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it's a small world

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Clarke and Bellamy’s son is brought into the world in the early hours of the morning, wailing at the top of his lungs and flailing his little arms and legs as the sun rises, peaking through the curtains of the hospital room. He has ten fingers and ten toes, Clarke double checks as Bellamy, awe-stricken at the sight of their son clips the umbilical cord. Clarke is still calculating, memorizing every inch of him as the nurses carry him away to be cleaned, his soft, strong cries echoing throughout the room. She recalls shouting at Bellamy to follow him, head falling back against the cushion of the pillow to take a breather as he jogs off, taking a breath for the first time in her fourteen hours of labor.


She attempts to run over his image in her mind, her pristine memorization an advantage in medical school, but a saving grace now. He’s small, premature, but Clarke’s seen babies born later and tinier than he is. His lungs are powerful, enough to overtake the bustle of the noisy room, and he kicks his little legs like he’s been practicing for months – which Clarke can confirm, that he has. There’s no way to know for sure, but Clarke – cheek pushed against the pillow and breathing heavily – and her medical knowledge have not noticed any red flags.


And then, call it a maternal instinct, Clarke thinks they’re taking too long. The doctor’s patching her up below, and there’s a chorus of nurses still tending to her, but Bellamy’s not back yet and neither is her son. Her head rises from the pillow, robotically and stern, and a couple choice words fly out of her mouth, demanding to see her son. The staff try to assuage her, but nothing that comes out of their mouth – the medical jumbo she understands or the sweet, reassuring comments – does the trick like the nurse returning with her son in her arms, Bellamy trailing behind with the biggest of grins.


“He’s six pounds,” Bellamy calls out. “Nurse said he would have been huge if you made it to term.”


“It’s because of your cooking,” Clarke chastises, stretching up as her nerves trickle away.


Clarke outstretches her arms, sweat beading down every inch of her. She doesn’t look at Bellamy, but her relieved smile is reserved for him and their son. He’s bundled up now, clean of any of the guck he was entrapped in, and he’s no longer crying. The nurse gently hands the newborn to his mother, securing him in her arms before her, and the rest of her staff seemingly melt away, leaving the new parents and their son alone in the room.


For a bit, all they can do is stare. Bellamy hovers over the two, hand balancing on the head of the bed, eyes marveling over him. Clarke learns every inch of him in a matter of seconds. His big, brown eyes look up at his parents like he knows them, his tiny, wrinkly hands clawing at one another in contemplation. The thickness of his lips rub together, tongue poking out of the seams, similar to his slick, black hair that peaks through his new hat.


“He’s all you,” Clarke whispers, index finger lightly smoothening against his cheek. He’s paler, and a lot more mushed together than his father, but so are all newborns. She leans down, pressing the softest of kisses to the top of his forehead, before retracting to gaze up at Bellamy. “He looks nothing like me.”


“Maybe he’ll act like you,” Bellamy suggests, a playful smile resting on his lips. “And then we’ll really be in trouble.”


Clarke laughs, and it takes all the wind out of her. She’s been up for over twenty four hours at this point and so has Bellamy. They have family waiting in the hall, Octavia not having left and her mother arriving with Marcus just before midnight. Bellamy’s been giving updates, and they’ve all visited Clarke and been on their best behavior, so it would only be fair for them to come see the baby before she steals a couple hours of sleep. But selfishly, Clarke just wants it to be the three of them for a little while longer.


Bellamy leans in closer, pressing a kiss to the top of Clarke’s sweaty, matted hair. His head drops, nuzzling his nose into Clarke’s neck, chin balancing on her shoulder. Clarke tips her head to him, bumping her nose into his, catching sight of his widened eyes, capturing each of their son’s minimal, first movements. Her lips brush against the soft skin under his eye, where a pattern of freckles lay, as she silently hopes the sunlight will have similar effects on their son.


Clarke glances back at their son, his eyes beginning to flutter closed, jaw opening slightly to let out a barely noticeable yawn. Clarke’s heart almost bursts at the sight, and she can’t imagine how this was a life so far from her a year ago. The love that overtakes her is unearthly, filling her chest and constricting her airways, just simply from looking at her son. Bellamy may be right, that they’re bound to be in trouble with this one, this tiny, infant that’s only six pounds, cradled in Clarke’s arms.


“I can’t believe it,” Clarke breathes, “I can’t believe we made him.”


“I’m really glad you lost that fifty dollar bill,” Bellamy whispers, amusement evident in his soft tone. Clarke giggles, and swivels her head to him, blue eyes meeting his as he turns to look at her. His leans his dry forehead against her sweaty one, eyes glistening similarly to hers. “I love you so much, princess.”


“I love you, baby,” Clarke’s voice is barely above a breath, but he hears it.


Bellamy smiles, something heartbreakingly wonderful before he tips closer to capture her lips in a hard, short kiss. He pecks her lips as good measure once after he pulls away, Clarke’s gaze returning down to their son.


Clarke crouches down, her lips brushing against the tip of her son’s nose. “And I love you. More than anything.”



The soft hum of a cry carries throughout Clarke’s apartment, into her bedroom. Her head jerks up from the computer screen, ears straining to detect if the cry is her son shifting about it in his sleep, or signaling that he’s awake. A steady pattern of footsteps echo from the hall, Bellamy seemingly taking reign and allowing Clarke’s attention to return back to the laptop balanced on her lap, Becca Franco staring back at her on the screen.


“Mommy duties call?” Dr. Franco muses with a smile. She bounces her youngest on her lap, and she almost makes the whole parenting gig look easy.


“Bellamy went to get him,” Clarke replies. “I have some more time, if there’s anything further to discuss.”


“I think we covered everything. I’m very impressed with the initiative you’ve taken with the Patten approvals. It may not seem like a lot, but it was incredibly helpful for me, and I know it’s not an easy task to complete, being a new mom and all.”


“I’m lucky I have such an easy baby, and the best partner. I’m also very committed to this project,” Clarke stresses, adjusting herself against the headboard of the bed. She resists the urge to wince uncomfortably. This will be easier when their house is finished, so she can have a proper office space. Until then, she focuses her attention on Dr. Franco, a genuine smile gracing her features. “I found a really good balance between the two.”


Not to say the balance has been easy. For the first couple of weeks, all Clarke did was tend to her son. Adjusting to parenthood was difficult, and it’s been a lot of long nights where her and Bellamy just stay up catering to him and his every need. And she wouldn’t change those precious first moments for anything on this planet, and she loves her son more than her heart can take, but it’s a relief to ground herself back in her work. It’s even more of a blessing that she gets to do it from home, that she’s able to drop anything at the mere murmur of her son.


It’s a little surprising, even now, that Clarke’s so willing to do it – abandon everything at the drop of a hat just to be present for her son. Bellamy’s home after three o’clock on weekdays, and now with the end of the school term, he’s with them almost every day. While he’s in every position to take the brunt of responsibility, Clarke jumps at the chance to take care of him, no matter what she’s doing. The balance is difficult, and sometimes it’s hard for her to focus in when her son’s laying idly in the next room, but having him so close is the most positive motivation that Clarke’s ever had before.


Dr. Franco smiles knowingly at Clarke, the challenges of motherhood being a shared bonding experience for the two. They’re not on a first name basis, still strictly under the professional realm of their relationship, but Clarke’s grateful that she has a boss so understanding of the life of an academic and a parent. Bosses in the past have shown themselves not to be as comprehensive. 


“That’s all you need really,” Dr. Franco ruffles her child’s hair, before setting him off her lap and sending him on her way with a cheery grin. “I look forward to working with you, Dr. Griffin. I will see you in two months.”


Clarke nods, saying her goodbyes to her boss before clicking off the video chat program. She huffs, slamming her laptop closed in exasperation. After a two hour meeting filled with constant medical terminology and practices, procedures to learn, policies to follow, Clarke feels like collapsing on the bed and falling asleep. She glances at the clock on her nightstand, reading just after nine pm. It’s way too early to fall asleep, especially when Bellamy’s not with her and their son is seemingly wide awake.


The tiredness in Clarke’s eyes dissipates as she throws her legs off the bed, getting to her feet. She thought the antsy feeling that crept into her bones whenever she went to see her son would ease after the first couple of weeks. But now, their son is two months old and she’s still eager to get a hold of him, even though she’s practically around him twenty four seven. Quietly, she tiptoes to the nursery, careful just in case Bellamy successfully rocked their son back to sleep in under five minutes. She peaks her head in the room, her heart melting at the sight before her.


Bellamy’s hips are swaying back in forth, whispering in hushes as their son coos in his arms. His back turned to her, he doesn’t notice as Clarke leans against the doorway, too engrossed in the scene to interrupt.


“Mommy and daddy haven’t even went to sleep yet,” Clarke can hear the grin on Bellamy’s face. “Don’t you know the rule? You have to sleep so we can sleep.”


