#steristrips FIRMLY attached still

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

in the middle of playing “hm what’s that stabbing pain in my side” my cat showed me HER new game, which is “biting all the pompoms off the bottom of the shower curtain”

[acenancy]

Hey 😃Maybe a Bellarke Fic were something dramatic has just happened and they go back to their room and suddenly everything is silent and calm and they clean each other's wounds? Maybe in cannonverse ? Your blog is amazing and you are a blessing thank you

Omg thank you :’) I’m sorry it took me forever to get to this but I hope you like it. Not TOTALLY sure if the title is 100% applicable but it’s super bellarkey anyway so. ALSO! This is 4x06 spec

Hello Love, My Invincible Friend

ao3

Fandom: The 100Pairing: BellarkeRating: G, I guessWords: 1,441

On her forehead there’s a slash from which blood trickles in asteady flow into Clarke’s eye. She feels a bruise blossoming acrossher cheekbone. Her head pounds in her temples and between her brows,a sharp ache that rears its ugly head with each second that passes.

But Clarke has jumped hundreds of feet into violent waters. She’sopened her own stitches and slit her skin to cut deals. She wrestleda damn jaguar and survived.

She’s dealt with worse.

Bellamy has too, but that doesn’t quell the fear bubbling inClarke’s gut like a waking volcano when she looks at him now.

His jacket is thrown onto the bed, leaving him with only his t-shirtto veil the gash sliced along his bicep. Blood drips in a curtaindown his arm, staining the fabric of his shirt and falling in thickdrops to the floor. With his opposite hand, Bellamy tries rolling uphis sleeve to get a better look at the damage. When he fumbles,frustrated, Clarke crosses the room to help him.

It’s the first time since Trikru attacked them on their way toBecca’s lab that Clarke has seen the injury, and when she does, shecan’t help the shallow breath she sucks in. Bellamy tenses. Clarkeknows the blood makes it look worse than it actually is, but even so,she can tell slapping a band aid on this one won’t fix it.

Over the lump in her throat, she says “I need to clean this,” andhurries to the attached bathroom to wet a cloth. “And stitch it.”She grabs her first aid kit from their traveling bag. “And probablyamputate it.”

“What?”

“I’m joking.” Clarke quirks the corner of her lip in a tightsmile, tilting her head towards the bed so he can sit. “I wastrying to make you feel better.”

“Yeah, well, your bedside manner is a little morbid,” Bellamytells her, but his eyes soften just a little and he offers her asmall smile of his own when he sits on the mattress.

Clarke takes the seat beside him, reaching forward with the cloth towipe away his blood. Bellamy takes it from her before she can,however. Confused, she watches him as he lifts it to her faceinstead. He swipes it over her eye, caked closed with her own blood,then over her eyebrow and the skin around her cut, and then finally,gently, over the cut itself.

Clarke’s heart flutters wildly with roaring affection. Herheadache, though, worsens with her frustration towards him. “You’rebleeding, Bellamy,” she reminds him. Unsuccessfully, shetries tugging the cloth from his grip.

“So are you,” he counters, “and I’m not having you sew myskin shut with an open head wound and one functioning eye.”

Clarke opens her mouth to argue but he’s right. She only wishes hewould let her put him first for once.

They remain silent as Bellamy continues passing the cloth over herskin, cleaning the bloody area before hesitantly, softly, moving itto the other side of her face. Under his ministrations, Clarke letsher eyes fall shut. She savors the moment, his touch, with her breathgrowing heavy and her chest threatening to burst open.

They so rarely allow themselves this intimacy; to take care of eachother, comfort one another, feel in such a physical way. Whenthey do, they’re shining light on something they usually keephidden: that Clarke would sacrifice fifty of her people for fifty ofRoan’s to keep Bellamy alive, would drop a bomb on innocents tokeep him safe, and that Bellamy would cross an entire army ofbloodthirsty warriors to rescue her, would do anything forher, to protect her, because it just makes sense; that somewherealong the line, keeping their people alive became their secondpriority because their first is now wholly, tragically each other.

