Bellamy Blake Imagines

Blue Earth P3

Warnings: This Is Where The Smut Comes To Play

You couldn't say exactly what it was that woke you, but as soon as you opened your eyes you knew there was no chance you'd fall back asleep again. Loosing a jaw-cracking yawn, you sat up from your makeshift bed, which consisted of a thermal sleeping bag and a rolled up jacket as a pillow, and pulled your boots on over your thick blue cargo pants. 

You stood in your shoes, pants and standard issue Ark bra, one part of a boring set of plain black underwear that all females on the Ark received, and after stretching like a cat you pulled on your only shirt – the dirty gray high neck tank top that you'd landed in.

 You seriously needed a shower. You had gathered a few small plants that helped keep you smelling decent, but you were more than a little embarrassed to admit you were starting to think you'd kill for a hot shower. 

Running your hands through your hair you quickly braided a few sections of it out of your face, securing them at the back of your head with a leather tie you'd manage to clumsily tan from the skin of your kills and left the rest to hang down your back. It seemed your hair was currently going through the seven stages of grief, and after having left anger a short time ago it had moved on to accepting its fate of never being washed again.

Planning on spending the day exploring and scrounging, you collected a few days' worth of supplies in your backpack, including some boiled water, dried strips of meat and a little cache of nuts and berries you'd gathered. You also packed your guard gun in the bottom of the bag, just in case. You'd managed to get one through the black market on the Ark, trading your last remaining moonshine for it. You hid it on you before the drop ship from the Ark had launched, though it only had so many rounds and you currently had no reloads, or extra ammunition. Regardless it was a safe back up plan in case you got into a sticky situation.

Slinging your pack onto your back, you untied the laces that you'd weaved into the fabric of the parachute that made up the entrance of your make-shift tent, to give yourself some privacy. You had claimed your space quickly after landing, and were lucky to have a tent, albeit a small tent, to yourself.

Finishing the last of the ties, you grabbed your spear and exited your tent to see the golden rays of dawn peeking over the tree tops, the skyline silhouetted by the velvety sunrise. The sight made you stop in your tracks; its beauty took your breath away, and with a start you realized this was the first sunrise you'd ever seen on Earth.

A smile curved your lips, and you felt a wave of happiness, abruptly followed by an insane urge to cry. Your parents would have loved to see this, but they never would. Their bodies were stardust now, their remains probably transformed into space particles, stuck in an endless orbit around the earth, just like the Ark.

You heard footsteps beside you and felt the comforting warmth of a tall, familiar body next to you. Bellamy's smooth, deep voice cut softly through the silence, "Is this the first sunrise you've seen from Earth?"

"Yeah", you replied, wrapping your arms around yourself before you confessed, "It makes me think of my parents. Of my mom"

You felt incredibly vulnerable just then, almost wishing you could take the confession back, until Bellamy said gently, "Me too"

You snuck a look up at him through your lashes. His eyes were downcast, fixed on his shoes that were currently scuffing dried leaves around, and his shoulders were hunched inwards, like he was trying to disappear into himself. You felt a sudden urge to connect with another human, to feel the warmth of skin on skin contact with him.

You unfolded your arms to reach for his hand, which hung at his side, and focusing your attention on the rising sun you ahead of you, you slowly linked your fingers together with his. He didn't respond for a second and you considered drawing your hand away, but then, blissfully, his fingers curled around yours, his warm palm pressing against your own.