#crownandsword

[glaciernaut]

My Boys 🥺💙🖤♥️

Side note: thank you my followers for your kind words and support of my comic “Crown and Sword” ! I’m just as excited to continue to make more pages as you are to enjoy them! You’re all my beloved little knighties.

“Will you let me kiss you my beloved knight?”

Fall semester is coming to an end, so now is the perfect time to really go ham on the comic and squeeze a bunch of panels out before Spring semester and O-Chem start beating my ass again…

[chasholidays]

Bellarke -- One of them is from the past and accidentally time travels to the present. They decide to stay in the present, together.

Bellamy never minds waking up to find a pretty girl–or boy, or nonbinary person–in his apartment. Some people, he knows, prefer for their one-night stands to leave before breakfast, but he’s never felt that way. He always spends the next few hours fretting over whether or not they figured out how to get home via public transportation and idly worrying that they stole something from him. Plus, if they stay, sometimes there’s bonus, morning sex, and he’s always down for that.

As it turns out, the only time he doesn’t like waking up to find an attractive stranger in his apartment is when he didn’t go to bed with said stranger. Also, when the stranger is screaming.

His first thought, when the noise jostles him out of sleep, is that it’s Octavia, because–well, honestly, it’s not like he really expects his sister to show up in his apartment, screaming, at seven a.m. on a Sunday, but he can’t imagine anyone else doing it either.

By the time he realizes it wasn’t her, he’s already staggering down the hall to the source of the noise, and he figures he might as well keep going.

The girl in the kitchen wasn’t screaming for long, and he thinks it might have been more properly classified as a yelp, on further contemplation. Which makes sense because, when he finds her, the dog is sniffing her leg, and she seems to be looking for a weapon.

“Jesus, you’re the worst guard dog ever,” he tells Pandora. “If she steals my stuff, I’m blaming you.”

Pandora rushes over to greet him instead, and he absently scratches her as he watches the girl. She is pretty, wavy blonde hair and big blue eyes, with a mole on her lip. She’s wearing what looks like a nightgown, a long, old-fashioned one, and staring at his bare chest. Pretty openly. It’s always nice to be appreciated, but–wow is this beyond weird.

“Can I help you?” he asks, pointed, and her gaze snaps back up to his eyes.

“You’re not wearing any clothing!” she barks, like it’s an accusation.

“You’re the one who broke into my house while I was asleep,” he says. “And I’m wearing boxers. Seriously, who the fuck are you and what are you doing here?”

She hesitates, worrying her lip. Maybe it’s weird that he has no interest in calling the police or anything, but–the girl looks exhausted, freaked out, and just as confused as he feels. Plus, he wants to believe that Pandora has some instincts, and if she was really trying to steal from him, his dog wouldn’t be cozying up.

Denial is cool.

“I was exploring my new home,” she says, slow and cautious. “I went into a closet and it went–farther than I expected.” She jerks her head to the pantry door. “I opened that door and I was here.”

“That’s a pantry,” he says, dry.

“And I came through a closet,” she snaps. “Obviously something is wrong. I don’t know what happened, but it wasn’t normal.” Another moment of hesitation, she adds, “And there’s more wrong than that.”

“Yeah?” He goes over to the coffee pot and gets it started. “You want coffee?”

“Please,” she says. “And could you–I am aware that this is your home, and I’ve barged in, but–might you be willing to dress yourself?”

He usually doesn’t get much more dressed than boxers until he has to leave the apartment on weekends, but her eyes keep darting down to his chest and she’s flushing, so he figures it’s probably the least he can do. If she’s not comfortable with mostly naked guys, he’s fine with not being one. “Sure, give me a sec. You okay with Pandora, or you want me to lock her in my room?”

“Pandora?”

“The dog.”

“Oh. She’s friendly?”

“Yeah, she’s a sweetheart. Just whistle and call her and she’ll come over.”

She kneels down and whistles, cooing softly, and the dog goes over to lick her. The girl looks a little more relaxed now, which is probably good. He has no fucking idea what’s happening or what her game is, but–he doesn’t actually think she’s lying to him. So he’d rather she was feeling relaxed than stressed out. It’s just easier.

He tugs on a pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt, and grabs some of O’s clothes for the girl, just in case she’d be more comfortable with more layers.

She’s still petting Pandora when he gets back, but she offers him an actual smile, so he figures she’s doing better.

“You want clothes?” he asks, holding up the bundle. “Or are you not staying?”

“I suppose I should see if I can go back,” she says. “You did say I came through your pantry.”

“And you’re sticking with that story,” he says, grabbing a couple mugs and pouring coffee. “Have a seat. Or check the pantry first. Your call.”

“Give me the coffee first,” she says, and he laughs.

“Yeah, fair enough. Do you take milk or sugar?”

“No, thank you.” She bites her lip. “I don’t even know your name.”

“Bellamy Blake.” He offers her the mug. “And you are?”

“Clarke Griffin.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“Same to you.” She takes a long drink of the coffee, and makes another face.

“Bad?”

“It’s not the usual blend I have.”

“Milk or sugar?”

“No, I’ll get used to it.” She lets out a breath, puts the mug on the table, and opens the pantry door. She doesn’t look pleased when she says, “I don’t think this is your pantry.”

He frowns, goes over to look over her shoulder, and– “Holy shit,” he says.

“Are you a sailor?” she asks. “Who says those things in front of a lady?”

“Basically everyone,” he says. His pantry has been replaced with a long, dark corridor, leading to parts unknown. So–yeah. Magic. Definitely magic. “Not to be weird, but–what year is it where you’re from?” It feels like the right time to ask.

“Eighteen-eighty-six,” she says.

“Yeah. Okay. So–you’re a hundred and thirty years in the future,” he says. “So you might want to go back through the pantry.”

She stiffens, but she doesn’t move. “What would you say if I said I didn’t want to?”

He considers the question. “Are you hungry?” he settles on.

Her smile is relieved. “I am, yes.”

“Cool. Eggs?”

“Thank you.”

*

Once she’s on his couch in his sister’s clothes with a plate of eggs in her lap and the dog looking at her longingly, hoping for scraps, she tells him her story.

“My father died recently, and my mother is worried about our finances. We’re rich, but not like we used to be. So we’ve taken a smaller home and she’s set up a marriage for me.” She lets out a breath. “And I hate my fiance. It’s a political match, good for my family, but–he’s awful, and I can’t sleep, thinking about the wedding. My family just moved, so I’ve been exploring the house in the night. I heard my mother looking for me and I didn’t want to talk to her, so I ducked into the closet. And when I could keep going, I did.”

“What’s wrong with the guy?”