Clarke tiptoes further in to the nursery, the creak of the floorboards earning Bellamy’s attention. He glances over his shoulder, smiling when he sees her enter the room. Clarke wraps her arms around the base of his torso, leaning up to brush her lips against his. He returns the chaste kiss, before swiveling his head back around to their son. She peaks over his shoulder, watching as their son’s eyes struggle to remain open.


“He’s a fighter,” Clarke comments, earning a low chuckle from Bellamy.


“He’s usually so good,” Bellamy muses. “I think he’s learned that if he’s asleep, he can’t spend time with your boobs. But I like your boobs, too.”


Clarke giggles into his shoulder, smiling giddily. “What he says goes.”


“Like princess, like prince,” Bellamy glances over at her once more, a playful smirk toying on his lips. Clarke takes advantage, decidedly ignoring his joking comments to peck at his lips.


“I’d prefer if you use his name.”


“You once said that about your name.”


“I still prefer Clarke to princess.”


“Hm,” Bellamy hums, his small smirk telling her exactly how unconvincing she is. He steals one more kiss from her lips, before his gaze returns to their son, half-asleep in his arms. “You’re royalty, like your mommy, huh, August?”


She could never tire of hearing his name, August never failing to surge her heart with an overwhelming sense of pride. Whether it’s just hearing Bellamy say their son’s name, or August doing something as miniscule as yawning, Clarke’s in awe every time she wakes up and remembers she gets to be his mother. Every time she curls into the opposite end of the bed to embrace in Bellamy’s arms. Every time she wakes up to a cry, the happiness that overpowers how fucking tired she is whenever she’s the one to appease him. It’s a different type of proud, estranged from the success she accomplishes academically, but still makes her feel on top of the world. This time, with two new companions at her side.


Clarke leans her head against Bellamy’s upper back as he talks to their son. Her grip tightens around Bellamy’s torso, swaying with him as he lulls their son to sleep. The soft vibrations of his voice echo throughout his body, resonating through Clarke’s as they move in sync. By the time August is fast asleep, they’re still moving, just the three of them. It’s just the three of them.


Maybe it should be alarming how Clarke’s heart physically aches when Bellamy leans down to place August, fast asleep, back in his crib. That she already misses the sight of him, even if he’s just a couple of feet away. Bellamy runs his hand over their son’s stomach, before turning to Clarke. One off look from Clarke, and he can immediately sense her withdrawal. He smiles, kissing the bridge of her nose.


“We have to let him sleep,” he whispers, snaking his hands gently across her forearms. “So we can sleep.”


“I want to hold him,” Clarke pouts.


“You’ll wake him.”


“That doesn’t bother me.”


“It’ll bother you when he doesn’t want to go back down.”


Clarke hums, logically having to agree with the father of her child. She balances on her tiptoes, tricking Bellamy into another kiss as she peaks one eye open to spy on their child. She can’t help it, she’s kind of obsessed with her new fulltime job.


Bellamy catches her, a small chuckle leaving his lips. “Come to bed, princess. Before you wake the prince and the kingdom explodes.”


She allows Bellamy to drag her to bed, fingers intertwined even as they crawl into bed with one another. Clarke curls into Bellamy’s torso, his arms slung around her securely. They’re both exhausted, Clarke feels the sleep try and drown out her eyes, can feel the steady pattern of Bellamy’s shallow breathing on her neck. She leans against him, his warmth spreading through her body like a current. She could fall asleep any moment, perfectly sound with her son in the next room and Bellamy tucked in her embrace.


Instead, Clarke turns, Bellamy’s arms now secured around her lower back while she brings up a hand to cup his face. His eyes are closed, but he hums into her touch, as Clarke’s thumb lightly glides across the softness of his cheek. He adjusts his head, planting a kiss on her thumb. Clarke grins, Bellamy’s eyes fluttering open, half-lidded with an amused smile etching onto his features.


“Didn’t you hear what I told August?” Bellamy teases, “When he sleeps, we sleep.”


“I just don’t know how I got so lucky,” Clarke finds herself babbling.


The love that consumes her as she stares at Bellamy makes her collarbones ache, her stomach flutter and her eyes water. Bellamy adjusts himself, seemingly more tentative at the sight of her. He balances his elbow on the pillow, side of his head set in the palm of his hand. He reaches his free hand out to grab her hand dancing across his cheek, pulling it away to press a kiss to her palm. Clarke sighs dreamily, a combination of the fatigue that plagues her and the sheer happiness that makes her chest so fuzzy.


“Sometimes I don’t know why,” Clarke continues. “Why I got so lucky.”


“Who says you’re the lucky one?” Bellamy whispers, eyes boring into hers. “I’m the one with the beautiful, doctor wife and gifted son.”


“Gifted? At two months?”


“I know he’s going to be a prodigy.”


Clarke huffs out a laugh, earning a grin from Bellamy. He enwraps their fingers once more, balancing their conjoined hands on their hips as he stares at her. Clarke gazes back, memorizing the pattern of his freckles for the billionth time since she’s met him. It never gets old, she always loses count, seeking solace in having to start over. And sometimes, when she’s too sleepy to count the plethora of freckles on his skin, she’ll just catch a glimpse of the scar above his lip, or one particular curl in his hair that’s more prominent than the other. Any aspect of him that makes up the man that she loves.


Bellamy does it, too, she comes to realize. She doesn’t know exactly with what feature, but she catches his eyes dusting over her, memorizing things about herself that she probably couldn’t even recognize. He shuffles closer, as if trying to get a better look, but then he leans in, pressing a soft, slow kiss to her lips. Clarke leans up, deepening her lips against his, still desperate for every inch of him.


She pulls away, breathing hot against his lips. Her eyes dazzle at him, pupils blown into orbit. Clarke’s hand snakes up into his curls, wrenching them in her fist. “Where do I even start with you, Bellamy?”


Their noses nuzzle together, Bellamy’s lips planting a kiss in the section between her nose and upper lip. “Start by telling me you love me.”


His voice, so soft and pleading that Clarke’s heart swells. She tips her head up, capturing his lips in another soaring kiss. In between their pressed mouths, she mumbles, “I love you, Bellamy. You’re it for me.”


A guttural moan escapes from Bellamy’s throat, sending vibrations throughout Clarke’s body and down to her cunt. The hand tucked into his curls brings him even closer, deepening the kiss almost painstakingly hard. He rests his hand on her hip as he maneuvers them around, towering over her. Clarke wraps her legs around his torso as he moves his hands down to palm her ass, leaning his bodyweight against her as they scramble to remove their clothes while still entangled in one another.


As Bellamy’s hips rock against hers, all that Clarke can think about is how amazed she is that this is her life. That at this time a year ago, her first priority was to be the best of her field no matter what the sacrifice she had to make would be to get there. She just exited a failed relationship, and there was no Bellamy. Bellamy was gone, a thing of the past, and now he’s here, on top of her, chanting how much he loves her as their son sleeps in the next room.


Clarke cries out when she comes, Bellamy crashing against her and showering her in kisses as she climbs down. She whimpers into his neck, whispering how lucky she is to have him back, forever, a million times before they both drift off to sleep.



“It’s not a fair competition.”


“Life isn’t fair.”


“Jasper! They’re both cute.”


“But which one is cuter, Monty?”


“It’s bias! Everything about this is bias!”


Clarke watches from the kitchen, sipping wine for the first time in months, an amused smile on her face. Jasper and Monty sit on her coffee table in the living room as if it’s the new, designated couch, Jordan and August propped up on the actual couch like dolls to be marveled at. To give them credit, Maya is at one end of the couch, making sure the toddler doesn’t smother the three month old that Octavia has laying in her lap, as she guardes him like some sort of watchdog.


Jasper and Monty’s bicker throughout Clarke’s apartment, and it’s nearly impossible to focus on her own conversations. Not that she minds much. Clarke adores glancing over and seeing her friends marvel over her baby, who sits idly on his aunt’s lap and chews away at his fingers. The past couple of hours, her group has been taking turns bonding with the baby, similarly to how they did with Jordan when he was first born.


They’ve all seen him within these past three months, taking turns visiting separately, but this is the first time they have all been together since Raven’s wedding. Clarke wanted to wait until they moved into the new house, but she couldn’t wait to see her friends all together for another month.


“My kid is cuter,” Harper chimes in, nudging Clarke playfully.


“Watch it,” Clarke narrows her eyes in faux defense, Harper laughing as she takes a sip of her own wine and goes to join her husband in the fun. With a fond smile, Clarke turns to Raven on her left, gingerly downing her own glass. She pokes the new bride’s stomach, “I guess no babies for you for a while?”


“I wouldn’t say a while,” Raven shrugs. “But definitely not right away.”


“Yeah? Enjoying the married life?”


“Very much so. The sex is fucking godly–”


“I don’t think I need this much information.”


“Shut up, I know you’re getting dicked down whenever the bugger is asleep. Hopefully, you do it safely this time.”


