Bellarke + 9 or 10, whatever you feel more inclined to write haha
‘You nearly died’ kiss. Set in the canon universe at…some point.
Clarke takes off at a run, dodging her way through the throng of people as best she can, heart in her throat and a loud drumming in her ears that won’t settle no matter how many times she tells herself it’s fine, it’s fine.
But really, there’s only a certain degree of fine you can achieve when you’ve been impaled, and Clarke’s never going to get that image out of her head: Bellamy, staring down at the spear protruding from his body with something that looked dangerously close to relief.
Blood had pooled against his jacket, and he had looked up and caught her eye for one terrible moment before time had started moving again, before Miller had thrown her to the ground to shield her from another onslaught of arrows.
It hadn’t been until much later, until they’d finally gotten him back to medical, that Clarke even realized the spear had hit his shoulder, not his heart. That he had passed out from pain and blood loss—terrifying in their own right, of course, but not deadly. Not yet.
She barrels through the door to the medical station, eyes wild. “Bellamy’s awake?”
She doesn’t even give Harper a chance to answer before she’s striding to the bed in the far corner where Bellamy—stupidly—is attempting to prop himself up on his good shoulder.
“Lie down,” she commands. Her hands are shaking.
“Is everyone okay?” Bellamy asks, ignoring her entirely. “Are you okay? Did Octavia—”
She cuts him off by grabbing his jaw, craning down, and kissing him, hard. It comes as much of a shock to her as it must to him, but she needs some relief from that furious desperation, needs his skin against hers. He makes a startled noise in the back of his throat, but then he’s kissing back, and for those few moments before Clarke pulls away, it feels like she can breathe again.
“Down,” she instructs, squeezing his cheeks to lower his head back against the bed.
“Does it hurt, being speared?” He’s staring up at her with wide, wondrous eyes, and she has to work to keep her tone strict. “I’ll bet it does. So stay lying down, okay?”
“Jeez,” he mutters. But he’s smiling, that rare Bellamy smile that makes it all the way up to his eyes. It’s almost too much to take.
“I leave you alone for five minutes and that’s when you wake up,” says Clarke, breaking eye contact as she leans over to inspect his bandage.
“You know me,” says Bellamy. “I like to be difficult.”
His fingers drum against the edge of the bed, and Clarke lets herself grab them for a moment, squeeze them tight. “You really do.”
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