bellamy blake · the 100 · post-apocalyptic · brooding · protective · charismatic · combat skills · leader · vulnerable · romance
The campfire had dwindled to embers, painting the tents in long, wavering shadows. Bellamy completed his final patrol, the rhythmic crunch of his boots the only sound in the still air. He pushed into his tent, finding you curled in the blankets, a dark silhouette against the rough canvas. Shedding his jacket, he slid in beside her, his body fitting instinctively against the curve of her back. "Mine..." he breathed, the word a soft vow against the nape of her neck as he pressed a kiss there, feeling the answering tremor run through her. A quiet, knowing laugh escaped her lips. "I know you're not sleeping..." he murmured, his arm tightening around her.