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Veni, Vidi, Amavi

Chapter Text

Look, it just made sense for Bellamy and Clarke to get an apartment together, okay?

Both their leases were up, Octavia was moving in with Lincoln, and Bellamy was at the end of his rope with the shitty little flat he’s been renting since college. Not to mention that their friend group was merged and was closer to both their jobs. That’s it. Those are all the reasons, and none of them have anything to do with his supposed ‘crush’ on Clarke like Octavia makes it out to be.

(Though Bellamy is willing to admit to himself that it is definitely a bonus. Kind of.)

Clarke isn’t the kind of roommate he expects her to be, if he’s being frank, because, well, she’s kind of a mess.

She’s quite possibly the world’s worst cook, burning everything from pasta to toast, but is strangely good at baking. She hate’s doing the dishes with a passion and would beg off it on nights when it’s her turn, but for some strange reason loves dusting and mopping and sweeping. She always forgets to do laundry until all that’s left is a pair of running shorts and a t shirt she stole from him, and on those days Bellamy tends to hole up in his room under the pretence of grading because his restraint isn’t made out of steel.

And she takes over the office as her art studio.

The office is small to begin with and while they both agreed to share, Clarke is a veritable hoarder and it only took a few weeks for everything to start bleeding over into his workspace. By the end of their second month together he’s back on the couch working on his study plans for the week while she blasts Taylor Swift through the speakers to help with her creative process.

(Yes, he does sing along word for word to Shake It Off and Blank Space, fight him.)

When Clarke gets in the zone, well, it’s both horrifying and beautiful. Horrifying in the sense that ‘what do you mean all you’ve eaten for the whole day is a handful of expired Skittles and some saltines,’ and beautiful because, well, it’s Clarke, and Bellamy’s far past denying that he’s head over ass for her. At least to himself, that is. He’ll deny it when Octavia brings it up because he likes to annoy his sister.

He’s home this time, when she’s in the zone, and has taken to intermittently barging in and forcing her to eat something with nutritional value. It’s fun, really.

Sometimes he sticks around, watching her bring the canvas alive with a myriad of colours, looking on as she gets lost in the feeling. Of course, it’s ruined when he sees her reaching for her blue mug as opposed to the red one he just brought in.

“Hey, woah there,” Bellamy stops her, grabbing her wrist. Some of the grey coloured water sloshes out, wetting her toes. Clarke blinks up at him a few times, as though only just registering his presence in the room.

“Oh, Bellamy, hi,” she chirps, pushing back her hair and leaving a streak of blue across her temple. He has to bite back a smile.

“Hi Clarke,” he says, before jerking his head back to the mug, “Probably don’t want to drink that.”

She looks down at his hand still clasped around her wrist and laughs. “Probably, yeah,” she smiles back at him. “Would you believe me if I said this has happened before?”

“Definitely,” he says wryly, and she laughs again.

“Well, thanks for that,” she replies, resting the mug back down on the ledge and picking up the correct one. She makes a face when she realises that it’s gone cold. “Paint water doesn’t really taste the best.”

“I had no idea.”

Clarke purses her lips before very deliberately swiping her paint brush against his cheek, leaving a vivid line of periwinkle across his tan skin. “Your sarcasm isn’t appreciated,” she tells him, before dancing out of the way as he tries to wipe it off on her.

“This is what I get for trying to help you,” he huffs, “Next time I’ll let you drink your stupid paint water instead.”

(It’s a lie and they both know it. Bellamy has to mother hen everyone, including Clarke.)

He disappears after that, but the next time she’s painting he stops her from doing it again, and the time after that, and the time after that. Eventually, he just sticks around whenever she gets in the zone, halfway engulfed in her horrendously pink bean bag as he keeps an eye out on her.

Clarke seems physically unable to differentiate between paint water and non paint water unless he’s around, even when he bought her the custom mad cups off of Etsy with the names scrawled out on them. She’s always drinking the wrong thing, or dipping her paintbrush in the wrong one.

“How are you not dead from this as yet?” he asks, handing her a glass of water to rinse her mouth out when she makes the mistake for the umpteenth time. “Isn’t it like toxic or something?”

She flicks water at his face. “It’s non toxic because it’s made for idiots like me,” she says, gargling with water once more.

“Well, as long as you’re self aware,” he says, and she blows a raspberry at his cheek.

In the end, Clarke tells him the best course of action is for him to just stay there with her, to make sure she doesn’t mix up the mugs, and he tries to hide how smug he is because that’s just Clarke speak that she likes having him around.

(Octavia likes to tell him that she’s not sure who’s worse at expressing emotions, him or Clarke. This was after she walked in on them certainly not cuddling as the marathoned Daredevil together. Bellamy swears that he can feel her exasperation through the phone at times.)

They do this for months, and he likes it. Usually he’s doing grading and will call out a particularly funny line a student wrote, or they’d swap stories back and forth until Clarke decides she’s done for the day. It’s nice.

(It’ more than nice, and it scares him a bit at how normal this is. She’s woven her way into every single aspect of his life and he has no idea what to do. He doesn’t even know is he wants to do anything, and it’s then that Bellamy realises that he’s in love with Clarke Griffin; when she’s belting out the chorus to Out of the Woods in an old sweatshirt she stole from him with freckles made out of green paint and an extra paintbrush speared through her bun. It’s exciting, exhilarating and heartbreaking all at once.)

And then he has to go and fuck it up by getting far too shitfaced on wine coolers during their weekly Drunk History recap and telling her how she’s his favourite, and he can’t imagine his life without her and how much he loves her in his clothes.

He wakes up the next morning with a pounding behind his eyeballs and the weight of regret sitting heavy on his chest.

To make matters worse, Clarke ‘I don’t believe in waking up before eleven on weekends’ Griffin has locked herself in her studio, the soundtrack to A Damsel in Distress playing low, and his gut clenches. Bellamy feels as though he might throw up, because of the alcohol or feelings, he’s not quite sure.

He worries the whole time he’s locked out, of course, partially because he’s wondering if this is it, he’ fucked up their friendship for good, and also because Clarke is notorious for forgetting to do banal things like drinking water or going to the bathroom. This causes him to spend the morning stress cleaning and then, when she still hasn’t emerged from her cave, watching Troy just so he can distract himself by focusing on the amount of historical inaccuracies.

(She’s going to be the reason he get his first grey hair, he knows it, and that just makes him stress out even more.)

Finally, when it’s nearing six pm and she’s only come out once to use the bathroom and steal half of his sandwich, he bangs on the door. Hard.

“Clarke, I swear to god if you don’t come out here in the next minute I’ll break this door down,” he says. He bangs it again, just for good measure. He probably could break it down. While maybe breaking his shoulder in the process.

She opens it just a crack, wide enough so that he could see the streaks of paint on her neck and shoulders. Her fingertips are stained blue, and Bellamy realises that this is the first time he’s seen her since he’s spilled his guts last night. It makes him tug on his hair in frustration but before he can begin to say anything, to apologise, to do something, she holds her hand up to stop him.

“Just give me fifteen more minutes?” she asks, and there’s a frantic sort of energy about her too, jittery and nervous.

Bellamy just clenches his jaw, not trusting himself to speak, and nods. She flashes him a small smile before closing it shut, the resounding click of the lock sliding in place sounding a thousand times louder than usual.

Fifteen minutes have never felt so long.

When she does remerge, she’s let her hair out of its knot and looks as though she’s wiped herself off with a damp paper towel. There’s still a splotch of blue under her jaw though, and it makes him smile despite the dread coiling in his stomach.

She gnaws on her bottom lip for a moment before saying, “I made something for you,” extends a hand to pull him off the floor and leads him into the small studio.

It’s not- it’s definitely what he’s expecting, and Bellamy’s fairly certain that his jaw drops.

He’s seen her artwork before, knows just how talented she is, but this is a whole new level and Clarke is glancing at him from beneath her eyelashes, uncharacteristically shy.

It’s a painting done in full monochromatic blue of him.

He remembers the day she based it off of course, the one where they went hiking with Lincoln and Octavia, and he knows that she did one of Octavia and butterflies a few months back as an engagement gift for her but this. This is different. He doesn’t know how to describe it, but it is, and it’s almost like he can feel her emotions jumping off the page in each brushstroke.

Finally he manages to croak out, “How many times did you drink from your paint water?” and Clarke bursts out laughing, silvery mirth bouncing of the walls, and the only thing Bellamy can do is tug her towards him, sealing his mouth over hers.

She tastes like paint and joy and love, and the kiss is sloppy because they’re both smiling too hard, but it’s perfect.

They pull back just far enough to breathe, and Bellamy leans his forehead against hers, his thumb find the smudge of blue paint from early and rubbing it out.

“So I take it you like it?” Clarke breathes, and when he nods, her grin is blinding.

He kisses her again, just because he can, quick and rough, but when he pulls back and mumbles into her hair, “But I like you more,” she’s smiling against his neck with their fingers tangled together meshing their paint smudged skin, and he’s never felt more content than in this moment.

Chapter Text

The first time could be blamed on three things: too much moonshine, too little inhibitions, and just how fucking good Bellamy Blake managed to look in the firelight.

Which happened to be really, really fucking good. Not that he doesn’t always look good, but it’s a lot easier to ignore the spray of freckles across his cheeks or his hurricane hair when the two of them are at each other’s throats. Now though, there isn’t anything of the sort to distract her from the expanse of brown skin glowing in the muted light and the boyish grin pulling at his lips. Her fingers simultaneously wished for some charcoal and to be able to trace to smooth curve of his neck.

When Clarke told him that he deserved to have some fun, she didn’t expect to be part of the equation, much less be the one sprawled out on his bed, one hand desperately clawing the furs beneath her while the other firmly anchored his head between her legs, twisting his hair between her fingers in a way that’s almost painful.

But she is, and here they are, and it’s not like she’s going to ask him to fucking stop when he’s got her right on the edge, sucking her clit into his mouth.

She comes embarrassingly quick, feeling him smirk against her inner thigh as he laps it all up, and when Clarke drags him off to lick the taste out of his mouth, he whines against her lips, fingers digging into her thigh.

“You’re still an ass,” she breathes, fumbling with his belt in the dark. Her hands don’t seem to want to cooperate, her limbs still loose and sated.

Bellamy sneers, tugging on her hair to give him access to her neck. “Right back atcha,” he retorts, though it loses some of its bite as she finally wriggles her hand into his pants and wraps it firmly around his dick. He drops his head to the crook of her neck and hisses, and then that’s the end of that.

Neither of them mention it later and they’re back to normal, snapping at each other in hushed tones because it’s ‘a fucking terrible idea to meet the grounders, princess and ‘that’s why you’re going to cover us, asshat.’

Clarke is perfectly content with it just being a onetime thing because they have shit to do, like trying to stay alive until the Exodus ship arrives. And then sex isn’t even on her mind because everything goes to hell in a hand basket; the ship crashes, the grounders retaliate, the camp is in chaos, Murphy is back and she just really fucking hates earth.

It’s been three days at most and she feels like the entire Ark had decided to crush her, the last of the fever mixing with the rush of adrenaline making her faintly nauseas as she watches the smoke billow into the sky. All she wants to do is rest and hope that when she wakes up this is just some sort of dream.

She doesn’t though. Instead she finds herself in Bellamy’s tent later that night, fingernails digging into his shoulders as he thrusts into her, holding her hips in place punishingly hard. It’s sloppy and messy, both of them dead on their feet, but they still pant into each others’ mouths and trace over skin as though they can’t get enough. His pulse thrums beneath her fingers, echoing her own heartbeat loud in her ears.

Bellamy grunts, pulling her down flush against him, changing the angle, and when he slips his hand between them to thumb their joined bodies, she comes, sealing her mouth over his in a searing kiss and triggering his own release.

She feels content, and it’s that feeling that causes her to brush a kiss against the hollow of his throat as sweat cools their bodies.

“What’s that for?” Bellamy rumbles, hand rubbing circles low on her back.

“We didn’t die today,” she says against his skin, her heartbeat still thundering inside her.

She feels him laugh more than she hears it, and she looks up just in time to see the mirth fleeting across his face. “Does that mean this is going to happen every day that we don’t die? Because I could definitely get used to- oof.”

He gets cut off when she elbows him in the gut, but it doesn’t stop him from laughing again, this time with her joining in.

Clarke doesn’t mean to fall asleep in his tent, but she’s tired, and he’s warm, and his hand is petting down her spine while the other helps to rearrange her on top of his chest to make her more comfortable.

(She does sneak out before dawn though, and when he meets her in the morning he’s perfectly normal, acting as though they didn’t spend most of the night wrapped around each other naked.)

After that neither of them have time to sleep much less other activities. She and Finn get kidnapped and when they get back, Bellamy can’t seem to meet her eyes. Then there’s the matter of moving camp, coming up with an escape plan, being boxed in and a whole other set of things that she rather not think about, because she doesn’t even have time to think.

When she does though, they’re locked in a fucking mountain and Bellamy isn’t there, and it leaves a bitter taste in her mouth, heart clenching painfully.

(Perhaps more so than it does for the others but she... Clarke really doesn’t want to deal with the implications of that at the moment.)

Still though, she can’t help but throw herself in to his arms when he walks through the gates, battle weary and bruised, but still here and alive. His arms band around her, holding her close like he did that shared night what feels like months ago, and she brushes a whisper of a kiss over the pulse fluttering in his neck.

She sneaks out to see him that night, with the intent of talking, but somehow she ends up pressed against the cool metal of the Ark, legs locked around his waist as they cling to each other desperately. His hands are everywhere- breasts, thighs, ass- and Clarke refuses to lift her forehead off his shoulder, biting down on a chord of muscle to muffle her whimpers.

Bellamy pulls her head back and kisses her, so soft and slow that it sends shivers down her spine and her toes curl against his back. Her orgasm catches both of them by surprise, feeling like a current just pulling her down a stream, and she can’t think, can’t feel anything but Bellamy, his hand cradling her jaw while the other hitches her leg higher as he spills himself within her.

She swears that he presses a litany of ‘I missed you,’s into her skin as they both come down from the high, but she can’t be too sure. Nonetheless, when he finally lets her down, he’s looking at her with the same unidentifiable gleam that he did back at the gates. It makes her stomach flip.

There are a thousand things Clarke wants to say, but she swallows them down, doing up her pants instead and saying, “Let’s go get back our people.”

The muscle in his jaw jumps, but he nods and walks her back to her quarters, filling her in with what she missed.

The next time is markedly different, the two of them a little way off, hidden by the thick undergrowth from prying eyes. Clarke is shaking as she grabs onto his shirt, yanking it so hard that some of the buttons go flying. She’s not- she can’t- it feels like the world is closing in on her and the only thing that could possibly ground her is the feel of Bellamy’s skin on hers, all heat and musk and wet mouth.

She doesn’t realise she’s crying until the rough pads of his thumbs brush the moisture of her cheeks.

“Hey,” he murmurs, gently prying her fists loose, “Hey.”

A breath hitches in her throat and that’s all it takes to send her into hysterics. “I’m sorry,” she sobs, crumpling against his chest, eliciting a surprised grunt from him. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

The words are stuck on repeat, falling past her lips without sign of stopping. Bellamy holds her close, petting her hair and mumbling sweet nothings, even when his throat gets closed off and eyes go misty. He smells like the artificial air from inside the mountain and it just makes her bawl even harder.

Eventually Clarke pulls back, still sniffling, and presses her mouth sloppily over his. He stiffens t first, but after just one muttered ‘please,’ he returns the favour. Chapped lips slowly slide over each other, the taste of copper and ash mingling on her tongue. For the first time since this- whatever, has started, it doesn’t feel hurried, doesn’t feel rushed, and they’re both content to sit there, limbs entwined on the hard dirt ground, giving each other some sort of escape. The salt from her tears mixes with the salt from his skin and she licks it off, craving a closeness that she can’t yet put into words.

He kisses her until their mouths go numb, until their lips are swollen and cherry red, until she can feel her pulse thrumming with life and she doesn’t hate herself quite as much in the way that was suffocating as before. Bellamy still keeps her in his lap, fingers tangled in her hair. Despite everything that she’s done, everything that they’ve gone through, he still holds her like she’s something special and with a start, Clarke realises that’s how she holds him too.

(It just makes the pain of leaving him that much raw, and she doesn’t even pretend that her heart isn’t split in her chest.)

After that she thinks that’s it. Whatever they had before, those precious few moments when the world seemed to go silent, is long gone. They get tossed back together again, and while Clarke wants some sort of physicality to help her stay grounded, she wouldn’t switch it with this newfound intimacy for the world.

And yet, once all’s been said and done, the wounded patched up as best as they could and the bodies removed from the tower, she goes to him, dragging her bone tired body to the veritable coat closet he’s holed up in.

She doesn’t bother to knock, but she does stop in the doorway and wait for him to notice her.

“Hey,” she says, smiling weakly when he looks up. She holds up a half empty bottle. “I thought we could finally get that drink.”

He doesn’t smile, but the corners of his lips twitch up, and she considers it a victory. The bedroll is already spread out on the floor, and he sits at the edge, boots placed flush against the wall. Clarke toes off her own shoes and sits next to him, shoulders brushing.

Bellamy doesn’t wait for her to say anything, grabbing the bottle and taking a healthy swig instead. He hisses at the burn and passes it back to her.

“You okay?” he asks, voice gruff. His face is still bloodied and bruised, swollen at the cheek.

She follows his lead, keeping her face blank even as the alcohol burns its way down. “Not in the slightest,” she rasps, “You?”

“Fuck no,” he snorts and then he’s hooking a hand around her neck, pulling her mouth over his.

Clarke stills for a moment, and almost drops the old bottle. They haven’t done this is months and yet it still feels like second nature for her to move her lips in tandem with his, to wrap her arms around his shoulders. However, Bellamy notices her hesitance and pulls away, breathing heavily.

“I’m sorry,” he says, turning away. She can see the tips of his ears turn red. “I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry.”

He looks as though he’s about to get up and walk out, but she stops him, laying a hand on his bicep. “Bellamy, it’s fine.”

“No, it’s not.”

She doesn’t have the patience to deal with whatever martyr act he’s putting on today. Instead, she places the bottle down with a definitive thud and slides onto his lap, and his hands almost automatically grab at her hips. She knows that things have changed between them, knows that the light heartedness that was there on Unity Day all those moons ago no longer exists, but she also knows that the two of them derive comfort from physicality. And she may not be able to fix things, the fracture between him and his sister, or wholly absolve the guilt he feels, but she can do this, can give him a bit of peace of mind if only for an hour.

So with that, she leans forward, brushing her lips over his cheek while her fingers shakily trace the collar of bruises he wears. Her lips are chapped, and the catch on his scabs, but his breath ceases as she tenderly kisses each new scar. Eventually she reaches his mouth, and, ever so slowly, Clarke kisses him, gently, slowly, lovingly.

It takes some coaxing, but soon enough Bellamy is meeting her tit for tat. She unzips his jacket and he starts working on her corset. She pulls on his hair and he smoothes a flat palm up her back. Slowly, each article of clothes is removed, and she makes it a point to press her mouth to every visible scar and bruise that mars his skin while he traces patterns up her side, swirls circles around her breasts, teasingly brush his fingers across the dip between her thighs.

He pants when she lingers at his neck, at the purple ring that’s been bestowed upon him after nearly being choked to death, lavishing it with wet, sucking kisses until he snaps and pulls her up once more. It’s all consuming, like an inferno, and just like before, it feels as though nothing exists in the world but them.

Bellamy flips her over, grinding into her at an unbearably slow pace, but it makes her toes curl and back arch, giving him ample opportunity to press kisses to her chest, murmuring all sorts of things that she can’t hear into her skin. Her heart bursts with fondness, and when she comes, she sees that same fondness echoed in his, mixing in with awe.

