Title: Down In The Forest
Paring: Bellamy Blake X Reader
Warnings: implied drug/alcohol use, implied sexual content, fluff, angst.
Spoilers: None! This is a Modern AU!
Dedicated to: YourLocalTrashBag who asked for more Bellamy, and I took way too long to answer the request. Please forgive me, Trash Bag!
Author's Note: Please forgive me by using John Murphy as the standard 'bad dude'. I'm so so sorry but I needed to write a bad dude and I know he's had a redemption arc or three. Just...don't hold it against me please.
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The last thing you can remember is the faces of your friends - if you can even call them that - and the way your vision decreased until your mind was spinning. They must have put something in your drink, because bonfire night was never like this before. Instead of camping on the back of John's property, he'd proposed to bring the group out to the national park to stargaze and drink the weekend away, TGIF. Well. A few people John Murphy knew, but you didn't rocked up, and only now you were realising that you'd fallen over, and they'd all left you to freeze out in the autumnal forest surrounding your town.
Reaching to your head, you realise there is blood dried over your forehead, matted into your hair that probably looks like you're a mix between a homeless forest nymph and anxious, reckless young person. But it's then your eyes focus, and you see your fingers are stiff, and cold, and at the tips, turning blue.
"H-help," you croak.
What had they put into your soda? Trying to sit up, you see that your phone in your pocket is smashed, and petty cash ransacked from your wallet. If - when you next see John, you're going to share words.
"Is -," you try and clear your throat, but it hurts. "Is anyone there?"
You hear a crunch of boots, and see an angel. The light is caught between the curls atop his head, a halo of hair, a godsend. The man is wearing the uniform of a national park ranger, no hat, the jacket on his shoulders brown and puffy. He's got a radio, and thick boots and socks and deep brown eyes that look like they can read minds.
"Are you alright there?" He frowns, squatting down to your height. He reaches out, extending two fingers against your wrist, and laughs nervously. "Hey ... you're almost hypothermic there, how about I help you up and take you to the lodge?"
You're in no position to argue, and to be honest, being saved from a certain fate by a cute park ranger seems like the best resolution to the shitty weekend you've had.
"I'm -," you struggle to move your legs, unsure if you've hurt them, or they're just frozen to the ground. "I'm ________."
The park ranger smiles. "Nice to meet you. I'm Ranger Blake. Bellamy." He extends his hand to you as if to shake, but instead, he guides you to stand up. "Wait a second, I'll go grab my cart. Uh, here," he sheds his puffy jacket, and slides it around your shoulders. "That should warm you up."
It does, and before too long, you're both in the lodge. It has been years since you've gone to the national parks, just to be around nature. You used to come with your grandfather, Wilfred, but after he died, there was nobody else in your family who appreciated time spent being at peace. But you can never say that you've had a missing person's poster out about you - because as soon as you're inside the climate-controlled lodge, you see a grey-scale sketch of you and your name, details and such below.
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