Bellamy x Reader - Look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent under ’t
(Request by earthtocostia) : “Hi! I love your stuff! Anyways could you write an imagine where Bellamy sees you in war paint for the first time and he’s kinda like woah because you’re kinda this sweet and innocent girl and could it be like in the reaper tunnels in season 2 right and I just have a lot of feels about this prompt.”
Thanks lovely! Here: have a Bellamy! The titles a quote from Macbeth, and I just thought it fit. The reunion kind of happens in a different way. Xx
Song : “Arsonist’s Lullaby” by Hozier
Following Octavia, you scuttled through the tunnel, and you could practically feel her anger radiate off of her. You were angry to, of course, but when she was angry, you could sort of feel it in the atmosphere. You thought that it was probably a Blake thing; her brother was the same. And now you were both on a war path to get him back, slathered with grounder paint, appearing like battle ready women, though compared to the mountain, you were more like battle ready ants.
Ants could still bite back.
You had left your previously innocent persona on the curb to die; your defenceless days were over. Being one of the weaker delinquents, your first few days on earth had been carnage. You had suffered, but now you should emerge anew, lined with venom and aggression.
Warrior training had been hard. The grounder who taught you had pushed you to your limits, calling you weak, and not worth the effort, but boy, you had proved him wrong. Furthermore, leaving him behind, like the coward he was, was the easiest thing you had ever done. You knew it had been harder for O. She had Lincoln in the equation, a chance to belong with people other than those who had persecuted her for being alive.
Saying this would probably cause her to lash out, so you just wallowed in your previous contempt.
The hallow silence grew eerie, and these tunnels were starting to creep you out even more. Octavia’s eyes seemed to illuminate the way in spite of this, so you continued to walk in silence.
Octavia quickly left your side, running ahead, and you followed suit.
“Wait! It could be a-” but you were cut off mid sentence. In front of you, you saw that Octavia held Clarke in a tight hug, as if they hadn’t seen each other in months. She gave you a flashing smile, and you greeted her with a curt nod. If you broke your hard, tough fashion now, then you wouldn’t be able to get it back.
“The door’s up ahead,” Clarke gestured, and you continued to make your way down the tunnel, “Bellamy should be there.”
Bellamy. His face appeared in your memory; a rush of cold water through your ears: his carved nose, his tanned skin, flourishing freckles which appear when the sun shines. You hadn’t seen him in about two weeks, and the last time he had seen you, you had been crying, running for your life. He had saved you, of course, but you had still been pitiful.
The passage seemed to grow narrower, and you kept your eyes focused, your hands balled into fists. This was it. You were going to get him back, then thrust your anger upon the mountain, to get your people back.
A crack of light appeared in front of you, and all three of you strutted towards it. There, at the door, wearing what looked to be a guard’s uniform, was Bellamy Blake, his curly autumn hair dripping thinly with sweat, his broad shoulders wound tightly, muscles stiff.
A smirk of personal victory crept upon your lips, and your grip tightened around the machete in hand.
His greenish hazel eyes widened at your frightening demeanour, your H/C hair brought back tightly whilst it is usually braided, your hand actually holding a weapon where it usually held a book. You had tossed your innocence asunder, casting it into the TonDC flames where you were born again as a free woman.
Octavia and Clarke embraced him, and you stood back, as his gaze still remained planted on you. It was almost as if he was checking you out, but you pushed the thought away. Walking ahead, reminding yourself if your task, you clambered through the door, and carefully surveyed your surroundings, but a hand clutched your shoulder, prompting you to look up.
“Hey,” Bellamy spluttered, “what happened?”
“I survived,” you said simply, and gave him a small smile. He smiled to, and your act broke into pieces. You flung your arms around his neck, and he wrapped his around you gently, caressing your spine. You felt his lip curl.
“Not so tough, are you?” You pushed him back, and you pointed your machete threateningly.
“Don’t push it, Blake, I can still beat the crap out of you.”