They lay together after, her head tucked into the crook of his neck and he plays with her hair, letting the gold drip from his fingertips.

“Are you okay?” she murmurs while on the cusp of sleep, idly tracing lines down his sternum, feeling the steady thump of his heart. Her other hand is tangled with his free one, lying linked between their bodies.

“No,” he replies, before contorting slightly to press a kiss to the crown of her head, “But I’m better.”

Chapter Text

When Bellamy was nineteen, he was juggling three jobs, hadn’t gone to college, and was dealing with raising Octavia, who was going through her teenage angst phase. He fought the world with bruised knuckles and anger gnawing him from the inside out just to give them a place in it.

Now, almost six years later, he’s one of the most successful actors in the young adult genre, having recently wrapped the final season on Marauders, making more in a month than he did in a year, and is singlehandedly funding his sister’s college tuition without the fear of crippling debt to come.

It’s a bit of whiplash to say the least.

He wasn’t sure if he wanted to continue acting after playing James Potter for the last five years. He’s made more than enough money to see him through the rest of his years pretty comfortably; he could go back to school and get a history degree, or he could even sit around doing nothing besides twiddling his thumbs. Not to mention that he played James Potter. He got to work with JK Rowling. That’s a life achievement right there, and Bellamy is sure that nothing could ever top it.

(He was a Potter kid growing up, reading the books to Octavia, going to midnight releases; he still has his original first copies, creased and weathered, on the top of his bookcase back at the apartment.)

But then Kane passed on the script to this high fantasy series set to start filming in July, and, well, Bellamy is interested to say the least. It’s said to be a less problematic version Game of Thrones crossed with Star Wars and a little bit of Lord of the Rings thrown in there as well.

So he goes to the auditions, lands the role of Aegis, the Leader of the Rebellion, and is contractually obligated to appear in at least three seasons if the show is picked up for that much. It’s a nice change of pace from robes and incredibly fragile wands, and he finds himself oddly endeared by his grouchy, hard headed onscreen persona.

And then he meets his cast members.

Bellamy has worked with a lot of people in his stint as an actor, worked with people he didn’t particularly like off screen but managed to pull off being best of friends with them on film, and even before that he worked in the service industry. He has a tolerance for dealing with assholes and putting up with bullshit, but for some reason Clarke Griffin gets the better of him.

The rest of the cast is amazing, a whole string of new talent he’s never met before, but fucking Clarke Griffin is Hollywood’s golden girl, and the two of them mix just as well as oil and water. Which isn’t a good thing since her character, the Forgotten Princess, Astra, and his have half of their scenes together.

He’s not sure how- or who- started it, but they have two full on shouting matches before the first week is up.

And it’s not like they don’t get along with everyone else, because they do. Bellamy makes fast friends with Miller and Raven, the latter of which happens to be Clarke’s housemate and never fails to call him out on his bullshit. So honestly, he doesn’t really know where the two of them went wrong, but they did, and he calls her Princess because it gets on her nerves while she refers to him as Jackass for the same reason.

So it doesn’t make any sense that, less than two months in to production, he’s pinning her to the cold metal side of the trailer, her mouth pressed furiously against his while she grabs at his hair. They were arguing about god knows what this time, all hushed whispers and cold fury, and Bellamy couldn’t help but notice the way her hair burned gold in the sunlight, just like how Clarke couldn’t help but let her eyes flicker down to his lips every few seconds.

The intercom goes off, ten minutes before they’re required to go on set, and they jump apart, breathing heavily.

“What the hell was that?” asks Bellamy, voice gruff. Her makeup is smudged, just a little, and when he swipes the back of his hand across his face, it comes back a few shades lighter.

She glares, somehow managing to look down her nose at him even though he stands a good head taller than her. “That,” she says in her prim and proper voice, the one that makes him scoff, “Is a onetime thing that’s never going to happen again.”

He sneers, and straightens out the creases on his collar where she was gripping on to it. “Whatever you say, Princess,” and then walks off before she can get another word in.

He does in fact expect it to be a onetime thing, because, as much as he finds her attractive, his annoyance far outweighs that. It seems the same thing goes for her as well, since they go back to bickering the very next day and she makes sure to never once let her eyes stray.

But merely three weeks later, she’s grabbing him by his collar, pushing him up against a tree and kissing him hard while his hands fly to her waist.

Two weeks after that, they stumble into a cramped storage room, his hands up her shirt, tracing and caressing smooth skin while she sinks her teeth in to his shoulder.

They spend their break the next Monday under the pretence of running lines, but this time she’s already clawed off his shirt and wriggling off his belt while he tries to undo the million and one clasps on her costume.

After the fourth time- where Monty almost catches them when he went to fetch a spare cable- Bellamy pulls Clarke aside in the parking lot.

“What are we doing here?” he asks, immediately cutting to the chase, and she purses her lips.

“I don’t know; what do you think we’re doing here, Bellamy?” she says in return, crossing her arms over her chest.

He heaves a sigh, scrubbing a weary palm across his face. “You know what? Why do I even bother? Princess doesn’t have time to give straight answers.”

“I like you better when your mouth is otherwise engaged, Jackass” she snaps back, and the moment he hitches an eyebrow her cheeks flood with colour.

“Really, is that so?” he says, sauntering forward. Clarke steps back into her car and he stops.

She takes a deep breath, steadying herself, before saying, “You’re a lot more bearable when you’re not being a smug bastard about everything, and the rest of the crew prefer it if we work out our differences without screaming our lungs out.”

“I don’t know Princess, that’s what you were kind of doing when I had you up on that table today,” he smirks.

“You’re disgusting.”

“You weren’t complaining.”

“Like I said, I prefer it when you’re using your mouth for better things.”

They grin at each other, sharp and feral, for a moment before it catches up with them as to just who they’re bantering with, and they immediately look away.

“So- just so I’m clear with what you’re saying- we just keep doing what we’re doing?” Bellamy asks.

Clarke nods. “I don’t see why not. It’s not like we’re hurting anybody.”



They stare at each other for a few seconds before nodding and getting in to their respective cars.




Bellamy knows that it’s technically a bit unprofessional to be hooking up with his co star, but it’s not like there’s feelings involved or anything of the sort. Clarke was right; they’re not hurting anybody. In fact, it’s probably helping their co workers. They still bicker, and often at that, but it’s nowhere near the level it’s been those first three months together, since the two found a much better way to work out their frustrations, like blowing him in the restrooms or eating her out on the vanity.

It’s a win- win for all really, if he thinks about it.




That’s how things go the rest of filming, and he and Clarke find that when they’re not biting each other’s heads off, they actually agree on most things which is. Strange to say the least. The first time they actually agreed on something without yelling about it first, Miller actually chokes on his club sandwich.

(She yells at him for trying to tell her how to pitch her voice the fifth time they call cut on a scene though, and whatever shock there was at seeing them back the other up earlier dissipates.)

It’s still not that commonplace though, but their banter is almost friendly and Clarke was right when she said that everyone has more fun when they’re not biting off each other’s head.

The show premiers three months before filming is set to end, and while there has been considerable buzz around it, it doesn’t stop Bellamy from being nervous as he heads over to one of the execs house for the viewing party.

“Relax would you,” Clarke tells him as she places a hand on his leg to stop it from shaking. “You’re acting like this is your first show.”

He snorts and stills her hand off, where it’s been slowly trailing its way up. “The first show I was on was a gimme. It’s Harry Potter. Who doesn’t like Harry Potter?”

“Snape,” she answers solemnly and he knocks his shoulder into hers while she just squeezes his thigh in return, causing him to stutter.

“Stop that,” he hisses, looking around to see if anyone has noticed. The room is dim, and crowded, so no one is really paying that much attention to them.

She hitches a single perfectly manicured eyebrow. “Why? You’re still tense. I could help you relax,” she grins, and her fingers dip to trail along the inside of his thigh.

“I am not having sex with you here.”

Her teeth glint as her smile widens, “Who said anything about sex?”

She ends up giving him a quick hand job in the bathroom during the commercial break, after teasing him for almost half the show, and Bellamy gets his revenge later, getting her off hard and fast, right before they take cast photos, leaving her warm and flushing.

When they’ve found out that they’ve been renewed, Clarke actually surprises him, throwing her arms around him in a quick hug before they all share a few bottles of ten dollar red wine. He’s shocked to say the least.

After work they all head over to the bar a block over from Bellamy’s place to get proper celebratory drinks in the form of something that did not come out of a box and it’s the most fun he’s had in ages.

Miller and Monty are huddled together over the jukebox, and good naturedly agree to a karaoke contest with Jasper while Raven heckles them from the sidelines as she films. Clarke sits next him in their booth, something which has become commonplace now, and makes faces at them.

“Stop that,” he tells her when she tries to get him to engage in a game of footsie with her under table.

“Oh, come on, Bellamy,” she pouts, and he has to try very hard not to lean in and kiss her. He shakes his head at the thought; it must just be the alcohol.

“What is it with you and being out in public,” he grumbles, scooting away from her. She snaps her teeth and he doesn’t find it endearing at all.

“It’s fun. Who would have thought you’d be a stick in the mud?”

“I’m not a stick in the mud; I just know that the bathrooms are small and have faulty locks.”

She blows a raspberry at him. “Fine. Be like that,” she says, and then sneaks the rest of his beer.

They stay out much later than is advisable, and have a bit too much to drink, but they’re not working tomorrow, and Gina offers to keep everyone’s keys while Raven offers to help her, and soon they’re all splitting off into groups and heading home.

Clarke lingers, and with it’s clear that Raven is much more interested in the bartender than their apartment, she links her fingers with Bellamy’s and drags him out the door.

The stumble up the steps to his apartment, all light giggles and wandering hands, and when they get inside, she’s biting his lips and fighting to get his shirt off.

They don’t get dressed after the first time, Bellamy just pulls up his jeans, leaving them unzipped while he putters about the kitchen, while Clarke shrugs on his t shirt. It’s a good look on her and he almost burns the grilled cheese he’s making to help soak up the alcohol.

She’s humming under her breath in an almost absentminded way, and swaying a little. With smudged make up and frizzy hair that looks platinum in his harsh fluorescent lighting, Bellamy feels his heart clench a little when he realises that he might have a teeny tiny bit of a crush on Clarke Griffin.

They sit on the couch and manage to get through half of a documentary on Nero before she climbs in his lap, kissing him hard, and when he wakes up the next morning, she’s still there, clinging to his back like a koala and snoring softly.




They don’t start dating so much as fall into it, though not before a certain level of awkwardness.

Clarke is- normal the morning after they wake up together, nursing a mild headache while they share coffee and she checks out the rest of his apartment. She makes a dumb joke about him having to pretend to ride a broomstick, and when she’s ready to leave, he pins her to the wall before for one last goodbye orgasm. It’s only polite.

However, she avoids him as much as she could at work the next week, darting into her trailer and striking up conversation with just about anyone in the vicinity. It affects him a lot more than it should, since he’s only just recently coming to terms with the fact that he may like her in a more than physical way. So he sticks it out and suffers through, pretending that everything is fine and dandy.

Bellamy is understandably surprised then when on Friday she’s waiting by his car, gnawing on her bottom lip.

“Princess,” he nods, voice unreadable.

She starts and turns around, playing with the ends of her hair. “Oh Bellamy, hi.”

“Something you wanted?”

She bites her lip again, ducking her head for a moment, before taking a deep breath and looking back up at him, eyes filled with steely resolve. “We, uh, never finished the documentary. On Saturday. Or Friday. Whatever day you want to count it as.”

He blinks once, startled by this turn of events. “Really.”

“I could order pizza if you want. If we’re to finish it, I mean.”

“What about Raven? Wouldn’t she-”

“She has a date with your bartender,” she says, laughing a little before a blush stains her cheeks, “And, uh, I’m not saying she knows, but she did heavily imply that she thinks something is up so. There’s also that.”

Bellamy nods. “Right,” he unlocks his car before throwing a smile at her over his shoulder, “I’m not a fan of sweet peppers if you were serious about that pizza.”

Even though she ducks her head he can still see her grin, and she slides into the passenger seat.

That’s how things go from then on, the two of them hanging out at his place more often than not, eating cold take out and watching documentaries. And when those are finished, they move on to the shittiest Netflix movies they can find, laughing until their sides hurt.

They still hook up, but now it’s not only on set, but in his apartment and hers when it’s free, and even that one very memorable time in the back seat of his car after an interview together before going to brunch like nothing just happened. She keeps a spare change of clothes in his closet- even though she prefers to steal his shirts- and he’s even cleared out a shelf in the bathroom cabinet for her.

Bellamy knows that he should probably talk to her about this, just to make sure that they’re on the same page, but he’s driving them both home a week before they wrap, when she snorts at her phone.

“Can you believe that the paparazzi still think I’m a lesbian? Honestly, they’re putting in so much effort into trying to prove that Raven and I have some sort of polyamorous trifecta going on with Gina that they haven’t realised that I’ve been dating you for almost two months,” she says, rolling her eyes even as she continues scrolling through the article. “It’s like they’ve never heard of bisexuality.”

Bellamy is very proud that he didn’t swerve, not even a little bit. “How long have we been dating?” he asks, trying to come off as cool and calm, but it must miss the mark since Clarke immediately freezes and turns bright red.

“I wasn’t supposed to say that.”



They pull up in front of his complex, but neither of them moves to get out of the car. He twists in his seat, slowly loosening her hand where she’s holding her phone in a death grip. “Do you want to go on a date?” he asks, licking his lips, and breathes a sigh of relief, almost laughing with it.

Clarke squeezes his hand. “Technically, I think all those late night Chinese and pizza runs and Netflix mean that we’ve already been on several dates.”

“Yes, because nothing screams romance like watching me get worked up about Troy in sweatpants while we eat shitty take out,” he deadpans.

She grins at him, waggling her eyebrows. “Is that what you want to do? Romance me?”

“I’ve got to earn my keep somewhere, right?”

Her grin turns lecherous, and she gives him a very blatant once over. “Trust me, you earn it well enough.”

Bellamy barks out a laugh and leans over the console to kiss her. “If you say so,” he mutters against her lips.




It turns out that keeping it a secret is surprisingly easy.

Clarke was partially right when she said that Raven suspected something; but it just turned out to be that Raven thought that they had hate sex to fix all their problems.

“She was kinda right,” Bellamy murmurs against her bare shoulder, and Clarke tilts her head to the side so he can have easier access to her neck. “I mean, that was how this whole thing started.”

“Less talking, and more of that,” she demands, her voice already gone thready, and he grins, dragging his teeth across her pulse.

They find out on the last day of filming when they all go out to celebrate yet again by getting completely shitfaced, that there was a betting pool going on about whether they’d get together or kill each other first, and before they can let a coy, ‘Well actually,’ slip, Miller goes off on how no one but one of the tech guys expected them to become friends and he ended up losing fifty dollars.

From then on, they decide against telling their friends, because it turns out that their friends are assholes.

And of course, the paparazzi is no help since they don’t seem to realise that bisexuality is a thing. That, combined with the fact that neither of them are very much into PDA and putting effort into going on dates, means that they’ve been dating for a good four months now without anyone realising it.

“I mean, people on Twitter kind of realise it,” she says one night when they’re both lying in bed. He’s kicked the sheets off, sprawled out stark naked next to her, and it’s a testament to just how long they’ve been doing this that Clarke isn’t even the least bit distracted by his chest. Which she should be. He’s very proud of his abs, not to mention that it could be fucking decades and he’d never get fed up of her chest.

“That’s because people on Twitter want our characters to make out so they’re projecting their feelings onto us,” he counters, before yawning, “I’m going see if there’s anything besides coffee and energy bars in your cupboards. Honestly, what do you and Reyes even eat?”

“We’re never home to feed ourselves,” she says, still scrolling down her phone. “I think there’re some frozen waffles in the freezer though.”

“You fail at being an adult.”

They go to an awards ceremony together, both as each other’s dates and to represent the show. They sit next to each other, and he keeps his arm around her the whole time, yet the next morning he’s awoken by Clarke’s cackling as she reads out an article detailing about how ‘such good friends the two co stars are.’

They go to a few more award shows and charity galas alike, and Clarke even meets JK Rowling because of him, yet the articles remain the same and suspicion is at an all time low.

“I can break up with you now,” she says, thought her words are belied by the way she snuggles against his arm in the backseat of the limo. “I just used you to meet my childhood idol. Thought you should know.”

“I’m wounded,” he says dryly as he pets back her hair and presses a kiss to her crown. She tastes like hairspray, and Clarke laughs at him when he screws up his face.

“I can tell that your heart is in shambles,” she says, playing with the snap of his trousers, “You’ll never find a girl who gets you like I do.”

“Tragic,” he manages to choke out before she wraps her hand around him, and then Bellamy is burying his face against her neck to muffle his groans while she smirks triumphantly.

(There is one blurry photo-shitty lightly and rumpled clothing with their backs turned- that posts a speculatory article the nature of their relationship, but it’s on a seedy website and no one really believes it. Clarke has tears streaming down her face while she laughs about it, and the two of them collapse on the floor of his kitchen in hysterics.)

They even go on a few real, bona fide dates.

(Although technically, they’re not usually traditional ones.)

They visit art museums and history ones, walk through parks together while eating ice cream, and really, they’re not even trying to keep it a secret anymore.

Surprisingly, it all comes to head when Clarke steals his sweatshirt- an old Gryffindor one with the name ‘Potter’ stitched on the back that he got when he started working on Marauders all those years ago- and wears it in public while she runs a couple errands. He’s not even with her, instead visiting his sister three states away for the week, but it doesn’t stop his timeline from being flooded with questions and even a fucking hashtag starts trending.

In the end, he just tweets out a simple ‘Yes, we’re dating,’ and switches off his phone, to which Clarke replies with ‘Happy five months babe,’ that sets off another round of fangirl hysteria.

By the time he actually gets back home, most of it has died down, and Bellamy hasn’t even dared turn on his phone since he texted Clarke to say that he was going to go AWOL for the next few days.

Which is why when he gets back, he finds their friends milling around his apartment and Clarke has her hands up in surrender.

“In my defence, it was all of them against me and I couldn’t have texted you a warning,” she says, and he bites back a smile.

“I could have seen it,” he grumbles, but it doesn’t stop him from crossing the room and kissing her quick and chaste. Miller retches in the background and he hears Raven slap him on the arm.

“I can’t believe you two rather sneak around than tell us like normal people,” says Jasper, a little petulantly.

Clarke scoffs from where she’s leaning into his side, like she’s done a million times before. “We weren’t even sneaking. You guys just refused to see what was right in front of you.”

“And you refused to tell us,” counters Raven, “Honestly, we live together. I’m hurt Griffin. Do you know how much money I had riding on this?”

“Your feelings are noted,” Bellamy says dryly, the same time Clarke snorts, “Tragic,” and Raven shudders.

“When you two are planning on getting married, you better tell me before I get a wedding invitation,” she tells them.

Bellamy rolls his eyes. “I’ll make sure to livestream the proposal,” he says, and completely misses the way Clarke grins, happy and bright.

Miller doesn’t though, and he pretends to retch again, except this time Raven is right there alongside him. “God you two are disgusting,” she says, wrinkling her nose. “I was going to insist you replace the money I lost betting on you two through pizza and beer, but now I’m sure I’ll throw up if I stay here any longer. Come on guys. My girlfriend is a bartender. We can get the first round of sympathy shots for free.”

They all do however pass around hugs and slaps on the back, and he’s pretty sure that Raven tells Clarke that she’s happy for her, but they still make sure to leave in a fit of dramatics.

Bellamy looks at the door and shakes his head. “Idiots, all of them.”

Clarke laughs, and he can’t help but look down adoringly at her. “True, but they’re idiots who left us home alone and I haven’t seen my boyfriend in a week, so,” she says, playing with his belt loops.

