#and i love how soft he looks during this moment when theyre counting stars together and shes calling him and monster lol

[dawnbreakersgaze]

☆ "𝓖𝓾𝓲𝓭𝓮 𝓶𝓮, 𝓞 𝓡𝓪𝓭𝓲𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓮 𝓽𝓸 𝓭𝓲𝓼𝓹𝓮𝓵 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓶𝓲𝓼𝓽𝓼,

𝓖𝓾𝓲𝓭𝓮 𝓶𝓮, 𝓞 𝓛𝓪𝓶𝓮𝓶𝓽𝓼, 𝓽𝓸 𝓼𝓮𝓮𝓴 𝓭𝓲𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓷𝓽 𝓮𝓬𝓱𝓸𝓼" ☆

[shels-kpop-main]

Moments, part 11

Word Count: 3146

Warnings: None. A little angst and fluff so soft

A/N: Please let me know what you guys think! Things will be heating up in the next chapter, but I had to get this last bit of fluff out of my system. If you’d like to be added to the taglist, send me an ask!

You stayed in Roger’s room the rest of the night, leaving only to retrieve the plate of food from the living room table. Upon returning with it, you set it on the bed between yourself and Roger, and the two of you shared it. After eating, the two of you stayed up talking for several hours. When you finally reached for Roger’s wrist to check the time, it was almost one in the morning.

But you didn’t leave. You just wove your fingers through Roger’s, and laid over. He did the same, and you fell asleep there. Curled up and facing each other, with your hands meeting in the middle.

You woke up to bright sunlight coming in through the window. You were still laying above the covers, but a wool blanket had been thrown over you and tucked under your feet. Your hand, previously holding onto Roger’s, was now loosely curled around his collar, the backs of your fingers pressed to his chest. You inhaled deeply, still half-asleep, but awake enough to appreciate being surrounded by things that smelled like Roger. Including Roger, who was still sound asleep across from you.

He had an arm draped over your waist, and the other rested next to his face on the pillow. You slowly pulled your hand from his shirt and touched his cheek instead. His face was warm to the touch, and smooth. You brushed your thumb softly from side to side, and this was enough to stir Roger a little. He opened his eyes slowly, only about halfway. His hand pressed to your back a little more firmly as he smiled.

“Morning, love.” His voice was husky from sleep, but it was offset by the look in his eyes. You twirled a strand of his hair between your fingers, and scooted a little closer to him.

“Good morning.”

The two of you stayed there for a few minutes, before you got up to go change. You smiled at Roger’s groans of complaint when you rolled out of bed. When you emerged from his room, still wearing your clothes from the night before, you looked down the hallway before hurrying up the stairs. The house was quiet, and it seemed that everyone had gone downstairs for breakfast already.

Which was good; you didn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea. God forbid someone see you coming out of Roger’s room in your clothes from the previous day and think you’d slept with him. It wasn’t anyone’s business, but knowing the guys, they’d tease you both out of the county for getting caught on a walk of shame.

The following week passed in a blur of messily-written new songs, a fresh series of photo prints, and many, many stolen kisses from Roger. He’d often pull you aside after dinner to press a trail of kisses from your mouth to the collar of your shirt. If Roger ducked outside for a smoke break during recording sessions, you’d grab him by the chin and pull his mouth to yours.

You’d somehow managed to never be found during these moments aside, but the guys weren’t stupid. They noticed the light smear of lipstick on Roger’s mouth when he came back inside. They noticed the looks you two shared over the dinner table. But you didn’t care. Being around Roger was the closest thing you had ever experienced to happiness with another person.

And however much you didn’t care, Roger cared even less. He mentioned your photography to the guys frequently, telling them about a particularly good (“bloody brilliant, you guys!”) shot you’d taken during rehearsals. He asked Deacy for advice on how to formally ask you out, to which Deacy rolled his eyes but told Roger everything he had done successfully with Veronica.

So, five days after he first kissed you by the fence outside the farm, Roger came to your door with another bouquet of dahlias.

“These are beautiful, Roger. Thank you.”

You beamed at the pretty, pink blooms in Roger’s hand and leaned in to kiss him. He accepted the kiss gratefully, immediately leaning down to you. You fidgeted with his collar, reveling in the sweet and smoky taste that you’d come to associate with Roger. You pulled away to take the flowers to the vase atop your dresser, smiling to yourself.

Roger closed the door behind him while you fiddled with the flowers. When you turned back to him, he was running a hair through his hair nervously.

“Something on your mind?” You raised an eyebrow and walked back over to him. Roger let out a breath, and shoved his hands in his pockets. His body language was starting to make you nervous, and you folded your arms.

