Note: Thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who reviewed, followed or favorited this fic. And especially those who sent me messages about it. You guys rock! I hope you enjoy the epilogue, too. It's basically just 1,500 words of pointless fluff from Bellamy's POV.

Bellamy Blake was the luckiest bastard in the world, and he knew it.

He had a sister he'd practically raised himself, and he could not be more proud of the life she was building for herself; he even kind of liked her latest boyfriend, not that he would ever admit it out loud. (Walking in on the two of them in a heavy makeout session on the couch was a bit of a setback, but he was trying to get past it. He wanted O to be happy, he just didn't want to witness it.)

He had a job that he loved, where he really felt like he was making a difference, and he was all but certain he was going to ace his upcoming detective's exam, making way for a promotion on the horizon. He had great friends in and out of work, and his partner had finally healed up and was 100 percent back at work.

And then there was Clarke.

Clarke Griffin was smart and independent, strong and funny and compassionate, infuriatingly stubborn and hot as hell. The things the woman could do with her mouth should probably be illegal.

He was so in love with her, he couldn't see straight.

Truth be told, he'd been gone on Clarke long before she ever agreed to the first fake date. Hell, he'd had feelings — carefully unexplored feelings — for her long before she ever had a civil word to say to Octavia's asshole older brother.

He wanted to tell her, wanted her to know how he felt, but it was Clarke. He knew she liked him a lot, and she was very satisfied sexually (if he did say so himself), but that didn't necessarily mean she was ready to hear the L word from him. They'd only been dating for two months; it wasn't like he had to rush into anything, but it was getting harder and harder not to let the words slip out sometimes.

Like every time he was inside her. Or when she curled into his side and used him like a human pillow. Or when she made him lemon cookies after a rough day at work, even though he knew for a fact that she considered dessert without chocolate a waste of time and calories. Or, basically, any time she smiled at him. Which was more often all the time.

His girlfriend was smiling at him now, as she perched on the edge of her kitchen table — wearing nothing but the Ark City Police Department T-shirt she'd stolen from him — one long, temptingly bare leg on either side of his hips. She was biting her lip, trying to hold back a laugh.

"Are we really doing this?" she whispered.

"Yep."

"It's kind of mean."

"Mmm-hmm," he said, bumping his nose into hers. "She's got it coming for meddling in our business."

At Raven's birthday party the previous night, Octavia had entertained their friends (and half the bar's patrons nearby, too) with a drunken tale of her adventures in forcing Bellamy and Clarke to realize they were perfect for each other. It was only about 50 percent true — and honestly, pretty hilarious — but also a little embarrassing. He'd decided then that little sis needed a lesson in boundaries.

Clarke sighed. "Yes, but if she had kept out of our business, we might not be together. Think of all we would have missed out on."

"It's the principle," he insisted.

"Okay," she raised her eyebrows. "And this has nothing to do with the fact that you walked in on her and Lincoln getting gropey on the couch the other night?"

Maybe it was a little bit about that. Like 20 percent. Or, okay, at least 75 percent.

Yeah, Clarke knew him very well.

Just then, they heard Octavia's door creak open and the distinctive shuffle of his half-asleep (and undoubtedly hungover) sister heading toward the kitchen. He looked at Clarke, who shrugged and wrapped her arms around him.

Bellamy pushed her back onto the table, tugging one of her legs up over his hip and pressing his mouth to hers. Despite the fact that they'd planned this, he was 99 percent sure Clarke's moan was genuine, and his body's response to her certainly was. Truthfully, he and his dick were in complete agreement that Inside Clarke was the best place to be, ever.

Fortunately, before he could forget the whole point of this display, he heard a gasp from the doorway.

"Oh my God, what the hell? Ugh, you guys, we eat at that table!"

Bellamy pulled back to see Clarke grinning at him; in one of their frequent episodes of nonverbal communication he just knew Clarke was thinking about O's reaction if she had any idea of some of the things they'd done in his kitchen over the last two months. It was, for whatever reason, one of their favorite places to fuck.

He turned to look at Octavia, who was still staring at them, wrinkling her nose in disgust.

"Yeah?" he asked. "Well we sit on that couch all the time. We just had movie night there last Friday, for fuck's sake!"

"Seriously, Bell? For the thousandth time, I'm sorry you saw that! We weren't even having sex; you're totally overreacting!"

He stood up, helping Clarke into a sitting position. "The last thing I ever needed to see was your boyfriend's naked ass, O," he said. "And I don't want to have to borrow a blacklight from work to go over your apartment before I sit anywhere."

Octavia made an enraged sound deep in her throat and stormed out of the kitchen. Bellamy turned back to Clarke, who was shaking her head at him.

"A blacklight?" she asked. "Lincoln's naked ass? Didn't you tell me they were mostly still clothed?"

He shrugged. "I got a little carried away."

"Yeah, a little bit."

"You don't know how traumatic it was," he told her. There was a big difference between knowing your baby sister was having sex, and seeing her pinned beneath a large, half-naked tattooed guy with really, really wandering hands. "I've got to keep giving her crap for at least a couple of days. It's a big brother thing."

"Hmm, whatever you say, big bro."

"Hey, if you're so against it, why did you agree to do this?" he demanded.

She shrugged. "Seems I've developed a bit of a kitchen kink."

"Is that so?" he asked, running his fingertips from her knees to the top of her thighs. "Well, O is definitely not coming back in here for the forseeable future …"

She laughed and pushed his hands away. "No, but Raven probably is. And she won't be freaked out; she'll just stand there and watch."

"I don't mind if you don't," he joked.

"Ha, you say that now, but wait until she starts critiquing your technique."

"And what's wrong with my technique?" He knew she was joking, they both were, but some things were not a joking matter.

"Nothing," she said, huffing out a laugh. "But it's Raven; she'd find something."

He frowned.

"Oh my God," she said, rolling her eyes. "You big dork, there is nothing wrong with you. Except for the fact that you've ruined me for anyone else."

"Ditto," he said softly.

Clarke was still shaking her head and smiling at him, in amusement … and something else.

"What?"

"Nothing," she said. "I just love you, that's all."

He froze, wondering if he was hearing things. That's all? "You just what?"

"You heard me, Blake, I love you," she said casually, like it was no big deal.

"Dammit, Griffin!"

"Wow," she said. "I have to say, that's one reaction I did not expect."

"I've been wanting to tell you that forever, but I didn't want to freak you out!"

"Kinda like you're doing now?"

"I am not freaking out!"

"You are, a little bit," she said with a smirk, pushing him back slightly so she could stand. She looked up at him with an innocent smile. "I understand, some men are uncomfortable expressing their emotions."

"I'm not uncomfortable with … for fuck's sake, I love you, too!"

"I know you do," she said. "And I will forever treasure the charming manner in which you chose to tell me so. However, if you're more comfortable with expressing your love in a nonverbal manner, the kitchen still has me all hot and bothered, so …"

Trailing off with a grin, she left the kitchen.

Infuriating woman, always had to have the last word.

And he loved her (and she loved him back!), so he'd give her all the last words. In fact, he'd love to see what words she could come up with while he was pushing her into her mattress, fucking her from behind, pulling her hair the way that seemed to draw the most intoxicating moans from her.

From past experience, he was betting on "Oh God, yes, please, Bellamy! Fuck me harder, Bellamy!" And maybe, just maybe, "I love you, Bellamy."

Luckiest. Bastard. Ever.