Kackaaaaaaaa I love you, you're THE BEST! Happy birthday! Promt for Bellarke: we have friends with benefits relationship (even though I secretly love you) but now I'm pregnant and I don't know how to tell you bc I'm afraid that you'll freak out.
Ahhh thanks! <333 Hope you like it! (ao3)
Clarke only feels moderately weird about letting herself into Wells and Bellamy’s apartment when she knows they’re not home.
On the one hand, the spare key they gave her is supposed to be for emergencies. On the other hand, she’d definitely consider being covered in someone else’s vomit an emergency.
When she applied to teach elementary school art, she’d known she’d probably come home messy most days. But with paint, and clay, and glue stuck to her skin. Not from a kid accidentally losing his lunch on her when he came to say he didn’t feel well.
It ended up being more show than tell.
Her principal had given her the go-ahead to cancel the rest of her classes for the day, but going home meant becoming the vomit lady on the bus, and it’s just so much easier for her to go two blocks over to use her friends’ shower.
Wells is the most generous person she knows; she can’t imagine he’d say no if she asked. And Bellamy… well, they’re not exactly close. He’s mostly just Wells’s roommate, Octavia’s brother, the friend in her group she’s least connected to. But he’s a teacher too, and the ultimate Mom friend. Even if he made fun of her endlessly, even if he bickered her into buying him a beer in exchange for the slight addition to his water bill, even if she had to face his smug smile, he wouldn’t actually bar her from using his shower in a time of crisis such as this.
None of those things are out of character for Bellamy. He loves giving her a hard time, and she’s had enough of that today. Which is why she doesn’t text them for permission first.
Instead, she smothers the slightly guilty feeling in the pit of her stomach, dumps her clothes in the wash, and lets out a long, shuddering breath when she steps under the spray.
It feels a little weirder when she reaches for the shampoo on the shelf. It’s just– she hasn’t had a significant other, or even a one night stand, in quite a while. The last time she used someone else’s products, allowing someone else’s scent to cling to her skin and hair, was ages ago.
“Too long ago, apparently,” she grumbles to herself, working her hair into a lather. “Maybe it’s time to get you laid, Griffin.”