“Yes, actually. I, uh… Whew, sorry,” Roger chuckled nervously. You must have looked concerned, but Roger’s face softened, he quickly reached forward to rub your arms.

“Everything’s alright, love,” he assured you, hands settled at your elbows. You gave him a half-hearted smile, still afraid of what he might say next.

“I just haven’t done this in a while with someone I care about,” Roger explained. You were just confused at that point, and waited for him to finish. His hands fell back to his sides.

“I, uh… I wanted to know if you’d like to go to dinner with me?” Roger rushed through the last few words, and it took you a moment to process what he said. But then, when his words hit you, you burst out laughing out of sheer relief. Roger gave you a confused frown, his eyebrows slanting with concern. You placed a hand on your chest, as if to steady your rapidly-beating heart. But then you flung your arms around his neck and kissed him fully.

“Roger Taylor,” you laughed, pulling away, “you nearly gave me a heart attack!”

“What, what’d I do?” Roger smiled a little, putting his arms around your waist. You shook your head, grinning up at him.

“You got all serious, and scared me!” You answered, giving him a light shove to the chest. Roger laughed, and a light blush came to his cheeks.

“Well, I was nervous! Been a moment since I’ve properly asked a girl on a date!” Roger replied, pulling you closer. Your hands fell to his collar, as they often did when Roger was holding you close like that. It was cathartic, in a way, to play with the fabric while you talked to him. It was grounding for the both of you.

“Did you think I would say no?” You cocked an eyebrow at him. Roger shrugged, clasping his hands on the small of your back.

“Well, not necessarily,” he smirked. You shook your head at his cockiness, smiling coyly. But Roger became serious again, brows furrowing.

“So, is that a yes?”

You rolled your eyes, and moved your hands up to weave into his hair.

“Yes, Roger,” you kissed him, “I would love to go to dinner with you.”

So Roger took you into town the following night, insisting that you both dress up for your first date. It was incredibly endearing to watch his face light up when you came down the stairs in your only formal dress. It was a navy blue cocktail dress, and although it wasn’t your favorite look, it gave you great joy to see Roger’s mouth fall open. He fidgeted with his cuffs a little as you approached him, and the thought of this cool, arrogant rock star being nervous for a date made you smile.

Roger drove you to a swanky restaurant in town, telling you to wait while he jogged around the car to open your door for you. The meal went well, and the two of you stayed there, talking and drinking, until well after dark.

You were happy. You and Roger still hadn’t slept together, at his behest, but you hardly had time to be annoyed with him. The two of you spent your free time walking around the farm, arms around each other, talking about anything that came to mind. Late nights stretched into early mornings, with you and Roger usually falling asleep in your room.

At some point, Roger had brought his guitar up to your room, to play you a new song he was trying to write. You loved the song, but sleep overtook you as you lay sideways next to him while he played. Roger simply leaned his guitar against the chair your camera was sitting on, and laid down next to you, falling asleep shortly after.

But those idyllic days on the farm were numbered. And you both knew this. But still, you and Roger enjoyed the bucolic lifestyle that came with staying at the farm.

One day, as the completion of the album drew nearer, you were sitting in the studio box with your camera as the guys recorded in the live room. The phone next to the soundboard rang between takes, and the audio engineer reached over absentmindedly to pick up.

“H’llo? Uh-huh. Yeah, she’s right here.” And with that, the guy handed you the phone and returned to his work. You frowned, holding the receiver, unsure of who would be calling you. But when you pressed your ear to the phone, a familiar voice crackled across the line.

“Hello?”

“Oh, thank God. Why haven’t you called me?” Your mom sounded fretful. You groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“Hi, Mom.”

“It’s been two weeks since you’ve called. I was worried sick!”

“I’m sorry, Mom, it’s been crazy here. I didn’t mean to worry you. Did Uncle Jim tell you about my photography?” You attempted to deflect, but your mother was worked up, and ignored your question.

“And when are you coming home? You’ve been there for two months.”

“I don’t know, Mom. Wasn’t the whole point of staying here, to get away from everything?”

Your mom huffed out a sigh. “Well, yes, for a brief escape. Not to just move to England forever!” You rolled your eyes, already finding the conversation overlong.

“I’m not gonna be here forever,” you replied, exasperated. “It’s just that I’m waiting to hear back from the record company. The band’s manager wants to use my photos to promote the album, and they’re going to call any day. To tell me which pictures they want to use,” you trailed off, hoping your mom would appreciate the good news. But she was determined to be upset.