A blush creeps onto Clarke’s cheeks that she attempts to shield with another sip of her wine. For the record, she did get back on birth control, filling a prescription before she even left the hospital with August. But it doesn’t stop the redness from showing, Clarke hoping she can mask the color flattering her face with the indulgence of alcohol, setting the empty glass on the island behind her once its finished. Raven’s smirking at her when she turns back around, finishing off her own glass before setting it alongside Clarke’s.


“So, what’s up next for you, Clarke?” Raven leans back against the island, balancing her elbows against the marble. She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively at the blonde. “Will you be the next one walking down the aisle? Or is Jasper going to beat you to it?”


Clarke glances at the group in the living room. In the midst of Monty and Jasper’s bickering, she catches the sneaky looks the latter gives to Maya, even going as far as to blow kisses to her while his best friend is ranting. Monty calls him out on it, and Harper laughs along, arms slung around her husband. Her gaze drifts, back to her son watching the scene unfold obliviously before him while he balances in his aunt’s lap. Clarke moves her eyes up to examine Octavia, having only been invited after immense peer pressure from her.


As much as Clarke hates to admit it, Octavia is wonderful with August. She’s inexperienced, for sure, but she dotes on him almost as much as Bellamy does – except she’s able to spoil him, as the designated cool aunt. There’s always a new gift for August that they certainly don’t need, spends hours at a time just playing with him and sometimes she offers to take him for the night so her and Bellamy can have a night off – a request that’s seemingly directed towards her brother and is consequentially always, denied.


Octavia’s more tame now. She doesn’t snap at Clarke, and the new mom can handle the offhanded remarks she makes once in a while when Bellamy’s out of earshot. But they’re far from friends, probably far from being on good terms.


Clarke suddenly feels the urge to pour herself a second glass of wine.


“Octavia may cut my ring finger off before Bellamy proposes,” Clarke physically winces as the image plays across in her mind.


Raven throws her head back in a laugh, shaking her head in amusement. She turns to Clarke, a playful smile growing across her lips. “So, you think he’s going to propose?”


“I didn’t say that,” Clarke rolls her eyes.


“It was implied.”


On cue, Bellamy waltzes through the hall in mid-discussion with Shaw at his side. They disperse at the living room, Shaw walking over to the two of them while Bellamy heads straight for his sister. As the newlyweds exchange their affectionate greetings, Clarke watches Bellamy scoop August into his arms. Octavia’s mouth starts moving, undeniably in protest but Bellamy just sticks his tongue out at her, before proceeding to blow raspberries over his son’s stomach.


Clarke tilts her head to the side, examining the scene unfold in front of her. Bellamy has a habit of stealing August from people when it’s their turn, but Clarke doesn’t really mind in the moment. August doesn’t seem to care either, leaning into his father’s side as a chorus of giggles erupt from his lips. Bellamy dances his fingers across his belly, cooing at him in the most dramatic of ways to illicit more tangible reactions from their infant who’s barely three months old.


Yeah, Bellamy is the man she’s going to marry. There’s no question about it. But for once, Clarke feels no rush to speed things along. She knows he’s the one, he’s it for her. She doesn’t need a ring on her finger to prove that.


Bellamy wanders over to Clarke, cradling August in his arms. Their son looks so tiny, huddled in the bulk of Bellamy’s arms, peaking his head out so his eyes can wander around his surroundings. Clarke grins, instantly stretching her arms out to grab a hold of him, to which Bellamy pouts, angling his body away from her.


“I just got him,” Bellamy insists.


“Fine, but I want him next,” Clarke crouches down, nuzzling her nose against August’s. He gapes his mouth open in response, reaching his tiny hand out to grasp at his mother’s cheek. She laughs, pressing a kiss to his nose before she straightens, pecking Bellamy’s lips in a proper hello.


Raven glances at the two of them, an amused smirk gracing her features. She leans into Shaw’s side, his arm slung around her comfortably as she evaluates the two. “I can’t wait to fuck in the bathroom of your wedding.”


Bellamy coughs something hearty, heat rising to his cheeks in a glow of a deep red. Shaw snickers as Clarke takes advantage of the lapse in judgement, scooping August into her arms and cuddling him to her side. Bellamy’s still recovering from the comment Raven made, evidently flushed and embarrassed. Her eyes drift over him, trying to gauge if his awkwardness is a source of their encounter in that pristine bathroom all those months ago, of it’s a result of the mention of a wedding.


He leans against the marble countertop for support, forcing a sheepish smile. “Yeah, sorry about that.”


Raven shrugs, right in her judgement not to believe him as she cuddles into Shaw’s side. Clarke glances over at Bellamy, a smirk evident on her lips as he only stares back, bewildered and somewhat amused. However, the humor etching into Clarke’s expression fades as she balances August upwards, peppering his face with kisses as a whiff of a less enjoyable smell fills her nose.


Clarke scrunches up her nose in disgust, staring accusatorily at her son as he chews mindlessly on his fingers. “You stink, bub.”


“I can take him,” Bellamy offers, pushing off of the countertop, arms already outstretched to retrieve him.


“It’s alright,” Clarke insists, stepping out of Bellamy’s reach. “You haven’t even had any dessert. Go, enjoy yourself.”


“I rather be with him–”


“Bellamy, you bought all this dessert to not eat it yourself–”


“You guys are sick,” Shaw mutters, shaking his head. “Who fights over wanting to change a diaper?”


Bellamy smirks, his puppy dog persona melting into his true, arrogant fashion as he turns to look at Shaw, nudging his shoulder. “Soon, it’ll be you two.”


“Not soon,” Shaw and Raven echo in unison.


Clarke abandons the three in the midst of manufacturing Shaw and Raven’s hypothetical children, swiftly carrying her son into his nursery. She nudges the door closed with her elbow, the loud discussions that fill her apartment falling into murmurs. August gurgles at the newfound quietness, leaning into his mother’s chest as she waltzes through the room. He doesn’t make a fuss when she lays him down on the changing table, only stares up at her with his father’s eyes, wide and curious.


She can’t help but marvel at her son, run her fingers over the softness of his skin, plant a kiss on his cheek, whenever she gets the chance. It doesn’t matter what he’s doing, it’s not like August can do much at three months old. But Clarke’s heart soars something painful and wonderful all at the same time whenever he stares up at her, so oblivious to everything except for the fact that she’s his mother.


A soft raspberry is blown into his neck, earning another round of giggles from August. Clarke grins, crouching down to grab a fresh diaper and set it alongside the changing mat. “You’re such a good baby. You’re the best baby.”


Clarke goes to unbuckle his onesie, navy blue fabric with the word’s #1 Sonsprawled across the belly in bold, sky blue letters. She remembers when Bellamy came home with it, the day they brought August back to the apartment, him having secretly purchased it at the hospital gift shop without Clarke’s knowledge. She put up a fuss then, saying they had more than enough clothes, but it did look absolutely adorable on him.


August kicks his legs in response to the new brush of air that courses through the room, hitting his now exposed skin. Clarke unravels his dirty diaper, trying to gently hold his legs as she swaps the old for a clean one.


“Good boy,” Clarke praises, eyes locked with her son. “You’re a champ. Aren’t you, August?”


“He could be Bellamy’s twin.”


Clarke jumps at the sound of a voice. She hadn’t even heard the door open, despite the chorus of voices that echoed through the tiny apartment. She glances over her shoulder, collecting herself, already knowing who stands in the doorway. Octavia watches her expectantly, as if deciding whether or not she should go any further. Clarke doesn’t know what to say to her, rarely ever does, but even more so in these past couple of months.


Usually, they’re only alone for a few seconds, when Bellamy leaves the room. It’s enough time for Octavia to bite out a remark, but not enough for them to dive into a conversation, civil or otherwise. Clarke’s teeth graze her bottom lip in contemplation, before a gurgle from August centers her back to reality. She glances at him, her son more curious to the sound of another voice filling his nursery.


“Yeah,” Clarke musters. “He’s all Bellamy.”


Clarke doesn’t turn, but she feels Octavia’s footsteps closer, hears the door creak to a close. The anxiousness that builds in her chest is only managed by a look at August, sweet and wide-eyed. Octavia would never harm her with anything more than a tongue lashing, but even so, Clarke doesn’t find herself scared of her. If anything, it’s all the history that lies between them, all that Clarke’s done etched permanently into the younger Blake’s mind. Octavia’s image of Clarke is the same of that ten, almost eleven years ago. There’s no redemption for her in the Blake sister’s mind.


Octavia’s shoulder brushes against Clarke’s as she reaches the changing table, her fingers lightly tapping against the wood. She peers at August, and out of Clarke’s peripheral she can see the way her eyes light up when he glances back at her. Clarke patches up the new diaper, securing it in place before she begins bunching up the onesie, preparing to slip it back onto his chunky legs.


“I assumed the name August was from Augustus when Bellamy told me,” Octavia speaks suddenly, her thoughts seemingly bubbling from her mouth. “I never asked. But I kind of figured I was wrong.”


