"Are you flirting or trying to start a fight?"
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"We're not just friends and you fucking know it."
Highest ranks:
#8 in bellarke
#1 in bellarkefanfic
Requests are welcome!
Anyway, enjoy!
I do not own the characters.
I found the cover on Google, s...
Summary: Well, I actually don't want to say much about this;) I found this writing prompt on We Heart It and thought it would be fun to write, so I did. (Obviously)
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It was Sunday morning and Clarke woke up to her alarm.
It was 10 AM. Even though it was Sunday, she liked getting stuff done and not sleeping the day away.
She turned around in her bed but was met with sunlight shining in her eyes. She groaned as she pulled herself out of bed.
She was wearing blue shorts and a white t-shirt as she went to the bathroom right beside her room.
Her apartment wasn't big at all, but the size fitted Clarke.
She spent a lot of time at her University anyway, and sometimes had shifts at the hospital.
It was just her in the apartment, and she liked that.
In the meantime, Bellamy woke up on a comfortable, grey couch, but with an uncomfortable headache.
He was always hungover the day after drinking, but he kept getting drunk anyway.
He always hated himself the day after for getting a drink too much. Okay, maybe it was not only one drink too much, but that doesn't matter, right?
He groaned and scratched his eyes, which could not seem to adjust to the sunlight in the room.
He pulled the blanket away that he had dazedly pulled over himself the night before.
He struggled with pulling himself up, but when it finally happened, his eyes widened.
Clarke was on her way to the kitchen to get something to eat.
She was always starving when she woke up, but she didn't want to cook breakfast, so she ended up just pulling the yogurt out from the fridge.
She poured it into a bowl and headed for the livingroom.
That was when she stopped dead in her tracks.
Right there, in the middle of her livingroom.
And she could not believe her eyes.
A dark haired, curly headed boy was sitting in the middle of her couch. Shirtless.
Clarke grabbed the broom which was behind the door with her free hand.
She placed the bowl on the table as she slowly walked closer to the boy.
She was surprised to find her dog, Bowie, just sleeping peacefully at the foot of the couch.
"What are you doing here?" Clarke asked sternly as the smell of alcohol got to her. She was afraid he was a drunk psycho.
The man did not look scared at all, rather bored or just tired.