He kicks his suitcase to the side, dropping his backpack on top of it so that he can wrap her in his arms. “And what are you suggesting we do?” he rumbles, biting her shoulder gently through the thin material of his sweatshirt.

She steps back to pull it off, and he groans when he realises that she’s wearing nothing underneath it.

“I can think of a few ideas,” she calls out teasingly over her shoulder, a mischievous glint in her eye, and fuck he’s in love with her.

Instead, he pulls his own shirt off as he follows her, saying, “I’d like to hear about these ideas. In detail,” and Clarke throws her head back and laughs.

Yeah, he thinks as he just takes a minute to stare at her, half dressed and standing in the middle of his apartment, grinning widely while sunlight streams in, he loves her so, so much that it’s just about ready to burst from his chest.


Chapter Text

See, the jar thing was an accident. Really, it was.

It starts off because he inadvisably becomes roommates with Clarke. Which was also an accident. It’s not his fault that their leases were up around the same time, and okay, maybe he could have looked into other places, but it’s easier to split rent and utilities with another person, plus she works just a few blocks away from his school so it just made sense, okay?

(At least, that’s what he word vomited to Octavia when she tried to pry.

“Just admit that you want to move in with your crush and save yourself the hassle,” she says with a dramatic roll of her eyes and Bellamy doesn’t pout, but comes startlingly close to it.)

So that’s how he moves in with Clarke Griffin.

And finds out that she’s an absolutely terrible roommate. Not to mention adult.

Which lead to the jar.

“I’m starting an idiot jar,” he tells her when she stumbles into the kitchen one morning, still squinting at everything suspiciously. He has to bite back a grin before he waves the empty milk carton in front of her face.

“What the fuck,” she says, reeling back a little.

“Every time you do something stupid- like leave your shoes in the middle of the hallway or forget to throw out an empty carton from the fridge- you have to put a dollar in the jar,” he continues, cutting the top off the carton, already having washed it out. Bellamy slaps it down on the kitchen table and slides it across to her. “Pay up.”

Clarke just blinks owlishly at him. “Okay, one, that isn’t a jar. And two, don’t you think ‘complete adult failure why does she even try’ would be more apt?”

“Maybe, but you do a lot of other idiotic things besides fail at being adult.”

“Gee thanks Bellamy. Really feeling the love.”

“Good to know. Now eat your eggs. You need to eat something other than poptarts in the morning.”

Shovelling a mouthful of eggs into her mouth, Clarke points her fork at him and says, “If you’re gonna start and idiot jar, I’m gonna start a grump jar.”

Bellamy scoffs, throwing a dish towel over his shoulder. “You can’t just steal my idea, Clarke.”

“Shut up it’s not stealing it’s- it’s a game. Whoever gets more money from the other by Christmas wins.”

“Wins what?” he finds himself asking, grudgingly intrigued.

“All the money from both jars,” she says, “Every time you complain, or act like an eighty year old grandpa, you put a dollar in my jar.”

The muscle in his jaw ticks as he considers it. There’s still a good two months to go before Christmas and knowing the two of them, there could very well be at least seventy five dollars a piece in each of those jars by the time it rolls around.

“Alright then, deal,” he says, sticking a hand out for her to shake. “I’d like to think that the odds are in my favour for this one. You already owe me a dollar and you haven’t even been up for more than fifteen minutes.”

She slips her hand in his, smaller with cold fingers, and squeezes tightly as she shakes. “Maybe. But you also owe me a dollar for whining about the carton so. Checkmate.”

This time he doesn’t bother trying to stop the smile that unfurls across his face. “Touche Griffin.”


They both end up putting around twenty dollars each into their respective tins by the time the first week is up. Clarke mostly for doing things such as mixing up her paint water and tea mugs before pleading with Bellamy to make her a new cuppa, leaving her trainers in the middle of the living room, and always forgetting when it’s her turn to do the dishes.

Bellamy on the hand has to cough up some cash when he grumbles about his students or anything technology related. It’s great and Clarke loves it when he makes a big deal about her picking on him for going off about something or the other.

“At this rate I’m going to be broke before December,” he grouses, rooting around his pockets for spare change. “I hope you don’t mind getting a dollar store paint set.”

“I don’t. I can try out some pinterest hacks,” she says promptly, and then grins, almost shark-like, “Careful there buddy; That sounds a mighty lot like complaining. Wouldn’t want to have to put in two dollars now would we?”

He glares at her. “I didn’t make you put in two dollars when you left the shower dripping and your clothes on the bathroom floor this morning.”

“You damn well know that only happened because you rushed me out-”

“Some of us don’t have the time to spare on thirty minute showers. Another things you should have been forced to pay up for by the way.”

“You’re a real asshole sometimes, you know that?” she huffs, and he can’t help but bark out a laugh as he reaches over to pull on her braid.

“And yet you still chose to move in with me,” he shoots back, and she grins in a way that makes his heart stutter in his chest.

“The pros outweighed the cons,” she says cryptically, before giving him a swift once over and then dashing away, leaving Bellamy gaping and gobsmacked in the middle of their living room.

The next few weeks get… easier. Or at least they’re no longer putting all their spare change and then some in the jars.

Clarke seems to be making a conscientious effort in not leaving things all over the place, and she hasn’t done anything completely stupid in weeks, not since she almost tried to fight someone twice her size at the bar, which lead to her being fined five dollars by Bellamy, mostly because he almost got a heart attack then and there on the bar stool.

Their friends also catch on to it, and go out of their ways to egg them on, even taking bets on who would come out on top. Except for Raven who raised a single perfectly manicured eyebrow and told him bluntly, “You’re both obvious idiots and deserve to put at least a hundred dollars in the stupid jar. Each.”

He doesn’t know what else to do other shove her roughly in the shoulder and mutter, “Shut up, Reyes,” under his breath while dropping his eyes to the stained plastic table top instead of staring at Clarke like he’s been doing all night.

By the time Christmas rolls around, both jars are stuffed to capacity, and Clarke actually wakes him up by flinging open the door to his bedroom and yelling, “I hope you’re ready to lose,” before throwing herself onto his bed.

“What the fuck,” he says, voice thick with sleep. “Clarke, it’s six thirty in the morning.”

“I’m excited.”

“You’re never excited before six thirty in the morning. Fuck, you’re never even human before six thirty in the morning.”

“I resent that,” she sniffs, and he throws an arm around her waist. They’ve cuddled like this before; they’re always cuddling like this, but it’s usually in the living room in front of the TV, or movie night with their friends. Never in his bed- which she looks so good in, with her hair spread out around her head like a blonde halo, pyjamas rumpled and sleeped in, and voice still throaty and low from disuse- and Bellamy find himself swallowing heavily as he screws his eyes shut.

“It’s true, and now we’re going back to sleep until like nine,” he says, before shoving his face in his pillow lest he do something stupid. Like kiss her.

He hears her muffled sigh and a quick, “Fine,” and then she’s curling closer, prodding his calves with her cold toes until he yips, and he’s trying to remember the names of all the Roman emperors he’s ever known in order to distract himself.

They do drift off to sleep eventually, and wake up much later than nine to his arms banded tight around her waist and her hair tickling his nose.

Breakfast is a quick affair- cold turkey sandwiched between thick slices of bread and she makes them eat in the living room.

“This could cause ants,” he warns, “Don’t want to have you putting a dollar in the jaw now do we?”

“We closed that off yesterday, remember,” she says, bumping her shoulder into his. “First presents and then we count up.”

“Deal,” he nods. “When I win, I’m going to buy so many books.”

She snorts. “Of course you will,” she says, and then throws his two presents at him. He does the same and for a moment there’s nothing but the sound of wrapping paper being teared off as she finds the new set of bamboo brushes she’s been eyeing for a while as well as a set of watercolours, and he reveals a When Rome Ruled DVD set and a dead languages tie that immediately gets a laugh out of him as he wraps her up in a bear hug.

They spend a few minutes gushing over their presents respectively until Clarke clears her throat and pulls out her jar. “Are you ready?”

Bellamy does the same and grins. “Bring it.”

They share one last quick grin before shaking out the contents of the jars and counting. There’s a lot more than he thought in there, a cluster of single dollar bills all crumpled and sad looking, and makes sure he counts twice before tucking it all back in the jar. When he’s done, he looks up to meet her smug grin and says, “Eighty seven fucking dollars. Hard to top that, huh Griffin?”

She smiles coyly at him and replies. “Oh yeah, definitely. Hard, but not impossible considering I made ninety one dollars off of you. Suck it!”

“What? No way,” he says, “Gimme that. I demand a recount.”

Clarke’s still grinning when she passes her jar over to him, and when he gives it back to her, jaw set and mouth curved down in a sullen pout, she can’t help but lean over and press a smacking kiss to his cheek. Bellamy pushes her away and she laughs.

“Whatever will I do with a hundred and seventy eight dollars?” she muses.

“I don’t care,” he says grumpily, and she shuffles closer to him on the couch.

She ignores him. “Well, there is a new restaurant that opened downtown that I wanted to check out,” she says, resting a hand on his thigh and he stills, eyes darting over to her for a second, “But I’d need company for that.”


Clarke grins at him, a little shy, and ducks her head as she gnaws on her bottom lip. “Company. You know. Like a date.”

“A date.”


“With you.”

“Mmhmm.” He can see her beginning to lose some of her nerve, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear as she’s quick to rattle out, “I mean, it doesn’t have to be a date of course. It could just be two friends, y’know? Just two bros out for dinner one night, nothing wrong with that,” she laughs nervously.

He turns his body so that he’s looking down at her, a hand coming up to cup her cheek. “Hey Clarke?” he mutters, nose ghosting across hers as she nuzzles further into his palm.


“I’m going to kiss you now.”

The last of the worry melts off her face and her lips are sweeter than he imagined, his own moving clumsily against them as they try to kiss around the smiles blooming there. Her own hand shakes as it grabs onto his shoulder, and the world seems to go quiet, nothing but a steady chant of Clarke, Clarke, Clarke in his head as he pulls her close.

“I’ve wanted to do that for quite some time now,” he admits when the pull away. She’s linked their hands together, playing with their fingers.

“And you’re a right idiot for not doing it sooner,” she chastises him with a grin, before swiping another kiss from him. “Go put a dollar in the jar.”

Bellamy throws his head back and laughs, and then she’s climbing on top his lap, licking the mirth out of his mouth while he mumbles, “This is worth it though,” and she squeezes their hands together.

Chapter Text

Bellamy starts sleeping with Clarke out of necessity , okay? It’s something that they both need, something that helps them get through the bad nights and serve as a reminder that there are still good things left out there in the world. There’s nothing like human comfort to drive the darkness out, and that’s something that they both accept.

(And if he likes the feel of her pressed against him in the tiny beds, the way her hair almost always finds itself in his mouth on mornings, her kitten snores, and everything else in between, well, that’s his own damn problem.)




The first time it happens is because Clarke fucking fainted in the middle of Arcadia, effectively taking at least ten years off his life and sending his heart into a sprint.

“I didn’t faint,” she grumbles, trying to shove her mother away as she comes near with the IV, “I just-”

“Fainted,” he says flatly. “Other words included pass out, lose consciousness, and blackout. There’s a vast majority of them, all of which say the same thing: you fucking fainted .”

She glares at him, and he replies with a glower of his own.

“Mom,” she says, turning her attention to Abby who is still trying valiantly to insert the port in her arm, “Tell Bellamy that I’m fine, please.”

“You’re not fine,” she says promptly, to which Clarke mumbles, “Traitor,” under her breath while Bellamy throws another glare at her and says, “I told you so.”

“You’re not fine, and you’re either going to sit here and take the saline for half an hour, or I keep you for observation for the rest of the day,” says Abby, pulling away to stare at her sternly, “Your pick.”

“I think she should do both, for the record,” interjects Bellamy, and Clarke aims a kick at his ankles.

She doesn’t say anything else, but she does hold out her arm for her to slip the needle in, and slumps back against the cot, all while pouting petulantly.

“Honestly Clarke, you should know better than this when it comes to taking care of your body,” Abby chides her, taping the port in place, “Exhaustion, dehydration, have you even been eating enough?”

“I eat enough,” she grumbles, staring determinedly at the floor.

“Did you eat the apple wedges I left for you this morning?” asks Bellamy.

She glares again. “No.”

“Then you’re not eating enough.”

“Don’t you have anyone else to harass? Go bother Raven about her caloric intake instead.”

He opens his mouth to respond, but then closes it in thought instead. “Normally I would tell you don’t tell me what to do, but that actually sounds like a good idea. She wasn’t at lunch earlier and I know for a fact she didn’t have anything but a cup of tea for breakfast.”

“See? You should be giving her this whole spiel not me. It’s obvious she needs it more.”

“Yeah, no,” he snorts, “She’s not the one who collapsed in the middle of camp ten minutes ago. Nice try.” he turns to Abby, who’s regarding them with a funny look on her face. “Half an hour right? I’ll be back before then. Don’t let her go or else she’ll run back out there and get in more trouble.”

“Fuck you, Bellamy.”

He just gives her a lazy two finger salute and a shiteating smile before turning on his heel and stalking out.

True to his word, he’s back right before Abby deems it okay for Clarke to be released, and as soon as she’s done lecturing her, he takes over, leading her to her room, hand on the small of her back.

“I don’t need a keeper,” she grumbles, but lets him walk her to her quarters and slip inside.

“Humour me,” he says, and slumps into her desk chair while she kicks off her boots.

He’s pulling out a worn paperback from the inside of his jacket and when she stops and cocks her head at him. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” he asks with a quirk of an eyebrow, and she huffs out a breath.

“I meant, what are you doing here?”

“Making sure you get a rest.”

Clarke throws him an exasperated look. “So what? You’re going to stay there and stare at me while I sleep? That’s creepy, Bellamy.”

He rolls his eyes and waves the book at her. “Won’t be staring at you. You’re not that interesting, Griffin.”

“Don’t you have work or something?” she presses on, drawing her knees up to her chest.

“No,” he lies. Technically he had a group of cadets to run drills with, but Miller can handle that for him. “I’m free all afternoon. Now stop stalling and take a nap or something.”

“You’re incorrigible,” she sighs, but he takes it as a win when she shimmies down the bed and pulls the blanket over her. He just grins and cracks open his book, finding his place quickly.

No more than five minutes pass before she’s tossing and turning, eventually sitting up and glaring at him.

“I can’t sleep like this.”

“Is there a pea beneath your mattress?”


“Nevermind. What’s wrong?”

“I can’t sleep with you-” she gestures vaguely at him before huffing, “Knowing you’re sitting there and staring at me.”

“For the umpteenth time, I’m not staring at you. I’m reading my book.”

“It’s still weird.”

“It’s not that weird.”

“Come here,” she says, setting her jaw defiantly, “Come over here and read instead.”

“What- in your bed ?” he says, eyebrows climbing up his forehead, and Bellamy is grateful to every deity out there that his voice doesn’t crack. “How is that less weird?”

There’s a flush on her cheeks, but the stubborn glint in her eyes persist. “It’s easier to share a bed than have someone sitting ten feet away looking at you while you sleep.”

“Reading! I’m reading while you sleep!”

“Just get in the damn bed, Bellamy,” she sighs, holding up the blanket. “I know just as well as anyone that you haven’t been sleeping much either.”

“I’m not the one who collapsed out there today,” he says through gritted teeth, trying to push the image of sleeping with Clarke out of his head. It’s bad enough that he’s finally acknowledged that there might be something other than friendship between them, but this is something else entirely that he does not want to tackle.

She runs a hand down her face. “Bellamy, please just- it’ll be so much easier of you do, okay? Please .”

And well, shit, it’s not like he could deny her anything when she’s looking up at him like that, eyes wide and earnest as she gnaws on her bottom lip.

He swallows thickly, eyes trained on her face.

“Fine,” he says at last, shrugging out of his jacket and laying across the newly vacated chair. He drops the book on top of it and kicks off his boots. “You owe me, Griffin,” he says, but his words don’t bit like he intended them to.

Arcadian cots are narrow, and it’s something that’s obvious as ever as he lays down next to her, his entire left side flush with her right. Clarke is stiff as board next to him, the blankets drawn up her chin, and she stares at the ceiling, breathing quietly. If he strains his ears, he can hear tinny voices outside, everyone busy in the mid afternoon, the noise at stark odds with the quiet bubble they’ve cocooned themselves in.

“Nightmares,” she blurts out, and he turns his head to look at her. She’s worrying her lip between her teeth and his hand twitches to brush it over. Clarke glances at him before she continues, “I get nightmares. It’s why I can’t sleep. But it’s easier… when there’s another person here,” she huffs out and embarrassed laugh, “The week after we got back from Polis I- I was crawling into bed with my mother every night. I thought it was getting better, but...”

“You should have said something before,” he rumbles out, turning fully on his side and pillowing his head on his arm. He brushes the hair out of her face with the other, taking note how she leans into the touch.

She laughs bitterly. “Like what? I’m suddenly a child who can’t sleep by herself? Who can’t even take care of herself properly?”

He frowns. “That’s not what I meant.”

“That’s what it is.”

“Clarke,” he murmurs, eyebrows drawing together. She’s turned away from him, staring determinedly at the wall, and he shuffles closer, laying a tentative hand atop hers.

“Clarke,” he says, more firmly this time once she looks over at him, “There’s nothing wrong with- after everything we’ve been through, things like this is expected. But you shouldn’t have to deal with it alone.”

“No one else is collapsing in the middle of camp,” she says, words tinged with bitterness as she glances back at him.

“Because they’re not afraid to rely on people,” he counters easily, linking their hands together. “You don’t have to this alone. You’ve never had to. All you had to do was let us in.”

She’s close enough that he feels when she swallows heavily, and her grip becomes vice like on his hand.

“I’m glad,” she says after several moments of silence, voice thick and looking up at him from beneath her lashes, “I- I’m glad you’re here for me, Bellamy.”

She’s still holding onto his hand when she turns back around, pulling it over her waist, and Bellamy freezes for a fraction of a second.

“Get some sleep, Griffin,” he replies gruffly, drawing her close enough that he can feel the warmth of her back against his chest. He buries his face in her hair and tries to be inconspicuous about breathing her in, letting the faint bite of antiseptic masked by fresh herbs swirl around his mind.

He waits until her breathing has evened out before trying to reach for sleep himself. The last thing he thinks of before he drifts away is just how relaxed she looks curled up in his arms, and he lets himself go, surrounded by her scent.

(When he wakes up, the sun has already set and Clarke is still asleep, her soft snores the only sound to be heard. She stirs awake not to long after, and they walk together to the mess hall for dinner, hands bumping against each other. Neither of them comment about the evening spent, but she does mention in passing that it’s the first time in a while that she wasn’t awoken by a nightmare. Bellamy is grinning all the way to his guard shift, and Miller just takes one look at him before rolling his eyes and walking off.)



The second time (and third actually), occurs barely a week later while the en route to the Ice Nation.

“I hate you,” Clarke grumbles, trying to make herself comfortable on the hard metal floor of the rover. “I really fucking hate you.”

Outside, Bellamy snorts, and continues messing around the hood of the rover, despite the sub zero temperatures. Just their luck that rover decided to conk out right when it was about to hit freezing.


It was beautiful for the first thirty minutes or so before the novelty wore off. After that it was just cold, and wet, and a nuisance in general.

“How the hell is it my fault we’re stuck in a snowstorm?” he asks, before aiming a kick at the bumper in frustration.

“It just is , okay!”

“You’re the one who insisted we go to the Ice Nation,” he says as he continues to poke around under the hood, “Who’d have thought that a place with the name Ice in it would have snow?”

“I- shut up,” she mutters, sulking, “Get back in here before you freeze to death. We might as well stop for the night.”

“We might not be able to move in the morning,” he says darkly, but he’s already coming around and popping the door open. He’s accompanied by a blast of cool air and Clarke yelps at the bite it carries.

