Chapter Text
December 20, 2017.
“You ready, man?” Miller asks, grasping Bellamy’s shoulders from behind as he comes into view in the full length mirror.
Bellamy pulls the lapels of his suit jacket across his chest and secures the button. “I’ve been ready for this for a long time,” he says, a smile tugging at his lips.
“Didn’t realise you were such a sap, Blake,” Miller replies with a mirthful smile.
He doesn’t even try to act offended, the grin splitting his face unable to be tamped down. “Screw you, too.”
Miller chuckles, patting Bellamy on the back before he continues to get himself ready. Bellamy walks over to the dresser, picking up the small velvet box to look at the ring he’ll soon be sliding onto Clarke’s finger for what’s probably the seventh time today. They chose it together - much as they did everything else for the wedding - and whenever Bellamy sees it he feels a warmth spread through his chest; knowing what’s to come.
There’s a knock on the door, and upon Bellamy’s nod Miller walks over to open it. It’s Octavia, and she’s got a smile on her face that rivals his.
“Hey big brother,” she says, walking up to him and taking his hand. “Ready to get married?”
He takes a deep breath and nods. “Just about.” He steps back to look at Octavia, and she rolls her eyes in that indulgent way he remembers from years of taking her photo before high school dances. Her dress is a lovely deep red with a sweetheart neckline, and flows down to the floor. “You look gorgeous, O.”
“Yeah, I know I’m hot. Lincoln’s gonna die when he sees me,” she replies cheekily, prompting Bellamy to roll his eyes. “Wait until you see Clarke though, Bell. You’re going to look like such an idiot when she walks down the aisle. Someone better get a photo of your face.”
“Shut up,” he huffs, running a hand through his hair. “She looks good, though? Ready?”
Octavia’s smile softens. “Yeah. She’s nervous like you, but she’s ready.”
“Okay,” he nods. “Okay. That’s good.”
“Don’t have a breakdown before we get you out there,” Miller says with a smirk. “That’s meant to happen after the wedding, you know. Ball in chain getting you down? Isn’t that what straight people say?”
Bellamy barks out a laugh. “Apparently. If I ever say that about Clarke you have my permission to hit me over the back of my head.”
“I’m sure Clarke would get there before me.”
“That’s true,” Bellamy grants with a smile. Fuck he can’t wait to be married to her. “How long do we have?”
“Five minutes,” Octavia replies. “I came in here with strict instructions from Clarke to tell you that everything’s running smoothly and that there haven’t been any last minute crises. I think she’s actually disappointed. She has nothing to focus on now.”
“I understand the feeling,” he sighs, sitting down on the bed.
He’s been ready for half an hour now, and while he’s not nervous, the anticipation of seeing her and everything else that today promises is making him jittery. He’s just - he’s really fucking ready to marry her. The love of his life. And all he wants do be doing is standing next to Clarke at the altar and kissing her senseless for the first time as her husband.
It’s been a long road to where he’s standing (well, sitting) now, and it hasn’t all been easy. It was better after admitting their feelings, but he’d be kidding himself if he said that it solved everything between them. He’s glad it didn’t, because what they have now is so solid; based on trust and love and respect, and there’s no doubt in his mind that they’ve built something strong and lasting. Just as he told her almost two years ago, they did it right this time.
Another knock on the door breaks Bellamy from his thoughts, and Monty steps into the room. His eyes linger on his husband for a moment, a small smile tugging on his lips before he turns to Bellamy.
“It’s time.”
“Thank fuck,” Bellamy breathes out, and is met by the chuckles of his three friends.
With a final glance in the mirror, ruffling his hair to get it artfully disheveled in the way he knows Clarke loves, he steps out of the room and heads downstairs.
To get married.
Fuck.
(He’s really trying to stop grinning like an idiot.
Seriously, he is.)
He makes his way to the altar after a few final words with his sister, and smiles in greeting to the few eyes he catches along the way. It’s less than a minute later that the chatter in the room quiets down, and soon Jasper and Raven are stepping into the room and walking down the aisle. Raven’s in a similar dress to Octavia, and smirks as soon as they lock eyes, which he knows is her saying something like just wait, which seems a little cruel. He’s been waiting for a really long fucking time.
