The 100 imagines and preferences

Bellamy Blake Imagine

You swore as your knife once again bounced off the tree and landed in the grass. You didn't quite expect to get the hang of this right away, but you had at least assumed you wouldn't suck quite this bad.

You scooped down to pick up your knife and cleared the way for Bellamy, who was already winding up another throw. His movements were strong and precise, sticking the blade of his hatchet deep into the tree.

You sighed, flipping the blade in your fingers before settling the hilt in the palm of your hand. You raised your arm for another throw, trying to focus on the tree instead of Bellamy's eyes. It was getting increasingly difficult to ignore the burning on the back of your neck whenever you made a bad throw, which just happened to be every time you made a throw.

At this rate you would have better luck walking up to a grounder and asking them to stab themselves.

Bellamy paused you before you could give it another shot. He came from behind, one hand resting on your side and the other guiding your hand. If it was hard to focus before, it was impossible now.

"It's all about the release." He said. You nodded, letting Bellamy lead the movements of your wrist at a slow and exaggerated pace. "Now you try."

He stepped back, the warmth of his body heat leaving your side. The knife felt unbalanced, but you evened out your stance and tried the motions once more in slow motion before trying it for real. Your grip tightened and you threw it with full force the time, your arm still hanging stretched out when the knife once again bounced off the tree.

A frustrated sigh escaped your lips and your cheeks heated, but Bellamy met you with a crooked smile. "You'll get it eventually."