“How so?” Clarke challenges, facial expression deceiving as she smiles widely at August, trying to put on the charade that she’s friends with his aunt.


“I figured it would be a name that meant something to the two of you. Not to me.” 


“His middle name is Jacob. That’s for my father.”


“I know, but it’s a middle name,” Octavia huffs out, like she’s becoming increasingly irritated that Clarke’s not picking up on her subtle, non-existent hints. She glances at Clarke for the first time, tearing her eyes away from August. “It’s the month you guys started dating, right?”


Clarke nods slowly, slipping the onesie onto one of August’s legs.


Octavia continues, not done with her halfhearted analysis, “And it’s the month you left.”


Clarke sucks in a shallow breath, but nods again, buttoning up August’s onesie. “It’s also the month Bellamy and I found each other again.”


If the previous mention was supposed to be a hit to Clarke, Octavia retracts that strategy. Her eyes drift back down to August, now clean and dressed and wriggling about on the changing table before her eyes return to Clarke. “And the month our mother passed.”


August Jacob Griffin-Blake was a name Bellamy and Clarke hadn’t decided on until hours after they laid eyes on him. Jacob had been set in stone as a middle name since they discovered he was a boy, and the Griffin-Blake hyphenation was agreed upon much earlier than that. The first name was always lost on them, though, and they figured once they laid eyes on their son, it would be easier from there.


“Bellamy chose the name,” Clarke finds herself saying. “You were right, sort of. It’s kind of from Augustus. He was telling me how he chose to name you.” Octavia’s eyes soften, the hint of smile gracing her lips. “And then we got to August. And you were right about all that stuff, too. It just fit him, fit our story, if that makes any sense. Plus, his middle name is an ode to my father and it worked out that August is an ode to your mother.”


And it fit their son perfectly. Whenever her or Bellamy glanced at August, at his big, gummy smile or wide, brown eyes, they couldn’t picture him with any other suitable name. It was like the word was meant for him and for him only.


Octavia nods, comprehending the information Clarke’s provided for her. She looks like she wants to say more, ask more questions, but decides against it. She’s clearly still not comfortable enough with her. Clarke’s surprised they’re even having this conversation in the first place.


Clarke glances at Octavia, tearing her eyes away from her son to stare at her. Her voice is soft, but curious, exploratory. “Why didn’t you just ask Bellamy?”


“He would have launched into some sappy retelling,” Octavia shrugs. “He’d make me cry. Worse can scenario, you make me angry.”


“And that’s better than crying?” Clarke questions, eyebrow quipped.


Octavia chuckles darkly, shaking her head as it descends back to gazing at August. She reaches out, her fingers grazing across the softness of his belly as Clarke just watches. Her touch is gentle and full of care, something that’s so odd for Clarke to witness from Octavia. Her hand caresses across his belly, earning a wave of giggles from August. Octavia smiles in reply, retracting her hand, allowing her fingers to tap against the wood once more, her gaze still intent on her nephew before her.


There’s a pause, before Octavia says, “I’ve got to hand it to you. All your flaws, you still managed to make a pretty cute kid.”


Clarke smiles, casting her gaze down at August. “We did, Bellamy and I.”


Octavia’s head raises again, examining Clarke. Her tongue smoothens over her lip, debating whether or not to utter the words that are reworking in her mind. But suddenly, the words flow from her lips, “He loves you so much. So much that it scares me. At least with Echo, I could tell it wasn’t going to last because he wasn’t a hundred percent in it. But with you, he’s all in.”


“And I’m all in, too,” Clarke turns to look at her, stern and serious and pleading all the same. “I love him and August, more than anything.”


Octavia nods, slow as if she’s contemplating whether or not to believe her. She doesn’t seem entirely convinced, and Clarke’s sure there’s nothing she can say that’s going to make her a hundred percent on board with the idea of the two of them being together. But it’s as if Octavia realizes that too, slowly nodding and returning to stare at August.


“Then I can tolerate you,” Octavia settles on. She reaches out, brushing her finger under August’s chin. “For Bellamy. And for him.”


Clarke glances at Octavia, dark hair falling over the sides of face in curtains, attempting to mask the glow on her face that's directed towards her nephew. She knows that’s all she’s going to get from the Blake sister. Her devotion to her brother and pure, adoration for her nephew is enough for Clarke. She can manage Octavia’s tolerance, especially if she gets to love Bellamy for the lifetime they have ahead.



Bellamy’s fingers dance across her exposed back, purposely sending tingling sensations throughout her skin, bundling into her nerves. Clarke can easily see him smirking in the mirror as a shallow breath escapes her lips. He catches her eyes in the reflection, dark and teasing as Clarke stares back, almost breathless with her knees weakening all before six o’clock. Bellamy keeps his eyes trained on her, leaning in to press a soft, bruising kiss in the juncture between her neck and shoulder.


“Bellamy,” Clarke whines, tilting her head to give him easier access to her skin. He snickers in response, zipping up her dress all the way before taking a step back. Clarke glares through the reflection in the mirror, turning to face him. “You can’t tease me like that before we go out.”


“I think it’s fun,” Bellamy shrugs, his lips stretching into a grin as he walks forward. He brings his hands up to pinch either sizes of her jaw, staring down at her in a mixture of amusement and adoration. “You look absolutely gorgeous, baby.”


He had a hand in choosing her attire for the night. A simple, summer dress to welcome the season while also allowing her to move around without feeling constrained. It’s light blue brought out the color in her eyes and accentuated her golden locks, it’s thick straps holding up her chest while it flew just above her thigh. Bellamy glances over her once more, running his tongue over his lips, eyes hungry with lust. Clarke stares back, heat already growing between her legs, just by the way he looks at her. She doesn’t think she’ll ever get over it.


Bellamy brings her forward, capturing her lips in a slow, torturous kiss. Clarke deepens the kiss, tugging on the collar of his shirt to bring him closer. She moves her hands over the base of his chest, marveling over his body as he mirrors her, his hands moving down to cup her ass. She moans into him involuntarily, feeling Bellamy’s smirk against her lips, and effectively derailing her attempt to further their encounter. The laugh that escapes his mouth sends vibrations through hers, tingling her body while increasing her irritation as he pulls away.


“We have the whole night, baby,” Bellamy teases, his hot breath tickling Clarke’s skin. “And your mother is in the next room.”


Clarke tenses at the mention, like the reality of her mother being in the next room had drifted from her mind. “That just killed the mood.”


“Good,” Bellamy laughs, a small smile creeping up on his lips. He brings his hand to her forearms, lighting rubbing warmth into them in an attempt to relax her. “Let’s say goodnight to the baby and get on our way, okay?”


Clarke allows Bellamy to intertwine their fingers, leading them out of the bedroom and into the living room. To Clarke’s surprise, Marcus isn’t holding the baby when the waltz into the room, instead Abby cradling the three month old close to her, laughing at something her boyfriend said to her. August laughs, too – more so, gurgles – like he understands anything about the interaction that just transpired and Clarke’s mother stares at him so fondly, a fraction of her nerves manage to settle.


Abby’s head jerks up when she hears them enter the room. She surveys over Clarke, and then Bellamy, before setting her gaze back on her daughter. “That’s the dress you’re wearing?”


And just like that, the bundle of nerves return, pricking at Clarke’s skin. She feels Bellamy squeeze her hand. Through gritted teeth, she replies, “It is.”


She expects another round of passive aggressive judgments to slip through her mother’s lips as Abby examines her once more. Her head swivels to Marcus, and a grin stretches across her face. “Clarke looks amazing, doesn’t she, Marcus? You couldn’t even tell she had a baby three months ago!”


It’s a backtrack, Clarke can tell. But she appreciates the way her mother doesn’t just blatantly let things slip from her mouth without any rectification afterwards. She takes the compliment as it is, because it’s an appreciative effort and a step in the right direction, after all. Marcus says something in agreeance, along the lines of an encouraging statement that goes through one of Clarke’s ears and out the other, but luckily Bellamy interjects with an appropriate thank you.


Clarke steps forward, surging August from her mother’s arms and peppering him in kisses. August stares back at his mother, relatively unphased as she pulls her lips away from him, cradling him in her arms. “Mommy’s going to miss you.”


“It’s only for a couple of hours,” Abby raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “It’ll be nice for him to spend some time with his grandmother.”


“I know it will,” Clarke sighs, tickling under August’s chin to earn a round of giggles from him. “But I like being with him. This is the first time I’m leaving him with someone other than Bellamy.”


“I’ve taken care of a child before, Clarke.”


“That’s not the issue, mom. I’m just going to miss him.”


Clarke stares at her mother, as if she wouldn’t understand. As repaired as their relationship is, there are just some situations left unspoken, not dared to be spoken aloud. Her mother doesn’t have much sentimental value in her and while Clarke does trust her to take care of August, she doesn’t know how much she expects from her. Marcus, the one without kids let alone grandkids, has shown to be much more paternal in the past couple of months. He’s always holding August, muttering sweet things to him while Abby sticks around for the technical aspects; changing, feeding, putting him to sleep.