“Have you taken any classes?”

“I—well, no.”

“Gotten a job?”

“Potentially, weren’t you listening?” You were starting to get annoyed.

“It just seems too good to be true. If they like your pictures, what then? You just stay there, with the rock stars? Living in a dream, like you’ve been doing?”

For some reason, that statement really bothered you. Maybe you were just irritable at being faced with reality. Maybe it was the tone she took, or the way she worded it.

But you found yourself more determined than ever to make something of this getaway. Because your time on the farm had become meaningful to you. It wasn’t just an escape. You weren’t just living in a dream.

You were recovering.

Recovering from the shock you’d undergone at the loss of your dad. Recovering from the shift in your worldview. Recovering from the guilt you’d piled on yourself since that day in the hospital room with the beige floors.

“You know what,” you began, through gritted teeth. “It is like living in a dream. I have friends here now. I have Uncle Jim. I have—”

You looked up at that moment, to see Roger in the live room. He was saying something to Brian, a wide smile across his face. The sight of him brought you out of the haze of anger, and you experienced a splitting moment of clarity. No matter what, being here was worth it.

“I have everything I need here,” you finished, in a gentler tone. Mom exhaled, and you heard it, miles away, across the Atlantic.

“You’re living in a bubble, Y/N. Please come home.”

The sincerity of her tone caused you to falter. Your eyelids fluttered as you pulled your gaze away from Roger. He was joking with Freddie, who was doing a ridiculous pose on the drum risers.

“I will, Mom. When I’m ready.”

“Okay. I love you,” she replied, sounding defeated.

“I love you, too,” you said flatly, and hung up.

You had forgotten you weren’t alone until the sound engineer gave you a concerned side eye. You folded your arms.

“Sorry, Todd. Don’t tell anyone?”

The sound engineer named Todd nodded as he fiddled with the switches on the board. For all his stoicism, you were certain he could keep a secret.

“Thanks.” You left the building with tears in your eyes. Roger looked up toward the control room just as you picked up your camera. He could tell, even at a distance, that something was wrong. He knew your face well enough to tell that you were trying not to cry. You avoided looking at the guys as you exited the control room and ducked through the door without a word.

You were tired of being a mess in front of everyone, so you resolved yourself to sobbing out your frustrations in your bedroom.

Roger was staring at the door the entire time he played, even as the band finished recording their song. He wanted to go after you, but wasn’t sure if you wanted time alone. The guys noticed the funny look on his face, but didn’t say anything. When the session was wrapping up, Brian finally spoke up.

“What happened with Y/N?”

“God knows,” Freddie said, not really paying attention. He was still sitting at the piano, scribbling something on a loose piece of paper. “Anyone up for drinks in town?”

Roger ignored Fred’s question, looking from Brian, to Deacy, to the door you’d exited. Deacy had enough of Roger’s cluelessness, and broke the silence. “Oh for God’s sakes—go after her, Roger,” he told Roger, exasperated, pointing at the door. “See if she needs anything.”

“Right,” Roger responded quickly, rushing to get around his drums. Deacy rolled his eyes, but his heart was warm. Roger’s intentions were good, even if he needed a little encouragement sometimes. He found you in the attic, trying to fix something on your camera that wasn’t broken. By the time you walked to your room, the lump in your throat had disappeared. But you were still uneasy.

“Hey, love,” Roger’s soft voice hummed through the wide room.

“Not now, Roger.”

“Yes, now,” he insisted stubbornly. You frowned at him, still holding your camera.

“What happened?”

“My mom called.”

You were met with confused silence from Roger.

“She said I’m living in a dream, that I can’t stay here forever,” you sighed. It seemed this sentiment had not occurred to Roger either, and his face fell. But after a moment of thought, his eyes sparked.

“Maybe not, but that’s not the end of things. We can make it work,” he told you, looking hopeful and a little excited. You frowned at the floor, then at the Nikon in your hands. Before you realized what you were doing, you pulled the camera to your face. It created a barrier, gave you some control.

But through the lens, you saw Roger sigh and step nearer to you. He reached out and gently pushed the camera down, away from your face. You frowned, refusing to make eye contact.

“Don’t hide. You were so certain before. What happened to that?” His voice was low, gentle. It made you want to cry again.

“My mom,” you answered bitterly, looking him in the eyes. But Roger was confused, and stayed silent.

“She’s got a point, Rog. We’re living in a bubble. Eventually, I’m gonna have to go home, and you’re gonna have to tour.”