“Everything. He’s–awful. Cruel to his servants, lecherous, and–” She shudders. “His family is rich, and he’s always gotten what he wanted. Now he wants me.”

“Jesus, that’s fucked up.”

She snorts out a small laugh. “Is this normal?”

“Totally. And I’m pretty sure people swore in the eighteen hundreds.”

“Fuck,” she says, and he grins. “Of course we do. But not in mixed company. Especially not in front of a woman you just met.”

“Yeah, fuck that,” he says. “So–you hate your fiance.”

“Deeply. And I don’t know how to talk to my mother about it. My father would have understood, but since he passed away, I don’t know what to do.”

“You can come here whenever you want,” he offers. “You know, if you need to get away. I’ll miss the pots and pans that were in the pantry, but whatever. It’s fine. I’ll show you how the TV works.”

“TV?”

He laughs. “The future is full of cool stuff.”

She pauses. “Somehow, I don’t think you mean temperature.”

“Oh, no. We’ll work on slang too.”

She takes a sip of her coffee. “How often are you imagining I’ll come here?”

“How often do you think you’ll need to?”

“More often than you want me to.”

He nearly squeezes her shoulder, but he’s not sure she’d be cool with that. “You’re welcome any time. I mean it.”

“And you just–believe me,” she says, sounding curious.

“You did show me a magical corridor in my pantry,” he points out. “Hard to be a skeptic after that.”

She laughs. “I suppose.”

“Besides, the dog likes you. That’s all I need.”

Her smile is small and private, and he almost feels bad for seeing it. “Thank you,” she says. “For the eggs. And the hospitality.”

“Like I said, whenever you need.”

*

It’s weird, having a part-time, time-traveling roommate. Clarke tends to show up at night, after her mother has gone to sleep, and they’ll sit on the couch and watch TV and drink beer and chat. When her mother goes out of town, she’ll come for days at a time, exploring the city with him, eyes lighting up with wonder at everything.

Those are his favorite days.

It’s great, except for all the times he doesn’t have. He wants to introduce her to his friends, to his sister, to show her everything, and every time he thinks about it, it makes his heart ache. Because–she’s not his to keep. She’s not from here. She’s just visiting. She’s got a whole life at home, and just because she’s running away from it, it doesn’t mean–well, it doesn’t mean she wants to give up everything.

Just because he thinks she’d be better off, it doesn’t mean she wants that.

It’s been about three months when she shows up with her arms full of silver dishes and a determined look on her face. It’s almost midnight, and he’d almost given up hope of seeing her tonight.

“Hi,” he says, when she deposits the silver on the table. “What’s up?”

“Those would be antiques, right? The silver.”

“Uh, probably. Why?”

“Because I’m getting married next week, and I don’t want to be. And if I’m going to stay here, I’m going to need–things. Money, and an apartment, and clothing, and–I assume I could buy some sort of documentation, and–”

“You want to stay here?” he asks.

All the righteous passion drains out of her, and she sags, looking sheepish. “I didn’t actually say that, did I?”

“No. But–you should.” He exhales. “Stay, I mean. Not say it. Fuck, I’ve been wanting to tell you to for weeks. We can find you a place, you can stay here until–”

“Fuck it,” Clarke says, and she throws the dishes down on the table and fumbles for his shirt, gets purchase and pulls him down to kiss him, off-center and inexperienced, but the intent is really all he needs. He wraps his arms around her and kisses back, and she grins into it, relaxing until she practically melts against him. It’s everything he’s been waiting for for months, and apparently she has too.

“You can stay here forever,” he says. “Never leave.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” she says.“My note to my mother did say I was running away to live in sin.” She pauses. “I said with a woman, though. Just so I’d be as disgraceful as possible.”

“What, you think she’s going to travel through time and find you?” he teases.

“She wanted me to marry a man I loathe. She can handle thinking I’m a complete disappointment.” She rests her head against his chest, still smiling. “And I stole half her silver.”

“Yeah, we’re still going to sell that.” He laughs, slightly disbelieving. “Fuck, I don’t know what we’re going to tell my friends.”

“Girlfriend who lived in Canada,” she supplies. She’s been watching too much TV; he loves it. “We’ll think of something, right?”

“Definitely.” He kisses her hair. “Hey, you want to see how comfortable my bed is?”

“I’d love to.”

*

Three weeks later, Bellamy opens up the pantry without thinking and finds that instead of an ominous corridor leading to his girlfriend’s probably enraged mother, it’s his pantry again, full of pots he almost never uses and cereal he forgets to eat.

“Huh,” he says.

“What?”

“Apparently you’re really stuck here.”

Clarke wraps her arms around him and props her chin on his shoulder, looking at the pantry she’s never seen before. “Oh. Good.”

The dog sniffs the newly returned items in confusion, and Bellamy grins. “Yeah. Awesome.”

[ponyregrets]

Alt POV request: Better to Give Than to Receive

HEY GUYS quick note before we get to fic: I’m not generally very good with knowing how to express gratitude due to my own issues with being a robot, but I wanted to say thank you to everyone for the votes in the @bellarkefanfictionawards. It really means a lot to me, and I figured the best way to express that was with more fanfic. Because that’s how I tend to express most emotions.

But really, thanks.

Original fic on AO3, and alt-POV.

Bellamy’s spent a while thinking of different ways to tell his roommate that he’s in love with her, ranging from the obvious (telling her he’s in love with her) to the stupidly complicated (trying to engineer a situation where she overhears him talking to someone else about it) to the unpractical and manipulative (dating someone else to make her jealous). None of them ever seemed like anything close to a good idea, which is why he’s settled on pining and figuring he’ll someday get drunk and destroy his entire life. It’s not a good plan, but it’s a plan he’s going with until he comes up with a better one.

He never considered giving her a coupon book full of sexual acts he could perform for her, and that’s why he finds it so fucking confusing when she does that to him. Not that it wouldn’t be confusing anyway, but–he has no idea what message Clarke is trying to send. It feels like a joke, but she doesn’t really treat it like one. But she doesn’t treat it like a confession either.

It’s just–no big deal. Normal friend stuff.

“What is that?” Miller asks. Bellamy’s looking at the coupon book again and failing at normal human conversations because–fuck, how is he supposed to deal with this? Clarke is giving him nothing, just chatting with Octavia and Lincoln and not even looking his way. If she’s not nervous or laughing at him, he has no clue what she’s going for. If it doesn’t mean anything, why isn’t she letting him in on the joke?

What the fuck is the joke?

“Birthday present from Clarke,” he says.

“Is it finally a confession of her undying love?”

“No, that’s what I want from you, Miller,” he says, mostly because he’s not going to tell Miller. Miller will just tell him it’s a joke and she’s just rolling with it to fuck with him. And he’d agree, but he knows Clarke. That isn’t what she’s like.