Abby stares back at her, and again to Clarke’s surprise, a smile creeps up onto her face, like she understands and – for once – relates. Her arm slings around Clarke’s shoulder, gently taking her in for a side hug, staring down at August’s curious, big brown eyes. “You never stop missing them. But you know, at the end of the day, you’re always going to come back to them.”


Clarke glances up at her mother, her gaze still intent on her grandson. She’s sure it’s double meaning doesn’t go over her mother’s head. She chews at her lip, nerves transforming into a sort of shiver through her spine. Abby looks up at her, a soft smile gracing her features. Clarke returns the smile, nodding appreciatively at her mother.


“Thank you,” Clarke settles on.


Abby’s eyes glisten for a moment, before she blinks and they disappear. Clarke wouldn’t have caught it if she wasn’t looking. She glances back at her son, smiling down at him and planting a kiss on his soft forehead, before passing him back to her mother for the night. The pair say their goodbyes to Abby and Marcus, paying special attention to their son before they leave the apartment for the night, their first night alone in over three months.


Bellamy takes her to dinner at The Anomaly, a casual restaurant downtown, with greasy pizza and the saltiest of fries. He orders a helping of the fries for the two of them to share, indulging in a classic cheeseburger. Clarke picks away at the fries, and finishes her grilled cheese pretty fast, but it’s not as good as Bellamy’s – she’s quick to reassure him. They top off with dessert, a thick, chocolate brownie with a mountain of whip cream on it. It reminds Clarke of their dates back in Arkadia, bonding over simple junk food while they laugh and talk for hours on end, disturbing the rest of the people dining without much of a care.


When Bellamy walks her across a boardwalk on the outskirts of Polis, the summer heat winding down with the sunset, hand in hand, he mentions this. “I figured fancy restaurants are kind of overrated. Especially cause at the end of the day, all you really like is my cooking.”


“I liked The Anomaly’s food,” Clarke shrugs, pausing her steps to kiss Bellamy’s cheek. “But you’ll always be my favorite chef.”


They etch off of the boardwalk, feet digging into the sand as they walk closer to the crisp, ocean water. Bellamy sits down first, tugging Clarke down with him until she falls haphazardly into his lap with a yelp. She’s mid-laugh when he throws his arms around her, peppering her with kisses all over her neck and face. Clarke tangles herself into his lap, Bellamy resting to plant kisses on her forehead, hands intertwined and fingers twiddling with one another’s.


Clarke stares out at the water, the soft crashing of waves filling her ears. They’re so close, the waves come up just inches away from their feet, but Clarke finds it comforting. She finds Bellamy more so, cuddling into him. His arms strengthen around her, holding her in place as the sun lowers itself. A breeze carries through them, whisking their hair backwards. Bellamy takes advantage, ducking his head into the crook of Clarke’s neck, leaving barely existent kisses on her skin.


“This sure beats parking lots,” Clarke grimaces at the memory.


Bellamy laughs, sending hearty vibrations throughout Clarke’s chest. “I remember that. Dinner and then sex in the back of my car before I would drive you home.”


“Can’t have sex on a beach.”


“Well, we can–”


“Not with all these people around–”


“I’m just kidding,” Bellamy muses, kissing her cheek.


Clarke leans into his touch, embracing the shower of affection he’s providing her. It’s not lack she has a lack of it, Bellamy always jumping at the chance to hold her, to cherish her. It’s so often that Clarke almost forgets this wasn’t her life, that somewhere along the way, one, wrong move and he wouldn’t have been a part of her future.


She tilts her head up, ear pressed against his chest. Bellamy looks down at her, a curious smile on his lips before he leans down to kiss her. Clarke returns the kiss, mimicking his soft movements before she pulls away, relishing in having him so close to her in more ways than one.


“I don’t know how I was so stupid,” Clarke mumbles, so low only he can hear. “All those years ago. To give this up, for something I could have still had.”


“It’s in the past, Clarke,” Bellamy assures her, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair whisked away by the wind behind her ear. “I’m here now. And I’m not going anywhere, even if you want me to.”


It’s a joke, but Clarke doesn’t laugh. “I’m never going to want anything more than you. I’m spending the rest of my life with you, Bellamy. I promise you.”


Bellamy’s smile falters, but not out of uncertainty or fear. Her words sink into him, and his breathing becomes a little more shallow. Clarke tucks herself closer into his embrace, allowing him to lean down and rest his forehead against hers. His amused expression returns, a challenging smirk making an appearance on his lips. “Is that a proposal I hear, princess?”


Clarke nuzzles her nose against his. “You’re so eager to jump into another marriage after getting out of one?”


“When you know, you know,” Bellamy grins. He presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth, tauntingly slow and gentle. “I have the rest of my life to spend with you.”


“You’re right,” Clarke agrees, reaching out to dust her fingers against his cheek. “There’s no timeline. I know one day we’ll be there. But right now, I love where we are.”


“Me, too.”


Bellamy readjusts her on his lap, Clarke perched on his thigh so that they’re eye level. His eyes lock with hers and the tone shifts, Clarke can tell as Bellamy tightens his grip around her hand. “You always say you don’t know how you could’ve made those mistakes back then. But we were so young, Clarke. I barely knew what I was doing with my degree and even though you have a step-by-step plan, you couldn’t predict how we, at eighteen and nineteen, fit into that. You don’t need to keep holding it over your head.”


“I messed up after that,” Clarke points out, lips pursed together to refrain from quivering.


“You did,” Bellamy confirms with a nod. “But, I know you. I know your ambitions drive you and they cause you to put what you think is yourself, before others. But you always make the right decision in the end. I love you because you’re crazy smart and crazy ambitious and you fight for what you want, whether that’s your career, or our son – or me.”


Clarke leans her forehead against his, soaking in his words and trying to ignore the fact that her chest feels like it’s going to burst with pure adoration for the man that loves her so deeply.


“I know you think you don’t deserve this, how much I love you,” Bellamy takes her hand and holds it over his chest. “But you do, baby. You and August are not only my first priority, but my everything. I wasn’t a fraction as happy with my life before as I am now. And that’s because of you.”


Tears stream down Clarke’s cheeks before she can stop them, an embarrassing hiccup escaping from her mouth in chorus. Bellamy reaches out to cup her cheeks, digging his forehead into hers and swiping away her tears with his thumbs. Clarke’s hand is still on his chest, except now it’s clawing at his shirt, bringing him closer so she can crash her lips onto his. She desperately grasps for his mouth, his chapped lips scratching away at hers and bringing her an overwhelming sense of relief that floods through her body.


Bellamy deepens the kiss. His hand travels down from her face to clasp at her lower back, holding her in place. After a couple of moments, Bellamy detaches his lips from hers, resting their foreheads together. He stares at her, so intently that Clarke feels her heart about to burst into a million pieces. He doesn’t say anything, not that he needs to. Clarke understands.


Still, Clarke doesn’t know how she got so lucky. There’s still a voice at the back of her mind, telling her she doesn’t deserve how unequivocally devoted this man is to her. And maybe it will take her a while to believe it, but she’ll spend the rest of her life proving it to him.



Stacks of boxes decorate Clarke’s apartment, propped up in almost every corner of space. They’re all labelled, brown cardboard sprawled across with a black, bold sharpie. Everywhere she turns, there’s a new box to seal, or one empty to fill with miscellaneous items and toiletries. She just finished, what she can only hope and pray is the last one. Clarke checks her list, the crumbled piece of paper staring back at her tauntingly. She checks off the last box and collapses onto the couch with a huff.


She can clearly see the opened cabinets and drawers, emptied of its contents, but she’s so exhausted that she has to make a mental note to close them all before they leave tomorrow. Otherwise, everything else is finished for the most part. The nursery is emptied, with only the crib left for August to sleep in for the night, leaving the movers to pack it up in the morning. Her paint supplies are in one or two boxes scattered somewhere, and it’s probably going to take her longer to unpack them when they get to the house. Her bedroom, save for the sheets and the bed, are all secure in boxes.


And the sticky notes are gone. Well, most of them. The completed ones are crumpled up, thrown into the garbage, left to the dumpster and never to be seen again. Good riddance. Clarke’s forgotten what it’s like not see a sore patch of yellow in the middle of her walls, doors and cabinets.


Sinking into the cushion, Clarke hears the gentle close of a door from the hallway. Bellamy creeps into the living room, tiptoeing slowly. His eyes catch Clarke sprawled out on the couch, instantly going to tower over her. Clarke giggles as Bellamy lays on top of her, showering her with kisses all over her face.


Satisfied, Bellamy shifts to the side, back pressed against the cushion of the couch. They scan the mostly, emptied living room in unison, basking in the bareness of it.


“Finished the last box?” Bellamy presumes, eyes still on the emptiness of Clarke’s apartment.


“Hm,” Clarke hums in agreeance. She falters, if only a little. “I’m not going to miss this place.”