She’s already spread out their bedrolls and blankets in the back, and is in the middle of trying to get one of Raven’s homemade space heaters up and running.

“I think it’s the battery,” he says, dropping down next to her and ripping open a pack of jerky with his teeth, “There isn’t much sunlight out though, so we better pray it gets enough juice for us to at least start up in the morning. That means none of this.” He pulls out the heater’s cord from the console.

“Great,” she groans, slumping forward. “Could this be any worst?”

“We could be hiking to the Ice Nation instead,” he points out, “Hiking and sleeping in tents instead of a rover that is ten times better at keeping the wind chill out.”

“It was a rhetorical question, Mr Doom-and-Gloom,” she grumbles, throwing a glare at him. Bellamy just grins, and she huffs, reaching over to steal his jerky.

“You checked in with camp?”

“Yeah. I also told them that we might get to Roan’s later than planned. Raven was working on sending a message to them.”

He just nods, and they go back to eating in silence, staring at the snow fluttering outside, slowly gathering across the windscreen.

When they’ve finished splitting the rations between them and sneaking a sip of moonshine each, the slip into the back where Clarke has set out the bedrolls in order to get some sleep. They get ready slowly, no words shared between them as the toe of boots and throw their jackets in the front seat before sliding into the sleeping bags.

It’s not comfortable, but it’s leagues better than sleeping outside on the frozen ground. Still though, he can hear Clarke tossing and turning from her spot before she sits up and huffs, “We should be sharing body heat.”

He almost jackknifes into a sitting position in shock. “What.”

Though it’s dark, he can almost perfectly picture her responding glare. “Body heat. You’re like a furnace, Bellamy, and I’m freezing over here, even with my extra blankets.”

On a normal occasion he would argue with her, but she did have a point; it was getting unbearably chilly in the rover.

“Alright fine,” he sighs, before dragging his sleeping bag over to where she lay. Clarke rolls into him almost immediately, and he actually yelps when she presses her nose into the dip of his collarbone.

“Jesus, are you made of ice?” he grumbles, squirming when her hands sneak under his t shirt to rest against his torso. “Stop that!” He tries to bat away her hands.

“But I’m cold,” she whines pathetically and presses herself closer.

“Yeah, well, this whole arrangement isn’t going to work out if you cause me to freeze to death,” he grumbles, finally catching hold of her forearms, “Turn around.”

She does as she’s told, though not without muttering how much of a drama queen he his. When her back is towards him, Bellamy loops an arm around her waist and draws her into his chest. His leg slots in between hers, and he deserves a fucking medal for not wincing even once when she presses icy toes and fingers into his skin.

“Better?” he asks, nuzzling into her hair. His shirt had carried the faint smell of antiseptic and herbs for days after they slept together the first time, but smelling it straight from the source after a week away was almost intoxicating.

“I guess it’s okay,” she mutters, just because she’s Clarke and has to be difficult. He hides his smile in her hair and pinches the soft inner skin of her arm in return.

“Sleep,” he commands her, ignoring her shout of pain, “You’re taking over driving tomorrow and I don’t want to die by crashing head on into a tree.”

“You’re such a dick,” she mumbles sleepily, and he feels her muscles slowly relaxing as she drifts off.

The same arrangement stands the next night, when they’re just a few hours out of the Ice Nation, except this time he doesn’t wait for to ask. He just drags his bedroll next to hers and hold up their combined covers long enough for her to slide under and cuddle into his arms.

“This okay?” she asks, tugging his arm over hers and linking their fingers together.

He grins into the darkness and presses his forehead to the back of her neck. “Yeah Clarke, this is fine.”

(The next night, they’re given separate accommodations at the Ice Nation palace and it takes him far longer to fall asleep without her warmth in his hands. Bellamy tries not to read too much into it when they both show up to breakfast the next morning tired and grumpy.)



The next time occurs the very same day the return to camp after the meeting with the Ice Nation.

The snowstorm damaged some of the cabins that they built, and people had to be relocated to the Ark.

“It’s just temporary,” Abby tells them- or more specifically, Clarke, since she’s the one who has to give up her room, “I’m sure you can stay with Raven or something for the time being.”

The two of them share a look. “Right,” she says after beat, “Don’t worry mom, I’ll figure something out.”

It’s a testament to just how busy the former Chancellor is that she doesn’t pry any further, and leaves them with a quick, “Just make sure all your things are moved out by this evening.”

It takes them one trip to carry all of Clarke’s meagre belongings to Bellamy’s quarters, and less than twenty minutes to make room for her clothes in his trunk and unpack her scant collection of pencils and crayons on his desk.

“Welcome home,” he says with a wry quirk of his lips, and she elbows him in the ribs.

“I’m headed to medical,” she sniffs, “If you see Raven, can you tell her that I found somewhere to stay?”

“Leaving me with the hard job, huh.”

She scowls at him, but there’s no real heat behind it. “I’ll see you later, Bellamy,” she says, pointedly ignoring his smirk.

He does tell Raven- he runs into her on his way to his guard shift- and relays the news.

She doesn’t seem surprised that Clarke chose to room with him instead. In fact, she just snorts and says, “Obviously. But I didn’t want to be the one to tell Abby that her precious daughter would be shacking up with big, bad, Blake.”

Bellamy tries to glare at her, but it’s belied by the flush creeping up the back of his neck, and all he can do is bark out a halfhearted, “Shut up, Reyes.”

Actually living with Clarke isn’t that different from how things were before; they don’t see each other much during the day unless there’s a meeting, they always have lunch and dinner together when their shifts line up, and always, always, find time at the end of the day to down a shot of moonshine and toss ideas, and plans, and other various happenings at each other.

The only marked difference is that now they discuss plans while getting ready for bed together; Bellamy giving Clarke a briefing on the upcoming hunting outings while she brushes her teeth and he washes his face, Clarke lecturing Bellamy about his cadets’ recklessness as he turns down the bed while she slips into her sleepshirt.

It’s- nice.

It’s also nice to be able to climb into bed after her and pull her into his arms, feel her relax and hear that contented little sigh reserved just for him.

(They get the cabins fixed in about two weeks and everyone is able to move back into their respective living spaces. Bellamy comes home that night to find Clarke spread eagle on the bed, snoring softly, and it has something warm blooming from the centre of his chest.)



After Clarke all but moves in with him, they never sleep apart.

They’re there for each other on their hard days. The days where she loses someone in medical and spends her nights sniffling softly into his neck, his arms tight around her while he murmurs words of comfort and sweet nothings in her ear. The days where he just wants to be done fighting and she pulls his head onto her chest, fingers carding through his hair. The days when the nightmares take over and he wakes up with her clinging to his back like a koala, unable to move if he tried, and the ones where he holds her just a little bit closer and a little bit tighter.

They’re also there on the good days; the ones where they’re laughing until their bellies hurt while she recounts the story of finding Miller and his boyfriend sneaking off into a supply closet like actual teenagers, the ones where Monty decides to test his new batch of moonshine, and everyone is all warm and liquored up. Those are his favourites, because he can blame the alcohol when he presses featherlight kisses into her shoulder, and wakes up to Clarke pressing her ass into the cradle of his hips while he lays hard against her.

He’s figured out what that warmth in his chest is too, the same one that flares up when he finds blonde hair stuck on his jacket, and when his entire bed smells like a mix of antiseptic and herbs, sunshine and gunpowder.

“Did you know that my mother didn’t realise I hadn’t moved back into my quarters until today?” she says conversationally, tracing invisible patterns along his forearm.

She likes to cuddle, he’s come to realise. And while she likes to press her head against his chest or into the crook of his shoulder when drunk and make him pet her, this is her favourite position: Bellamy pressed against her back, arm thrown haphazardly across her waist and breathing her in.

Coincidentally, it’s his favourite too.

“It’s been like two months,” he rumbles, trying not to fidget when the scratch of her nails against his forearm inadvertently tickles.

“I never used to spend a lot of time in there anyway,” she says, “And I never really had a lot of stuff. She was pissed for half a second that I didn’t tell her I had moved out though. She said she would have relocated someone to it already.”

“She’s not angry you’re living here?”

Her shrug is awkward given that she’s lying alongside him. “Not really. She knows what you are to me.”

She says the words easily, breath never once faltering and hands never once skipping a beat as she continues to draw out mindless patterns into his skin. It sound a lot like a confession, and it almost feels like the universe itself is holding its breath as it waits for his reply.

“And what am I to you?” he asks cautiously.

That’s when she tenses; only for half a second, but he feels it in her nonetheless.

When she speaks, Bellamy can tell that each word is chosen carefully. “You’re my best friend. You’re the person I trust most in this world and I- you’re mine .”

She says it with a sudden ferociousness, gripping onto his arm, and he’s almost taken aback by it.


It takes him a moment before he can speak around the ball of emotion clogging his throat, and when he does, his voice is pitched low and gruff.

“You’re mine too,” he swears solemnly into her hair, and there’s no mistaking the meaning behind his words.

He can feel her grin when she brushes a kiss across his knuckles.

Neither of them say anything more before they drift asleep, bodies flush against one another, so close that he can feel her heartbeat sync with his.

In the morning, Clarke turns in his arms and kisses him right there in bed, firm and sweet, and he chases after her mouth when she pulls away.

“I’m glad I’m here with you,” she whispers, foreheads pressed together.

He nudges her nose with his. “I’m glad I’m here with you,” he murmurs before kissing her again, a little wet and messy, but only because neither of them can stop smiling long enough to do it properly.


Chapter Text

They come to the realisation a mere ten minutes after breaching Arkadia’s gates.

Or, that is, Clarke comes to the realisation first, and alerts him to it when she mutters a soft, “Fuck,” under her breath.

“What? What’s wrong?” he asks, hand going straight to his rifle as his eyes immediately scan their surroundings.

She presses a hand to his shoulder. “Nothing’s wrong,” she says in an easy voice that soothes away his worries, “It’s just that I realised I no longer have a room here.”

He blinks. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” she says, flashing him a wry smile. “I used to room with my mom but that was before… everything. And I would have asked Raven, but, well…”

Raven threatened them with bodily harm before they even set foot in the lab, saying that if anyone distracted her from her work, she’d do more than just string them to a tree.

Bellamy shifts his rifle again, scruffing his toe at the dirt. They’d stopped underneath one of awnings outside on their way to the apartments.

“Well, you can always stay with me,” he says, staring hard at the line he made in the ground. He can feel her eyes on him, and it makes his ears pink.

The silence draws on long enough that he’s just about to tell her to forget about it, when Clarke says, “Actually, that doesn’t seem like a bad idea.”

“Yeah?” he asks, glancing up at her from beneath his lashes to find her gnawing on her bottom lip.

She gently nudges him with her hip. “Yeah.”

“Alright then,” he says, trying to bite a back a pleased smile.

There’s the barest hint of a smirk tugging at her lips as he leads them to his quarters, so he glances sidelong at her and says, “It’s a good thing we sorted that out quickly. You’re in dire need of a bath.”

It gets the desired result when she shoves him into the wall, and he laughs. “Fuck off, Bellamy,” she says succinctly, but she’s doing a poor job of hiding her laughter too.



Bellamy’s quarters are fairly spartan.

There’s some paper strewn across the desk as well as some old books with the spines cracked and weathered. There’s a trunk at the foot of a bed made up with military like precision that holds his few extra shirts and pants, and an old loveseat tucked away in the corner that creaks if you so much as breathe on it.

It’s always felt too big for him- he grew up sharing a space meant for two with his mother and little sister, and now having all of this for himself just reminds him of that cold, silent year alone aboard the Ark. But Clarke walks in like she owns the place, immediately shrugging off that fuck awful coat and throwing it on the couch, and he feels a burst of warmth bloom in his chest.

“Shower’s through there,” he says, jerking his head towards the door, “I know it’s been a while, but I assume you still know how to use it?”

“That isn’t funny anymore,” she huffs, but the small smile playing around her lips say otherwise.

“It’s a little bit funny,” he shoots back, watching as she clumsily tries to undo the lacing on that corset. She sighs when it finally slips off, and throws it behind her coat. “I’m going to head over to redistribution and get you something to wear. Any preferences?”

“As long as it’s clean and it fits, I don’t care,” she says, wrinkling her nose delicately as she picks at her hair.

He ducks his head, a breath of laughter slipping out. “I’ll see what I can do.”


He pauses in the doorway, glancing over his shoulder with a small smirk, “Don’t forget Clarke, soap and shampoo are your friends.”

“That joke is old, Bellamy.”

“Listen, if we had to put up with your unshowered ass for a month, then you can put up with a couple of jokes at your expense.”

“I’m moving in with a total dick, aren’t I?”

“Like you didn’t know that already.”

She may have flipped him off before he could leave, and it makes him grin all the way to the redistribution centre.

No one is there when he shows up, so Bellamy helps himself, grabbing a couple shirts that he hopes is her size, a pair of pants, a jacket, and, after a brief moment of hesitation, a pair of underwear and a bra. He sandwiches those between the shirts though, feeling his cheeks warm for some reason.

It’s not like he’s never seen women’s undergarments before- he lived with two women for most of his life, and his mother was one of the few seamstresses on the Ark- but there’s something different about picking them up for Clarke that makes it feel more intimate than it should.

He shakes his head, trying to clear it. It’s nothing, he tells himself, he’d do the same for any friend, and there’s no reason for it to be weird.

Clarke is still in the shower when he gets back, and he lays the clothes out on the couch, pushing her grounder coat and corset out of the way. He debates binning them for a hot second, but reluctantly hangs them in the seldom used closet. It’s still really good leather and who knows, it might come in handy in the second apocalypse. Maybe as kindling for a fire, but handy nonetheless.

“I’m gonna swipe some dinner from the kitchens,” he tells her, grabbing a clean suit for himself, “Clothes are out on the couch. I’ll be back in twenty.”

He hears her garbled response to the door before he slips back out, and then Bellamy is heading to the back of alpha station for a quick rinse off. No one really uses those showers anymore, not since they fixed the indoor ones, but they can still be used, and that’s what he’s doing right now, stepping under the icy stream.

It doesn’t take long, maybe five minutes at most, but his teeth are already chattering and gooseflesh has erupted all over his skin by the time he’s pulling on a clean shirt.

When he gets back from his little jaunt to the kitchen, Clarke’s already curled up in bed, thumbing through an old encyclopaedia he found in a bunker ages ago. Her hair is still wet, hanging like a river of gold down her back, but she’s wearing Ark issued clothing, looking like his Clarke again.

She looks up when he walks in, mouth parting slightly as her flicker over his body, lingering on his damp hair, already curling at the ends. “You showered.”

He bites back a smile, letting the door fall shut behind him. “Some of us aren’t afraid of being clean,” he points out, and has to dodge the pillow she flings at him.

“Let it go already.”

“Never,” he says, crawling into bed next to her, food in tow. Normally he’d be concerned about ants, but right now, everything is hitting him full force and he just wants to sleep.

Clarke leans into him a bit, nibbling on a piece of jerky, and he lets his head fall atop hers, breathing her in as exhaustion settles deep in his bones.

“Do you ever think we’ll be done?” she asks after a while, when she’s eaten her fill. She looks up at him, “Surviving, I mean.”

Bellamy shrugs, and continues braiding the hair along her temple. “I don’t know,” he says in earnest, “I want to. I don’t want to have to continue fighting for the rest of my life.”

“Me either,” she says, squeezing his knee through the blanket. “When I was a kid, I used to say that if I lived on earth, I would own a farm.”

He looks down at her, bemused. “A farm?”

She nods solemnly, curling into him so that his hand drops from her hair to rest on her shoulder. He leaves it there, letting her tuck herself away under his arm. “Yeah. I was really into horses for some reason as a kid. And cows. Plus, after living off a diet of protein cubes and vitamin supplements, I wanted to figure out how to grow actual real food.”

“Ambitious,” he teases, and she pinches the soft skin under his bicep. He easily bats her away, chuckling. “Hey, that drive to farm your own food can save us now.”

“You’re terrible,” she huffs, hiding her grin into his side. She throws a berry at him for good measure, and he surprises them both by catching it in his mouth. “What would you do if you lived on earth before the bombs?”

He finds himself stroking the skin of her shoulder where her sleeve slipped down, feeling the rough patch of scar tissue beneath his fingers as her contemplates the question. “I dunno,” he says, at last, “Maybe a librarian or something. I like books.”

She glances at the torn and battered encyclopaedia that rests on their laps. “Maybe after we survive, you could be a librarian,” she says, shifting to delicately rest the book on his bedside table. Her hair brushes across his stomach as she goes, and he feels his muscles jump.

“Maybe you could get your farm.”

Clarke shakes her head, curling into him once more, this time resting a fist on top of his beating heart. “I don’t want a farm anymore.”

“Well, what do you want?”

“I don’t know.” A beat, and then she adds, in an impossibly small voice, “I want this. Just… you and me, y’know.”

The warmth that sparked in his chest before shudders to life once more, hitting him in full force that he actually loses his breath for a moment. Clarke isn’t looking at him, head dipped downward, but he can still see the stain of pink on her cheeks.

“Yeah,” he says, voice gruff, “Yeah, I know. I’m not going anywhere.” And then, when his lips ghost across the top of her head, he says in a whisper, “You have me.”

Bellamy feels rather than sees the small smile that spreads across her face when she presses it into his collarbone. “Good.”

He slides them both down the bed so that they’re now lying down instead of half sitting, half slumping, and Clarke shifts so that she’s pressed against his side, leg thrown over his. A hand remains on her back, smoothing up and down her spine, and he turns, lips pressed to her hairline as he says, “Get some rest, Clarke. You deserve it.”

Her hand finds his, and twists their fingers together. “We both do,” she says, nosing his ribcage, “We deserve this, and so much more.”

It’s so easy lying there curled up with her, in their own little bubble, despite it only being midafternoon. There’s a softness that tinges everything, from their words to the hands in between them, to Clarke herself, and it’s that softness that has him saying, “We’ll get that. Once all this is over, we’ll get whatever it is you want.”

She shifts against him once more, holding him tighter. “Just this,” she sighs, pressing a featherlight kiss to the pulse fluttering in his neck, “I don’t want nothing but this.”

And Bellamy, with his heart full and warmth seeping through the cracks as he holds her, can’t agree more.

Chapter Text

Dawn is just breaking when Clarke stumbles down next to him, soot stained and weary, leaning heavily on his shoulder. Around them the triage was finally nearing an end, most people heading off to what little was left for sleep.

Octavia still lays in his lap, a furrow between her brows and Bellamy has been focused on nothing but the quiet up-down of her chest for the past few hours.

“How’s she doing?” Clarke asks, her voice hoarse.

He gives a one shoulder shrug, taking care not to jostle either one of them. “Alright I guess. I can tell she’s in pain, but she’s trying to hide it,” he says as he fondly looks down at his sister, tenderly brushing her hair away from his face.

She gnaws at her bottom lip, absentmindedly rubbing circles into Octavia’s hand. “I wish I had painkillers or something to help her-”

“Clarke,” Bellamy interrupts, finally tearing his eyes away from his sister to look at her. Her eyes are glassy, dark purple bruises beneath them and her skin is streaked with soot and ash. She looks as though she’s ready to fall over any second now, and his heart clenches at the thought of her running around and spreading herself thin as one of their only medical officers left.

He lets his free arm shoot out, pulling her into him for a clumsy hug, and she makes a surprised sound in the back of her throat.

“Thank you,” he says, voice cracking. His chapped lips catch on her hair and she smells overwhelmingly of smoke and musk, but he can still make out that faint note of something else underneath, the barest scent of antiseptic and herbs that’s just so Clarke as he presses his face to the crown of her head. “Thank you for saving her.”