“Well, she’s half-correct,” Roger admitted. You frowned, unsure of his meaning. “You’re gonna have to go home at some point. And I’ve got the band. But,” he continued, pulling your camera out of your hands slowly. He set it down on the chair next to his guitar, then returned to you.

“That doesn’t mean we’re living in a bubble right now. This is happening.” He took your hands in his, squeezing them gently. You stared at his fingers, lost for words.

“Hey,” he pulled one hand away, and used it to tilt your chin up. The feeling of his fingers on your face sent tingles down your spine. You stared hard at him, trying not to be emotional.

“Please don’t be sad,” he urged. When you said nothing, Roger released your hands and crossed the room to your dresser. There, he smiled at the most recent flowers he’d given you. They sat in a blue vase, next to your pictures. But between them, sat an old radio. It was a little dusty, having gone unused in a house full of live music.

But Roger turned it on, and tuned it to the first clear station he could find. The small speakers crackled to life, filling the attic with a slow, bluesy song.

I’ve found my thrill On Blueberry Hill When I found you

“Dance with me,” Roger told you, holding out a hand and doing a ridiculous bow. You rolled your eyes, but felt the sting of anxiety fading. So you took his hand, and put your other arm around his neck. Roger was a decent dancer when he wasn’t trying to act a fool, and he guided you in slow circles across the room.

The moon stood still On Blueberry Hill And lingered until My dream came true

The lyrics were sweet, comforting. The melody, coupled with Roger’s fingers drumming softly on your waist, turned your mouth up at the corners. And, without warning, Roger began to sing along, swaying you side to side a little.

“For you were my thrill,” he sang, to your giggling. “On Blueberry Hill…”

You were smiling wide and bright by the time the song ended. Roger finished the dance with a small flourish, lifting your hand and urging you to do a small twirl. Which you did, much to his delight.

Roger grinned at you as he released your hand. You rubbed your arms, and stepped back to him. The next song began, an upbeat swing bop.

“Feel better?” He asked, looking genuinely hopeful. You rested your forehead against his shoulder, prompting him to wrap his arms around you in one of his characteristically comforting hugs.

“Yes,” you mumbled into his shirt. Roger kissed the side of your head, still tapping the beat of the last song onto your waist.

“Good.”

“Thank you,” you pulled back to look at him. Roger answered with a peck to your lips, and a wide grin.

“Any time, love. Can’t have my girl worried.”

Taglist:

@ceruleanrainblues @pietrorunsforme @isabella-bby @todorokis-nipples @killerqueenbucky @mr-stank-i-dont-feel-so-dank @kenzie-belle @shewantstobreakfree @ishouldbedoingalright @fangirlpterodactylnoises @itssaje @aceslytherinpan @youmakeme-wonder @smilinghardy @dreamer821 @musicprincesslikestorock @fangirlcore @loveofmyloif @mydogisthebest @onevisionliz @benn-seguin-1491 @happy-at-home @rogerinaismyqueen @imamazzellhoe @strawberryfields-forever @letmelivetaylor @boozeleatherandstache

[bellarkefanfiction]

We Play Our Parts So Well

written by: Josefine / @selflessbellamy

prompt: bellamy and clarke are actors on a tv show. theyre love interests but are also dating irl and they have to shoot their first sex scene together. they get it on either during (unknowingly to others) or after the shoot for anonymous

word count: 2847

There are countless things wrong with having your co-stars head between your thighs. Especially if it’s done off-camera, in the casual setting of his apartment, with the spicy taste of Italian red wine lingering like a promise at the tip of her tongue. Bellamy, of course, ate her out vigorously until she grasped at the sheets like a lifeline, and now his character, Julian Amerada, has to do the same to hers. And Clarke has to pretend, for the sake of self-preservation, that she doesn’t know what it feels like.

In the hit NBC TV-series Embers, Clarke plays the role of Cassandra Tallion, a princess whose life is forever altered when she discovers what it’s like to be a warrior. And since the premiere of the show — the first scene she shared with Bellamy, more precisely — fans on Twitter (and virtually every other social media platform in existence) — have been screaming in all caps for them to just ‘SUCK FACES ALREADY ASDFGBSKCKXS’

Now, they’re finally going to get what they want. It’s been five seasons and the showrunner, Thelonius Jaha, has decided that it’s finally time to make Jassandra a thing — a canon thing.

Jasper Jordan, one of the special effect technicians, puts sugar in his coffee (enough to kill a small animal), quirks up an eyebrow and looks from Bellamy to Clarke before stating the obvious, “The internet is gonna fucking explode when you guys finally get it on.”

