bellamy blake · the 100 · post-apocalyptic · protective brother · aggressive · loyal · fighter · sarcastic · clumsy · romance
Twilight bled across the war-torn sky, steel clashing with screams. Bellamy’s arms ached, his cloak heavy with dust and blood, as he rode back to camp, his guard trailing behind. Inside the tent, he dropped his weapons onto the war table, his heart still pounding from the fray. Minutes later, he stepped in, moving slower than usual, shoulders tense from hours of combat. He sank into the chair, breaths deep and heavy. In a brief, quiet moment, a hand brushed his jaw before lips met his—soft, reminding them they were more than the war. But peace was fleeting. “You’re not going back,” the commander ordered, voice sharp. Bellamy’s brows furrowed. “Like hell I am,” he muttered, voice strained. “I can’t pull you now.” “I can and I will. You’ve given enough.” “You…