is not with Lincoln tonight." He says talking to the back of her head, because she refuses to stop staring at the doorknob.
"We fought, and things were said and somehow I ended up here. Like always." She whispers.
"Clarke, you can't keep doing this." I admonish, while shaking my head.
"I know that's why I'm gonna leave and let you get back to your night." She says slipping her fingers through mine and grasping onto the brass doorknob, it clicks open.
"Damn it Clarke!" he can't help but shout in annoyance, before running his hand through his dark chocolate tendrils.
"What?" she questions her voice rising several octaves, and spins around to stare at her best friend.
He takes a deep breathe, and counts silently to five before letting his shoulders slump and he retreats into the kitchen, not caring if she follows, but knowing none the less that she will because she simply can't let him have the last word. Ever.
"What?" she repeats again following him into the kitchen, and watching as he takes a swig from the tap.
"If you wanna leave, leave. I'm tired of being this, this- person for you." He says icily after wiping the cascading water from his parched bottom lip.
"That's what I was trying to do and then you yelled at me. Make up your mind Bellamy what do you want!" This flaxen haired temperamental beauty shouts into his face, coming to stand a mere inch or so away from him.
For only a split millisecond, but what feels like an eternity he simply gazes down upon her, drowning in her gorgeous sapphire blue orbs. He's transported back to when they first met, all those years ago on the sidelines of that godforsaken field, with her and Octavia his mind reminds him cheering on their boys in blue, while he waited to be called in.
"WOO LET'S GO! Come on!" He hears his not so baby sister scream and cheer. He turns to actually look at her, in her cheer captain uniform. Hair pulled back in a tight pony tail and skirt hiked up a bit too much to be considered school appropriate, but she is definitely in her element. He's proud. Octavia stops her hollering and ruckus cheering to talk to a petite blonde. He takes a moment to just stare at her, to get a reading on this new girl in uniform. She is a lot quieter than his sister, petite and god damn beautiful.
Ignoring his coach to get in the game, he jogs over to them, sneaking up on his sister who is engrossed in the merits of French kissing with tongue ring or sans tongue ring.
"Boo!" he spooks her, before catching eyes with the golden vixen standing before him.
"Bellamyyyyy don't do that, you scared me." She whined, while slapping him on the shoulder. Not that it had its intended effect, considering he was wearing protective gear.
"Sorry O" he said not very sincerely, flicking his eyes to his sister before looking back at the quiet girl standing before them.
"Who do we have here?" he asks throwing a charming smile at his sister's new friend.
"Oh, sorry, where are my manners, Bell, this is Clarke, Clarke this is my older brother Bellamy." She introduces in her fake sugary southern accent motioning between the two.
"Hi" Clarke says in a clipped voice, before fiddling with the ribbon in her braided locks.
"The pleasure is all mine princess" he teases, watching as she stops mid-fiddle and shoots a glare at him.
"I'M NOT A PRI-"She starts to shout before being cut off by his yelling approaching coach.
"Blake, stop sweet talking the girl and get your ass in the game! You're up!" his coach bellows at him, before yanking his jersey and pushing him onto the field.
"See ya around, Princess" he flashed her a cocky smile before darting out onto the field and into position.
"Bell?" she asks quizzically, trying to snap him out of this daze he has gone into.
His eyes focus in again on the woman standing in front of him.
"You." It's the most powerful word in his arsenal tonight, and he knows its wrong using it against her at a time when she is a bloody wreck but he can't sit on the sidelines anymore and wait to be called in.
She opens her mouth to retort, but before any sound of denial can pass her lips and completely shatter any ounce of hope he has left, he pulls her forward, a bit too harshly and her body collides with his and it's a mess of arms, and fingers running through each other's hair, and it takes him about two point five seconds for him to realizes that she is kissing him back. It's like heaven and hell. He thinks as her fingernails scrap across his scalp and her lips taste like sugar. Untangling his hands from where they had ended up playing with her golden locks, he uses his tanned, calloused hands to run down the sides of her face, trailing the shell of her ear, where he gently tucks a strand of her fallen mussed up hair before stopping his exploring to cup her cheeks. "Are you sure?" he mumbles against her lips, refusing to lose contact.
She breaks free from his tender hands and his bittersweet lips for a moment to look into his kind eyes, the eyes of her best friend before standing on the tips of her polished toes to mumble her assent into the soft flesh of his ear, before lightly nipping him playfully before walking backwards into the living room, with a small smile. She looks at all of him, from his thoroughly tousled hair to the rolled up sleeves of his rumpled white shirt. He was Adonis incarnate. However what really took her breath away was the desire she could see so clearly on his face, which it made her wonder how he had hid the fact that he was in love with her for so long.
Before he caught up to her and showed her exactly how much he loved her.
"Princess ugh it's too early. Don't move." He mumbles into her shoulder blade, whilst tightening his grip around her a little bit before pressing a small kiss on her heated skin.
"Bellamy I have to go, it's almost six a.m. and I have to get home." She lectures, unwinding his arms from around her and shrugging into the wrinkled shirt, before searching for her other articles of clothing strewn about the room.
"Why do you have to get home so bloody early, it's Saturday." He mumbles voice gravely from sleep.
Looking back at him, she can't help but smile a little at his insecure little pout and utterly adorable mop top. Shoving her leg in the washed denim and zipping up her pants, she grabs her black lace bra and her pair of Athena sandals before waltzing over to him on the couch.
"Stay." He whispers, it so tenderly into the cool morning air of the apartment that she has to will herself into not giving in and to crawl back into his arms.
"You know I can't." she sighs, brushing a strand of hair out of his face, before she even realizes what she is doing.
"Why?" he can't seem to let it go; just let her go. So she does the only thing she can do. She breaks her best friend's heart.
"Finn's waiting." It's the most hurtful and yet most honest thing she has ever said to him and she knows that she has damaged their friendship beyond repair when he simply turns over and goes back to 'sleep'.
He hears her sigh before making her way over to the front door, unlocking it and making her way out into the early morning air before sealing the door firmly shut behind her.
"Guess he is still on the bench" He muses before inhaling the scent that is simply just Clarke.