For a moment, Clarke’s eyes flicker nervously to Bellamy’s. Oh god, she’s supposed to be an actress, but she can’t even keep her cool in this situation. Meanwhile, her very handsome and very forbidden boyfriend takes a sip of his Earl Grey tea (Miller loves to call him a ‘sophisticated bastard’ for that preference), looking at Jasper nonchalantly.

“Did I hear someone say ‘getting it on’?” Raven chimes in, walking towards their table to throw her arms around Clarke’s shoulders. “That’s my domain.”

At that, Clarke only chuckles. So does Bellamy. “Raven, the last time I checked, you were happily married to an ex-pilot by the name of Shaw.”

Flippantly, Reyes takes her best friend’s coffee mug to steal a sip, then winces at the taste when she realizes that it isn’t black. “Yeah, and we get it on all the time. But of course, you wouldn’t know about that now, would you, Griffin?” It’s a fair burn, but little does Raven know that it no longer rings true. Since Clarke started seeing Bellamy off set four months ago, she’s had more orgasms than she had during all of last year.

“Have you read the script?” Harper McIntyre joins them. She plays Amelia, Cassandra’s stepsister, who is trying to overthrow her own father’s regime. “It’s cunnilingus, right?”

Jordan chuckles, “Oh please, Harper. You read all of it just like the rest of us,” and when Clarke looks at him, her brow furrowed in confusion, he continues, “Every single one of us is on team Jassandra. It’s no secret.”

As Clarke looks around the table, everyone — including Miller — nods, and Murphy even confesses to buying merch from Ebay, which leaves the rest of them shook. Still, his only explanation is, “What can I say? Some of this fanart is pretty fucking cool.”

Well, you can’t argue with that. Every time Clarke logs on to Twitter, her mentions are full of beautiful art pieces and gifs that people have made of the show (someone even wrote a song for Jassandra once). It warms her heart and makes her smile each day knowing that there are so many talented, passionate fans out there.

Episode 5x07 of Embers is called ‘The Land We March For’, and they’re shooting some of it tomorrow morning, including the already notorious love scene in Cassandra’s bedchamber in Marble Castle. Feeling a bit nervous about the whole ordeal, Clarke decides to abandon the table and take a look at the set, which has been prepared for the shoot tomorrow.

There are candles everywhere, ready to be lit and the bed has been covered in furs. It looks beautiful, but Clarke still has to swallow the lump in her throat.

“You alright?”

Smiling, Bellamy puts a hand to her shoulder. He must’ve followed her here, and she instantly appreciates it. For some reason, she always feels more at ease when she’s around him, and even though having to do her first love scene on screen is still incredibly daunting, she’s so glad that he will be there with her.

“Yeah… Just a bit nervous,” she confesses after a minute.

In comfort, he places his hand on her shoulder, caressing it with his thumb. “Trust me, I get that.”

Unlike her, Bellamy has done a love scene on Embers before, although it was a short flashback one between Julian and his deceased lover, Karolina. “Whatever,” she says, exhaling. “We’ll just have to kill this scene, you know? The viewers deserve something great. Our characters deserve it. We just need to do it justice.”

In fact, it was partly with the viewers and their characters in mind that Bellamy and Clarke asked for some of the script for the scene to be altered. Originally, Cassandra was supposed to beg Julian to ‘ravish her’, but that seemed non-consensual and out of character, so they made sure that the line was changed to ‘make love to me’.

“I can’t wait to see the fan reaction.”

“Jasper’s right. People are gonna lose their shit.”

(Certainly, they are not wrong…)

***

Just before they start filming the scene the next morning, Clarke tweets a row of cryptic emojis along with the hashtags #EmbersTV and #BigDay. Smirking, she joins Bellamy on the set of Cassandra’s bedchamber, and even though they both look very much in character, they have one last ritual as Bellamy and Clarke before they start shooting.

They hug. For a long time…

It’s nice, not only because of the obvious reasons, but it also seems to strengthen their connection, so that the chemistry continues to be — as according to @TheTheloniusJaha on Twitter — on fire. When this ritual started two years ago, the showrunner found it so special that he posted a picture of it to the Internet, and to say the fandom went nuts would be an understatement. Most notable retweets go to:

@Jassandraisrealbitches: NOW WE HAVE SOME CONTENT FOR MODERN AU’S FOLKS ASDFJGGJFSO

@JulianAmeradaah: Oh would you look at these cuties??!!!?? No wonder why their connection is da bomb.com

@QueenCassandra: This might not be the canon story, but my Jassandra heart has been fed a whole ass meal thank u @ jesus

“Are you okay?” Bellamy murmurs once they pull away from each other, his eyes as soft as the rain-soaked Earth, and she just barely resists the desire to kiss him. Instead, she nods, determined. Then they go to their assigned marks just before Thelonius Jaha roars, “ACTION!”