Clarke clings to him just as fiercely, he realises, tucking her head into the crook of his neck and taking a shuddering breath. “It was nothing,” she replies, voice thick, “I did what I had to do. Octavia did all the hard work.”

“Still.” Bellamy pulls back, but she doesn’t go far, leaving her fist curled into his jacket and an arm slung around his waist. His own hand drops to her hip, pressing lightly there. “Thank you.”


They both fall silent, watching as their people sort through the wreckage while the early morning sun streaks through the remaining tendrils of smoke.

“You should get some rest,” he says after a while, when the sun is almost fully above the horizon.

“I know but I,” she falters for a beat, eyes dropping as she stares off into the distance, “There’s so much that we need to see about now.”

“You’re no use dead on your feet,” he scolds her gently, before smoothing his hand up her side, “Everything will still be here to figure out in a few hours.”

Clarke slumps, letting her head drop onto his shoulder, and he feels the expansion of her chest as she breathes him in. “Can we figure it out later?”

His lips tick up at the familiar words, and Bellamy lets his head drop on top of hers. When he closes his eyes, he can pretend, just for a moment, that everything is okay. That the air isn’t cold and heavy with smoke, that people aren’t already dying, that they’ve somehow found that one miraculous solution to all their problems.

Her hand sneaks into his, linking their pinky fingers, and his breath catches when she squeezes gently.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he breathes out, before squeezing back in turn.


Chapter Text

“If you keep glaring at everything like that, you’re gonna have wrinkles before you’re thirty.”

Bellamy ducks his head, a rare grin darting across his face as he catches his girlfriend in his arms before she can stumble into the wall.

“It’s called ‘supervising’,” he corrects her primly, and Clarke just leans forward to blow a wet raspberry against his cheek. He can smell the alcohol on her breath and smothers another grin in her hair. “Someone needs to make sure you drunks don’t injure yourselves,” he says, pinching the soft skin of her hip where her shirt has ridden up.

“It’s called ‘being a stick in the mud’,” she shoots back before pulling away and taking his hands in hers. “Come dance with me.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t dance.”

“Don’t or can’t?” she asks, hitching an eyebrow.

“Don’t,” he replies, brushing a hand over her exposed shoulder. “But don’t worry, you’re dancing enough for the two of us,” he adds on with a smirk.

It was the understatement of the year.

Clarke, when given the correct sugar to alcohol ratio, is a notoriously bad dancer. She’s a ball of energy, enthusiastic spins and flailing limbs, a danger to anyone within a five foot radius, and Bellamy finds it absolutely adorable.

(Although, that may just be because he finds everything Clarke does absolutely adorable. She’s his girlfriend, he’s allowed to think that.)

“God, fine,” she says, with a dramatic roll of her eyes, “But only because I love this song and I refuse to spend it arguing here with you. I’ll be back later to drag your boring ass home.”

He bites his tongue so he doesn’t tell her that it’s usually him doing the dragging home after a party. She tends to be all danced out, choosing instead to tell him how pretty he is instead of using her feet properly.

“Have fun,” he calls after her instead, “Try not to break Miller’s nose when you’re doing the sprinkler again.”

She replies very succinctly by flashing her middle finger at him.

Bellamy will admit that after that he doesn’t pay quite as much attention as he should to the crowd around him. He can’t really be faulted, not when Clarke is standing just a couple feet away from him, jumping out of time to the song. He’s accustomed to seeing more refined dancers trying to pick him up at the far and in between parties they’ve had in the past, but there’s just something about Clarke and her unrestrained enthusiasm that draws him to her.

Honestly, this was probably her plan all along to get her way, draw him out to her with her absolutely horrendous dance moves, because no more than ten minutes later is he sliding through the mass of bodies to get to his silly girlfriend, who’s currently moved on from wild jumping and flailing to what looks like a botched version of the macarena.

She seems to have gotten her hands and hips wrong and he snorts when she does a full body wiggle instead of a shimmy.

Again, it’s adorable.

He sidles up behind her, and can pinpoint the exact moment she realises that it’s him and not some stranger because that’s when she leans back against his chest, trying to rope him into doing whatever fusion of wiggling and flopping she was attempting before he arrived. He goes with it, though not without trying to subdue their erratic movements just a little.

At the end of the song, she turns to him, skin tinged a pretty pink as she pants hotly into his neck, and it sends his thoughts somewhere else. Bellamy has to clear his throat twice, looking down at her through the bird’s nest she calls hair.

“I thought Bellamy Blake doesn’t dance,” she crows, looping her arms around his neck and drawing him closer.

“I wouldn’t really call that dancing, babe.”

“Still. You were pretty adamant that you were too cool for school.”

It takes a significant amount of restraint to not lose it right there after that comment of hers. Instead his hands settle on her waist and he drops his forehead against hers, giving her a half shrug. “I’ve come to realise that there’s a lot of things Bellamy Blake says he doesn’t do and then would end up doing for you, Clarke Griffin.”

She stops swaying for a moment and just looks up at him.

And then she bursts into a full on belly laugh that has her bent double gasping for breath.

Honestly, he would be put out if it were anyone else, but Clarke’s laughter just has a sort of warm fondness blooming at the centre of his chest and he finds himself chuckling along with her and gathering stares from everyone around them.

“What a line,” she teases, wiping tears from her eyes.

Bellamy just flashes her that lopsided smile, the one reserved just for her, and presses a kiss to her temple. “As if you don’t like it.”

She manages to grab hold of his collar before he can get too far, nose skimming across the line of his jaw. “I like you,” she murmurs, stumbling into him a little as she leans up for the kiss.

It’s a bit messy and wet, and Clarke all but throws herself at him, leaving Bellamy to grunt and stumble back as he’s hit with all her weight at once, but he finds his footing easily enough, kissing her back just as eager. She has one hand on his cheek and the other in his hair, and when he licks into her mouth, he can taste the laughter on her tongue, mingled with the bitterness of moonshine, and feel the silent energy thrumming through her wherever they touch.

It’s certainly not the best kiss they’ve ever shared, but it’s not like he’s going to complain. Bellamy loves kissing Clarke in all shapes and form, even when she’s three sheets to wind and failing to move in time with the rhythm.

“You’re ridiculous,” he breathes, bopping the tip of her nose with his, and she scrunches it up. He drops a kiss on it quick.

She pulls out of the circle of his arms, tangling their fingers together as she leads him into the middle of the crowd, where the music and chatter is the loudest. It leaves her pressed up against him as she jumps out of time, hands waving and pumping and almost socking him in the jaw twice in the span of three seconds.

“Whatever,” she has to yell over the noise, tipping her head back to look at him. Her eyes glitter in the dim light and once again he finds himself tipping his forehead so that it rests against hers. She throws a cheeky wink at him. “You like it.

Bellamy can’t help but bark out a laugh at the echo of his words. “Well you’re certainly not wrong,” he says before burying his face in her neck and covering it with sloppy, smacking kisses that leaves her pink and squealing.

Chapter Text

Usually in the warmer months Bellamy couldn’t wait to leave his stuffy, muggy tent to attend to the day’s work. At least outside there was some breeze to help with the oppressive heat, and he could sneak a dip in the nearby river if he so wished.

But now, things have a changed.

Now he has a properly ventilated cabin instead of a tent, now he has an actual bed instead of a pile of fur, and now he has someone to share that bed with every night instead of being on his own.

For someone so small, Clarke manages to occupy the entire bed and then some, her left foot dangling off the edge.

Her head is pillowed on his chest, clinging to his bicep as she snores something awful, her hair a bird’s nest around them. It gets in her mouth, and his mouth too, and yet he still keeps her there, a gentle hand tracing the bumps of her vertebrae as she sleeps on.

“Clarke,” he murmurs softly, nosing the crown of her head. “Clarke, babe, I need to get up.”

She makes a soft sound of disagreement, brow wrinkling as she presses her face into his sternum, almost butting his chin in the process. He has to tilt his head up to avoid getting hit.

Clarke ,” he whines, “I have work.”

“I don’t,” she grumbles. The sun has already risen, light dripping through the curtains, and the air has begun warming up. Their bare skin sticks together uncomfortably where they touch but it doesn’t stop her from snuggling further into him.

“Not all of us have mornings off,” he says, fingers trailing over her scapula now. If he tickles her, she might squirm away, leaving him with an out.

She finally cracks her eyes open, glaring balefully at him. “You could have morning off you know,” she says, “You never take time off. Kane wouldn’t mind.”

“I’m supposed to inform him before I take time off, not miss my shift.”

“You’re taking inventory today. No one’s going to miss you,” she sighs, arching her body against his so that the thin blanket slips down, catching on the curve of her ass. His fingers itch to follow its path, but he knows exactly where that’ll lead and it involves him being later than he already is.

Clarke on the other hand has no qualms about keeping him back or playing dirty, letting her hand drift beneath the sheet to scritch her nails against the inside of his thigh, making him twitch. “You can just tell Kane that something ah, came up between us,” she smirks, grasping him loosely in her hand as she begins to press soft, sleepy kisses to his neck.

“I don’t think Kane is going to buy that excuse,” he says, voice tight as he tries to keep from jerking his hips. Bellamy twists his face, “Also please stop mentioning Kane. You’re really killing the mood here.”

“Shut me up then,” she hums, craning her neck up so that she can draw his earlobe in her mouth, teeth dragging against it. “I know you’re good at that.”

He flips them over in one fluid movement, pinning her to the bed. Clarke’s hair fans out around her head like a halo and she grins up at him as her legs come to link behind his back, pressing their hips together.

“I have to get to work,” he says, but it sounds weak even in his own ears, especially when Clarke lets go of him and curls that hand around his neck, drawing him down so their noses brush.

“Stay just a little while longer,” she wheedles, lips ghosting across his with each word she speaks. “You can be just a little late.”

She doesn’t give him a chance to reply, instead reaching up to close the gap between them. It’s probably for the best, since Bellamy was two seconds away from caving and staying the whole day with her.

Clarke’s kisses are slow and lazy, still half asleep as she draws it out as long as possible. He fits one of his hands under her head to change the angle, and licks into her mouth, deepening it while his other hand skims down the side of her bare body.

They’re both breathing hard when they finally pull away, foreheads still pressed together, and her eyes are dark and wanting as she observes him.

“Fuck it,” he mutters, kissing her cheek before drawing up a bit to shove the blanket off entirely. The air doesn’t do much to help cool their sweaty skin; in fact it probably makes things worse, but it doesn’t matter, not when Clarke is smiling up at him wide and unrestrained like that. “Looks like you get your way babe,” he says, sliding down to nuzzle against her jaw.


“You’re turning me into a delinquent,” he mumbles as he rains kisses down on the side of her neck and over her breasts.

Clarke just tangles her fingers in his hair, tugging on it just a bit so that he looks up at her. “You were already a delinquent,” she winks, “Since the first drop. Now get to work. You have to make up for waking me up earlier than necessary this morning.”

Bellamy flashes her a rakish grin, grazing his teeth over her nipple before kissing down her stomach, making her giggle. “Yes ma’am,” he says with a mock salute, and soon enough her giggles trail off into moans.


Chapter Text

Despite all that they’ve been through, Clarke has never really hated Roan.

When he was her kidnapper she was more scared than anything, and then soon he became an ally in the snake pit that was Polis. Sure she might not agree with everything he does, but she’s come to have a soft spot for the man, especially after he agreed to trade with them even though the Ice Nation hated the Sky People.

The treaty that resulted from that alliance was another story however.

“Most Azgeda alliances are sealed with a contract,” he tells them, staring them down across the table.

“Anything,” she says. It had been a long couple of days in the Ice Nation. Snow had been amazing at first, but then the novelty soon wore off, and Clarke hates having to wear several layers of clothing each day. She is anxious to get back home, and from the way Bellamy keeps on drumming his fingers against the empty holster at his thigh, she can tell that he is too.

Roan lifts an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t be so fast, Wanheda,” he says smoothly, ignoring the way the title made her flinch. He nods at his guards positioned around the room.

Clarke and Bellamy share a look as they clear out.

“Most Azgeda alliances are sealed with a… certain kind of contract,” he explains once it’s just the three of them left in the chamber. He narrows his eyes, his gaze flitting back and forth between the two of them. “A marriage.”

They both go stiff at that, and almost unconsciously Clarke finds his hand beneath the table, squeezing it.

“A marriage,” she repeats, tongue feeling like cotton in her mouth.

If Roan notices the complete 180 in their demeanours, he says nothing. “Yes. Usually the child of the clan’s leader. Sometimes even that leader themselves.”

The muscle in Bellamy’s jaw twitches, and his hand tightens around hers.

“However, there have been some… special circumstances in the past,” he goes on, staring intently at Clarke.

She swallows. “What kind of circumstances?”

“If a leader has no children and is already promised to someone else,” he replies, and then his eyes pointedly slide from her to Bellamy who hasn’t so much as moved since the bomb was dropped. She feels her stomach clench. “If that’s the case then we can still choose to move forward in the alliance. The binding would just be a little bit trickier.”

“So if I was… promised ,” she says, testing the feel of the word on her tongue as she chanced a glance at Bellamy, “Then we could still go through with this whole thing?”


She lets out a gust of air and turns to face him properly. For once his eyes aren’t guarded and she can see the hardened determination that graced his features. If this is what you need me to do, I’ll do it , he seems to say, and Clarke squeezes his hand under the table again, letting her thumb brush over his knuckles. Meeting his eye once more, she gives him the tiniest of nods before turning back to face Roan, who continues to watch the whole thing impassively.

She has to clear her throat twice before she can speak.

“I am promised to someone,” she tells him.

Roan doesn’t seem surprised. If anything he seems amused. “Is that so.”

Clarke nods and then lifts their joined hands to rest on the table. “Bellamy and I are to be married in the spring.”

“The spring is a good time to foster new beginnings,” he hums.

“I’m sorry. I hope we can still find a way to make this treaty work.”

Roan’s eyes are flat out glinting in hidden mirth. “I’m sure we can work something out.”

They spend another two hours hammering out all the new details of the treaty, drawing up new boundary lines and trade routes. It’s so much work that she could almost forget the promise she made hanging over their heads. Almost.

By the time they’re finished, it is already nightfall, and they decline Roan’s invitation to stay the night.

“How’s the alliance supposed to be held up if there isn’t a… bond?” Bellamy asks as they were leaving, facing twisting slightly on the last word. It’s the first time he’s spoken about it since it was brought up all those hours ago.

“With hope and good faith,” he says, and then smirks. “Well that, and the fact that my army is bigger than yours.”

Bellamy scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest in a way she knows is meant to seem intimidating. “A big army is no good if you don’t know how to use it,” he replies, and Clarke decides to intervene before someone could got get stabbed.

“If you two are done measuring the size of your dicks,” she rolls her eyes and Roan continues to smirk while Bellamy glares at him. She elbows him before glancing back up at the king. “Thank you for taking the time to listen to us, King Roan.”

“The pleasure was all mine, Wanheda.”

“I’m gonna bring the rover around,” Bellamy says to her, accepting his guns with a grunt of thanks from the Azgeda warriors. “Stay here.”

She waits until he was out of sight before turning back to Roan, who is leaning against the wall, a picture of ease. “Thank you,” she says, pouring every bit of gratitude she could find into the words. “For not making me marry you.”

For a long while, he says nothing, and just when the lights of the rover could be seen breaking the treeline, he turns to her. “You are not my type anyways, Wanheda,” he says. “Too loud and stubborn.”

Clarke bristles at that, but Roan pressed on, “That, and I’m sure your Bellamy would have razed the very ground I stand on if I dare take you away.”

“It’s not like that-”

“So you always say.”

She swallows thickly. “Bellamy is my friend and co leader,” she maintains, “We’re both willing to do whatever it may take to ensure the betterment of our people.”

“Just not move hundreds of miles away from them.”

“Like you said, I’m our leader,” she shoots back at him. “And he’s essential for the day to day running of Arkadia and the guard. He’s important .”

“What an impersonal way to talk about your chosen.”

“Give it up. You know that he’s not my… chosen. You know that we just lied to your face back in there for the sake of this treaty.”

He pushes off the wall, coming right up in her face. “Yes, I do know that, and while I’m willing to overlook many of your transgressions, Wanheda,” he whispers harshly, “ this is not one of them. My people have not agreed to an alliance of this kind for many decades. If you do not keep up your little lie, it could cost you, and not to mention me, our lives.” He steps back smoothly when the rover pulled up, though not before he added, “Tread carefully little Wanheda.”

She just glares at him as she climbs into the rover, wishing more than anything that she could punch his face in.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Bellamy asks once the lights of the Ice Nation have faded into the background.

“Second thoughts?”

“Hey I’m fine with it. I never expected to get married on the Ark, much less to the Ark’s princess,” he says, nudging her lightly.

Clarke scoffs. “It’s not even a real marriage. We’ll still be co-leaders, you’ll still have your own quarters and run the guard. Nothing is really changing other than the fact that you might have to hold my hand and pretend to actually like me whenever the grounders come to visit.” She pauses for a moment. “Now I know that part might be a little bit hard for you-” she teases, and he barks out a laughing, shoving her into the car door.

“How will I ever live,” he deadpans, and she snorts.

“I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

They lapse into comfortable silence, and Clarke stares out the window, at the tiny pinpricks of light that dust the sky, at the blur of trees they pass. It’s why she likes Bellamy and no one else to accompany her on missions like these; during the journey she can relax and just be .

When they’re twenty minutes out he snickers to himself and she turns to him in question.

“I’m just thinking about how you’re going to explain this to Abby,” he clarifies.

Clarke groans theatrically. “Fuck. I forgot about that. Do you think we can just… skip out that part?” she asks. And then, “Wait, what do you mean ‘you’?”

“You’re acting like your mom actually likes me.”

“She’s does! She’s just… prickly.”

He snorts. “Yeah. Right. Let’s see how prickly she gets when you tell her the alliance came with a free marriage.”

Clarke doesn’t have any response for that so she settles for punching him in the arm. From the way he laughs she guesses that it hurts her more than him.


Bellamy and Clarke get married in the spring, just as promised.

There isn’t an actual ceremony. There’s no audience or aisle to walk down, she’s not wearing a pretty dress, there’s no religious readings or exchange of vows. Instead Bellamy meets her at the medbay, a little sweaty and dishevelled from the drills he’s been running with the cadets all morning. Clarke is in no position to judge him, not when she reeks of antiseptic and she’s pretty sure that there’s a bloodstain on her shirt sleeve.

They make their way to the little cottage a few miles from Arkadia and get an old grounder woman to give them matching tattoos on their wrist, a tiny galaxy no bigger than a bottle cap.

He walks her back to the med bay after the sign the papers in the council chambers and promises to meet her for dinner, just like they do every night.

This time her hand trails to the newly bandaged tattoo as she watches him go.

Thankfully her shift at medical isn’t a terribly busy one, and when she gets back to her cabin, Bellamy is already there, heating a pot of water over the fireplace for tea.

“Here,” he says, pulling a small cluster of flowers from within his guard jacket and thrusting them her way. They’re bright blue and crumpled slightly. Forget-me-nots she thinks as she carefully strokes a petal.

“What are these for?”

“Wedding present.”

“You realise that you don’t actually get yourself a wedding present, right?” she asks, grinning at the way the tips of his ears turn red.

“If you don’t want them you can always throw them out a window or something,” he huffs, stirring in the tea leaves.

“No I want them,” she says, holding them close to her chest, and goes off to search for something to put them in. She ends up emptying the can she keeps her pencils in on her desk and filling it halfway with water before she drops the flowers in.

It’s times like these she thinks about how easy it would be to fall in love with Bellamy. The thing is, she knows that she loves him. She loves him in the same way she loves all her friends- Raven, Monty, Harper. And yeah, sometimes he makes her heart flip when he flashes that boyish smile at her, or when he lets her hold his hand, or when he brings her little gifts from scavenging missions or when-

Well, there’s been a lot more exceptions these days and she’s not blind ; she knows their on the precipice of something . All they have to do is take the leap.