None of this is what she’s like. Unless she decided she just–wants to start fucking him, and even then, he figured she’d just say it.

He should just ask, but instead he bookmarks the one for a back rub and waits for the party to end. As tests go, it feels safe. He’s not admitting he wants her to blow him or anything, and if she shoots him down, he’ll know not to use any more.

Besides, Clarke looks exhausted. He might have offered her a back rub anyway. Assuming he could figure out a non-awkward way to do it.

One of those platonic back rubs. It’s the big new thing with the kids today.

“So, uh, when can I start cashing in on these?” he asks her.

She doesn’t even open her eyes. “When I’m conscious. You cannot possibly want to make me–” He’s not sure he wants to hear the end of that sentence, so he rips out the coupon and hands it to her. She blinks at it, but she seems more surprised by which coupon it is than anything else. Like she was expecting him to ask her to fuck him right now, when she’s barely conscious. “You want a back rub?” she asks, dubious.

“It never says who’s giving the back rub.”

That just seems to confuse her more, which is–seriously, did she think he wanted a sex slave for his birthday? Even if she wasn’t his best friend, a total lack of reciprocity would be creepy. Most of his fantasies are about things he wants to do to her anyway.

“You want to use a coupon to give me a back rub?” she finally asks.

“It looks like you need a back rub.” He makes his voice deliberately casual. “Start small, right?”

It’s enough to reassure her, which makes his heart trip. Or it might just be her relieved smile. He’s fucked. “I’ll owe you one.”

“Yeah, uh, don’t worry. I’m pretty sure I’m going to come out ahead.”

Clarke stretches, and he can hear her back crack, which makes him wince. Part of him feels bad for even thinking about the coupons, when she’s exhausted from working so hard to make sure he had a nice birthday, but–she started it. He didn’t ask her to give him some book of coupons for lovers and destroy his brain.

“So, how do back rubs work?”

“Like, mechanically?” he asks. “I rub your back. The name is kind of a dead giveaway.”

“You would be a dick even when you’re supposed to be doing something nice for me,” she says, but her voice is all fondness. “Where do we do it? Do I take my shirt off? I feel like if I was giving you a back rub, you’d take off your shirt.”

“You just like looking at me with my shirt off,” he says, grateful to slip back into familiar banter. It’s their defense against awkward situations, and it usually works. “Good thing I didn’t ask you to give me a back rub, since you know nothing about it.”

“You could have picked one of the ones I’m good at.”

He nearly chokes, but somehow doesn’t. “Which are those?” he asks.

She shrugs. “Good question. You can let me know.” She stretches again. “Seriously, you’re the expert here, apparently. What am I doing?”

“Take off your shirt,” he says, mouth dry. “Maybe on your bed? You look like you’re about to pass out.”

“I am, yeah,” she says. “Bed works.”

Bellamy hasn’t given a lot massages in his life, but Clarke apparently hasn’t gotten many either, so it’s not like she’s going to know if he fucks it up. And she has no objections to him straddling her hips in his bed, putting his hands all over her while she makes obscene noises, and when he’s done, she murmurs, “Thanks, Bell. Really, I owe you. And happy birthday.”

“Yeah,” he says. “Thanks.”

*

The problem is, he has no one to talk to about the whole thing. He doesn’t know how else to ask Clarke if it’s okay, because he already has. She gave him the book, she told him to use them, she even let him use one. He has no reason to be worried about this, but he can’t help it. It feels like a trap, but that’s not Clarke.

None of this is Clarke, which means the whole thing is so fucking confusing.

In the end, his job makes the decision for him. Diana Sydney is about his least favorite person, and she’s his boss, which is the worst combination if all time. He hates her, and he has to deal with her, and it’s really the worst. On Friday, she comes in and tells him he needs to finish a bunch of paperwork he’s never even seen by five, and acts like it’s his fault she forgot to give it to him, instead of her fault for either forgetting or not caring enough. Or possibly deliberately trying to sabotage him. At this point, he doesn’t really care; he hates her regardless of her motivations.

He gets it done on time because he’s a rock star, but he has to stay even later to finish his other stuff, on a fucking Friday.

The thought crosses his mind unbidden: fuck, I need to get laid.

And then the second thought, that he could. That he could just give Clarke a coupon, and she might fuck him.

She’ll either fuck him or he’ll ruin their friendship forever. Either way, today is probably the day to do it. If he’s having a shitty day, he might as well make it worse.

Or make it so much better.

She’s on the couch with her laptop when he gets back, and he’s tired enough to just say, “So, seriously, the coupon book?”

“What about it?” she asks, as mild as ever. She doesn’t even look up from her laptop, and he’s grumpy enough to just pull the card out of his back pocket. He spent a while picking the right one on the bus, the one that felt–safe. He can play it off if he has to, like–oh, yeah, I’m so pissed at Diana, I just wanted to tell someone to blow me. He’s been texting her enraged updates throughout the day; she knows how annoyed he is.

She’s clearly surprised, stares at the card for long enough he starts to get nervous, is just about to try to say–anything. The line about wanting to tell someone to blow him doesn’t feel like anything anymore.

And then she asks, “Are you gonna time me?”

He lets out the breath he was holding, and suddenly it’s easy, so fucking normal. Him and Clarke joking around about blow jobs, like they do it every day, and then suddenly he’s naked and her mouth is on his dick, and it’s fucking amazing. So close to a dream come true.

After he offers to return the favor, and it feels like a miracle that she lets him, that she’s already wet and ready for him, that she was getting off on blowing him, that she loved it too.

He gets her off twice and would be happy to keep going, but Clarke tugs him off, laughing.

“I’m pretty sure that was longer than twenty minutes,” she says, but her smile is fond. “You’re good, Bellamy.”

“You’ve been single for a while,” he points out. “You probably need the orgasms.”

“I’m still getting off plenty. Not that you aren’t a huge improvement,” she adds, and pecks him on the cheek. “I’m good, seriously. Thanks, though.” He watches her get dressed as subtly as possible, and she doesn’t seem to notice. Doesn’t even seem to care that she’s naked in front of him. “You feel better?”

“Yeah,” he says, and it’s even true. “So much better.”

*

After they fool around in the bath, he makes an actual schedule, draws up a plan of how often he can do this. Clarke is apparently happy to have sex with him, and a lot of sex, but it’s entirely based on the coupons. Which means he only has so long before this stops and he has to either say something about it or just resign himself to sex with Clarke being a blip, this random perfect thing in his life that will wink in and wink out.

He has to make last as long as possible without making her suspicious.

