Author's Note: This will be a collection of prompts from around the internet, and any suggestions you may have as well. They are in no particular chronological order, nor will they all be canon. Prompt: After 3 years on earth, Bellamy proposes to her in bed, in a tangle of sheets and dark, morning hours.
It's not morning, not just yet, but he is awake.
Even though summer is upon them - and what a stifling one it has been thus far - and the nights are far shorter, he finds that he can only sleep until that last dark hour, before night begrudgingly gives way to pale dawn. He thinks maybe it is a holdover from their days of fighting and scrapping for life, the months when every ounce of sunlight had to be wrung out of the day just for survival. He'd had a hard time, then, with the lives of so many tied to his every word, every deed, and sleep had not come easy.
But now, their community is housed and fed and healthy, building new successes on top of old as they create a their own path in the world. He has seen structures rise and forests fall over the past few years, and held more than a few babbling, messy babes - there is something about prosperity that drives the urge to procreate - but none of it can compare to the flourishing feeling of right he felt in her presence.
It had taken him more than a bit to realize what the painful stutter in his heart was when he saw her, or why the exhilarative nature of her touch could set his skin ablaze.
What he hadn't known then was she'd felt the same.
Of course, it took them a while to finally put one another out of their misery, but when they did, it was three days before anyone could drag them from his cabin.
A year has gone by since then, and he still feels that zip of a shock when she kisses him, and that overwhelming warmth when she tells him she loves him. Love. Before the 100, before the assassination, before her, he didn't think he was capable of loving anyone with the capacity that he loved Octavia. His heart had been hardened and cracked, with no room left for anyone who wasn't family.
And then one day he came to the realization (with his sister's unsolicited aid) that he'd made room for another, a particular blonde menace; after that, it was a confusing, wild ride for them both.
Now, he is laying stretched and sweating beneath the rough cotton sheets, one arm crooked behind his damp curls, the other reaching out to the golden mass of hair beside him. They don't cuddle as much as one would think, particularly with the amount of sex they have; their nights are spent drinking in one another's bodies, but he always wakes up with her touch absent.
All save for her strong, delicate fingers.
At the moment, she is lying on her stomach, face turned away but her hand resting on his outstretched arm, pale fingers curled around his tanned skin. Her breathing is slow, easy to time with his own, and though he has seen it a thousand times, the lines of her shoulder and the hypnotic curve of her back fascinate his sight. He could have her body every night for the rest of his life, and he would always find it captivating; he could hear her speak his name till his dying breath, and he would never tire of listening; he could quarrel and argue and get proved wrong for the rest of eternity, if it were her on the other side.
And that is when the urge to say she is his hits him hard.
Sure, others in their community have gotten hitched, taken vows, and proven to some higher authority that they were committed to one another, but he had never really seen Clarke as a woman who needed that. They belong to each other, entirely and without reservation, and he would die in a heartbeat for the frustrating doctor.
He knows she would never hesitate to die for him.
Did they need to get fancied up and have a celebration just to prove something really only the two of them need to know? Five minutes ago he would have said no, but now, he wants the entire damn world to know that they are for only one another; they have been through fire and blood and agony to survive to this day, fuck him for not realizing how incredible it is that they made it at all.
His pounding, rabbit-hole thoughts are reined back as he feels her fingers begin to draw small, erratic designs on his scarred skin. He shivers at the contact, and from under that mane of blonde, he hears her blearily comment on "hearing him think".
An anxious - why anxious, why the hell is he suddenly nervous? - dry response hums through his lips, and he can't quite bring himself to carry on with the half-begun conversation. But even in her semi-conscious state, she knows something is up, so she smoothes her fingers over his forearm, prompting him to tell her what's wrong.
"Marry me."
The words slip out unbidden but echo with the weight of thunder. His heart stops for a half-beat, then pounds away, causing his breath to hitch. He thinks she might balk, but instead, she shifts under the sheets, turning to face him with a hazy look he can't quite place.
"I thought we already were."
She is still sleepy - he can tell from the drowsiness in her voice - but he knows she is alert enough to see the worry on his face. However, before he can formulate anything to satisfy that partial query, she moves to him, slinging a leg over his hips and settling her slight weight on his. Her soft skin, pulled taut over pliant muscle, glides across his sweat-slicked form, and for a moment he can't decide if this is a diversionary tactic or a platform for a serious discussion (it wouldn't be the first time they'd deliberated over important issues while naked and in compromising positions).
He doesn't move, but just as he thinks he is going to be the one to speak up next, she places a hand on chest, and smiles.
"You're already mine, Bellamy Blake. You have been since the day I gave you my heart. But if you want the jewelry to prove it, I'm sure Raven would be happy to make something in-"
He doesn't need to hear anymore, and doesn't give her the chance as he snares her close and kisses her silly, knowing there is the most ridiculous smile on his face but not finding it in himself to care.
They might not have rings, or an official document, but she said he is hers.
And who is he to argue.