Cassandra’s hair is still wet from a bath, so she’s wringing it out when Julian emerges from the shadows, his ripped shirt exposing the blossoming bruises on his chest. She gasps, stepping forward to reach for him, but he takes a step back. His midnight sky eyes have lost their stars as they flash with an emotion she can’t identify. “I’m a monster, Princess,” he proclaims.

She ignores it. “I told you not to call me that.”

Without looking at her, he bursts into laughter, almost hysterical. The horror of battle has started to feast on his soul, on his heart and it threatens to tear her apart, seeing him like this. “Julian, please…” She can tell that he wants to look at her, because he clenches his jaw.

“I thought I was angry when I heard about Bhoran asking for your hand in marriage, Your Highness, but how can I be? I will never be good enough for you. I could never give you the life you want.”

Once he’s said that, the blood boils in her veins and fire sparks within her ocean eyes. This time when she strides forward, she doesn’t let him back away. Instead, she crashes her mouth onto his, her lips violent and desperate…

Unbeknownst to their co-stars, Bellamy and Clarke have already kissed countless times, so even though their makeout sessions are a lot more relaxed than this, kissing is easy. But staying in character, however, that’s difficult. She can tell that Bellamy wants to soften the kiss, which he isn’t supposed to. He also buries his hand in her hair, going off script, but it likely won’t be a big deal.

Definitely not to the fans anyway… They will gush about this for months.

Julian breaks away to discover that her rage hasn’t evaporated completely. “Since when do you know what I want?” She hisses, even if her lower lip quivers with emotion. In front of her is the man who taught her to fight, to defy her father, to value her own ambition instead of being obedient. “I want you. All of you,” she states, tearing at his ruined shirt until the material falls off.

“Cassandra…” Finally, he says her real name, causing her eyes to shut briefly as desire strikes her harder. Still, his voice is barely audible, hidden by a veil of uncertainty, but she holds his gaze with the utmost determination as she maps his chest with her hands, the bruises too.

(Clarke takes the liberty of licking her lips a little, so that means Cassandra does as well)

“Make love to me.”

He stares for half a minute. “I can’t… You’re a—“

“Don’t say it!” When she turns her back to him, Julian can’t resist the temptation of undoing the buttons on her dress. In fact, he wants nothing more than to free her of that horrible corset. Leaning into his touch, she sighs. “Until morning, I am Cassandra, no more, no less… And I love you.”

One thing that the TV Scoop journalist Riley Peterson remarked in his first of many reviews on Embers was that the love scenes were graphic, just like in Game of Thrones, which had a bunch of horny white men flocking to the show only to be disappointed when they discovered that Embers is unapologetically feminist. Jaha even had this in mind when he chose the type of sex that Julian and Cassandra (his two leads) would be having.

(“Yeah, Cassandra’s father may be all about preserving medieval values, but Julian isn’t.”

When Jaha said that, Bellamy had winked at her discreetly, whispering, “Julian knows how to please a woman. We have so much in common.” For that comment, Clarke kicked teasingly at his shin under the table)

There’s a cut between Cassandra’s dress falling to the floor and the next scene where they’re in her bed, having sex, so they take a quick break to have some water. “We got this, right?”

Looking around to make sure nobody’s watching them, Bellamy presses a reassuring kiss to her temple, and she smiles in gratitude. Still, she’s unsure about something, so she decides to ask Bellamy for his two cents because he’s probably the person — right next to Jaha and herself — that knows the most about Cassandra as a character.

“How loud do you’d think she’d be?”  When he raises his eyebrows, grinning, she swats at his arm. “It’s a genuine question, Bellamy.”

“I know. Sorry… I’m gonna say that she’s a woman, a virgin, who’s having oral sex with the man that she loves the most in the world, so… she’s probably loud. At the very least shook.”

Well, that part won’t be hard to play at all. The first time Bellamy went down on her, she was left speechless, feeling as if she were flying high above land with the stars surrounding her. Yes, it’d been that great, and luckily he’d felt the same way.

They’re smiling at each other when Jaha appears. “Sorry if I’m ruining a moment, but we gotta roll again.”

Showtime…  

To get it right, Clarke tries to remember the stars that formed behind her eyelids when Bellamy licked into her for the first time, and it works. She cries out, clutching at his hair with one hand and at the sheets with the other. As her lips part, Bellamy presses an unscripted kiss to her inner thigh, which has her gasping. It’s a natural reaction, for her as well as Cassandra, so it really doesn’t matter, but she still feels self-conscious.