“Someone is going to notice,” she says, breathless. She’s got her legs wrapped around his waist as he fucks her up against the wall of the bathroom at Gina’s. As life choices go, he’s not sure fucking his roommate (whom he’s in love with) at his ex-girlfriend’s bar is really a good one, but he wasn’t sure where else they were going to have public sex.

And, fuck, it’s so good. Her fingers are digging into his back and she’s pulling him deeper with every thrust. She wants him just as much as he wants her, and that’s enough until he figures out a follow-up plan.

“Half our friends already think we’re fucking,” he points out, kissing her shoulder so he won’t kiss her mouth.

“Yeah, but–Jesus, right there,” she gasps. “Oh fuck, Bellamy.”

He drops his hand to rub her clit, and that’s all it takes for her to be shuddering and coming around him, whimpering against his neck.

“Fuck, who cares if they figure it out,” she says, still regaining her breath. “You’re the best.”

He thinks about telling her then. He thinks about telling her all the time, because–she loves him, he knows that. And she likes sex with him. Upgrading this into a relationship should be so easy. Tipping them over the edge into something more.

But she never asks for anything, and it’s all just–the stupid coupons. He’s pretty sure that book is the best and worst thing that’s ever happened to him. He wouldn’t give it up, but–

Clarke tugs her skirt down and checks herself in the mirror. “You’re so lucky I didn’t get a hickey.”

“That’s not luck, it’s skill,” he says. “I know how to not give people hickeys when I don’t want to.”

“I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to,” she says. “Just nowhere too obvious. We’re not in high school.”

It feels a little like they are, though. Just because getting laid and having no idea what it means or if it’s really going to last is definitely something he associates with high-school. He thought he’d gotten better at reading signals since then, but–these are new signals for him.

It gets even more high school–in the best possible way–a couple weeks later, when they’re on the couch together, watching Netflix while she doodles and he plays Dragon Age, and she says, “Okay, look, I know I don’t have a coupon book, but–”

He blinks, confused. “What?”

She puts her notebook aside, tugging her knees up to her chest. She’s been quiet, clearly had a bad day, but he figured that was a reason not to do anything with the coupons.

Apparently he was wrong. “I had a shitty day,” she admits. “Will you just–”

He doesn’t even think about it; he pulls her into his arms and kisses her hair, and she melts against him. “Yeah, I–of course. What do you need?”

Her release of breath sounds relieved. “I don’t know,” she says. He doesn’t even have a chance to make a suggestion before she adds, “Can we just make out? And go from there?” Which is great, because that’s so much better than anything he would have had the guts to suggest.

“Yeah. No problem.”

Before the coupon thing started, he’d thought about kissing Clarke even more than he’s thought about fucking her, in part because it felt less creepy than thinking about sex. Less invasive somehow.

And, fuck it, he likes kissing. He’d been hating it, not kissing her.

Clarke clearly does too, because that’s all they do, just making out until she pulls away, and sleeping together, curled around each other on the couch.

It’s so much better and so much worse than high school. He’s losing his fucking mind.

*

“Okay, so, here’s what happened.”

Miller raises his eyebrows. “Fuck, do I need a drink?”

“Probably. Clarke gave me a book of, uh–” He rubs his face. “Sex coupons.”

There’s a long pause, and finally Miller says, “Good thing I wasn’t drinking, I would have fucking choked. Sex coupons?”

“Yeah, that was my reaction. I figured it was a joke, but she wasn’t really acting like it was a joke. So, uh, I took her up on it.”

“You’re telling me you’ve been fucking Clarke since your birthday and you somehow didn’t tell me about it? I’m not offended, I just can’t believe you managed to keep your mouth shut. I figured I’d get a fucking I slept with Clarke blingee.”

“If I ever start dating her, I’ll send a Clarke’s into me blingee,” he promises. “Right now, I don’t know what the fuck is happening. We fuck when I give her coupons. And, uh–we made out for like two hours a couple weeks ago because she had a bad day.” He puts his head down on the table. “Fuck. I don’t know what to do.”

“Tell her,” says Miller.

Bellamy turns his head to look at him. Miller’s shoulders are relaxed, his posture nonchalant. “What?”

“Dude. At some point, you just need to fucking communicate. You’re crazy about her. Everyone knows it. You’ve apparently had a functional and rewarding sex life for months, so–yeah. Tell her. You’re going to lose your mind if you don’t.”

“Are you being supportive right now? Is it that bad?”

“It’s that bad.” Miller sighs. “Dude. She’s crazy about you too. And–” He pauses. “Otherwise, you’re going to run out of coupons, right?”

He’s been fretting about that for weeks. “Yeah, I am.”

“So talk to her. And don’t send me a fucking Blingee if it works out.”

Bellamy grins. “I definitely will. Even if it doesn’t. She broke my heart: the blingee.”

“Fuck you too.”

*

He has three coupons left, and he’s kind of–well, he knows the breast one will be fun, and he’s sure she’s not going to veto it. He’s a little worried about the other two; the strip-tease still feels like it could be awkward, and he doesn’t want to force her, and bondage feels like something she should consent to in a more definite way than just saying she was okay with all the coupons.

“Coupon,” he says after dinner, and she grins.

“Which one?”

He hands over strip tease one, and she laughs.

“Okay, full disclosure, I’ve never done a strip tease before. Can you get porno music on your phone?”

“You want a soundtrack?” he asks.

“It’s not a striptease if there isn’t a soundtrack, right? If only I had a pole.”

“You wouldn’t even know what to do with a stripper pole.”

“I think it’s pretty self-explanatory,” she says. “Just kind of twirl around it, right?”

“This is gonna be really sexy, isn’t it?” he asks, dry, and she smirks.

“I bet I can figure something out.”

She stands and starts scrolling through her phone, bites her lip as she watches him on the couch. She’s nervous in a way he feels like he hasn’t seen for a while, and he shifts a little.

“You don’t have to, Clarke,” he says. “Seriously. I don’t mind if–”

“Just pretend to like it,” she tells him, and her phone starts playing a song he doesn’t recognize.

She just moves at first, slow, like she’s dancing, getting a feel for the music. She’s always been a more enthusiastic than skilled with dancing, but there’s something really hot about her deliberateness now, all her focus on this. Clarke’s always been one of those people who puts her everything into the stuff she cares about, and there’s something unbelievably sexy about that focus being on doing something for him.

She runs her hand up and down her sides, and then hooks them under the hem of her shirt, tugging it up and off as she keeps swaying to the music. She cups her breasts through the fabric of her bra, and he can’t help saying, “Fuck, Clarke.”

“I should have worn something else,” she says. “Jeans aren’t going to be sexy to take off.”

“Yeah, they are,” he says. “This is really fucking good, okay?”