But Clarke’s never been fond of leaps so she sets the can down with perhaps more force than necessary, some of the water sloshing out over the sides, and shakes her head to clear it.

“I can’t believe you brought me flowers,” she snickers as she plops down next to Bellamy, bumping her shoulder into his.

He bumps her back. “I can’t believe you’re being such a brat about it,” he grouses, passing her her plate. “Eat your food before it gets cold.”

“Yes mom .”


The treaty has held for six years.

So has their marriage.

Well, their first marriage anyway.

They don’t make a leap. Instead it’s a gentle slide down, one where she gets to keep her wits about her.

It starts small, with Bellamy touching her more than normal. They’ve always been tactile around each other, but this feels… new. It’s all little things like a hand on the small of her back as they walk, or her hand would find his under the table, a cheek against her head, rocking her back and forth.

And then it’s the dates.

To be fair, they don’t really consider them dates at first.

She’s knows that she’s Bellamy’s preferred scouting partner when he has to go on long trips, and she likes getting away from the hustle and bustle of camp for a few days. She likes camping out beneath the stars while he points out the constellations and tells her the myths behind them. Sometimes they even make a quick detour- no more than a day at a time- to spend a night in the glowing forest.

There are other dates too- trips to the river on lazy afternoons where they lick honey off their fingers while soaking their feet, lunch dates in the med bay or the guard quarters because god knows they both forget to stop and take a minute. Even at night when everyone is huddled around the bonfires, they’d be a little ways off, cuddled together on their own log in their own little bubble.

“You two are nauseatingly married,” Raven tells her one time while she’s helping to repair the ultrasound machine they scavenged from the mountain ages ago.

Clarke lifts an eyebrow, refusing to colour at her words. “We’re not actually married, you do know that, right? It was just to make sure neither of us had to go slum it in the Ice Nation. That’s it.”

The mechanic shoots her an incredulous look. “Sure. Keep telling yourself that you’re not in love with that boy,” she snorts and then while Clarke was still spluttering trying to come up with excuses she adds on, easy as nothing, “Pass me that screwdriver.”

It all really comes to head when a storm damages his cabin and he has to move into hers.

He could have stayed with anyone else, but he didn’t ask, and Clarke was the first to offer. She spends the first few weeks sharing a bed with him, and every night they’d go to bed on opposite sides with as much space as possible between them, and then every morning she would wake up pressed against the hard panes of his chest, an arm looped around her waist, his nose buried in her hair.

It only took her a couple of days to figure it out, and when she did, it practically makes her entire year.

Bellamy Blake was a serial cuddler and it was wonderful .

She usually wakes up before him, and it’s the hardest thing in the world to have to pull herself away from the circle of his arms to get dressed and get the day started. He likes to lounge around, dithering until he has ten minutes left to get to his shift.

She knows by now that she’s in love with Bellamy and she’s still trying to figure out how to tell him when it happens.

‘It’ being the fact that he wakes up before her for once.

It’s not really unusual- sometimes she has the morning off, or sometimes he has an early shift- but never has he woken before her and remained in bed.

When Clarke wakes up, she finds her head pillowed against his chest as usual, arms banded tight around her waist. It’s his breathing that gives it away though; he’s not snoring. In fact, there isn’t actually any sound coming from him even though she can feel the rise and fall of his chest.

She looks up and finds a pair of brown eyes already looking down at her, soft and sleep hazy, as his lips tip up, and she can’t not do anything but lean up and kiss him.

It’s a bit sloppy and the angle is all wrong, but Bellamy makes a soft sound of surprise in the back of his throat before sucking her bottom lip gently in his mouth. His hand cradles her jaw and Clarke twists, crawling up his body so that she could kiss him proper.

“Mmm, good morning,” he murmurs, nose skimming across her cheek when they finally part. She finds herself straddling his chest, her hair falling around them in a tangle blonde curtain, and she grins. She can feel his responding smile against her neck as he presses small, hot kisses to the underside of her jaw.

“Morning,” she sigh. The hand combing through his hair spasms a bit when he bites down on her pulse with blunt teeth.

They don’t leave the cabin for at least another hour- most of which was spent making out until their lips went numb, but they also found enough time to lay everything out on the table- and Bellamy keeps her fingers laced in his as they walk over to the mess hall. He kisses her again when he leaves to run exercises with the cadets, and Clarke is walking on air for the rest of the week .

Of course, it doesn’t take long for their friends to talk about the change in their relationship, and even less time certain objects of value to be exchanged.

“They made bets on us,” she tells him, outraged, one night after she first found out.

Bellamy hums against her thigh, pressing a quick kiss to the soft skin there. “I would have bet on us too.”

She huffs and aims a kick at him, one which he skillfully dodges. He retaliates with a stinging slap to her inner thigh, grinning when she squeaks. “That’s not the point . The point is that they have no respect for our- fuck ,” she keens loudly when he kisses her through the damp material of her underwear.

“You talk too much,” he mutters, tugging her panties off with his teeth. “Shut up.”

Clarke lifts an eyebrow and then spreads her legs even wider. “Make me then.”

Bellamy smirks up at her, hands dragging up her legs to press his fingers into her hipbones. “Nah. I’m gonna make you scream, princess,” he tells her, and then proceeds to do just that.

(Later, when Clarke is still grumbling about it, he turns to her and says, “It’s because everyone knew this was inevitable.”

“You thought we were inevitable?”


“So why the hell didn’t you do anything before Roan forced us into this?” she asks, hitting his arm.

“Ouch! I was working up to it, okay? I had a plan , jesus.”)

(Coincidentally it’s also the first time they both say ‘I love you.’)

It takes them a year and a half to get there, but they eventually have a second wedding.

There’s maybe ten people at most in audience and there’s an aisle for her to walk down this time, with Bellamy waiting for at the end, wearing an old but clean jacket that’s snug at the shoulders. It’s crisp autumn but that doesn’t stop her from wearing a light cotton dress and getting forget me nots braided into her hair. They have vows this time, something they cobbled together from the old books he owns, and at the end he presses a dry, chaste kiss to her lips.


“Do we really have to invite him?” Bellamy grumbles for the umpteenth time, making a face as Clarke tidies up the cabin.

He’s still in bed, sporting sleep mussed hair and pillow creased skin with the blankets shoved down to his hips as he pouts up at her, eyes still glazed over with the remnants of sleep. Claudia is balanced on his bare chest, chubby fists resting on his sternum as she continues to doze, blissfully unaware, and Clarke aches to crawl back into bed to join them.

Instead she tries to focus on the task at hand- folding the laundry- while trying to bite back a laugh. Bellamy has never really gotten over his dislike of Roan (“He stabbed me, Clarke.” “And you shot him.” “It’s not the same thing .”) and the other man certainly doesn’t do anything to help matters. If anything he prefers to needle Bellamy, silently egg him on until the he’s left glaring at him, a muscle jumping in his neck, and Clarke is called in to make sure no one strangles the other.

Honestly, it’s like dealing with a pair of seven year olds instead of grown ass men.

It’s been six years since they first entered the alliance with Roan and the Ice Nation, and every spring, like clockwork, they meet up to revise and review the treaty, expounding and abolishing rules as they see fit.

Bellamy has always hated these meetings- she suspects that it has to do with Roan’s smug nature more than anything else- but this time there’s a new undercurrent of tension that flows through him at the prospect of the Ice King visiting the same day as their daughter’s first birthday.

“We don’t have to invite him, but it would be impolite if we don’t,” she says, tucking a bundle of Claudia’s handmade onesies into the top drawer of their bureau.

“Which means we have to.”

This time the smile slips out. Clarke will be the first to admit that Bellamy’s hatred of the grounder king was downright comical at times. Even she has learnt to let go of the past but Bellamy? Bellamy holds a grudge like no tomorrow.

“He’s going to be here to update the treaty anyway,” she tells him. “And Claudia’s birthday clashes with it. Why can’t just ditch him in the council chambers after the meeting is done to go to her party.”

“Yes we can.”

Bellamy .”

He sighs dramatically, cradling their daughter’s head when she starts to stir and he turns to be on his side. It’s a lot to take in sometimes. She’s already weak when it comes to just Bellamy; the way he loves lazy mornings where he can just stretch out in the sunlight, dark skin contrasting beautifully against the pale sheets. Throw in their daughter into the mix and Clarke gives herself maybe five more minutes before she caves and gets back in with them.

Maybe less, she thinks when Claudia finally opens her eyes and smiles, bright and gummy at Bellamy who immediately grins back and starts peppering her face with kisses.

She drops the rest of clothes in the basket and crawls into bed, fitting herself underneath his arm before scooping up Claudia so that she can blow a raspberry to her stomach. Bellamy sleepily nuzzles her cheek, and she drops a kiss on his shoulder as he takes her back.

“I promise you won’t have to interact with Roan any more than necessary,” she says, stroking his stomach and feeling his muscles tense and quiver under her touch.

He’s still pouting, and she leans over to kiss it off his face, taking care not to jostle the baby between them.

“You better,” he grumbles, fingers trailing over her cheek. Claudia is babbling between them, more drool than anything else, and he reaches down to tweak her nose too. “If he tries to take Claud from me I’m shooting him in the ass.”

Clarke just sighs, and figures that’s as much of a concession that she’ll get from Bellamy on the matter.


Roan arrives with his delegation a couple hours earlier than expected, and Bellamy is the one there to receive them, Claudia resting against his chest in the sling Raven made for him.

Clarke almost drops the forceps she was sterilizing when she hears the news, and all but runs to the main gate to make sure everyone’s limbs are intact.

Thankfully they are, and she reaches just in time to see Roan peer down into the sling and say, “So this is the new addition. She takes after you.”

It’s an understatement to say the least. Claudia has inherited everything from Bellamy- his hair, his eyes, his freckles. Even her skin is just one shade lighter than his sunkissed one, and Clarke would swear that if she hadn’t carried her for nine months she wouldn’t even know the child was hers too.

Bellamy is more than a little smug about it.

(“She has your mouth though,” he tells her when she grumbles about it for the millionth time. He leans over and presses a smacking to her forehead. “She’s just as bossy and loud as you are.”)

Clarke jogs the last few yards to meet up with them, bumping Bellamy with her hip and wiggling a finger at Claudia for her to try and grab. “Roan,” she says, flat, “You’re early.”

“We heard there was a party,” he smirks, and nods at one of his riders to bring forward a box. “A present. For the little one.”

She stares at it warily. “It better not be like the last present you gave me,” she warns, and he huffs out a laugh. Meanwhile Bellamy continues to glare at him, cradling Claudia to his chest.

“I can assure you, it isn’t.” And then after a pause, “Although I’m sure any child of you two is bound to be nothing but trouble so maybe I might have to get her a present like that eventually.”

Bellamy snarls at him and Clarke rests a hand on his forearm. Roan, satisfied that he finally did something to get under Bellamy’s skin, smiles and then gestures to his men to open his box.

They both lean forward to take a peek at it and-

“Are those-” her brows furrow.

"Dolls?” Bellamy finishes for her, looking just as confused as she is.

“What did you expect?” Roan asks, rolling his eyes.

Never one to back down, Bellamy immediately snipes, “I don’t know, a severed goat’s head?”

“Those are reserved for when they hit ten years,” he shoots back and then hands one of them to Clarke. It’s surprisingly soft, crinkling when she grips it tight, as though it was filled with straw, and looked similar to ones she used to see in pictures on the Ark.

Claudia, fed up off no one paying attention to her, begins to squirm, and Bellamy scoops her up in his arms. Her gaze almost immediately zeroes in on the doll held in Clarke’s hands, and she reaches for it, gurgling to herself.

“Well she likes it,” he sighs when Clarke hands it over and Claudia immediately shoves the head in her mouth, drooling all over it. He adds, low just enough for Clarke to hear, “Guess that means I can’t burn them after he’s gone.”

She steps on his toes until he grunts. “ Bellamy .”

Turning back to Roan, she gives him a warm smile. “Thank you for such a thoughtful gift.”

“It was no problem, Wanheda,” he says, dipping his chin, and Clarke beckons to the guards standing at the gate to come and take their horses to the stables as they enter, directing them to their lodgings and the mess hall in case they were hungry, and getting someone to deposit the box back at their cabin.

They linger at the back of the group, Claudia still chewing away happily at her new toy and Bellamy huffs. “I guess I won’t shoot him in the ass this time,” he says grudgingly, bouncing their kid on his hip until she laughs, and Clarke ducks her head so he won’t see her smile.

“I’m glad you’re finally growing as a person,” she tells him, patting his chest, and he catches her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

“It was bound to happen eventually,” he sighs dramatically, and this time she can’t hide her giggles, leaning into his side as he drapes an arm around her shoulders, the three of them heading home.


Chapter Text

Despite everyone saying otherwise, Bellamy is actually a pretty good roommate.

Clarke moved in with him a few months ago and, according to all of their friends, it was going to end in disaster. She’s pretty sure Jasper even went as far as to say that they might kill each other which was a little insulting.

The thing is, she knows how her relationship with Bellamy looks to the average outsider. They fight and bicker and argue about everything . There’s nothing she can say or do without him getting on her case, and she knows that it’s probably the same for her too. They like arguing with each other. That’s just their thing. She doesn’t know why it’s so hard for their friends to understand that.

But fights aside, Bellamy is a good roommate.

He always takes out the trash on time and is considerate enough to pick up a carton of her soy milk whenever he realises she’s running low and he actually likes doing the dishes which almost made Clarke weep with joy when she first found out. Sure, they’re not perfect by any means- he has a bad habit of leaving the toilet seat up and she never remembers to clear her hair out of the shower drain- but he’s still one of the best people she’s ever lived with.

And then school starts back in the fall.

She knows that Bellamy is a high school history teacher, but it was never really one of those things that ever came up between them. When she moved in, it was July, meaning school was out and he was on break. Clarke keeps an eight to four job at the free clinic in the city so she got used to not seeing him in the morning. She would leave coffee in the pot for whenever he finally rolled out of bed, and he would already start prepping for dinner by the time she stumbled back in and collapsed on the couch.

They have a system. She’s gotten used to their pattern.

So when she wakes up on Monday, she stops dead at the sight of him puttering around the kitchen, still soft and sleep hazey in his pyjamas, his glasses sliding off the bridge of his nose.

“Morning,” he says when he finally notices her standing in the doorway.

It jerks her out of her stupor and she grunts in return. He already has the Keurig up and running so she settles on grabbing a few snacks for work. She chucks a granola bar and an apple in the oversized tote she loves so much for breakfast and she’s deciding whether she’ll head to the cafe down the street for lunch or drag herself down to the cafeteria for shitty hospital food when Bellamy throws one of the sandwiches he made at her.

It almost hits her square in the face and she fumbles to catch it.

“That’s lunch,” he says, ignoring her huff. He finally glances up at her. “You’re welcome, princess.”

Clarke pulls a wry face and shoves it in her bag too, feeling a bit warm inside. “Thanks.”

He just winks at her and rests his own foil wrapped sandwich next to his messenger bag. The warm feeling quickly dissipates when she sees him heading to the bathroom and she glances at the clock.

“Hey!” she calls out, scrambling after him. She manages to wedge her knee between the doorway before he could lock it shut and Bellamy lifts an eyebrow.


“I need to shower,” she says, shouldering past him and slipping inside.

Behind her Bellamy scoffs. “Yeah, so do I. Wait your turn princess,” he says, wrapping a hand around her upper arm and dragging her back towards the door. It takes some effort on her part but she manages to shrug him off eventually, batting his hands away and marching right back in.

“I have to be at work in half an hour and it already takes me twenty minutes to get there with traffic,” she huffs, shoving down her pyjama bottoms. Her sweatshirt is long enough to cover everything, but it still doesn’t stop his eyes from dropping to her legs for a second before sneering at her.

“Well then maybe you should learn to wake up earlier, princess,” he shoots back and Clarke pinches the bridge of her nose.

“You know what? I don’t have time for this,” she says, shouldering past him and pulling the shower curtain back. He makes a protesting noise in the back of his throat, one that quickly morphs into a squeak of surprise when she tugs off her shirt right in front him.

“Jesus, Clarke,” he swears, whirling around. If she squints, she can see the barest hint of colour creeping up the side of his neck “Give a guy some warning.”

“Look either you shut up and get out, or suck it up and get in,” she says, completely ignoring him. She slides her underwear down her legs and throws it on the heap of clothes where it lands with a muffled ‘fwump’. “Your choice.”

“Get in ?” he splutters, still staring hard at the scratch on the door. “You mean in the shower ? With you ?”

“Don’t be such a baby,” she snaps, twisting the faucet to get the shower going. There’s the telltale creak and rumble of the pipes before the water actually starts running.

“You’re naked. I’ll be naked. Is this not weird for you?”

“I work at a hospital,” she deadpans. “I’ve seen more than my fair share of naked people. It loses it’s novelty after a while.”

She can see him deliberating as she waits for the water to heat up and tries not to feel too self conscious standing naked a mere five feet away from a fully clothed Bellamy. If only he would hurry up and do something.

“My college roommate and I used to do it all the time,” she says in an effort to spur him on. “It really doesn’t have to mean anything.” Clarke decides to neglect the fact that she and Niylah were also fuckbuddies.

She can pinpoint the exact moment he makes up his mind, shoulders tensing beneath his threadbare t shirt, and she tries to bite back a victorious grin.

“Fine,” he sighs, pulling his shirt over his head as his hands drop to loosen the knot on his sweatpants. “But I’m only doing this because I have to catch my bus in twenty minutes. And we need to figure out another, more viable solution for this-”

“Can we figure it out later?” she says dryly, cocking a hip as she stares plainly at him. “There’s a draft.”

He shuts up, but not before glaring balefully at her.

“This is ridiculous,” he hisses, climbing in behind her and pulling the shower curtain shut. Bellamy refuses to even glance in her direction, and Clarke cheerfully ignores him.

“But it saves time,” she quips before nudging his side. The brush of her wet skin against his startles him more than she’d expected, and he almost slips on the tile trying to jump out of her way. “Pass me my face wash.”

They manage to get done without any overly awkward moments; their shower is fairly big plus neither of them have time to dawdle this morning.

Bellamy is annoyingly straight laced about the whole thing though, going even as far as to turn his back towards her as he lathers up and she has to bite back a grin. Clarke isn’t nearly as innocent though, and if he catches her checking out his toned muscles well, no one can prove it.

(He really is annoyingly ripped, and she’s not sure if she wants to sketch the lines of his body or run her tongue across them. It’s a problem.)

He still isn’t looking at her when he hands her her towel, and Clarke secures it under her arms while he wraps his around his waist.

“We’ll talk about this later,” he says, cheeks still oddly flushed.

“Yeah, yeah. Hurry up and get changed grandpa. You have ten minutes before your bus gets here,” she replies, letting her eyes dart back down for one last glimpse of his abs before she slips past him to get changed. “Don’t wanna be late for the first day of school. Gotta go embrace those freshmen, right?”

“Fuck off, Griffin.”

They don’t talk about it when they get home.

They’re both exhausted after work, to the point where they end up flipping a coin to see who should call and order Thai take-out for dinner because they’re both just about ready to die .

So they end up sharing the shower again the next morning.

And the one after that.

And then the one after that.

And then it just… becomes a thing.

“You know, if you got up a few minutes earlier this wouldn’t happen,” he says, taking the bottle of body wash from her.

“Why don’t you get up earlier instead,” she mutters, pushing him out from under the stream of water so she could rinse off. It’s a testament to how far they’ve come- how often they do this- that he doesn’t jump out of the way when she touches him. Now he just huffs and steps aside, though not before leaning in to get his 2-in-1 for his hair. She tries to ignore the smell of his soap this close.