“You good?” Bellamy adlibs, and she nods frantically, managing a fake moan when he pretends to pick up the pace.  

To be fair, the script doesn’t mention anything about Cassandra having an orgasm, but in the matter of two seconds, Clarke decides that yes, her character would definitely have one, so she does her job as an actress and fakes it. This is something that she’s never done with Bellamy before, which means that the production team will have to decide whether it’s convincing enough to keep in the final take.

“Beautiful,” once again, Bellamy adlibs, but he’s good at that, mostly because he has such a strong sense of Julian. Then he moves up her body to kiss her deeply, and when Jaha yells ‘CUT!’ it clearly takes all of his willpower to stop. Pulling back, he mimics ‘Later’ like a promise; his dark eyes alight with sparks.

***

Later in her dressing room, Clarke is alone and has just pulled out a Hershey’s cookies and cream bar as a reward for her sweet tooth when Bellamy walks in, hands buried in his pockets. A smile is blooming on her lips when she turns around to face him.

He starts, “You should improvise more. I know that’s usually my thing, but you’re really good at it.”

Feeling heat rush to her face at the compliment, Clarke admits, “Well, I’m not actually used to faking orgasms… I’ve only ever done it once.”

His brow furrows, and it’s most likely because of their five-year-long friendship that she understands why without having to ask. Therefore, she clears her throat, blushing harder. She feels like a teenager. “Not with you. I have an ex-boyfriend that I only slept with once before we broke up, and he really failed at getting me off.”

“Do you want me to get you off?”

“You just did,” she replies, her sassiness colliding with his bluntness in a way that makes him laugh. It’s her favorite sound, even better than jazz on a Sunday morning or a rainstorm pounding against her window…

“No. Julian got Cassandra off. We should celebrate. Jassandra’s canon, after all. ”

There are countless things wrong with having your co-stars head between your legs; especially it’s in an unlocked dressing room… Whatever. It’s too late to be sensible now, and if being sensible means that she can no longer date or have sex with Bellamy, she is choosing to be foolish.

“Oh, the things we do for fun,” she thinks out loud, the words emerging at the edge of a moan. Bellamy’s tongue is always able to give her earthquake-like orgasms that cause tremors to run through her body, the best of aftershocks. Laughing, she pulls him up to kiss the bronze stars on his forehead.

“Do you think we should tell the others about us?”

Her heart swells. This is getting really serious for him, too. “Yeah. When the time is right.”

***

As it turns out, the time is right on the night where the episode airs on national television, and Clarke has decided to invite the entire gang over to celebrate and watch live. Just when the love scene is about to start, Jasper mumbles around his slice of pizza, “This is my favorite part,” and everyone chuckles, but he is too fixated on the screen to notice.

Smiling a little shyly, Clarke walks to Bellamy while their friends are watching the scene unfold and sits down on his lap. Only when the scene is over, everyone turns to them (mostly because their phones are blowing up with Twitter notifications). Apparently the least shocked, Raven is the first person to make a comment, “Fucking finally. I knew all of that chemistry wasn’t there for nothing.”

“Reyes, you sound like a Twitter fangirl,” Miller notes, which earns him a pillow in the face.  

But yeah, in Miller’s defense, she actually does:

@Jassandraisreal: ASDFHDISNVJ BITCH I AM ON THE F L O O R. WHAT THE FUQ? #Jassandra #EmbersTV #507

@AmeradasJulian: SHE CAME… SHE CAME!!!111!!! WHEN WILL YOUR OTP EVER? I HAVE ASCENDED #Jassandra #EmbersTV #i am deceased

@Embersfan125: How is it possible to be so alive and so fucking dead at the same time?? I blame @EmbersTV @TheTheloniusJaha @ClarkeyG & @BellamyBlake #EmbersTV

However, this is nothing compared to the amount of keysmashes and exclamation points in the tweets following Bellamy’s announcement 18 months later:

BELLAMY BLAKE: ‘YES, IT’S TRUE. CLARKE AND I ARE ENGAGED.’

Fans all over the world have lost it. As @Jassandraendgaame on Twitter so eloquently puts it: “WE NEVER FUCKING LOSE BITCHES!”

[cursed-saphire-hart]

Weird West Sad Fanfict

Author Comment: I cried so much for this, and sorry if it’s choppy and or rushed. I was typing through tears!

