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"I couldn't believe this works every time," he told her, frustrated with himself.
"It works because you love me and our puppy and our life together. And your reward," she replied, smiling.
Bellamy smiled back. "Mmm. I think the latter is the one I look forward to the most. And I do love all those things. Don't worry, princess, I'll carry him home if he doesn't wake up soon."
He looked at her, and realized she was already looking at him. He smiled and leaned in, and she kissed him back happily. After she leaned back, she laid her head back on his chest.
Bellamy rubbed her up and down her back. "You look really beautiful, princess."
"Thank you," she whispered.
She was wearing a white sun dress that day, with flip flops and her hair down in soft waves, no makeup. She usually didn't wear any, and she looked so beautiful that she didn't need it. She only ever applied it when they met their friends at a bar or when they went to her mother's fundraisers or gallery openings.
He pressed his lips against her hair and lay back down, closing his eyes. Something rubbed against the side of his stomach, and Bellamy stirred. He saw their dog rolling around, trying to find a comfortable place to continue sleeping, and kissed Clarke awake with gentle kisses over her face.
She made a disapproving noise and tried to turn around again. "Oh no, princess. We can sleep at home, in a bed. Our backs would approve of that very much. Well, at least mine. You sleep like you always sleep," he said, smiling.
She rubbed her hands across her face and kissed him on the lips before sitting up. "You want to get out of here?"
"Yeah, August is waking up and wants attention, although he's still very sleepy. He can relax while I carry him," Bellamy replied.
Clarke let out a loud laugh, surprising him. "I couldn't believe you. You're the cutest thing ever, you know that, Bellamy?" she asked, looking at him with a fond smile.
Bellamy smiled back. "Well, I do my best."
"If you talk like this about a dog, although he's a cute one, what will you say when we have kids? I'm melting right now, and if I were ice, there wouldn't be any left after that sentence. You're going to be the best dad, Bell," she said, her eyes shining with amusement.
He seemed surprised at her words, but his expression quickly turned into a smile. "Glad we settled that. Thank you, princess. You know I think the same about you, don't you? You will teach our children so much and love them endlessly, just like you love our dog."
She blushed and nodded. Bellamy pressed another kiss against her temple and stood up. "Let's go."
He helped her up before picking August up. "That was one of the most pointless discussions we've ever had," he said, chuckling.
Clarke smiled. "Don't worry, Bell, there will be more. Just wait until we have kids."
He smiled back at her and kissed her temple while adjusting the puppy, who was now fully awake in his hands. "I couldn't wait."
They didn't have to wait long. Four months later, she gave him one of the best birthday presents he had ever received.
Genre: tv
100
Battle Scars
Chapter 1: Battle Scars
The firelight bathed his skin in hues of amber and honey-gold as he lay stretched out on the furs next to her. Her hands skimmed lightly over the muscles of his shoulders, tracing their lines and valleys with a careful touch. He held such strength in those arms, such power, that it seemed impossible he could be as gentle with her as he was. Her hands dipped lower, playfully brushing over his ribs. The muscles there twitched, and he pulled in a slow, languorous breath.
"Careful, that tickles," he said.
Placing an apologetic kiss against the skin of his shoulder, she continued her exploration. Her fingertips eventually ghosted over the rows of carefully marked scars on his left shoulder blade and stopped.
"What are these from?" she asked.
He opened his eyes slowly, all lingering drowsiness gone. "Each mark represents a kill," he answered, his tone even.
He had spoken the truth so matter-of-factly that there was little she could do at first but blink and resist the urge to count them. He began to sit up, and she knew what he must be thinking: that the scars repulsed her, that with so much evidence in front of her eyes, she could no longer deny the monster that he was.
She stopped him with a gentle hand against his back, and he slowly lowered back onto their bed. "Do all of your people have such scars?" she asked.
"Yes," he replied.
Her eyes studied the scars in detail now. They were small, shaped like a large grain of rice, and arranged in rows of six. Some rows were straighter and neater than others, she noticed, as though they had been carved immediately after a particular battle or war. With the violence she had witnessed in this place, it was a wonder he didn't have dozens more.
"Lincoln," she said carefully, "I need you to give me scars like these."
He sat up, his features drawn into a frown. "If all of your people have scars like this, they'll never believe I'm one of them if I don't have some too," she explained.
He had been teaching her about his people for weeks now, in an effort to ease her transition into Grounder life. His people were reclusive, xenophobic, and paranoid. They didn't tolerate outsiders, certainly not ones that came from the sky. If she was to have any hope of passing as a Grounder, she would need to be as convincing as possible.
Lincoln had taught her about his people's wars, their language, and their various groups and colonies. He had taught her the ways of his people as well – how to hunt and fight, how to move silently through the forest, and how to go in for the kill. She felt stronger and more powerful than she ever had before, but it wasn't enough. If she was going to pass as one of them, if she was going to be one of them, she needed to commit fully.
Lincoln did not look pleased with this development. He slid into his pants and hastily tied them up before getting to his feet. He paced a few steps back and forth and then stopped with his back to her. The firelight danced across his skin, making his scars appear to move and shift about.
"You know I'm right," she pressed.
"That doesn't mean I have to like it," he countered, turning to face her. "Octavia, there's no going back if we do this."
"I know," she assured him with a patient look. "There was no going back the moment I met you."
A reluctant smile pulled at his lips, and he dropped to his knees next to her. He pulled her to him for a slow, lingering kiss that left her head swimming and her lips wanting more.
"We don't have to do this now," he said sincerely, his eyes searching hers as he pulled away. If he was looking for any signs of doubt, he found none.
"I want to," she insisted, holding his gaze until he exhaled a quiet sigh and nodded in agreement.
She lay down on her stomach atop their bed. His hands were warm on her skin, and their touch was gentle as he brushed her long, dark hair off to one side and bent to kiss her shoulder. He reached over her to retrieve a knife from his jacket, and she pulled in a long, slow breath to calm her racing heart.
"How many?" he asked quietly, and she opened her eyes.
"One," she replied.
She could hear the unspoken question in his silence and answered, "It was during the fight with the Grounders. A Grounder was trying to kill Bellamy, so I killed him with your sword."
Lincoln was quiet for a long moment. "I'm sorry I didn't find you sooner," he said sincerely, and the pang of regret in his tone was clear.
"But you did find me," she reminded him, and listened as he breathed a quiet sigh. "I don't regret it, Lincoln. Any of it."
"Someday you may," he said.