“I stay up late writing lesson plans and grading essays,” he says. “I need all the rest I can get.”

“So? I spend my day saving lives. I need all the rest I can get.”

“You work at a clinic, not an emergency room.”

“Cases of flu can become life threatening. And don’t get me started on STIs. Chlamydia can cause you to go blind.”

He ducks his head, biting back a smile. “Alright, you’ve proved your point.”

Blindness Bellamy.”

I’m going to go blind if my shampoo drips into my eye,” he groans. “Move.”

“No you won’t,” she shoots back, just to be contrary, but shifts so that he can duck under the water.

It’s not like they share every shower together. It’s only in the mornings when they’re both half asleep and in a hurry to get out of the apartment. It’s no big deal. Bellamy still tries to be fairly modest about it but she’s still grown accustom to seeing his dick soft between his legs, and she’s pretty sure that her breasts have lost their novelty sometime during the first week.

Still, Clarke forgets that it actually is a big deal for people who aren’t her roommate. Like Raven, who she had made plans with last week to go shopping and then completely forgot about them until she showed up at their door.

“Shit,” she swears, blinking the sleep out of her eyes as she steps aside to let her in. “We had plans.”

“I’m going to assume you forgot and not that you’re heading out in sheep print pyjamas,” Raven says graciously, throwing her purse onto the sectional and kicking off her sandals.

“Yeah, it’s been a long week,” she says, muffling a yawn into the crook of her arm. Flu season always brings in an influx of patients, some of which are notoriously terrible to work with, at the clinic.

The door swings open again and both of their heads swivel to see Bellamy walking in in all his sweaty post run glory.

He quirks an eyebrow when he spots Raven sprawled out on the couch and glances back at Clarke. “Plans?” he asks, draining his nalgene and setting it on the kitchen counter.

She shrugs. “That I forgot about,” she says, trying not to stare too much. She may have gotten accustomed to seeing naked Bellamy in her shower, but sweaty Bellamy has a special place in her heart. And elsewhere.

“We’re heading to the mall in a bit,” says Raven. “You’ll have the whole apartment to yourself. That means you can jack off to NPR podcasts without your headphones on for once.”

He bares his teeth at her. “Cute,” he says flatly, making his way to the bathroom. “Thank god I don’t have to put up with you all day.”

“You like it,” Raven calls at his retreating figure, and he throws his sweaty workout shirt at her face before closing the bathroom door behind him. She manages to dodge it at the last second and it lands on one of Clarke’s many decorative throw pillows. She snatches it up before she has to end up lysol-ing the entire place again.

“I’m gonna get ready,” she tells Raven. “There’s coffee in the kitchen and I think we have leftover pizza in the fridge if you're hungry.”

“I’m an adult Clarke, I think I can handle a few minutes on my own,” she says, rolling her eyes.

“Yeah, well forgive me for trying to be a good host,” she tosses over her shoulder as she slips into her room to grab a change of clothes.

Clothes secured in a bundle under her arm, she quickly heads towards the bathroom, ignoring the strange look Raven sent her way.

Bellamy barely glances up when she clicks the door shut and places her clothes on the counter. The room is already steamy and she can feel her hair begin to frizz.

“Promised Raven I’ll be ready as fast as possible,” she tells him, stripping out of her pyjamas quickly. He just hums and steps aside so that there’s room for her under the spray.

“Don’t let me keep you,” he says, handing her her body wash before she can ask.

She snorts. “Yeah, you really want us out of the apartment huh? Bet you can’t wait to get the NPR going.”

“Fuck you princess.”

She just grins toothily up at him and flicks soapsuds at his cheek, laughing at the mock outraged face he pulls in response.

Clarke finishes before him, and quickly towels off and gets dressed while he’s shaving.

“We might be out whole day so I’ll pick up something for dinner on my way back,” she tells him, smacking her lips together after applying her lipstick.

“Or you can let me actually cook for once since we’ve gotten take out for the past three days.”

“I’m thinking Italian. I’m in the mood for garlic bread,” she continues, ignoring him and stepping out of the bathroom

Bellamy laughs. “You’re a fucking mess, Griffin!” he calls after her and Clarke flips him off behind her back while grinning at Raven.

“Ready?” she asks, slinging her purse over her shoulder.

“Yeah,” she says, still looking at Clarke kind of strange.

They spend more time window shopping than actually shopping, but by the time lunch rolls around they still have a handful of bags each. There’s been a sort of awkwardness between them though. She can’t put her finger on it, but there’s something about Raven that’s feeling odd today.

She thinks about asking her while they’re getting lunch at the little hipster cafe tucked away in the corner of the mall, but Raven beats her to it, bringing up the topic herself.

“So,” she starts, picking out the tomato from her sandwich, “You and Bellamy, huh?”

Clarke, who had just texted the man in question a picture of a Julius Caesar mug, looks up with a frown. “What about me and Bellamy?”

Raven stares at her for a moment and then snorts. “Cut the crap, Clarke. I know you and Bellamy are dating .”

She ends up opening and closing her mouth several times before managing to eke out, “No we’re not.”

“Come on. I saw it with my own two eyes this morning. You can stop hiding it.”

“I’m not hiding anything! Bellamy and I aren’t dating!”

She squints at her, trying to determine if she’s lying. “I saw you shower with him this morning.”

“Yeah, so?” Clarke frowns. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Raven gapes at her. “What does that have to do with anything? Seriously? You don’t shower with someone unless you’re bumping uglies.”

Clarke wrinkles her nose delicately. “Okay, one, who even says the phrase ‘bumping uglies’ anymore. And two, yes you can? I used to shower with Niylah all the time.”

“Yeah,” she says slowly, “And you were sleeping with Niylah.”

“We never fucked in the shower!” she objects. “Trust me, I have seen more than my fair share of shower sex related injuries. That’s one thing I’m never going to do.”

Her eyes squeeze shut and she pinches the bridge of her nose. “So what, you and Bellamy are showering together platonically or some shit?”

She feels herself blush. “Yes? It saves time!”

Raven cracks an eye open and stares at her with the most done expression she has ever seen. “You two are a goddamn mess,” she declares, ignoring Clarke’s sputtering and going back to devouring her lunch.

The rest of the afternoon passes far less awkwardly than the morning, but she can’t stop thinking about her words.

Of course Clarke thinks about Bellamy in a sexual way sometimes. He’s hot . He reminds her of almost every hero from a two dollar bodice ripper novel merged into one-- sexy high school teacher with perpetual messy hair and a voice that screams sex. She’s certain that everyone who’s met Bellamy has thought about him that way once or twice. Her roommate is incredibly attractive.

But just because he’s attractive doesn’t mean she actively does anything about these fantasies. Her relationship with Bellamy is perfectly cordial and platonic, no matter how many times she dreams about him between her legs.

She’s still mulling it over by the time she gets back home where Bellamy, true to his word, is cooking them dinner.

“Hey,” he says smiling up at her when she walks in. “Had fun?”

“Yeah,” she murmurs distractedly, setting down the loaf of garlic bread on the counter. She shakes her head to clear it. “Yeah, it was good. How was your day? Any podcasts give you a hard time?”

“You’re a brat,” he says without missing a beat and she grins.

Clarke helps him finish up dinner and they sit together at the table for once instead of sprawled out in front the tv, trading anecdotes about their day. Afterwards she helps him do the dishes, and then follows him into the bathroom. He lifts an eyebrow at her joining him, but doesn’t say anything, just peels off his shirt and chucks it in the laundry basket.

“You don’t think this is weird, right?” she asks, undoing the snap of her jeans.

He glances up at her from beneath his fringe which has fallen into his eyes. “We’ve been showering for well over a month now and you’re just asking?”

“Raven brought it up,” she defends herself, shucking her shirt and bra in quick succession. “Apparently it’s weird for two people to just shower together.”

“It’s a little weird at first,” he nods, “But I don’t really mind anymore. It saves time.”

“That’s exactly what I said,” she huffs, following him into the shower. He reaches around her to twist the faucet and then stays there for a moment. “It’s totally platonic.”

“Oh yeah. Completely.”

“I mean, who cares about your arms anymore?” she says, trailing a finger down his bicep and he turns to face her.

He quirks an eyebrow. “I could say the same thing about your legs,” he says, giving her thigh a light tap, dangerously close to her ass.

“Your abs have almost no impact on me at this point,” she says, raking her nails across the aforementioned muscles and feeling them quiver beneath her touch. His eyes darken slightly and he licks his lips, glancing at her chest.

“Your boobs are definitely boring,” he says, hesitating for a moment before reaching out and circling a nipple with a featherlight touch. Her breath catches in her throat and she has to bite her lip to keep a breathy moan from slipping out.

Her eyes flick down. “I don’t think your dick thinks so,” she says lightly before letting her hand drop. She looks up at him and he swallows, jaw clenching, before nodding, and she runs a teasing finger down his length before grasping him.

His head bows forward and when he exhales shakily, she can feel it ghost across her skin. “I could argue that you don’t think any part of this is boring,” he murmurs, hand inching up towards the apex of her thighs. “You just hide it a lot better.”

She’s been dripping since his arm lingered around her when they first got in, but she’s not about to tell him that.

Her free hand creeps towards his hair and his eyes flitter shut when she combs her fingers through it. “Only one way to find out,” she hums, rolling up onto the balls of her feet so that her lips just barely brush against his skin.

Bellamy makes a sound low in his throat and then he’s shoving her up against the cool tiled wall, kissing her feverishly, and it’s like everything she’s ever dreamed.

She kisses back just as frantic of course, one hand wrapped around his dick, pumping slowly, and the other tangled in his hair as she moans into his mouth, and he takes his chance to lick into her, deepening the kiss.

"Fuck," she whimpers, trying to chase after his mouth when they finally part. They're both breathing heavily.

“Oh princess,” he chuckles. His hand hasn’t moved from its spot high on her thigh, still stroking her skin and driving her mad . He nips at her neck and she’s just about ready to melt in his arms. “I intend on doing just that.”

Their eyes lock for one heated moment, and then it’s a flurry of limbs, struggling to turn the pipe off and get out of the bathroom without slipping. Bellamy keeps his promise, and even goes a bit further, finding out even more than she’d teased.

Later, when they’re still breathing heaving and lying on his now soaked sheets, Clarke huffs out a laugh.

“Okay, so maybe that wasn’t a totally platonic shower,” she gives, and he snorts, throwing an arm across her side and kissing her temple.

“I think that was the least platonic thing to ever occur, yes,” he nods, and she elbows him none too lightly in the ribs.

“Shut up. Platonic showers do exist okay? This was the only time it ever resulted in sex. It’s an outlier.”

Bellamy grins, burying his face in his hair as his hand gently strokes her skin. “Whatever you say, princess,” he says, pressing a kiss to her pulse point. Clarke grumbles, but she can’t stop the truly stupid grin from spreading across her face as she cuddles back against him.

Chapter Text

Saturday, 8: 53 a.m.
Mom and Dad aren’t home

Raven: i don’t mean to alarm anybody but i think bellamy and clarke are dating
Raven: or at least having sex

Harper: [click to view image]

Murphy: you can’t say that and then not expect us to be alarmed reyes
Murphy: some of us have money riding on this shit

Monty: pics or it didn’t happen

Jasper: [click to view image]

Miller: Jasper if you don’t stop fucking screaming i’m coming over there and choking you

Jasper: ooh kinky ;) ;)

Monty: excuse you, i’m the only one allowed to flirt with miller here

Raven: yeah jasper, keep your kinks to yourself
Raven: this is me kinkshaming you

Jasper: jokes on you kinkshaming is my kink

Monty: how much kink could a kinkshame shame if a kinkshame could shame kink

Miller: i will murder all of you is2g

Raven: we already have one psychopath in this groupchat miller we don’t need another one

Murphy: fuck you reyes

Harper: she didn’t say it was you murphy
Harper: … but we all know it’s you

Miller: could you fucks keep it down some of us are trying to sleep
Miller: also i bet on them lasting four months living together pay up

Raven: um we don’t know how long they’ve been together

Miller: you’re just bitter that you lost

Monty: she has a point tho

Miller: wtf you’re supposed to be on MY SIDE

Monty: i’m on the side of justice
Monty: …… and also because i bet that they would have gotten together in september

Murphy: you put way too much trust in blake tbh

Jasper: what exactly happened raven? did you walk in on bellamy scrambling clarke’s eggs ;) ;)

Monty: dude no one even knows what that means

Harper: and no one wants to know either

Raven: clarke and i were supposed to go shopping today
Raven: and she overslept
Raven: so she let me in to wait while she got ready
Raven: and then bellamy walks in from his run because he’s a gross fitness junkie

Murphy: you’re a gross fitness junkie too

Raven: quiet jonathan
Raven: so here i am at bellamy and clarke’s apartment and she literally followed him into the shower
Raven: !!!!!

Monty: OMG

Jasper: he could be scrambling her eggs in the shower

Murphy: i gotta give blake some credit, that didn’t take as long as i thought he would

Miller: you bet that they’d get together in june. 2023

Murphy: yeah because blake would rather make moon eyes across the couch at her than make a move
Murphy: he’s a pussy

Harper: hEY





Harper: so we don’t really know for sure how long they’ve been a thing

Raven: nope
Raven: but i’ll ask clarke about it later
Raven: miller, murphy, one of you ask bellamy

Murphy: no thanks

Miller: i rather not

Raven: …
Raven: pussies.

Murphy: OH so she can say it but i can't

Raven: shut up murphy


Saturday, 10: 04 a.m.
Bellamy Blake

Miller: so
Miller: how’s clarke doin?

Bellamy: ??
Bellamy: uh fine?
Bellamy: she’s out with raven rn

Miller: anything… special planned for later?

Bellamy: no
Bellamy: why

Miller: you know
Miller: it’s saturday
Miller: good date night

Bellamy: right
Bellamy: shouldn’t you be telling monty this

Miller: you’re impossible

Bellamy: how am i impossible? You’re the one making no sense!

Miller: so you’re not doing anything tonight. or doing clarke tonight.
Miller: …
Miller: i meant doing anything *WITH clarke tonight fucking autocorrect

Bellamy: i mean we might watch a movie or something but i don’t think so
Bellamy: monty ditch you for his nerd friends tonight so you wanna cry on my shoulder huh

Miller: fuck you blake


Saturday, 10: 28 a.m.
Bellamy Blake

Murphy: u fucking clarke yet

Bellamy: what the fuck NO

Murphy: bummer
Murphy: u should get on that tho
Murphy: or under that
Murphy: or behind that

Bellamy: i will BLOCK you


Saturday, 10: 47 a.m.
Clarke Griffin

Clarke: raven is acting super weird

Bellamy: raven is always weird

Clarke: well yeah
Clarke: but weirder than normal
Clarke: you know what i mean

Bellamy: no yeah i get you
Bellamy: miller and murphy are weird too

Clarke: come on MURPHY is always weird
Clarke: like i wouldn’t be surprised if he sells organs on the black market or something

Bellamy: he’s a chef princess

Clarke: that means he knows where to stab you

Bellamy: goodbye clarke

Clarke: yeah yeah go back to jacking off to npr sorry i disturbed you

Bellamy: fuck you griffin

Clarke: maybe later honey i’m not in the mood for phone sex



Saturday, 11: 38 a.m.
Mom and Dad aren’t home

Raven: OH MY GOD
Raven: i hate them
Raven: bellamy and clarke are IDIOTS

Monty: ??????????

Harper: what happened

Miller: i don’t think they’re dating

Murphy: i asked and he said they’re definitely not fucking



Monty: raven WHAT HAPPENED

Raven: so i asked clarke about the shower thing that i saw this morning
Raven: and like. she doesn’t deny showering with bellamy
Raven: actually it seems like they do it pretty fucking often
Raven: but it’s all PLATONIC
Raven: P L A T O N I C   S H O W E R   S H A R I N G

Harper: i think raven’s brain just broke

Miller: who the fuck even does that

Monty: bellamy and clarke apparently

Murphy: lmao i told you blake has no game
Murphy: he’s naked in a 6x4 bathroom with the girl he has a crush on- who is ALSO NAKED- and he doesn’t do anything about it
Murphy: i’m still amazed that he used to have threesomes in college

Jasper: bellamy used to have threesomes in college???
Jasper: our bellamy??

Harper: jesus fucking christ they’re disasters

Raven: jasper, come over at my place later they only way i can deal with this is with weed

Jasper: ayyyyy i like how you thinkin


Saturday, 10: 52 p.m.
Bellamy Blake

Clarke: i still maintain that showering together can be totally platonic

Bellamy: what we just did certainly was not platonic

Clarke: yeah but we didn’t actually fuck in the shower
Clarke: so it’s still platonic
Clarke: i’m not fucking you in the shower btw

Bellamy: is this out of sheer spite to keep it platonic

Clarke: no it’s because i work in a hospital and i’ve seen more than my fair share of broken dicks because of shower sex

Bellamy: you work in a CLINIC

Clarke: still seen broken dicks tho
Clarke: i don’t want you to break your dick
Clarke: i like your dick
Clarke: and the rest of you
Clarke: you’re great bell

Bellamy: that was weirdly sweet
Bellamy: i like you too
Bellamy: it’s kind of why we’re in a relationship

Clarke: we’ve only been in this relationship for like 4 hours
Clarke: and you didn’t even ASK me to be your girlfriend
Clarke: you just fucked me like i was some two bit hussy

Bellamy: princess will you go out with me

Clarke: good boy you learn quick

Bellamy: that’s not an answer it’s a yes or no question clarke

Clarke: yes

Bellamy: good. now put down your phone and go to sleep

Clarke: orrrrr we could have phone sex ;) ;)

Bellamy: clarke you are literally right down the hall from me

Clarke: hey
Clarke: hey bell
Clarke: i’m not wearing any panties

Bellamy: jesus
Bellamy: you do realise i asked you to stay in my bed with me and you said no right?

Clarke: yeah because my bed is comfortable
Clarke: altho i bet it would be more comfortable with you in it ;) ;) ;)

Bellamy: you are a frat boy in the body of a 27 year old woman

Clarke: you’re one to talk i just heard your door open

Bellamy: … semantics

Clarke: i lured you into my bed with my feminine wiles didn’t i?
Clarke: i really am a two bit hussy

Bellamy: yeah yeah i’m coming

Clarke: you’re not the only one who’s gonna be coming ;) ;)


Monday, 9: 14 a.m.

Clarke: sorry to text you at work but do you think we could keep this quiet for a little while?
Clarke: i forgot to ask yesterday because SOMEONE spent the whole day eating me out

Bellamy: it wasn’t the whole day
Bellamy: more like 4 hours
Bellamy: and yeah, of course princess

Clarke: good, thanks bell <3
Clarke: i just can’t handle seeing her smug little face

Bellamy: yeah i get it
Bellamy: same with me and miller. and murphy too tbh

Clarke: so it’s a secret?

Bellamy: i guess so

Clarke: cool
Clarke: that’s kinda hot
Clarke: *moon face emoji*


Clarke: fine be boring

Bellamy: i’ll make it up to you later ;)


Friday, 6: 13 p.m.
Mom and Dad aren’t home

Miller: god i can’t believe they’re still not together
Miller: i went to pick up blake for a boys night and caught them taking ANOTHER shower together

Jasper: we really should stage an intervention
Jasper: monty is good at powerpoint presentations

Monty: i am good at powerpoint presentations yes

Raven: ‘10 reasons why platonic shower sharing ISN’T A THING’

Harper: nah i think that’s too long for a title

Murphy: ‘Get Married Already’

Monty: concise, but a little too on the nose

Miller: ugh he’s changed his contact name for her to ‘princess’ with a heart emoji i’m gonna throw up

Harper: ‘oh bellamy? he’s just a friend. such a good friend.’

