Bellarke Oneshots and Prompts

4. Snowstorm

Based on the prompt: Imagine your OTP doesn't like each other for whatever reason. They are together in a car and get snowed in. It's getting colder and colder and at some point they have to share body heat.

A scream ripped Bellamy from his peaceful doze.
Or maybe it was being thrown forward in his seat when someone slammed on the brakes.
Or maybe it was when they skidded off the highway.
Perhaps when they hit the snow bank?
Bellamy's eyes shot open as all of these things happened almost simultaneously, and his hand flew to the door handle for something to hold on to as his body was thrown forward into the seatbelt. He squeezed his eyes shut, and his brown eyes were hidden from the outside world until he regained consciousness.
A few minutes after the crash, his eyes slowly flickered open and wandered before focusing on the driver of the car.
"Clarke?" he asked in concern, and the blonde girl turned her head toward him, looking totally terrified.
"Bellamy? Oh, thank god, I thought maybe you were dead," she replied, sighing in relief.
Bellamy bit back a 'you wish' due to the circumstances, and slowly unbuckled his seatbelt.
"What happened?" he asked calmly, quickly scanning her for injuries before looking over himself. His ribs were bruised from the seatbelt, but he didn't think anything was broken. His legs worked, as well as his arms. He saw a drop of blood fall onto his shirt, and cautiously moved his hand to the side of his head, which had a long but not deep gash that was trickling blood.
"There was a deer. I'm so sorry. I'll call Lincoln. I'm sure he'll help us," Clarke explained, fishing around for her cell phone.
"There was a deer," Bellamy repeated disbelievingly.
"Yeah. A deer. Like the animal." Bellamy's jaw dropped open slightly.
"You nearly killed us because of a deer? Did you never learn to drive properly? If there's a deer in the road and you can't stop, /you hit it/. You don't swerve. You don't slam on the brakes. What the hell is wrong with you?" Clarke stopped searching to glare.
"Not helping. We're snowed in here, Bellamy. The car doesn't move. Our doors are all stuck. We're screwed unless we get a hold of someone. My car is white. No one will be able to see us out here until the storm clears, and we'll probably be dead by then. So shut up, and do something useful." Bellamy listened to her with growing rage that was soon trumped by fear. They were stuck. They would run out of oxygen in here. They were going to suffocate, or freeze, or both. His breathing picked up rapidly, though he was doing his best to stay calm. He'd never liked enclosed spaces, and now he was going to die in one.
"Oh my god," he muttered to himself, pulling on the door handle and throwing his body against it. They were going to die. This was it.
"Bellamy. Bellamy! Hey. Calm down. We're fine. Stop trying to break things. It's okay," Clarke said, noticing his rising panic. She reached over to touch his wrist, and his head snapped around to look at her, fear consuming his eyes. "Breathe. We don't have cell service, but I'm going to turn the car on and try to push the sunroof up. At least that will give us more oxygen." Bellamy nodded, closing his eyes and leaning his head against the headrest as the car started and the sunroof slowly popped up about an inch.
"There. We won't suffocate now. But it'll be cold. I have a blanket in the backseat. Come on. We'll have to share." With that statement, Clarke crawled into the backseat and pulled out a thick blanket from under the seat, covering herself with it. She motioned for Bellamy to join her, but he simply gave her a doubtful look.
"Come on, Bellamy. I know you don't like me. And I don't really like you. But we have to conserve body heat, so get your ass back here under this blanket." Bellamy sighed in defeat before following her to the backseat, taking the other half of the blanket and draping it over himself. Now that they had air--freezing air--his panic had disappeared.
"Well. This will be a fun storm," he said wryly, starting to get comfortable.

It had been four hours. Four hours of freezing cold air surrounding them, four hours of them under the same blanket. And Bellamy was going crazy. He could feel it. He was biting back snarky comments constantly, and he had to get out of this goddamn car.
"Well, what do we do, O' Great Leader?" he finally questioned bitterly. She'd always wanted to be in charge. Now she was, and what happened? Oh, yeah. They were freezing to death in a snowbank.
"Shut up, Bellamy," Clarke muttered in return, teeth chattering. Bellamy's jaw was doing the same thing, though he was doing his best to stay warm. He leaned against the side of the car and cautiously patted his lap for her to sit in. Clarke gave him a disbelieving look.
"You're not serious."
"I'm perfectly serious. If we don't share body heat, we're going to die. This is the best way to do that." Clarke stared at him doubtfully for a few moments before letting out a sigh and crawling into his lap, where she readjusted the blanket to cover both of them and lay on her side on top of Bellamy's larger body.
"This doesn't mean we're friends," she muttered into his chest, already feeling a bit warmer. Bellamy rolled his eyes, but his retort came immediately, as if he didn't even have to think about it.
"Not a chance, princess."