“I’m barely doing anything,” she says, but she undoes the button on her jeans and starts shimmying out of them. Her underwear is mismatched, but he doesn’t even care.

He fucking adores her.

“Get over here,” he says, and she blinks.

“You don’t want–”

“Clarke,” he says, and she straddles his hips and kisses him wet and deep, unrestrained. The two of them working together manage to fumble his clothes off, and he finds a condom and slides it on before she sinks onto him. “This wasn’t on the coupon,” he manages.

“They’re more like jumping off points,” she says, and tugs his hand up to her breast, insistent.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous.”

“You’re not so bad yourself.” She bites his shoulder. “God, that’s so good.”

“I try.”

She slumps against him after they’re done, and he hesitates for only a minute before he tugs her up, pulls her with him into his room. It feels like a miracle when she doesn’t even comment, when she settles against his chest and goes to sleep, lips pressed against his collarbone.

He wakes up first in the morning, and that’s the end of it. He can’t just do this once. He wants to wake up with her every morning. He wants this so much he can’t even breathe for a minute.

So, that’s it. Love confession. It’s that or being miserable for the rest of his life.

It’s not hard to get out of bed without waking her up, and if he hadn’t been sure before, the sight of her curling back into his bed, smiling a little in his sleep, would have pushed him over the edge.

He could be so fucking happy. He could make her so happy.

The food selection in the kitchen is pitiful, so he puts the coupon on the pillow next to her and rides his bike to the store to pick up bacon and eggs which, in retrospect, he can’t even start cooking yet, because they need to be warm when she gets up. Cold bacon and eggs don’t really seem like an appropriately romantic gesture.

It’s probably only twenty minutes before she shows up, but it feels like twenty years. His kindle has never been less exciting.

But when she does come, she’s wearing one of his t-shirts and nothing else, her legs bare and her smile fond as she holds up the coupon. “You make romantic breakfasts now?” she asks.

He wets his lips. “Yeah, I’m going all out. I went and bought bacon and everything. I was hoping you wouldn’t wake up while I was gone, and then I got back and was kind of disappointed you hadn’t.”

“You could have just gotten me.”

“Yeah, but–” He can’t help a huff of laughter. “It was a gesture. It doesn’t work as well if I wake you up and tell you to come talk to me.”

There’s a second of hesitation, and then she puts the card down and climbs into his lap, hooking her arms around his neck and kissing him, no hesitation. It’s warm and fond and perfect, and he tugs her close to kiss her back.

“It was a nice gesture,” she murmurs, and he kisses down her neck, doesn’t know how to stop. Somehow, even though they haven’t said anything, he’s so sure. She feels the same, and his life is awesome.

“Fuck, Clarke, I’ve been going crazy. I didn’t–I thought you were trying to tell me something with the coupons and then you were so fucking normal about it and I couldn’t figure out–”

He can feel her blushing against his shoulder. “I, um. I gave you the wrong book.”

Suddenly, he’s so much less sure, and he feels the press of her lips, reassuring. “What?” he manages.

“There were a bunch of different coupon books at the store, I thought they were all the same book in different colors, but, yeah. I accidentally got the couples one. I couldn’t figure out why you were checking to make sure I didn’t mind if you made me clean my room.”

It feels like the bottom drops out of his world; he came so close to fucking up. “Jesus, I can’t believe I–”

The press of her mouth on his is all reassurance, and he tries to find the same confidence he had before, that she felt the same. She wanted to. She still wants to. “I would have told you if I didn’t want to,” she says. “You checked. A lot. I didn’t know what you were checking on at first, but–I wanted it. All of it.” The pause is deliberate, and her smile is warm. “I want you.”

“Yeah?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

He really was planning to do the breakfast thing, especially because this isn’t even the new part, the sex. Sex is what they’ve been having. But it’s different now, just as fun and easy, but with more kissing and laughing and the knowledge that they’re going to keep doing it. And he doesn’t know how to wait for that.

“You’ve still got tying me up left, right?” she asks, fingers trailing up his side. It doesn’t seem like she can get close enough to him either. “That’s it?”

“You were keeping track?” he asks.

“I went and bought another copy,” she says. “I made a spreadsheet with all the ones you’d use and crossed them off as–I didn’t want to not know when they ran out. I wanted to be ready.”

“You made a spreadsheet?”

“I wanted to see if there was a pattern! Or if there was a particular kind you liked or–”

He kisses her. “I love you,” he says, and it’s not the first time, but–it’s different.

A smiles blooms on her face, and it hits him hard. He made her look like that. He makes her happy. He’s going to keep on making her happy for as long as he can.

“Oh,” she says, settling back in.

“Yeah. Full disclosure.”

“Thanks for saying something. I didn’t–I don’t know what I would have done when they ran out.”

“Been overcome with lust for me,” he says, and she pokes him. He laughs. “Yeah, you just would have had another shitty day and asked me to make out.”

“Probably, yeah.”

He’s making the bacon and eggs when she says, “I love you too,” and his throat closes up for a minute.

“Yeah?”

“Yup.” She stretches in her chair, content. “So no take-backs.”

“No take-backs.” He pauses. “Are you going to take it back if I tell you we have to send Miller some really weird pictures?”

“That’s pretty much what I was expecting from this relationship,” she says, grinning. “Lots of awesome sex and Miller pretending not to know us. I still love you.”

He almost wants to ask her more questions, give her more potential deal-breakers, just so she’ll say it more, but, well, honestly. She loves him. No take-backs.

So she’ll say it plenty more.

*

Clarke’s birthday is in the fall, and he spends about two weeks trying to find the perfect present for her, but none of the coupon books he can find are any good, honestly. They already did everything from Coupons for Lovers, and he feels like they’ve advanced beyond it.

In the end, he figures it’s easiest to just make his own, so that’s what he does. This coupon good for one evening where I don’t complain about my job at all. This coupon good for one week of you not having to pretend you know how to cook and me doing ti instead. This coupon good for a romantic bubble bath with bonus fingering. He even adds a few This coupon good for one total hour of oral sex ones, with a space for her to write in how much of the hour is used.

She laughs when she sees it, flips through the pages with obvious delight, and there’s still a part of him that can’t believe it. She loves him. She’s his. He gets to be this happy.

He gets to make her smile like that.

“You know, I’m pretty sure I don’t need coupons for any of this.”

“No, once the coupon runs out I’m never eating you out again. Sorry.”

“So it’s less a present for me and more a punishment for you. That’s a new approach to birthdays.”

“Yeah, I think it’s going to catch on.” He rests his chin on her shoulder. “Check the last one.”

She flips to the end of the book, catches her lip between her teeth as she reads.

This coupon good for the rest of your life.