Jasper: cLaRkE aNd I aRe pLaToNiC
Jasper: [click to view image]

Raven: i really really hate them


Friday, 6: 14 p.m.
Bell <3

Bellamy: come on this isn’t fair princess
Bellamy: i just left the house

Clarke: and??

Bellamy: give a guy some warning
Bellamy: miller almost saw that picture you sent me
Bellamy: no nudes out of the blue like that

Clarke: you really are an 80 year old man aren’t you

Bellamy: you weren’t saying that last night

Clarke: touche


Tuesday, 7: 19 p.m.
Mom and Dad aren’t home

Harper: should i go all out with the mistletoe
Harper: maybe we could trap them underneath it

Raven: lbr, bellamy and clarke would call it ‘platonic kissing’

Harper: oh shit u rite

Monty: ‘only real friends shove their tongues into each other’s mouths’

Miller: i say go for it if it can work in the rom coms then it can work here
Miller: these two are probably almost as ridiculous as a rom com
Miller: maybe even more

Jasper: you watch rom coms miller?

Miller: … new phone who dis


Wednesday, 4: 32 p.m.
Bellamy Blake

Raven: tell your wife that she’s on cookie decorating duty for christmas dinner
Raven: we meet at harper’s on sunday to begin

Bellamy: cute reyes
Bellamy: and you know that CLARKE has her own phone right

Raven: yeah, but i’m willing to bet real money that she’s sitting right next to you

Bellamy: no comment

Raven: yeah that’s what i thought
Raven: i guess because you two are joined at the hip that means you have to shower together huh

Bellamy: for the love of god IT SAVES TIME



Sunday, 9: 12 p.m.
Clarke Griffin

Raven: hey i think you left your scarf in my car
Raven: i’m only like a block away i’ll come back and drop it off
Raven: it has frosting on it i’m not keeping this shit
Raven: be there in like 10


Sunday, 9: 21 p.m.
Mom and Dad aren’t home

Raven: OH YM GOD
Raven: YOU G UYS

Murphy: you turned off auto correct?

Raven: i’m going to ignore that

Jasper: what

Monty: are you sure??

Harper: how do you know

Miller: jfc

Jasper: WHAT

Raven: i dropped clarke home a little while ago and made it like a block before i realised that she left her scarf in my car
Raven: so i went back to the apartment and it was empty BUT I COULD HEAR THEM

Murphy: didn’t you fuck blake a few years ago

Raven: yeah but that was before we were FRIENDS



Raven: or trust me, it’s real and i’m SCARRED FOR LIFE

Harper: you mean they hid their relationship from us??

Miller: either that or they both have a huge shower kink

Harper: why would they hide their relationship from us??

Raven: … right after i figure out how to unhear things


Sunday, 9: 33 p.m
Raven Reyes created a new groupchat: BETRAYAL

Raven added Bellamy Blake to the chat

Raven added Clarke Griffin to the chat


Clarke: surprise?


Bellamy: i mean, i don’t really like you that much

Raven: shove it blake

Clarke: we just wanted to keep it to ourselves for a little while

Raven: and how long is a little while hmm

Bellamy: roughly 2 months give or take

Raven: i can’t believe it
Raven: you 2 ruined christmas i hope you’re happy
Raven: you are UNINVITED from tomorrow’s festivities

Raven Reyes has left the chat

Bellamy: god
Bellamy: are all of our friends this ridiculous?

Clarke: i’m 90% sure they had bets about us
Clarke: so yes

Bellamy: whatever who needs friends on christmas
Bellamy: we have cold turkey in the fridge and some potatoes we’re good to go

Clarke: and me of course

Bellamy: you?
Bellamy: oh lemme guess, for dessert

Clarke: actually no i meant you have me, your girlfriend, so you don’t need anyone else
Clarke: but i like yours better
Clarke: *moon face emoji*

Bellamy: of course you do

Clarke: you love it

Bellamy: i love you

Clarke: <3 <3 <3
Clarke: i love you too bell

Chapter Text


Bellamy Blake is a bad influence on Clarke Griffin.

Before she met him she was a novel cop: had a good arrest track, never late a single day in her life, uniform always straight and proper.

After she met him. Well.

“Griffin, you’re late,” Jaha says as she scrambles into the meeting room last minute, uniform wrinkled and hair unbound.

“Sorry!” she squeaks as she quickly takes her seat next to Blake, who flashes her a lazy smirk. She makes sure to elbow him in the gut when Jaha’s back is turned.

“You know, you could have woken me up,” she says, low, and his smirk just widens, even as he feigns a look of mild surprise.

“But then we’d end up walking in together, don’t you think that would be suspicious?” he asks, playing coy.

Clarke steps on his toes under the desk and has to smother a triumphant grin when his jaw clenches in pain.


The first time she meets Bellamy she thinks that he’s going to be one of those guys that’s a complete dick.

She’s wrong of course.

He’s a completely massive dick.

He’s gorgeous of course, but he’s also rude and brash and has a smarmy charm that has everyone else eating out of the palm of his hand but not her though. Clarke can see right through the act he puts up and she decides that from then on she’ll never give Bellamy Blake the time of day.

So of course they end up working together, with him being assigned as her partner within the first week and Clarke wants to pull her hair out when flashes her that irritating grin and winks .

“Morning partner,” he says, the day after they were assigned to each other. He slides a to go cup across her desk and she eyes it warily.

“What’s that?”

He snorts. “Come on Griffin, I heard you graduated top of your class. You can’t be that dumb.”

She glares at him.

He sighs. “Coffee. Sustenance. A gesture of goodwill.”

“Right.” She sniffs it and then takes a small, hesitant sip. She’s lucky that she’s always been able to keep her face impassive, evern under the most dire of circumstances. There’s enough sugar in that one small cup to kill a tiny dog. She can almost feel her blood turning to syrup at the mere thought of drinking the rest of it.

She pastes a smile on her face. “I’m good but thanks. Grab your stuff, someone just called about a break in.”

It’s a clear dismissal, especially when she turns her back to grab her gun and badge from the drawer and Bellamy frowns.


“I can’t believe you let me oversleep this morning!” she says, when they bump into each other in the kitchen after the meeting. Clarke didn’t have time to eat anything considering she woke up twenty minutes before she was supposed to be at work, so she’s resorted to rummaging through the cupboards in hopes of finding something.

“Last time I woke you up for work you spent the entire day complaining,” he says, popping a tupperware in the microwave. “I wasn’t risking that again.”

“Because last time you woke me up with sex ,” she hisses after casting a furtive glance around.

“Yeah well, you didn’t seem to have a problem at the time,” he smirks and she wants to do nothing more than slap his pretty face.

“Wake me up next time,” she tells him and he gives her a two fingered salute as he shoulders past her to fill his water bottle from the cooler.

“Yes ma’am.”

“And stop acting so- so--”

“So what?” he asks, bemused as she struggles to find the right word.

“So fucking arrogant all the time!” she fumes. “You’re always sitting there like you’re the cat that got the cream.”

“I mean, technically I did get the cream.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Thanks.” The microwave dings and he nods towards it. “I made some extra pancakes for you,” he says, “Figured you’d be hungry.”

She blinks at the sudden change in the direction of the conversation.

“Thanks,” she says grudgingly as she takes it from the microwave. Sure enough there are three blueberry pancakes sitting inside the container, her favourite, and he passes the half empty bottle of honey from the fridge.

He nudges her gently with his hip as he walks past. “No problem.”


It takes some time getting used to her new partner.

Bellamy just seems to be the complete opposite of her.

He’s just so… chaotic.

Everything he does seems to have no rhyme or rhythm to it, not even his desk, which is covered in a haphazard stack of files and stationery, or his approach to cases, which half the time seems to just be a stab in the dark and makes it all the more infuriating when he’s right , or just his general demeanor in general.

(When she brings it up that one time he just smirks at her says, “What’s wrong with a little chaos?” and Clarke swears to god that she’s never wanted to smack anyone so hard in her life.)

So yeah. She’s still adjusting to all his… quirks.

“I can’t believe you shoved him to the ground,” Clarke says, watching as Bellamy hauls their suspect to his feet, hands cuffed behind his back already. “You could get written up for excessive use of force.”

He rolls his eyes at her and puts the guy in the back of the squad car, locking him in.

“He was running,” he says deadpan “What was I supposed to do? Ask him to slow down?”

She fumes. “You could be a bit gentler!”

“Wannabe Narcos over there sells drugs to kids. I think I was gentle enough.”

“If he’s bruised he could press charges against you.”

“Okay first of all, he’s a white guy. Y’all bruise if the wind blows too hard,” he snorts. “And second of all he was running from a police officer. A little tumble isn’t going to do anything to him.”

“I can’t believe you.”

“Yeah, yeah, go cry about it to Jaha,” he says, pulling open the driver’s side door and hopping in before staring at her. “You coming?”


“That’s the kind of attitude I love, good job, princess.”

“Call me princess one more time and I’m kicking you in the balls,” she says sweetly and he barks out a laugh,

“Yes ma’am.”


The Dropship is the local watering hole for everyone who works at the 100th precinct. Clarke is introduced to it by Monty and Jasper at the end of her first week and, after several rounds of begging, she agrees to accompany them for after work drinks.

It’s a small but clean hole in the wall, with lots of exposed metal and steel, and has a pool table shoved off in the corner by an old jukebox that plays nothing but old eighties hits.

She even sees Bellamy there that first night. He’s sitting with a couple other officers-- Miller and Reyes are the only ones she can identify by name-- but he does raise his beer in a mock salute when he sees her.

Her hands itch to flash him a middle finger.

Still, the place is pretty nice and she finds herself coming her with Bellamy and a couple of their work friends whenever they manage to close a case.

Every time she comes she always has the same thing: first round rum and coke, second round is whatever IPA they have on tap that she nurses for the rest of the evening, and last is three fingers worth of whiskey that she uses to knock glasses with Bellamy before she calls it a night.

It’s a fairly good system to keep her from getting drunk.

The only night she deviates from her system is when she and Bellamy make a major breakthrough in their drug trafficking case, ending the day with four wealthy businessmen in handcuffs.

That night Clarke gets absolutely shitfaced.

She hasn’t drank like that since college, throwing back shots and downing beer like water. She deserves this.

Of course, with every shot and bottle of beer that she finishes, she can’t help but start noticing why Roma from the human resources department and Echo from biohazards are always hanging around him. Every time she takes a sip of something, his shirt gets tighter or his hair gets messy or something else happens that has her biting her lip and clenching her thighs.

They get called to play beer pong, partners against partners, and annihilate three rounds of it before tapping out and heading to the pool table instead.

“That was some good work out there today, princess,” he says as he chalks the cue stick.

She pretends that she doesn’t feel like preening under the praise, just like how she pretends that she doesn’t deliberately stick her ass out as she leans over to rack up all the balls.

“Thanks. You too,” she says, taking her stick from him.

He shrugs, “Nah, I was just there. Today was all you.”

She bumps his hip with hers. “You don’t give yourself enough credit,” she tells him, meeting his gaze even through the boozy veil that hangs between them, “You’re a good cop, Bellamy.”

She would swear that he blushes. “Thanks Clarke. So are you.”

The air hangs heavy with something else between them, something unspoken, and he’s quick to clear his throat and say, “Winner takes all.”

“Takes all what?”

“Depends,” he asks, a wicked glint coming into his eye as he takes a step closer to her. She instinctively moves back, and feels the edge of the pool table press against the back of her thighs. “What do you have to offer?”

“Money, bragging right,” she pauses before locking eyes with him and adding, “Myself.”

He gins at her, rocking forward on his heels slightly so that their noses touch. “I like the sound of the latter.”

“Well then it’s all yours. Provided that you win of course.”


Clarke doesn’t want to say that she throws the game away but, well.

No one notices that they leave together, and they only make it about two blocks before someone is pushing the other against a wall and kissing them, deep and dirty.

He has a leg between her thighs that she grinds down on shamelessly, breathy little sighs spilling out of her mouth as he kisses her face, jaw, neck.

“Fuck Clarke,” he mutters as his nose skims her collarbone and his hands grab at her chest, “I needed to get my hands on your tits since yesterday .”

She laughs, a breathy silvery laugh, and she can feel his grin against her neck as he gives her tits one last squeeze before parting.

“Come on, my apartment is about ten minutes away,” he says, tugging on her hand, and she follows behind him.


“Hey Blake, can I talk to you for sec?” she asks, and, without waiting for his answer, she gets up and walks over to the evidence locker.

“You know, for someone who’s so obsessed with secrecy, telling me that you want to talk and then walking into the completely private evidence locker is the complete opposite of that,” he drawls when he walks in a minute later.

“Shut up,” she hisses before launching herself at him and patting him down.

“Hey! Woah there Griffin,” he laughs, “As much as I’m sure I’m about to enjoy this, I think HR is gonna have a problem.”

“I’m not doing that, you idiot,” she snaps, blushing a bit as she searches his pockets. “I know you have it.”

“Have what?” he asks, trying to pry her off his person.

“Aha!” She grabs his wrist. “See? I knew you had it.”

She pulls the black hair elastic off his wrist with a snap and quickly bundles her hair and secures it in place. “Stop stealing my hair bands.”

“I don’t steal your hair bands.”

“You’re the only other person who has access to them, ergo, you stole them.”

“No I didn’t.”

“Yeah? So how’d it end up on your wrist?”

Bellamy stays silent and Clarke grins triumphantly.

“Gotcha.” She straightens her uniform and brushes a few flyaways that fell onto her face. “Just for that I’m making you do the arrest report for the Murphy case.”

“Come on princess, arrest reports are your kink.”

“Good bye Bellamy.”


The first time Clarke wakes up in Bellamy’s bed, she manages to sneak out without being noticed and does her best to ignore him over the weekend, choosing to spend her time deep cleaning her apartment and catching up on trashy reality tv. Anything to avoid reminiscing about their time spent together Friday night.

Of course, come Monday morning she has to face the facts: she did sleep with Bellamy Blake and she liked sleeping with Bellamy Blake.

With that she steals her shoulders and heads to the precinct, extra large cup of coffee in hand.

She waits until they’re alone in the squad car to bring it up.

“So about Friday night…” she trails off, hoping he’d take the hint and help her discuss the very painful and very awkward topic at hand.

He doesn’t.

“What about it?”

“Well,” she starts, shifting awkwardly in her seat, “It’s unprofessional for partners to have any sort of relationship beyond friendship and, according to handbook, section four, subsection--”

“We are just friends though,” he says, easy, and she turns to give him an incredulous look.

“I don’t know what kind of friendships you have but I certainly don’t fuck my friends.”

He snorts. “Relax Griffin. I’m just saying, sex is sex. It doesn’t have to mean anything.” He casts a sidelong look at her, smirking. “Unless you don’t want it to, of course.”

“I don’t.”

“Great. Case closed. There you go. You can stop stressing now, you’re going to give yourself an ulcer.”

“Shut up and drive, Blake.”


Clarke is adamant that sex with Bellamy was just going to be a one time thing. One fun, drunken night with good sex. That’s all. Never going to happen again.

And then it happened again.

And again.

And again.

The first few times were always after celebratory drinks. Apparently that was their new way of closing a case. Go out with their work friends. Get drunk. Somehow end up on Bellamy’s kitchen counter while he eats her out.

Then she started going over to his place or he came over to her place when they ended up working late, splitting a mountain of takeout between them before eventually fucking right there on the floor or sometimes even in the shower.

(Sometimes after a really long day, they don’t even have the energy for it, and they end up in bed, his large, broad figure curled around her smaller one.)

(She doesn’t like to think about those times though, because thinking leads to wanting and Clarke refuses to head down that path.)


“Did you seriously just tackle that guy?” he asks when he finally catches up to her, not the slightest bit out of breath unlike Clarke, who’s near panting and red faced as pins their suspect down and handcuffs him.

“Don’t see you catching him,” she says, snapping the handcuffs in place with a click after she finished listing his rights. She hands him over to Bellamy who leads him to the car and locks him in.

“Weren’t you the same one who yelled at me for doing that when we first started working together?” he asks, grinning, and she flushes even further as she remembers that conversation from all those months ago.

“Yeah, well, maybe your bad habits are rubbing off on me,” she grumbles, knocking her shoulder into his.

“Call it what you want but before you transferred here, I had the highest number of arrests in the precinct.”

“Brag much?”

“I’m just saying, my ‘bad habits’ got me somewhere.” He shrugs.

“Maybe. But I also had the highest number of arrests back at my old precinct so. Who’s really winning here?”

“Still me,” he says, laughing at the glare she throws his way.

“We’re a team, dickhead. Your arrests are my arrests.”

“Call it what you want, but we both know I’m right.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re impossible.”

“You like it,” he says with a wink, and for some reason it makes her stupid heart flip.


As much as she likes to pretend that she has her shit together, Clarke is notoriously bad when it comes to personal stuff.

She only has a couple of people she actually calls friends, and even then, it’s not like she’s good at friendship. She only calls them a handful of times a year and almost always forgets to send a birthday card until the very last minute.

She has almost no relationship with her mother and her father died years ago, and she has no siblings or aunts or uncles or cousins that she could be close with either.

As for relationships, well. One ended because she found out that she was the other woman and the other ended in a blow up so bad that she begged for a transfer to move to another city entirely.

So feelings aren’t her things and the furthest she’s gotten with her feelings for Bellamy are that she has them. At least they both agreed that this thing was casual so she can go about her day and ignore their existence.


The thing about being a police officer is that she’s exposed to just how fragile human life is on a daily basis. Everything from murders to fights to drug overdose she’s seen.

So when they’re involved in a shoot out during a stake out of an alleged gang member, Clarke is very much aware of her own mortality as well as that of the man crouched next to her behind the car.

It’s frankly the worst time for an epiphany about her feelings but oh well.

They handle it well enough, with Bellamy drawing out the suspect’s fire and allowing her to get a clean shot at his leg before their back up and ambulances can arrive.

He does get grazed by a bullet though, a small thing on the side of his arm that tears through his shirt, and Clarke is disproportionately worried about him when she sees the slow trickle of blood down his arm.

Both Bellamy and the suspect are taken to the hospital, and Clarke follows after them.

She finds herself pacing outside his room with one of those prepackaged pack of powdered doughnuts that he likes so much until the attending tells her that she can go in.

“Hey,” she says as she pulls back the curtain. He’s sitting on top of an examination table, shirtless, with a stark white bandage wrapped around his bicep.

“Hey.” His eyes fall on the shiny pack in her hands and he lights up. “Are those for me?”


“Thought you called it a heart attack in a pack,” he says, as he rips it open and pops one in his mouth.

“I called it diabetes in a pack,” she corrects him, sitting on the edge of the cot next to him. “And I still stand by that statement. Just thought you could use some cheering up. You know, after you got shot and all that.”

“It’s just a scratch,” he says. “Hurts like a motherfucker, but I’ll be fine.”

“Good. That’s good,” she says, clearing her throat. “I was worried about you for second there.”


Whatever he was going to say after her name gets muffled by the press of her mouth against his, soft and just quick enough to taste the powdered sugar on his lips.

They’ve kissed before. Not often, but sometimes in the heat of things, wet and fast and messy, and this isn’t anything like that. This kiss is quick and chaste and different .

“Partners don’t do that,” he rasps, eyes still closed when she pulls back. He’s still close enough that she can feel his heart hammering in his chest, just as hers.

“You and I both know that you’re more than just my partner,” she whispers, and that’s when he cracks open his eyes, flashing her that crooked smile she’s come to love.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for you to say that,” he says, before cradling her face and kissing her again, deep and wet.

Later, Clarke drives him home and they pick up Chinese on the way, which they eat on his couch while watching old reruns of the Office . After, when the containers are cleared and tv is switched off, they crawl into bed together and make out until their lips go numb.

She settles against him, a tired smile on her lips, and thinks yeah, that she could get used to this being her new normal.