Next are Monty and Miller, their hands laced together as they make their way to the end of the aisle. They’re in the process of adopting, and he knows it’s taken a toll on them; the added stress and worry, so watching Miller quickly press his lips to Monty’s cheek before he comes to stand next to Bellamy is nice. They both look happy and carefree today, and he knows they’ll soon be even happier when everything pans out. There’s no doubt in his mind that they’ll make fantastic fathers. Octavia and Lincoln follow, with Bellamy rolling his eyes as his sister pokes her tongue out at him. Lincoln watches her with a fond smile, and it reminds Bellamy of how far he’s come in his relationship with both Lincoln and his sister. He knows that Clarke was a big part in that; even before they were together.
Octavia comes to stand by his side, giving his hand a quick squeeze and offering a kind smile. And he knows what’s coming next: his soon-to-be-wife walking down the aisle with Wells. So he’s prepared, in the sense that he knows what to expect.
But then, with the swell of music and the standing of guests, she steps into view, and he’s not prepared, will never be prepared. His racing heart slows, his hands, holding onto each other tightly in anticipation, slacken, and he feels his entire being relax. Octavia was probably right in saying he’d look like an idiot. He’s not sure he can control any of his face muscles right now.
And then she looks up, finds his eyes and smiles, and it’s like he can breathe again. He grins, his eyes only on her as she makes her way towards the altar; towards him and their future.
The only word that really comes to mind in describing her is ethereal. Her dress is gorgeous; off the shoulder, a fitted bodice flowing into a lovely skirt, with a delicate lace pattern over the top. Her hair is up in fancy twists and braids, and he can’t wait to take them out when they’re alone; run his fingers through her curls as he kisses her. Her hands are wrapped around a bouquet that they picked together - petals light purples and pinks and whites - and while they hadn’t cared a huge amount for all these small details, looking at her now makes him care even less. He’d marry her in any setting as long as he got to marry her.
Still, he’s not complaining that he gets to marry her like this. She’s beautiful, and she’s always beautiful to him, but right now she’s just - really, really fucking beautiful.
She presses her lips on Wells’ cheek when they reach the end of the aisle, and she grins at Bellamy when he holds out a hand for her to step up onto the small platform. Wells takes his place beside her, alongside Raven, Monty and Jasper, while Octavia, Miller and Lincoln are standing next to him. It doesn’t really matter; they’re all friends anyway, but they agreed not to have the girls on one side and the boys on the other. (A small up yours to the wedding industry as they were giving a lot of money to the wedding industry).
“Hey,” Clarke says softly, a little shy, as she stands in front of him.
“Hey,” Bellamy replies, smiling as he brings her hands to his face, pressing his lips along her fingers. He hasn’t seen her at all today, and it’s absolutely insane to say that he’s missed her, but he has. “You look beautiful, Clarke.” Incredibly beautiful. Devastatingly gorgeous. The best thing he’s ever seen is his goddamn life.
“I’m glad you think so,” she grins, squeezing his hands. “You’re looking pretty handsome yourself. Ready to get married?”
He laughs, light and so fucking delighted. “Yeah. I really am.”
“Me too,” she says, her smile so soft, and the ceremony begins.
Neither of them are religious, and both agreed to keep this part of the wedding short (because listening to someone talk on and on isn’t really anything they were interested in). They both cry during the vows, and while he doesn’t take his eyes off Clarke he can hear the sniffles of their friends and family around. Octavia hands Bellamy one of the rings and Wells does the same for Clarke, and he slides it onto her left hand to join the one he proposed with. His hands don’t shake, and neither do hers, which is honestly surprising because they’re both radiating excited energy.
They channel it into the next part, apparently, because as soon as the celebrant tells them they can kiss, they both lean in like they’ve been waiting their whole lives for it. (Part of Bellamy thinks it’s true.) And as soon as he feels her lips pressed against his, everything else fades; the guests cheering, the music playing, their friends on either side of them laughing. All he can focus on is how perfect this moment is.
He’s careful not to ruin Clarke’s hair, placing one hand at the back of her neck and the other on the small of her back while hers wrap around his shoulders. Their lips slide together, slow and sweet, and he gets lost in her taste and smell and feel. It’s about as unchaste as they can get without it being completely inappropriate for a wedding, and because he’s not quite ready to stop kissing her, he dips his new wife as a service to the guests. She smiles against his lips, a small laugh falling from her mouth, and when he leans back she looks so goddamn happy.
