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The moon is still in the sky when he stumbles outside for some air and on a mission.
Another night, another nightmare, another night of Clarke wrapping her arms around him, chasing his nightmares away, another dream of her being his.
He’s tired of waiting.
Wants to make her his, forever.
Who gives a fuck about being proper?
So what if they just barely died a few weeks ago, barely broke up with Echo properly days ago?
He wants Clarke, always has.
Wanted her from the moment he saw her, telling him to stop, wanted her, wanted that damm bracelet, wanted her even when she left him leaving him for Polis, wanted her when he was up in the sky, wanted her when he came down, and when they came here.
Wanted her to live more than he wanted anything else in the world itself.
Would have gladly traded his life for his if he was given the chance.
Wants to hold her in his hands and never let he go, wants to kiss her, to lay claim to her- body and soul the way she has claimed him.
He’s waited long enough.
Doesn’t want to and longer.
So here he is stumbling around in the early morning, when the sky is still dark the red tint of the sun is visible looking for it.
He’s been digging for might be hours, but what also might be minutes.
He has no idea where Clarke buried the ring, only has vague idea from Clarke and it’s too early to wake Gaia up and ask her.
So he digs, like Picasso looking for a bone, only he’s looking for a ring hidden in the dirt.
He finds it just as the sun starts to rise in the sky, the small diamond catching the morning lights, bouncing off it.
He get up, knees hurting and makes his way back to his house, Picasso greeting him at the door as he heads back to the room.
Clarke's still asleep when he gets there, curled up on her side, his shirt clinging to her body.
He washes his hands, scrubs his nails, and strips down to his boxers before he climbs into bed sliding next to her, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her against him.
Her hand is so small compared to his that he can't help but think as he slips the ring on her finger.
His knees are killing him, and Clarke would kill him if she found out that he bad been on his knees for a long time, digging.
Apparently, it still wasn't healed, (she wasn't wrong, he still needed the damm cane some nights) but he disagreed.
But if he got down on one knee and asked her, she would have scolded him.
The ring looks perfect on her hand.
"Do I want to know how long you were on your knees digging for this?"
Bellamy laughs as she turns to face him, her ring clad hand cupping his cheek, his hand settling around her waist, under his shirt.
"Is it going to affect your answer?"
She leans, her blue eyes soft, a smile on her face.
"If it's going to affect who's on top."
Bellamy's laugh is cut off as she kisses him, pressing her body against his, his hand sliding down her back to grab her ass.
He hauls on her top of him and she pulls away from his lips and sits up, looking down at him.
He reaches for a strand of hair curling it around his fingers.
"So it that a yes?"
"It's always been a yes. Today, tomorrow, always."
She's so beautiful, wide smile, bright blue eyes, his shirt hugging her curves, the flush on her cheeks as she sinks down onto his cock, the way her lips part as she rides hims, the ring on her finger catching the sun from where in enters the room through the open window.
She's his sun, his moon, his world.
She's everything he has ever wanted and everything he never thought he could have.
She's his.