Top Ten: fic!Bellamy Headcanons
Compiled by ladies of the Bellarke Fanfiction Net
He opens the door in his pajamas, threadbare grey shirt and flannel bottoms, his stare confused behind the rims of his black glasses he’d never wear out. [x]
It’s not like she thinks she’s going to swoon at the sight of Bellamy in glasses, but she’s seen him in a crude imitation of sunglasses before, and that was more than enough to solidify that she finds people in thick-rimmed glasses extremely attractive. [x]
Clarke does, in fact, have a lot of strong opinions about Bellamy’s glasses, namely that he should wear them way more than he does and that they’re bad for her mental well being. [x]
Bellamy loves to go down on Clarke
He gets her off with his mouth first, and Clarke would be worried that she’d hurt him with how hard she pulls his hair as she comes, but he moans into her cunt, lapping her up like she’s the best damn thing he’s ever tasted. [x]
Bellamy is obsessed with Clarke’s boobs
“Fuck, Clarke,” he says, his voice rough and deep. “I’ve missed these.” He trails his fingers up her sides, moving to caress her breasts and feel the weight of them in his hands. [x]
Bellamy is–to put it lightly–obsessed with Clarke’s breasts, and he has no shame in letting her know. [x]
And then he can only stare and stare and stare because fuck she has the best rack in the history of humanity and it’s just there, just in front of him, plain grey bra and more skin than he’s ever supposed to see and it’s there and – fuck. [x]
Bellamy is the grumpy old man of the social group
Clarke’s phone pinged and he sat up a little to try and read what it said but she quickly shuffled it so he couldn’t see it. “Is it O?”
She shook her head. “Just twitter.”
“Kids these days.”
“Oh please,” she pulled her head up, “you’re like three years older than me. Give it a rest, grandpa.” [x]
Bellamy and Miller are best friends that often just sit in silence together and possibly hooked up casually in the past
They don’t exactly date, although he thinks that makes sense for them. He and Miller like each other, are attracted to each other, and have a great time with hanging out and sex, but they’re not romantic together. They’re bad enough at being romantic apart; he’s not surprised they aren’t putting in much effort. [x]
Freckles, everywhere– especially his shoulders
There are fifteen freckles on Bellamy Blake’s right shoulder blade.
Clarke knows this for a ridiculous reason, one that she would be completely and utterly embarrassed about if he ever found out.
It’s a habit that she picked up on a rare morning that she woke up before he did. She found herself entranced by the rise and fall of his chest as he slept peacefully, one arm tucked behind his head while the other lay between them.
She had propped herself up next to him and carefully traced the scars and bruises that riddled his skin from battles that they had no business fighting but they were there all the same. A smile crossed her face when the sprinkle of freckles on his shoulder caught her attention and she quietly started counting them, her voice barely a whisper as she said each number out loud.
“Fifteen,” she had murmured before dropping her lips to his skin gently.“ [x]
He knows how to braid and sew
“Sit,” he said while pushing her to the ground. He sat behind her and started braiding her hair and she sat there in silence for awhile, really unsure if she’d been dreaming or if it had been real. [x]
He works three jobs to support Octavia, and often times puts off his own education so she can get hers
She’s his baby sister, has been his responsibility for as long as he can remember, and if being a famous guy’s son is enough to give him a shot at the kind of career that can put her through college, he’s going to fight for it. So much of it is for her, it has to be okay.
“Yeah, yeah. That’s why we’re going to make the boxing thing work. So you can go to college and save the world.”
“College and grad school,” she corrects. Then, “You too.”
“What about me?”
“You’re smart too. If you don’t totally destroy your entire brain with the fighting thing, you could go to college.” [x]
Bellamy is really neat and organized
“It takes five seconds to wash a plate, Clarke,” Bellamy says as he stands before the sink. She can’t really complain though, not when he’s washing her and Octavia’s dishes.
Clarke sits on the counter, eating straight from a jar of mixed nuts, and shrugs. “Not when you wait until all the dishes are dirty before you start them.”
He glares at her, elbow deep in the soapy water. “Wash them as you use them, princess. Then it’s not so bad.” [x]
Well, she’s come this far. Might as well see what he’s cooking.
It takes her two knocks before he answers the door, dressed in a snug-fitting dark blue t-shirt and low-hanging gray sweatpants. He cocks an eyebrow when he sees her.
“Miss me already, princess?”
“Is that Clarke?” comes a voice (Octavia’s) from within his apartment. Bellamy ignores her. Clarke bites her lip, suddenly realizing how ludicrous this is.
“What are you cooking?” she finally asks after a painfully awkward silence falls between them. Bellamy blinks.
“What are you cooking?” Clarke repeats, feeling more embarrassed by the second. Just hours ago, she was flinging insults at him, and now she’s standing outside his apartment in sweats trying to talk to him about his dinner.
Bellamy doesn’t reply, looking utterly confused.
“Look, I know we don’t like each other, but I can smell your damn dinner from my room and it smells really good, so I just wanted to see what was-“
“You want to try some?” he interjects, his trademark infuriating smirk on his face. [x]
He lived a few blocks from the diner. Piling into his rusty red pick-up truck, they spent a few minutes in silence until they pulled into what looked like an auto shop. [x]
Bellamy had put the cap on his truck—which now says “Blake & Miller Construction” on the side, to reflect the new business partnership—and they loaded their gear the night before, with everything evenly split between the two trucks so there’s space for everyone’s things and for people to sleep when they need. [x]
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