Ah the infinite egotism of adolescence! The studious optimism: that summer, the world was filled with flowers! Dying airs and dying shapes… A choir to soothe impotence and absence! A choir of glasses, of nocturnal melodies… Now nerves begin the hunt.
Arthur Rimbaud, “Youth: III. At Twenty” (trans. Wyatt Mason)
hey kayla! I was wondering if you could write a one shot for me?its all right if you don't want to though :) it would be something like bellamy seeing clarke for the first time in what feels like forever and he's back to his normal self except happier and everyone in the camp knows that bellamy likes Clarke and Clarke likes bellamy except them?
Okay, so I know it took me a billion years to get to this, but I finally did! I had to tweak it slightly to fit in as the last part to the series I included it in, but I think it has some elements that you wanted in there :)
He tried not to look over at her—really, he tried. He listened harder to Octavia chatter about her next training round with the guard recruits, and he tossed the ball back with Miller. It couldn’t be helped though. His eyes still drifted to Clarke.
She lingered at the tree line, just cautiously watching the rest of the delinquents enjoy their day trip to the lake. It had been Monty’s idea, and that was probably the only reason she was even here in the first place.
Well, maybe not the only reason.
I don’t know if I’m going to go, she had said to him a few days ago when he had started to talk about trip logistics with her.
He had just snorted and continued on talking, because he wasn’t going to let her get away with not taking a day off. They deserved it, especially her.
Bell, really, she had sighed tiredly. Go talk to Monty about this stuff. I don’t think I’m going.
Ignoring the way his pulse had stuttered at her use of his nickname, he had elbowed her side. You’re going. Like we’re going to leave you here to work while we all go have fun. Unless you don’t like fun.
That had lit a fire in her eyes, and she had narrowed her gaze. I like fun.
He had raised an eyebrow in mocking doubt, and she had scowled. Fine. But I’m not going in the water.
He had agreed to that, but the way she was acting now, as if she was actually allergic to the water, wasn’t quite what he thought she had meant.
Glancing over at her again, he stared long enough that he almost missed catching the ball. Miller threw him a shit-eating grin—the fucker had almost nailed him in the head on purpose—so Bellamy flicked him the finger in response.
“Just go over and talk to her,” Octavia groaned. “Before you get a black eye.”
“She’s fine on her own,” Bellamy replied, lobbing the ball back to Miller, feeling slightly more satisfied at hearing the slightly pained oomph his friend let out after catching the overly forceful pass.
“She only came because you wanted her too.”
“Nobody makes Clarke do anything.”
“I didn’t say make,” Octavia sniped. “I said wanted. Seriously, you two need to stop dancing around each other. It’s getting tiresome.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, O.”
“Clarke likes you. You like Clarke. Now go do something about it.”
Bellamy rolled his eyes. It wasn’t the first time his sister had touched on this subject, but it was certainly the first time she had been blunt about it. Sure, there were times when he leaned down to kiss Clarke’s cheek and had thought about what would happen if he planted it on her lips instead, or times when she was close enough for him to want to reach out and grab her hand, just because, or times when her low laughter scraped along his spine, making him shiver and flush and want all at the same time.
↳ VIII: Axel - The Flurry of Dancing Flames ↳ IX: Demyx - The Melodious Nocturne ↳ X: Luxord - The Gambler of Fate ↳ XI: Marluxia - The Graceful Assassin ↳ XII: Larxene - The Savage Nymph ↳ XIII: Roxas - The Key of Destiny ↳ XIV: Xion - The Imperfect Replica