“I love you, Bellamy Blake,” she says softly, once he’s pulled them back upright. “So damn much.”
He leans in again, just quickly, and the surroundings come back. People are still cheering, and he swears he can hear Raven mutter a “get a room”, but he doesn’t care. He’s happier than he can ever really remember, because he’s just married Clarke. He’s married her. It’s a qualifier for the best day of his life.
“I love you, Clarke Griffin.”
“Husband,” she whispers, a little coy, but he can hear the hint of disbelief in it, too.
“Wife,” he responds, and when her eyes light up with the word he pulls her back in for another kiss.
(Octavia has to tug them apart so they can “sign the damn documents before you leave your own wedding to have a quickie”.
It’s a fair request.)
***
They spend their honeymoon travelling Europe, Bellamy for the history and Clarke for the art (and both for each other), and make a point of playing the alphabet game with the places they have sex in.
Christmas and New Years isn't spent at Clarke's cabin that year, instead at a small one in Switzerland (Bellamy can't find it within himself to complain), and when they have a snow fight high up in the mountains it reminds him of a time Clarke wasn't all his.
"I love you," he tells her when she's taking pictures of the two snowmen they've made, one with a C imprinted on it with twigs and the other B. So they're both lame? They can be lame together, and that's the point.
Clarke smiles at him, all love and fondness. "I love you, too."
The next Christmas is spent back at their own cabin, which they're fixing up together to rent out. (She still loves it, but after getting engaged they decided that it was too big for them to move into permanently. When Clarke mentioned that a lot of her childhood was spent in a large house with nobody to keep her company, they decided on something smaller and cosier.)
It's there that he has another contender for the happiest day of his life, when Clarke walks up to him with tears in her eyes and three positive pregnancy tests in her hands. Lily Aurora Griffin-Blake is born screaming her lungs out and as pink as they come, mid August, and Bellamy never thought he'd love anyone more than he loves his incredible wife, but holding his daughter in his arms for the first time makes him question it.
"You're amazing," he tells Clarke when she's nursing their baby. Their baby. He kisses her slowly, pouring everything he's feeling into it until his heart slows and he can feel Clarke's tears against his cheeks. "I love you so goddamn much, princess." Because he wasted so much time not saying it and now he'll say it as many times as he can, in as many ways as he can.
Clarke goes into labour three years later, on the eve of Christmas Eve, and the twins are born just shy of the day itself. Noah Alexander and Charlotte Grace spend their first Christmas day only five hours old, and Bellamy sneaks a small Christmas tree into the hospital room so they can celebrate as the small (getting larger) family they've become.
"Warrior woman," he tells Clarke breathlessly, his amazement for his wife clear in his voice. "I promise to carry the next one if it becomes medically possible."
She laughs despite her exhaustion, Lily tucked into her side on the hospital bed as Noah sleeps in his mum's arms. Bellamy's holding Charlotte himself, and can't stop tracing all her tiny features with his fingers.
"The next one?" Clarke asks, grinning at him. He can see how tired she is, but there's no hiding the happiness shining through either. Fuck he loves her.
"Yeah," he smiles, glancing back at his new daughter in his arms. "Can't stop at three, princess. Gotta get the fourth so we can become a band."
"Six people for a band?" Clarke asks, amused.
"Of course. Someone needs to play the tambourine."
Amelia Sophia is born three years later on boxing day, and Bellamy's not even surprised. Christmas always was their time.
***
(With a family of six they decide that the cabin doesn't seem so big anymore, and they spend their coming Christmases living there with a mix of traditions: snow fights in the morning with hot chocolate and marshmallows for breakfast, chicken adobo for lunch with a long history lesson for the kids taught by Bellamy, and a crappy Hallmark movie in the evening to end the night with his wife.
It's not a future he ever would've imagined for himself, but he's endlessly happy that it's the one that panned out.
"I love you," he reminds Clarke every night before they go to bed, and his heart never fails to swell when he hears the words repeated back to him.
"I love you, too.")