I reblogged it from my sideblog bellsclarkey 😊 Congratulations on you follower milestone!! Could you possibly write this prompt for bellarke? "you had an accident and hit your head. the doctor says you have some kind of amnesia that restarts your memory every few hours, but that doesn’t change the fact that we’re still married so please stop with the flirty pick up lines" Thank you!!
thank you so much! <3
also, i turned this into an archaeologists au while i’m at it, bcos why not lmao
YOUR BELLARKE FIC:
Bellamy wakes up to a rhythmic, steady prodding, something both hard and soft jabbing into his temple, over and over again.
He snaps his head up from the bed he’s currently slumped sideways over, his legs numb from hours in the hospital chair. “Clarke?”
She blinks at him, her face clean save for a couple of small scrapes and the butterfly bandage across her brow. “You’re sleeping on my arm.”
“Oh, shit.” He opens his fists instantly, releasing her hand from the confines of his sleep-heavy slump. “Sorry, I— are you okay? How are you feeling?”
Her eyes travel slowly around the room, taking in the bed and the beeping machines. “Am I in the hospital?”
All the breath rushes out of him in a desperate wave of relief and worry. “Yes, you’re in the hospital. Do you want some water? Here, have some water.”
She merely blinks at the cup he brings over to her from the bedside table, frowning slightly at the straw he holds out to her before looking up at him.
“Are you a nurse?”
He rolls his eyes, even as he welcomes the release of anxiety lifting off his shoulders. If she’s already back to cracking jokes, she must be feeling fine. “Sure, Clarke. Here, drink some water.”
She sips obediently, settling back into her pillow as she watches him bring the cup back to the bedside table. “You’re not wearing scrubs.”
“They ran out of my colour,” he says dryly, moving back to the bed to perch gently on it, careful to avoid jostling her.
She hums silently, head cocked as she observes him. “Shame. I love a man in a uniform.”
He blinks at the familiar curve of her lips. That’s definitely not her usual happy-Clarke smile. That looks a lot more like Clarke’s I’m-about-to-make-YOU-very-happy smile.
“Clarke,” he says, “are you feeling alright?”
She shifts on the bed, still smiling that coy smile. “Come on, now. That’s not fair. You know my name, but I don’t know yours.” She pauses, head tilting invitingly. “FYI, this bed’s not the only thing in this room that’s single, you know.”
He stares at her for a full three seconds, every last inch of him frozen solid.
And then he leaps off the bed, bounding to the door and flinging it open.