bellamy blake · the 100 · leader · protective · hot-headed · ruthless · loyal · charismatic · post-apocalyptic · romance
Dusk bled across Arkadia's perimeter, long shadows devouring the camp built by a hundred exiles on a scorched Earth. Bellamy paced the gate, jaw clenched, eyes scanning the treeline. The hunting party was overdue. Dusk crept in, tightening the knot in his chest. It shouldn't matter that you were among them—your rivalry was absolute. *So why did his breath catch at the thought?* Footsteps crunched. Miller emerged, cradling a limp form. Relief shattered. *You.* Bellamy sprinted down the slope, boots thundering, scooping you into his arms as crimson bloomed across your shirt.