“Good for what for the rest of my life?”

“Anything,” he says, and she turns her head to kiss him.

“I don’t think I need a coupon for that either,” she murmurs.

“Just in case,” he says.

“Just in case,” she agrees, and that one she never redeems. But she never gives it up, either. He sees it, sometimes, stuck in her wallet with her driver’s license and her credit cards. It always makes her smile when she sees it, and it survives wallet changes and moving, marriage and arguments, the good times and the messy parts.

She always keeps it, and it’s always good.

He’s got her. The rest of their lives.

[timothydrake-wayne]

crownandsword replied to your post “What if I just wrote a cover letter that says PLEASE HIRE ME in a...”

paper clip a $10 bill to it to let them know you really mean it

haha, yes, I will bribe them

[glaciernaut]

Crown and Sword: pages 16-20

Next: Pages 21-25

Previous: Pages 10-15

Castle life + Sonic Super Hyperactive hedgehog = headache for everyone involved.

This took so much longer than I expected.

[glaciernaut]

Crown and Sword. Pages 26-30

Next: pages 31-35

Previous: pages 21-25

Index

Did someone order 5 more pages of crown and sword?

I also visited the zoo recently the Rhinos are so cute :)

[glaciernaut]

Crown and Sword pages 21-25

Next: pages 26-30

Previous: Pages 16-20

Chest fur is for adult Lancelots only 😤 young lances need to grow into their chest fur…. In chapter 2!

I was going to post these one at a time but after some debating I decided it's best to continue releasing them as 5 page batches. Epecially since some of the pages are just straight up landscape paintings that take 3 mins to make

Read Chapter 1, pages 1-9:

[glaciernaut]

Crown and Sword: Chapter 1. Pages 1-9

Next: pages 10-15

Index

If you have trouble reading cursive the first 2 page’s scripts are at the end in text.

Page 1) “Long ago… Before the voyaging ships crossed beyond the great horizon.”

Page 2) “There laid a peaceful kingdom… by the name of Camelot… this is the tale of the two long forgotten hedgehogs (known as) the Crown and his Sword”

Part 2:

Crown and Sword is a Sonadow/Arthurlot slow burn story. I already have the script written out it just needs to be drawn so there shouldn’t be too many delays or any hiatuses.

[glaciernaut]

Crown and Sword: Pages 31-35

Next: pages 36-40 (coming soon)

Previous: pages 26-30

Index

I haven’t drawn a human being in like years 😭 pls don’t make too much fun of me 😭

Incase you haven’t seen it: 50 Follower special

Also, quick poll under the cut. (Specifically for those who are following me for the comic)

I want to know what time most of you are active so I can post at good hours.

[glaciernaut]

Taking a mental health break.

Yo guys, I’m gonna stay away from Tumblr for a couple weeks for the sake of my mental health. I’m not looking for any pity or “brownie points” but I want to be transparent with what’s up. I’ll still be working on the comic because I genuinely enjoy drawing it, I just wont be posting any of it for a while.

Like I said I’m not looking for pity and I don’t wanna be all “woe is me”. I just wanna keep you guys updated with whats up.

If you read my bio you’ll know I struggle with Clinical Depression and so it’s been really harmful for me to compare myself to other artist and the amount of likes they get, then have that depression part of me constantly tell me “well you just suck, people don’t like you, your art is just garbage, etc, etc…” I know my self worth isn’t based on how many likes I get or how good my art is. No one’s is. But Depression is a hateful bastard that likes to bring you down and tell you lies, and forces you to feel like you truly believe it.

Anyways I’m sorry for the long rant, I’ll still be around to read any reblogs, comments, asks, etc but I just won’t scroll or post anything.

I truly, genuinely, appreciate and love every single one of my followers and cherish every single comment and reblog comment deeply. I do notice and remember the users of a lot of my followers and it always brings a smile to my face to see them in my notifications. So from the bottom of my heart thank you.

I’ll see all you lovely knighties later kisses and hugs for all of you.

[glaciernaut]

Im honestly starting to run into burn out. Not even gonna lie.

It’s not that I can’t figure out what do next, it’s that Im running out of steam and motivation and my meds haven’t been refilled in a few days.

I wanna continue so badly and get to the damn pinning and fluff already, but god am I tired. I wish I could just beam my thoughts straight into procreate.

[glaciernaut]

Here’s a quick look at some of the panels Im working on, mind you these are VERY ROUGH and rudimentary, but they get the point across for when I refine them.

[chasholidays]

Made Out of Blood and Rust, firstborn

Original fic here!

It’s actually Lexa’s idea.

“I want to have an egg,” she announces one morning, out of nowhere.

Clarke glances at Bellamy, who shrugs. “An egg?” she asks.

“Costia got to have one,” Lexa says, with some petulance. Clarke has to smile; she knew Lexa was jealous her mate had an egg and she didn’t, but it’s still very cute to hear her complaining about it. “And I would have excellent eggs. It would be terrible if I didn’t have any. For the Corps.”

“That’s definitely true,” says Bellamy, straight-faced. “We wouldn’t want to deprive the world of Lexa’s eggs.”

“And then the two of you could have one as well,” Lexa continues.

“What?” asks Clarke, blank.

“If I am out of commission to carry my egg, that would be a convenient time for you to have yours.”

It’s not like they’re not having children. Children are a given. But Clarke had been happy with the thought of children someday. She hadn’t had a specific timetable for them. They had been a nebulous concept.

She looks at Bellamy again, and he looks as surprised as she feels. “That is true,” he says, careful, once he recovers. “Female riders with female dragons in the service often coordinate their pregnancy with their dragons’. It’s convenient.”

“I knew that,” says Lexa. “That’s why I suggested it.” She squints at Clarke. “You do still want them, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she breathes. “I do.” Her voice is stronger when she adds, “Have you discussed this with Costia? Temeraire?”

“Not yet. But Costia will be happy. And so should Temeraire. My children will be able to breathe acid.”

Clarke isn’t convinced that’s true–there are plenty of Longwings in the breeding grounds who don’t have to leave active service to reproduce. Costia was only bred because she was a night flier, a breed Britain is severely lacking. But if Clarke wanted to have a child anyway–

“I don’t see any reason not to mention it,” she says, slow. “If Temeraire thinks it’s a good idea, I don’t have any objections.”

That night, Bellamy just says, “Just because she’s having a child doesn’t mean we have to.”

It’s careful, the way he says it, as if he’s been rehearsing it in his head.

“Do you want to?”

His smile is wry. “I’m not the one who has to have a cannonball in my stomach for the better part of a year,” he says, which isn’t really an answer.

“And if you were?”

“Then we wouldn’t have to schedule around Lexa, since I’m not the captain. It would be much easier.”