Clarke feels Bellamy gently press steristrips across her cut,stroking his thumb across them, then light as air across her bruisedcheek. “Okay,” he says, breathless. Clarke’s eyes flutter openwhen she feels his weight leave the bed. He disposes of the washclothand returns with a fresh one, handing it to her before he sits downagain. “Now you can patch me up.”

Shaking her head, Clarke begins her work. She takes her time, runningher hands along his arms even when most of the blood is wiped away,pretending to clean his fingers as an excuse to tangle them withhers, lightly tracing the vein traveling from his wrist to his elbow.It takes longer than necessary to begin stitching him up, and sheknows he knows it.

The sensation of needle through skin is nothing new to Bellamy, sowhen Clarke hears him inhale shakily at the first thread, her eyesdart to his, afraid she’s hurt him. Pain isn’t what she findsreflected back at her, though. Instead, she sees his eyes wide andblown and filled with every emotion Clarke feels bubbling out of her.Moisture gathers at the edge of his vision. His mouth flounders,struggling to find words.

“I thought you were gone,” he admits. His voice is less gravelly,softer, quieter. A tear spills from his eye, speeding down his faceso quickly Clarke doesn’t have time to brush it from his skinbefore it falls onto her lap. “When that grounder bashed your headagainst the dashboard of the rover and knocked you out, and your nosestarted bleeding, I thought-” Bellamy cuts himself off, facecrinkling, glaring at a point over Clarke’s head. Roughly, heswipes his forearm under his nose. “You could have been killed andI wasn’t quick enough to stop it.”

“Bellamy…” Clarke abandons her suturing to take his facebetween her hands, directing his attention back to her. “It’sgonna take more than a bump on the head to kill me.”

“I’m serious, Clarke.”

“I am too. I’m okay, Bellamy.”

He shakes his head, still held firmly in Clarke’s hands. “That’snot the point,” he says. “If Roan wasn’t there to save you –I should have been there too and-”

“No.” Clarke’s hands fall to the back of Bellamy’s neck,pulling him infinitesimally closer. “If you were there and theyhurt you any more than they already did…” Her eyes flicker to hisarm, where blood is still blooming from the wound, already tricklingdown again.

Her heart twists tight in her chest at the thought of somethinghappening to Bellamy, of him being hurt beyond repair, fatally,especially for her. Even more so, Clarke aches at the thoughtof a world without Bellamy Blake in it; how every lush tree wouldfeel barren to her without him, how a clear sky may as well cloudover for eternity. It’s dirt beneath her feet and stars above herhead and trees as far as the eye can see, but it would all be nothingwithout him there to share it with her.

Bellamy isn’t Clarke’s world, but he is what keeps it turning. Onhis axis she spins, for better or worse.

She drags her eyes back to his, tears pooling along their rims. “Ican’t – Bellamy, I can’t lose-”

“I can’t either.” Raising his good arm, Bellamy cups her cheek,swiping away her tears. Delicately, as if the moment will break if hehandles it too roughly, he leans his forehead against hers. “Ican’t lose you either.”

Clarke can’t determine how long they stay that way, pressedtogether, sharing the same air. It’s both forever and too short atonce.

“I can’t do this without you,” she confesses.

Bellamy shivers as the words vibrate in the small space between them.With a shake of his head, he slips his hand behind her head, changingtheir angle so he can brush his lips across her bruised cheek. “Youcan do anything, Clarke.” He lifts his head to press a kiss to thecrown of her hair.  “With or without me.”

Reluctantly, Clarke pulls away, a sad smile teasing the corners ofher lips. “You can too.”

Bellamy ducks his head. Clarke knows he doesn’t believe her. Still,when he looks back up at her, he’s smiling too. “I can’t stitchmy arm up,” he jokes.

Like a switch flipped on, the heaviness surrounding them clears,replaced with a familiar levity that is born from trying to make theother happy. It’s fragile and fleeting, but it reminds them, ifonly for a moment, why losing one another would make the world bleak– because, for each other, they make it brilliant.

They shine a light.