Bellamy stifles a laugh, careful not to make any loud sounds and disrupt August’s slumber. He stares down at her, woefully entertained. “Oh, yeah? Why not?”


Clarke shifts, head swiveling to stare up at him. His elbow is dug into the cushion right beside her head, his cheek cradled into the palm of his hand. His eyes, curious and full of amusement bring a smile to her face. She leans up, gently pecking at his lips before settling back into the comfortableness of the couch.


“I think it’s because I’m so excited about the new house,” Clarke turns, wrapping her arms around his torso as she cuddles into him. “That’s our home.”


Bellamy gently brings hand to her cheek, absentmindedly rubbing his thumb in circles against her porcelain skin. His smile is small, but his eyes glisten with pure affection, boring into hers. “You and August are my home.”


Unable to resist, her heart bursting at the seams, Clarke leans up, crashing her lips against his. Bellamy grins into the kiss, giving Clarke less to grip on as she attempts to nuzzle her way closer to him. He draws back, pecking at her nose, his hand moving down from her cheek to grip her waist.


“I can’t wait to get to the new house either,” Bellamy quips, voice low and soothing as it hums through Clarke’s ears. “It feels like our life is just starting. Does that make sense?”


Perfect sense, Clarke thinks. The words are intended to slip from her mouth, but as she stares up at Bellamy, nothing falls from her lips. She could get lost in the brownness of his eyes, so similar to their son’s but with years of life etched into them. The admiration that shines, the pure, unequivocal love that emits from them, meant only for their small, little family. She can’t believe a year ago, she didn’t have this. She didn’t have a person that looked at her this way without any prompting, didn’t have Bellamy wrapped in her embrace, didn’t have their son sleeping away in the next room.


Bellamy searches her eyes for an answer, unable to read the variety of thoughts that scatter her brain. He shuffles closer to her, Clarke tightening her grip around his torso as he leans down to rest his forehead against hers. She presses a light kiss to the divot in his chin, earning a low chuckle and fond smile from Bellamy. His eyes rest on her, eyes travelling over her in a deeper search.


“I hope I didn’t scare you away again,” Bellamy mumbles, although his tone is light and brimming with amusement.


What would be the prickling of nerves spiking up Clarke’s spine doesn’t arrive this time. She finds solace in the tone of his voice, in the fact that he’s joking. That he’s not actually scared that she’s going to pick up and run away again. There’s no bone in her body, no thought that crosses her mind about that ever happening again.


“Never,” Clarke promises, could swear it a million times over and over again. Her tone, serious and pleading, takes Bellamy by surprise, his eyes widening just the slightest. He opens his mouth, seemingly to reassure her once more. But Clarke doesn’t need it. She surges up, capturing his lips in a fiery kiss. Bellamy goes to deepen his lips against hers, a groan leaving his mouth when Clarke pulls away with a boisterous smile instead. “We’re just getting started, baby.”


Bellamy grins, leaning in closer. His lips, less than an inch from away from her as he breathes, “I love you, princess.”


Clarke lips scrape against his as she whispers, “I love you. So fucking much.”


They join together, lips crashing against one another in a desperate need for each other. It could almost be mistaken for a kiss between two people who haven’t seen each other for a long time, and in a way, that’s the case. Clarke’s never felt more herself, more in tune with who she is as an academic, as mother, as person than she does when she’s with Bellamy. No pressure to fit on a schedule, to be the best of the best, to be anything more than herself. Her heart never pumps as fiercely and as fast it does when she’s tangled with him.


Clarke feels his own heart thump against his chest, falling in sync with her own. Her arms, wrapped around his neck, melt into him, almost as if they’re seeping together. They’re already one, in Clarke’s eyes. No need for them to be joined at the hip or for a wedding ring to be placed on her finger. It’s the two of them and August, and it’s barely the beginning of it.


“You know what I am going to miss?” Bellamy mumbles against Clarke’s lips, unable to disconnect himself from her.


“Hm,” Clarke hums, too engrossed in the kiss to pull away.


“That marble countertop.”


That does it, Clarke throwing her head back in a laugh. Bellamy instantly goes to attack her neck, planting a row of kisses from her shoulder and up the pathway to her jaw. Clarke squeals in delight, careful to be quiet enough that her sounds don’t carry through the apartment and disrupt August, although the pure bliss that consumes every bit of her makes it more difficult. Bellamy leaves a row of kisses along her jaw before etching up back to her lips.


Clarke stares down at him, eyes full of mischief as he lightly kisses the corner of her mouth. “I don’t think we’ve said our proper goodbye to the marble countertop.”


Another squeal leaves her lips as Bellamy scoops her up in his arms without warning, his eagerness causing another laugh to erupt from Clarke. He swiftly swings his legs off of the couch, carrying Clarke bridal style into the kitchen before he sets her down on the island. The cool of the marble stuns Clarke more than the movement does, but its quickly dispersed by the overwhelming heat that pools at her legs as Bellamy glowers down at her, eyes full of lust.


Clarke looks up at him, feigning innocence with her big, blue eyes. Her eyes catch the scene behind him, all the opened cabinets and drawers appearing disorientated while Bellamy stands before her, tall and firm. Her breathing becomes shallow, the sight alone adding to the desire just to have him on top of her. Bellamy seems to read her mind, staring down at her with that infamous smirk that accentuates the scar above his lip, a habit of his that she’ll never tire of.


Without a word, Bellamy tucks his fingers under the waistband of her fleece shorts, pulling them down in one swift motion. They fall somewhere on the floor, Clarke hears the thud, but then all she can hear is ringing as Bellamy begins leaving a slew of kisses along her inner thighs. Her hand flies down to clasp at his curls, nudging his face closer to no avail, his movement aching slow as he leaves a pattern of teeth and tongue along the inside of her thighs.


She knows when he gets there, can feel his hot breath against her cunt through the thin fabric of her unaware. Bellamy places a kiss to the fabric, already dampened and Clarke moans out in disdain. She tries to be quieter than usual, not wanting to disrupt the last time they’re going to do this here, but he makes it increasingly difficult, especially when he shuffles her panties aside to slick a finger down her folds.


“Bellamy,” Clarke mewls. “I need you.”


“I know, baby,” Bellamy gently runs his finger up and down, eliciting a wave of pleasure that courses through Clarke’s body. Her hips jerk up, to which Bellamy responds by placing his mouth right against her clit, a quick kiss that Clarke can barely feel before its gone. “I’m going to take care of you. Just need you to be patient.”


There’s no part of Clarke that wants to be patient. After finally having Bellamy, officially, she never wants to sit around and wait again. But he’s here, sitting in front of her. And she can’t deny how amazing he makes her feel every single time they do this, without a doubt. Clarke nods, adjusting herself to balance on her forearms so she can look at him perched in between her legs.


Bellamy smirks up at her, “Good girl.”


Clarke almost collapses right there, only managing to keep herself up with the incentive that she gets to watch him. Bellamy’s eyes lower back to her cunt, now no longer content with her panties just brushed to the side. He yanks them down in one fluid motion, discarding them with her shorts somewhere on the floor, not that Clarke follows as he presses one, longer kiss to her clit. She gasps as he lightly begins to suckle on her clit, using his hands to pry open her cunt before he provides a firm lick to the middle of her.


Her head falls back, a guttural moan fighting to escape her lips. Bellamy laps at her pussy, incessant and strong while his fingers circle around her clit. His tongue explores every inch of her, hits every spot that makes her want to cry out his name. He collects every part of her from the bottom, before his tongue swipes up, smearing her wetness all over her cunt as it coats his mouth.


“Bellamy, Bellamy, Bellamy,” she chants, only so low because it comes out in breaths. “Please, baby, I’m almost there.”


Bellamy moans into her cunt, the vibrations resonating throughout her pussy and giving her the extra edge that she craves. Somehow, he dives deeper into her cunt, his tongue fucking in and out of her at alarming rates as his fingers furiously circle at her clit. Clarke bites down on her lip, so hard she can taste blood, but it’s nothing compared to immense pleasure that overtakes her as she reaches her peak.


Her orgasm falls over her like a wave, Bellamy’s lips back to suckling on her clit to ride her through it. Clarke involuntarily jerks her hips into his mouth, the aftershocks of her orgasm betraying her. She can feel Bellamy smirk into her cunt, but at this point she doesn’t care. She collapses on the marble, the coolness centering her back to reality for a moment.


However, Bellamy doesn’t seem to be done with her. He climbs on top of the marble island, hovering over Clarke and giving her ample access to his cock imprinting his sweatpants. On instinct, she reaches for him, desperate to get her hands around the thick of him, only for Bellamy to grab her wrists, pinning them against the marble. His mouth travels up her body, pausing to outline her stretch marks with his tongue. Clarke arches her body up to meet him and once he’s finished marveling at all she is, he smashes his lips against hers, hard and achingly. Clarke moans in protest when he draws back.