“Bellamy,” she says, and he smiles.

“I know. I like children. I’d like to have some of my own. But we’d be out of commission for longer than Lexa would be grounded. They do need a little raising before we turn them over to the Corps.”

“But you’d like one.”

“I believe we were in agreement on wanting one.”

“I meant you want one now.”

“It really is your decision,” he says. “But if we’re weighing me into it, yes. I’d be happy to have a child now.”

“Of course we’re weighing you into it,” she says, poking him in the side. “Just because I’m carrying it doesn’t mean your opinion doesn’t matter.”

He tugs her into his lap and kisses her. “I’d like children as soon as you’re ready,” he says. “And if you are ready, you should let Temeraire know. If you’re having a child anyway, Lexa might as well have one, but I doubt he wants to put her out of commission if you’re not.”

“So I had better do it,” Clarke says, amused. “Or else Lexa will find out her eggs are not particularly exciting for the Corps.”

“How selfless of you,” he teases.

“Hush. Do you want to start trying to impregnate me or not?”

He opens and closes his mouth a couple times and then nods. “Yes,” he finally says. “I’d like that.”

It doesn’t change much at first. She removes her dutch cap, and she and Bellamy lie together with the intent of pregnancy, instead of just for pleasure, and it feels more purposeful, their coupling. She gets some unwanted advice from concerned older women about diet and the timing of her monthly cycle and sexual positions, which she passes onto Bellamy primarily so that she isn’t the only one who has to know that Emily Roland is concerned about her fertility, and Lexa asks daily if Bellamy has been successful yet, which is embarrassing at first but quickly becomes routine, but everything else is business as usual.

After four months, she can’t help starting to worry.

“How long does it usually take?” she asks Bellamy. It’s their day off, and they’re spending the morning tangled in bed. It’s still nice, even though there’s an edge of tension in it now for Clarke, the voice in the back of her head wondering if this time will be it, if she’s pregnant yet.

“Not nearly that long,” Bellamy says, pressing his lips against her hair. “Believe me, my stamina is much better than most men. You made the right choice.”

She shoves his side gently. “That’s not what I meant, ass.”

“I don’t know,” he says, voice going serious. “I’m more accustomed to trying not to impregnate women. It can take time, though. I wouldn’t worry yet.”

“What if I can’t have children? What will happen to Lexa?”

“First off, it’s too early to worry about that, it’s only been a few months. Second, I could be the problem, which is something to look into if it takes much longer. If that’s the case, you could just get someone else to do it.” She frowns, arms tightening around him, and he laughs and kisses her. “You’ll still have me. It’s just for the dragon.”

“She wouldn’t like it being someone else’s child either. And if it wasn’t a girl–”

“I’m not saying that will happen,” he says. “But it’s not the end of the world if it does. Monty isn’t going to marry, so he could use someone to have a child for him anyway. It’s an option. And if it’s you, well, Lexa likes me. She might take my child if it came to that.” He squeezes her. “But it’s not coming to that for a long time. Try not to worry, all right? Lexa will be fine, no matter what. And so will we. I love you.”

“I’m not worried,” she says, into his collarbone. “But I don’t want anyone else having your children.”

“I don’t either. But if you’re worried about Lexa, that’s a solution. If we haven’t had any luck in a few years.”

“A few years?”

“There’s no rush,” he says, easy. “I mean it. You’re young, you’re doing good work for the Corps, and we’re trying. You can see a doctor if it will make you feel better, but–just relax and enjoy all this wonderful sex we’re having, okay?”

“I’ve had better,” she says, smiling.

“That would be a more effective taunt if you’d ever had sex with anyone but me,” he says. “I’m sorry I’m not living up to my own high standards, though.”

She closes her eyes, lets out a breath. “You won’t mind if I can’t have children?”

“I’d rather we could have them together,” he says. “But no, I won’t mind. My primary motivation for marrying you wasn’t children.”

“No?”

“Definitely your fortune,” he says, and she laughs and rolls all the way on top of him. He grins up at her. “Feeling better?”

“Much. I still think we should try again.”

He sighs, heavy. “Well, if you insist.”

After almost eight months, Clarke’s monthlies don’t come, and she buries her face in Bellamy’s neck when they don’t come for a second month in a row.

“Now you have to be pregnant, though,” he says, pressing his lips to her temple.

“I think I’ll survive,” she says, sniffling, and his arms tighten. Not everyone does, of course. It’s strange to think of the danger of pregnancy, when she’s in the Aerial Corps and risks her life in combat all the time. “Now you need to stop worrying,” she tells him. “It’s good news.”

“Things can still go wrong,” he says. “But of course I’m happy.” He pulls back to grin at her. “We’re having a baby.”

“We’re having a baby,” she agrees, and takes his hand so they can go tell the dragon.

She’s taken off active duty almost immediately, no one wanting to risk the health of the baby, and most of her crew is assigned elsewhere, with the exception of Bellamy. Clarke assumes everyone realizes he’s almost as much Lexa’s captain as she is, and they know better than to try to send him to a different crew, when both his wife and his dragon are likely to need him.

Lexa’s pregnancy is approved as soon as Clarke’s is confirmed, and she complains, loudly and repeatedly, about how terrible males are, and how unfortunate it is that they’re necessary for the production of eggs.

“I’m right here, you know,” Bellamy comments mildly. “I like to think I have at least a couple other uses.”

“You don’t count,” says Lexa.

“That doesn’t actually make me feel better.” He strokes Clarke’s hair back from her forehead. “But I appreciate the effort. And we all appreciate your sacrifice for the good of the Corps.”

“My children will be very powerful,” she says, confident. “As will yours. Will it be a girl? I want it to be a girl.”

“We won’t know until it comes out,” Bellamy says, dropping his hand down to Clarke’s stomach. The swell of the baby is still small, barely noticeable under her clothing, but he likes to touch it anyway, this small, uncertain awe on his face as he feels the evidence of their child under his fingers. “But I hope it’s a girl too,” he adds, a catch in his voice. Clarke remembers his own history, the son born to a mother who needed a daughter, and finds his hand to squeeze.

“I’ll be happy either way,” she says, genuine. “And I can’t imagine we’ll only have one.”

He laughs and noses her temple. “Wait until the pregnancy is over to make promises like that,” he says. “My mother said she’d never done anything worse than push babies out.”

“I do think parents should be honest with their children, but I think your mother could have stood to tell you a little less.”

“Is it painful?” Lexa asks, sounding anxious. “Costia didn’t say–”

“Worse for humans than dragons, I think,” says Clarke. “But I’ll be fine.” Lexa huffs, and Clarke pets her snout. “I will. Humanity has survived this long, so having children can’t be very difficult.”

