40 or 32 would be so fun!! Whichever one your heart desires :D
This was what my heart desired:
40. I thought you were my friend so I slapped your ass in greeting AU
Just go, he said, it’ll be fun, he said.
Well, try again, because upon two weeks of surviving on junk food from vending machines and cheap, instant coffee while nearly drowning in scrambled notes and empty highlighters; heading to a night club with the most horrible, overplayed songs bursting out of the speakers, wasn’t on top of her wish list. Not that she would normally classify herself as a Debbie Downer, but she just wasn’t the same person with a migraine. Everyone knew that, well except from Atom: a cute boy, who she used to work with at the local cinema during high school.
Somehow, he happened to have chosen the same college (and major) as her, and they had started talking again as if no time had gone by. So when he had sweetly asked her to come, tempting with the idea of meeting some new people (his friends), she had found it hard to say no.
But now, while pressed in between sweaty bodies of wasted strangers, she seemed to have lost him, as in he had completely gone out of sight. Having a phone conversation (or any conversation for the matter) in a place like this was completely impossible, so there was simply no easy way to find him.
Just as she was about to give up looking for her friends, she actually spotted him, searching for her (that idiot), making his way through the crowd, and she recognized him by the shirt; a dark shade of blue, v-neck. Determined to show him why the hell it was that you shouldn’t leave Clarke Griffin alone in her grumpy old man-state of mind - especially not in a club she had never been to before - she started to walk towards him quickly, and once she was just a step behind, she made an even quicker decision, reaching an arm out in order to slap his ass with an: “Did you lose something, Atom?” She grinned mischievously for a second until....
“What the hell-?” Oh my God. This wasn’t happening. Fuck.
The guy turned around, and her mouth formed an embarrassing O shape, because he was absolutely not Atom: delicious olive skin, dark curls in the same color as his eyes, but with a puzzled frown dominating his face, though.
She just slapped a stranger’s ass. She just slapped a stranger’s ass.
Clarke spent the next long moment of awkwardness trying to find an excuse to use, only to finally realize that there was none other than: “I’m so sorry! I thought you were someone else.”
Biting his lower lip subconsciously, the guy (maybe, he was a few years older than her? It was hard to tell when the only lighting was provided by the occasional white flashes from the disco-system) shook his head, suddenly grinning at the sight of her obviously flushed face, “no problem. Honestly, that’s a bummer.” There was a irresistible twinkle to his eye, and Clarke finally felt more relaxed, knowing that he was (more than) cool with it.
Quirking up an eyebrow, she failed at catching herself before she responded too hurriedly: “I’m just here with friends.”
He chuckled lightly, reaching out a hand casually: “Then, I feel no shame in introducing myself to you, Milady. My name’s Bellamy Blake.”
“Let me guess: History major? I’m Clarke Griffin, pre-med.”
“Ph.d actually. Or almost.” Yeah, she’d been right: he was some years older, yet that fact didn’t bother her; nor did it that he appeared to be a history nerd, because honestly being smart couldn’t possibly make this guy any less attractive. Nuh-uh, it was the straight opposite.
“Want some help finding your friends? I know this place pretty well.” No wonder. Something told her that this guy was could’ve been made in heaven: he was confident, but seemingly not a jackass. Attractive, and he was smart, too. Damn, such a combination of traits shouldn’t exist. It simply wasn’t fair.
“Actually, I think I’m just fine now.”
“That’s good. Just don’t slap my ass again, okay?”