“I fucking love your cunt,” Bellamy whines, pulling her up so he can remove her tank top. Her tits burst from the release of the fabric, nipples stiff due to the whiff of cold air. He marvels at her tits for a moment, before grabbing a fistful of them. “Just as much as I love your tits.”


They’re substantially larger now with Clarke’s new role as August’s milk supply. Her tits were already big to begin with, and now that they’ve managed to be raised a cup size, Bellamy can’t get enough of them. For a while, she wouldn’t let Bellamy touch them, scared she’d leak milk. Even after she did finally give him access, they would leak if she hadn’t fully drained them beforehand. Not that Bellamy cared in the slightest, but she certainly did.


Clarke tries to recall how long ago it was. It couldn’t have been longer than a few hours, having stored her pumped milk in the fridge ahead of the long day they were going to have tomorrow. Bellamy feels her tense, eyes fleeing up to her.


“Relax, baby,” Bellamy’s soft voice reassures her. He leans up to peck her lips, before returning his attention back to her breasts. “You’re so beautiful. So fucking gorgeous.”


Bellamy fists her tits in his palm, Clarke throwing her head back in immense pleasure before he takes one in his mouth. Her hand flies up to the back of his head, holding him in place as her mouth gapes open. His fingers find their way to his cunt once more, this time working in and out of her slowly before he switches to the other breast to give it equal attention.


His haphazard position causes him to shift all his weight on top of her, and Clarke admires how every inch of him is pressed against some part of her skin. She can feel his chest heave at her torso he mouths at her breast, flicking his tongue against her nipple while his free hand pumps his fingers in and out of her in a steady rhythm. She aches forward at his touch, a strangled moan escaping her lips as his erection digs into her thigh.


“Bellamy,” this time his name doesn’t come out in chants. She calls to his attention, but he’s too enwrapped in his pace, suckling her tits and fucking her with his fingers. “Bellamy, baby, come here.”


At the sound of her soft, pleading voice, Bellamy’s head lifts, her breast falling from his lips with a significant pop. Clarke tries to shuffle up, but his fingers are still digging inside of her, hitting an unearthly spot that makes her want to collapse all over again. She manages to lift her head just enough to meet his eyes, concerned but dark.


“I want to put my mouth on you,” Clarke whispers


Bellamy’s fingers falter inside of her. “Let me finish you off first, okay, baby?”


Clarke nods, something hurried because she’s dizzy from the way his fingers move inside of her. Her head leans back, locks of hair either sprawled across the marble top or matted to her forehead. Bellamy’s rhythm changes, fingers now furiously fucking into her. He shifts downward, hopping off the island to crouch down and bring his mouth back to her clit, sucking hard. The combination is enough to drive Clarke over the edge again, hands clasping at nothing but the cold, marble cabinet she’s pressed against.


She barely comes down from her second orgasm before she’s shifting off of the island. Bellamy stands back, cock visibly restrained in his sweatpants, holding out his hand to help her. Clarke shakily grabs his hand, jumping off the island. Her knees are weak, nearly buckling when her feet make contact with the floor. Bellamy swoops in, catching her before she can collapse onto the ground, a weak, but lustful smirk playing at his lips.


He’s clearly proud of his work. Clarke can barely feel any inch of her body, her last two orgasms being the only wave of emotion that floods through her. Captured in Bellamy’s arms, she finds some semblance of strength to lift her head and crash her lips onto his. It’s weak, and lazy and messy, her lips scrambling to seal every inch of his own. Bellamy’s more than responsive though, deepening the kiss and mimicking her movements, as if he has it memorized her every move, all the while still aching to learn more.


Clarke places her hands on his chest, slowly drawing back from him with a newfound strength. She sinks to her knees as Bellamy leans against the opposite countertop. He shuts an opened cabinet with his back as he does so, loud enough that it echoes through the kitchen. Both of them wince, ears straining for a sound of cries they’re sure is to come. They wait a couple moments, even their own breathing remaining still, but August’s voice doesn’t hum through the air.


“I thought for sure that was it,” Clarke shakes her head, letting out a puff of breath that she’d been holding. “You’re so lucky.”


Bellamy’s eyes are trained on her, a smile deepening across his face. “Oh, you have no idea, princess.”


Clarke grins up at him, grasping at the fabric of his pants, making sure his boxers underneath are also connected in her fists before she yanks them down. His cock springs out, nearly smacking Clarke in the face. She brings her hand to the base of him as Bellamy kicks his pants and boxers off. His hands are clasped on the countertops of either side of him, but his eyes are on hers, dark and lustful as her hand slowly works up his shaft from the base of him.


Bellamy’s eyes flutter closed against his better judgement, knuckles whitening at how hard he’s gripping the countertop. It’s only when she brings her mouth to his tip, lightly gliding her tongue against the pre-cum that’s collected that his eyes open once more, half-lidded and utterly amazed at the sight of her.


“Baby,” Bellamy whimpers.


Clarke encloses her mouth around the tip, humming as she works her way down his shaft. Bellamy’s groan rumbles from his throat, her slow pace making everything ten times more excruciating. She brings her free hand up to palm at the base of him before she picks up her pace, her head bobbing up and down his cock as her tongue swirls around him.


One hand edging off of the countertop, Bellamy fists it through her hair, adding to the quickness of her movements. She’ll never get used to the length of him, to the aching in her jaw whenever he’s fucking her mouth. It’s similar to the ache in her cunt, only fulfilled by his cock jamming into her. She moans around him, feeling every inch of his cock in the tightness of her mouth. He’s close, she can tell by the way his hand grips at her hair.


Bellamy yanks her off his cock moments later, still holding her in place with his hand gripped in her hair. Clarke stares up at him with big doe eyes, and he can only look down at her in pure admiration for a second before he leans down and heaves her up in his arms. He crashes his lips against hers, arms wrapped around her upper back to hold her up steady. His cock presses against her bare abdomen as he cradles her, kissing her like it’s the last thing he’s ever going to do.


“You’re fucking amazing,” Bellamy breathes into her lips.


He draws back, detangling his arms from her to slip off his shirt. He throws it somewhere, and before it smacks against the ground, his mouth is back on hers. Clarke brings her hands up to cup his cheeks, bringing him even closer as their naked bodies submerge into one another. Bellamy’s arms drop from their place on her upper back, travelling down her body to scoop under her ass. He lifts her up, bringing her back over to the island, this time pinning her against the marble top and his hips instead of slamming her on the base of it.


Clarke marvels up at him, her lower back cooled by the marble, but her center full of heat from her legs wrapped around his torso. She can’t help it, smiling dreamily up at Bellamy as he climbs back on top of her. He catches her smile, returning it with a grin of his own before capturing her lips with his once more. Bellamy uses his free hand wrap around her lower back, just under where she’s pinned by the countertop. His other heads to his cock, steadying it against her sopping cunt.


Bellamy pushes into her with ease, his cock prepared with her saliva and her cunt decorated with his, in addition to her own mess. He buries his face into her shoulder, Clarke’s hands flying up to grasp at his hair as her legs tighten around his torso. He begins slowly, etching into her and stretching her cunt. Clarke moans out, stifling anything louder than that despite the pure ecstasy that courses through her veins at the feel of him inside of her. She looks down once, seeing them conjoined and working into one another, and her heart bursts at the view.


With her hand fisted in his hair, Clarke jerks his head back so he can look at her. His eyes are glossy and she can only imagine hers are too, feeling the prickle of tears and slick of sweat that beads down every inch of her. At the sight, Bellamy picks up his pace, slamming into her as her cunt tightens around him.


Clarke rests her forehead against Bellamy’s as he powers into her, the moans that escape her so low and only meant for his ears. “Fuck, Bellamy. You make me feel so fucking good.”


“Yeah, baby?” Bellamy breathes, his pace only quickening at her praise. “I’m the only one that can make you feel this good, huh?”


“Yes, yes,” Clarke chants in whispers, eyes locking with his despite being half-lidded. “I’m all yours, all yours.”


Bellamy loves the sound of that, snapping his hips towards her in response. “Yeah, you’re all mine. It’s just you and me, princess. You and me.”


Clarke brings her hands down to claw at his back for extra support, her chest slamming against his torso as he fucks into feverishly. They don’t break eye contact, lost in every aspect of one another. She can feel her cunt beginning to tighten, approaching her climax and by Bellamy’s erratic movements, he’s almost at the same point.


“I love you,” Clarke breathes. “I love you, I love you, I love you so much.”


A switch seems to flicker in Bellamy, his eyes darkening as if he’s never heard those words spoken from her mouth before his dick was buried inside of her cunt.


“Fuck,” Bellamy gasps. “I love you, baby. Fuck, I love you.”


Their chants of I Love You’s fail to fill the room, but Clarke thinks that’s okay. They say it over and over again, the words meant only for them to hear as their bodies move in sync, flesh colliding flesh as they reach their peaks.