“I’m going to remind you that you said that,” Bellamy says, and Clarke rolls her eyes.

“Feel free.”

When she’s five months pregnant, she tells her parents, and, to her shock, she, Bellamy, and Lexa are invited to stay with them until the baby comes, and for her recuperation.

“Do they still hate me?” Bellamy asks, squinting at the letter.

“My father never hated you.”

“Thanks. Your mother?”

“If she hated you, she would have just invited me. You’ve already done your part, after all. Including you in the invitation at all is a good indication she’s trying to be friendly.”

“Huh,” he says. “Do you want to go?”

“Honestly? Yes. The beds would be more comfortable, the doctors are more used to dealing with pregnancy, and it might be nice to be away from all the curious people and dragons.”

“And you’d want me to come,” he says, voice even.

“I’m not going without you,” she says. “And I get that you might not want to, so–this was meant to be a discussion, not a decree.”

“If your mother hates me, can we leave?”

“Yes.”

“And Lexa can come?”

“She has to lay the egg here, but I doubt anyone would object to her coming until then. Dragons aren’t as knocked out by pregnancy as humans are.”

“The bed is much more comfortable,” he says, and Clarke nearly tackles him in her joy.

She is unreservedly grateful for her mother when the baby does come; none of her friends have had children of their own, have no experience to offer. Her mother is practical and brisk, and she even gives up on kicking Bellamy out when he says he helped with his sister’s birth. Between the two of them and the doctor, they help her through what she’s told is a fairly easy birth, and after a few hours of labor, she has a healthy baby girl.

“Thank god,” says Bellamy, his grin the brightest she’s ever seen.

“I would have been happy with a boy,” she says. “I would have been happy with any baby.”

He laughs and leans in close to her and the baby, nuzzling her temple and staring at their child with wonder. “I know. But now there’s no pressure on us. If we don’t manage another, Lexa will still be taken care of.”

Clarke’s mother is watching them with warm fondness, pride even, and Clarke smiles back. “Do you have a name?” she asks, soft.

“Is it bad I had a name for my dragon all picked out, but not my daughter?” she asks Bellamy.

“There’s more pressure to name the dragon right away,” he says.

“Do you have a name?”

She hears him swallow, watches his fingers brush the baby’s wisps of hair. It’s dark, like his, “Athena,” he says. “I always–the first time I thought you might love me, it was in Athens. When we were getting Costia. So–”

“Me too,” says Clarke, remembering his giving up on his dragon, staying with her. “Athena Blake.” She closes her eyes and rests against his chest. “You’re going to have to take her to meet Lexa,” she adds, already falling asleep.

“I think it can wait until morning,” he says, arms tightening around the two of them. “Get some rest, Clarke. It’s over.”

“We have a child,” she says. “I think it’s just beginning.”

“All the more reason to get some sleep,” he says, kissing her hair. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

“I know,” she says, muzzy, and the last thing she hears before sleep takes her is Bellamy, singing to their daughter.

It’s a nice start.

[ponyregrets]

17 - Shy Kiss, Bellarke

It’s cute, really, how slow Bellamy is taking it.

“We’re friends,” he says. “I don’t want to screw that up moving too fast. If something goes wrong and we can’t hang out anymore, Octavia will kill me. And then Raven will figure out a way to resurrect me so I can get killed again.”

“I have a lot of questions about that.”

Bellamy waves his hand from the stove. He’s making her dinner, because he says that cooking is his best way to impress girls. It’s sweet, of course, but--it’s a little weird too. “Go ahead.”

“Why are just you getting killed? Can’t I be the one who broke your heart and gets killed? It seems kind of patronizing that the guy’s always the one getting killed. And that other people have to do it for me. Can’t I take care of my own murder?”

“I’m the one who’d screw it up,” he says, with this strange awkwardness in his voice that Clarke hates. This is their third date, and he’s being so careful. He hasn’t even kissed her yet.

She gets out of her chair and goes over to lean against his side, leaning her cheek against his shoulder. “Bell.”

“What? I would.”

“You’re treating this like an audition, you know? Like you’re trying to convince me to be your girlfriend. But you already got me, remember? You asked me out, I said yes.” She bumps her nose against his shoulder. “I said yes because I like you too. And I want to date you. This is nice, but I was kind of hoping it would be less like hanging out one-on-one and more like, you know. Dating.”

He looks down at her. “I really like you,” he admits. “I don’t want to scare you off.”

“We’ve been friends for four years. If I’m not scared yet, why would I start now? And I want you. I know how much this could screw up. I know your little sister will murder me if I hurt you. But I finally get you. It would be really cool if you started acting like that was happening, instead of getting spooked every time you come close to being attracted to me.”

“I’m always attracted to you,” he says, automatic, and then he looks down at her. “I’m pretty nervous about this,” he admits. “I didn’t think you were gonna say yes when I asked you.”

“Well, I did, so--” She wets her lips, feeling surprisingly self-conscious herself. Bellamy adores her, it’s clear, so--this is the kind of thing she can do. She catches her jaw with her fingers, leans up and kisses him. His mouth is warm and soft, opens on a small, surprised noise, but Clarke doesn’t try to deepen the kiss. He isn’t kissing her back, and it’s shitty to try to kiss someone who doesn’t want to kiss you back. “Like I said, I like y--” she starts, pulling back, feeling an embarrassed flush rushing up her neck. How can he not want to kiss her?

And then he groans, pushes her against the counter, and proves that, yes, he really, really wants to kiss her. 

He’s very convincing.

“If you screw this up, I’m definitely going to murder you,” she says, breathless. 

He smiles, presses his lips to the corner of her mouth, shy again. “Yeah, so--let’s not screw up. Right?”

“Right,” she agrees, and leans back against him as he checks the food.

[ponyregrets]

TREAT for Bellarke please! Happy Halloween!

The first week, she figures everyone in the office isgetting candy. It’s Halloween. Candy is a thing. But when it keeps going, shegets suspicious.

When she asks Bellamy, he just says, “Is it good candy?”

“Yeah.”

“So what’s the problem?”

After two weeks, she figures out it’s him.

“You took your sister out for Halloween, and you’re givingme your candy.”

“I am?”

“No one buysTootsie rolls. And no one else has Halloween candy.”

“And?”

“Why?”

He shrugs. “Thought you’d like it.”

The next day, he brings her a Hershey’s kiss, and she really figures it out.

[timothydrake-wayne]

crownandsword replied to your post “mostlypoptarts crownandsword we should go to disney for halloween”

Same on all fronts. Halloween is the best time to go to Disneyland and I want to see you guys so much. No money though.

mostlypoptarts we should start planning for next year! haha