for Bellarke: "“i know we were never officially together or anything but seeing that picture you posted on [insert social media] with him/her literally felt like you carved my heart out of my chest and stomped on it and i’m not really sure why i’m leaving this voicemail but my pillow still smells like you and i miss your stupid face” AU"? Maybe like a post-S2 modern AU?
Call Me Maybe
So I apparently did not read this prompt as closely as I thought, so the general theme is still there - maybe not as angsty as it should be (that’s different for me haha) so I hope you still enjoy it!
Clarke blinked, clearing her sleepy vision as she brought her phone closer to her face, which was nearly hidden under the covers. She looked at Raven’s text again, frowning. Even closer up, it still said the same thing: what voicemail.
Leaning up and groaning, Clarke brushed her tangled hair away from her eyes, squinting at the screen in the early-morning. It didn’t make a difference. The text thread still showed Clarke apologizing at three A.M. last night for a leaving a ridiculously long voice message, to which Raven’s reply still read: what voicemail.
As she struggled to thumb over to her recent calls, the memory of the ranting, rambling, very drunken message she had left for Raven last night resurfaced. It had started off as a complaint at being left alone with Monty, Miller, and Jasper for dinner plans, but somehow had ended with her discussing with herself in-depth how Bellamy didn’t even like electronic music, so why was he at a concert on a date with Roma, smiling in that damn photo, if he didn’t even like it?
The pang in her stomach at remembering the Instagram photo–them pressed together, his arm around Roma’s waist, hers flung around his neck, her lips against his cheek–overpowered the throbbing in her head from her hangover headache. She and Bellamy never had posted pictures together; public acknowledgement of their friends-with-benefits relationship wasn’t something they had needed. Still, she found herself wishing she had more proof that they had been real than just selfies of the two of them in bed, making silly faces at the camera, hair and sheets mussed from sex and lips swollen and smiling.
The longing feeling haunting her didn’t last much longer, though, turning to panic as the implications of Raven’s response (what message) registered. Her fear was confirmed when she finally dared to glance at the outgoing calls log and saw that Bellamy’s number was the last one she had dialed.
“Fuck,” she moaned, realizing in her drunken state, she had dialed him instead of Raven and now the message was waiting on his phone, like a hastily constructed bomb (of feelings) just waiting to go off. She continued to whimper her despair as she burrowed back under her covers, hiding from reality.
Maybe he wouldn’t listen to it.
Maybe it wasn’t as bad of a message as she remembered.
Maybe the system cut her off before it got to her admission that she had been stupid to end things with him.
Maybe she should just move to the West Coast so she won’t have to show her face again.
She drifted off into sleep calculating the costs of moving cross-country and considering if Wells would follow her there too, like he had followed her to Boston, though that would piss Raven off considering they had only just worked their years-long tension out and started dating.