Clarke’s cunt flutters around Bellamy’s cock as he anchors himself inside of her. Their orgasms course through them, Bellamy collapsing his head into Clarke’s shoulder as she holds onto him for dear life. She feels every part of him seep inside her as she clings to him. Her grip tightens around him, her heart beating alarmingly fast in unison with his own.


She’s the one to pull away, only slightly so he looks at her. Bellamy’s eyes are half-lidded, forehead sloppily resting against hers, but he’s staring at her nonetheless. Clarke wretches her fingers through his curls, the calmness of the action soothing him as much as it does her. Her lips lightly brush against his, him returning the kiss with the same softness.


All of her is still in awe; this is just the beginning for the two of them.



With the boxes being shuffled out of the rooms one by one, the apartment looks much larger. Some of the furniture is still in place, having come with the original renting proposition, but most of it is empty. The walls are bleak, the rooms lack any sort of accent and everything just seems bare. There’s a slight part of Clarke that already misses the place, but it’s overpowered by her boys, playing together on the bare floor in the living room.


August, now four months old, lays idly on Bellamy’s stomach. Bellamy’s found solitude in being sprawled across the floorboards, giving August ample access to roam about his father’s body. Not that he can move much, but it’s fun to see him try. Bellamy guides him for the most part, his son showing a gummy smile as he’s bounced about.


Clarke smiles fondly at the pair, more so at the way Bellamy’s eyes light up whenever August so much as gurgles. A giggle escapes her lips when he moves up, Bellamy propping himself against the wall and bouncing August in his lap, face morphing into a variety of caricatures in order to get their son to smile. It’s not hard to do, but Clarke knows how her heart swells whenever August flashes them a toothless grin, and can imagine it’s the same kind of feeling for Bellamy.


She walks over to the father and son, Bellamy looking up at her with a big grin before swiveling his gaze back to August. “Look, Gus, mommy’s going to join us on the floor.”


“Only for a minute,” Clarke insists, although half-hearted.


Bellamy cradles August in one arm, heaving his other arm upwards so Clarke can tuck herself into it. August reaches out to her, his mother easily scooping him into her arms as Bellamy embraces her. His curls are much more prominent now, making it look like he has more hair than a four month old needs. She draws her fingers through it, August sinking into her touch. She grins at him, his chubby cheeks stretching into a haphazard smile.


“Look at you,” Clarke whispers. “So much like daddy.”


Bellamy leans his temple against her head, gazing at their son in her lap. “He may look like me, but he’s all you. Stubborn–” Clarke rolls her eyes, but a fond smile is still on her face. She notices Bellamy glance at her out of her peripheral vision. “And crazy smart.”


“You are crazy smart,” Clarke marvels, bringing August closer so she can nuzzle her nose against his. August coos in response and her heart melts. “You’re perfect, aren’t you?”


Bellamy laughs, pecking at Clarke’s cheek. “Another thing he gets from you.”


Clarke’s head falls against the wall, tucking August into her side. He lays complicit against her chest, tiny hand pressed just below her collarbone. Silence falls over the family of three, and Clarke takes the opportunity to scan her now, bare apartment. All the boxes are gone, walls free of artwork and most of the furniture emptied. She supposes she should feel sad about it, having spent more than six years in this place. But then she glances at Bellamy, and she’s never felt more certain.


Bellamy leans his head against the wall, thumb brushing up against her shoulder. His smile is small, but so full of adoration and affection. And then she looks back at August, simply looking up at his parents with curiosity, eyes filled with all that’s unknown, chalk full of potential. Clarke couldn’t have felt more complete than she ever has in this moment in time, sitting here in this empty apartment with the love of her life and her son cuddled close to her.


“This is it, huh,” Bellamy takes a deep breath, following her gaze on August. “No more bachelorette pad for mommy.”


Clarke laughs, turning to stare at Bellamy. “I won’t miss it.”


“You better not.”


Bellamy captures her lips in a quick kiss despite the fit of giggles that erupt from Clarke. August seems to want in on the fun, leaning up with any strength he can muster and placing his hand in between his parents lips. Clarke draws back, while Bellamy pretends to bite at his hands, August surging into giggles so similar to his mother.


“I can’t believe I go back to work on Monday,” Clarke breathes, ruffling her fingers through August’s curls once more. “It’s going to be so different.”


“A good different,” Bellamy nudges her. “Your career is part of you.”


“So is motherhood.”


“Two of the many things that make you so extraordinary, Clarke. You’re going to fall right back into sync back in the clinic and you’ll love being a part of this research with Dr. Franco. Although, you’re going to love coming home to your new house and adorable, perfect son so much more.”


There’s a pause, a moment for Bellamy’s words to hang in the air before they settle into Clarke’s bones, resonating through every part of her body. She glances at him, eyes glistening. “And you.”


Bellamy grins, hearty and fond. “And me.”


They stay there for a moment longer, the three of them wrapped into one another, the quietness of the apartment only being disrupted by August’s giggles and coos. The moving van they rented is already on its way to the house, and all that’s left to do is buckle up their son in their car and drive there themselves. Yet, the pair can’t help but overstay their welcome just a while longer, cuddling into one another in the short amount they have time left in this apartment.


Bellamy’s the one to detangle himself first. Clarke watches, eyes following him as he scrambles to his feet, dusts himself off before turning to her and their son. He smiles down at her, silently telling her its time as he outstretches his hand. Clarke glances at August, still cradled in her arms, just waiting for her cue. She looks back up at Bellamy and takes his hand, allowing him to gently, heave her upwards.


His hand goes up to the back of August’s head, ruffling his curls and kissing his cheek. Bellamy draws back, looking to Clarke. She leans in, basking in the softness of his lips as they enclose around hers. It’s slow and drawn out, and she can’t wait to do this more in the new house that’s waiting for them.


“I’ll grab the diaper bag,” Bellamy mumbles against her lips before he pulls away. He steals a kiss from her cheek, her eyes just following him. He smirks at her, sensing her involuntary procrastination. “You ready, princess?”


Clarke finds herself grinning back, unable to control it. “As ready as you are.”


Bellamy takes a step back, turning his back to Clarke as he retrieves the diaper bag. Clarke walks to the door, standing by it as she watches him sling the diaper bag over his shoulder and scan around the room, double checking if he’s missed anything. She does the same, albeit more briefly before she glances at August, his big, brown, doe eyes staring up at her like she’s his whole world.


Clarke plants a soft kiss on his nose. “What about you, huh? You’re ready to see your home, right?”


August leans his head on her shoulder in reply. Clarke hugs him close to her, resting her chin on his head. Her palm lays flat against his back, feeling the steady patterns of his breathing as they soothe any nerves she’s thought to have. She slowly breathes out, eyes closed and trying to control the quickening on her heart rate. She peers through her son’s curls at Bellamy, satisfied with his last sweep of the apartment. He turns back to them, nodding his head in confirmation.


Bellamy waltzes towards the two of them, basking in the sight of his family as a smile creeps across his face. His hand finds the small of Clarke’s back, leaning in for one more quick, kiss. She turns as he draws back, watching as his hand reaches the handle and opens the door. He bows, hand still on the door handle earning a curious look from August and a giggle from Clarke.


“Princesses and princes first,” Bellamy echoes.


“I love you,” Clarke grins.


Bellamy leans up, a matching grin. “I love you.”


With that, Clarke glances at her son. August only looks on, oblivious to the actions that are about to transpire, more so to the ones that have occurred previously – what got them here in the first place. Clarke smacks her lips against his cheek, moving his curls out of his face. They’re ready to go.


Clarke steps forward, barely an inch out of the doorway before she remembers. She abruptly springs backwards, nearly knocking into Bellamy as she does so. He hovers over her, eyes brimmed with concern, but all she can do is look at him with a grin.


“Wait,” August still in her grasp, Clarke moves around Bellamy, her son bouncing along with her. He makes room for her, shuffling to the side as she closes the door halfway with her free hand.


The culprit, a bright, yellow sticky note stuck to the back of the door. Bellamy rolls his eyes, but huffs out a laugh as she plucks the final sticky note from the door, waving it in his face. August reaches for it, the yellow intriguing him but Clarke’s too busy shoving it in Bellamy’s face to notice.


“Last one,” Clarke announces, proud she remembered.


“Maybe we can put new ones up in the house,” Bellamy suggests, although his tone says he’s all teasing, flicking his finger against August’s cheek to distract him from the sticky note in his mother’s hand.


“Definitely not.”


Bellamy chuckles, “At least we completed these ones.”




Clarke blows raspberries on August’s cheek before smacking her lips against it in celebration. She delicately places it on the back of August’s shirt, nuzzling her nose into his neck for the extra burst of comfort she craves from him. Bellamy stares at her, watching the two so engrossed in one another, for a moment before he etches forward. A quick kiss on Clarke’s lips and one hand on the small of her back, before he guides her out the apartment, eyes locked on his family. August still in her arms, Clarke uses her free hand to grab a hold of the door handle, closing it behind her family as they leave for their new home, the final sticky note still stuck to their son’s back.


Things to Actually Do: Bring Our Baby Home.