…

Title: World with Color Pairing: Otis x Aussie (FirstLove) Chapter: N/A Category: Sad Fict Au: Weird West Word Count: 2,998 Rating: T Summary:

Sometimes the happiest things can leave the deepest wounds when they’re gone…

Warmth, peace, and comfort.

For a long while, it seemed he lived his life without those few things being possible.

After losing his eye, he had constant nightmares about that moment, the possibilities of what could have happened kept running through his mind and his dreams. The man whose blood he spilled, he was a serial killer, known for his cruelty and sadistic methods.

Constantly he dreamt of what might have happened if he had gotten there too late…

What could have happened to his parents and pregnant sister. Each night he would either wake up screaming, or in a cold sweat.

Soon he found that hunting such terrible men, and stopping them from causing people the same pain he endured, allowed him to sleep at night.

His occupation often didn’t allow him to get close to anyone, a warm bed or decent meal, let alone warm welcomes when traveling.

It was a lonely life for awhile.

Often his days within a town consisted of being at a saloon, drinking a bottle or two of beer, just to listen to the chatter around him, as opposed to the deathly quietness of the desert.

Most didn’t pay him anyone, or went out of they’re way to avoid him. When you hunted outlaws for a living, after awhile, the smell of blood and gun powder became an obvious tell, signalling to other people that you were a bounty hunter.

So it startled him when a young man, with a bright smile, and curious eyes spoke to him so casually as if they were old friends. He could still remember the conversation word for word.

“So yer a bounty hunta? What’s that like?” he had asked taking a seat right next to the hunter. “Lonely…” Otis replied simply, the sudden question left him slightly dumbfounded.

“Ah, that’s too bad…” his smile fell for a moment before picking up again. “Want me to help with that…?”

The other choked on the beer he was drinking, throwing him into a coughing fit, “Wh-What…!?” the young man laughed, “Sorry, sorry, didn’t mean it like that mate..!” he apologized, “I just meant we could talk for a bit, if I’m not botherin you.”

Otis agreed to it, it felt nice to talk to someone. “That accent… are you by chance from Australia?” he adked curiously, and the other noddee his head, “Sure am, come here from Aussie bout a year ago.” the two talked for hours, about they’re experiences, theyre travels, anything that cane to mind, just to talk and laugh, and during they’re conversation, Otis took in the others appearance slowly with each word said.

Sun kissed skin, eyes colored like the summer sky, long hair like sunshine, and a smile that shined brighter than a star, with a warm honey like voice to tie it all together. His cheerful personality, his gentle appearance and the easy going air around him, it seemed he was the hunters complete and total opposite.

But maybe, that was why he fell so in love, so hard, than and there.

Talking with him, being near him, just spending time with him, was so calming, and comforting, in a way he hadn’t felt in years.

After that, any and everytime he went through that town on a job, they met up and just talked, shared a drink, occasionally they shared a meal together too, each time, they grew closer.

It wasn’t until one night, when he was getting ready to pack up for his trip home in the morning, that he thought that this was just how it was going to be between them.

The blond had knocked on his hotel door, and before Otis could get a word out, “Can I come with you…?” he asked.

The hunter was dumbfounded yet again, he was unable to find the words to say at that moment, he just stared at the other quietly.

“I… I wanna come with you… can I…?” he asked again, a hopeful, yet nervious light in his deep blew eyes, and a soft blush dusting his cheeks. Otis felt himself swallow hard, “Why…?” he answered the question, with a question, “Because… I want to…” the gap between the two closed slowly, “I want to be close to you…”

That night, wasn’t spent alone for the first time in a long long time.

Unlike his own, Otis found that the blonds body was without a scar, while his pale skin was covered in them, but the other didn’t mind, nor did he ask about them. They just spend the night together, and in eachother’s arms.

He was so happy.

The happiest he had ever been.

The two started to live together after that, and for once, the home Otis returmed to, was comforting to come back to after a job.

Being welcomed home with open arms and a warm smile, having someone to talk to and hold, to be loved, it felt like life had returned to his soul.

They’re life wasn’t perfect in a sense, but it was to them, because they were happy.

Otis took up a second job as an undertaker’s assistance so he wouldn’t have to hunt as often. He knew it worried his partner when he went on a hunt.

Mostly he would build new coffins thanks to his strong and sturdy form, it payed well enough to put food on the table, and they lived more peacefully.

Sometimes they would go for hikes, they’re favorite spot wad on a mesas, which was covered in grass and flowers, it was beautiful. They would often have picnics there too.

They would chat during dinner about nothing special, and relax in the bath before bed.

Each night after a long day or a day of hiking, they would just lay in bed, making small talk as they relaxed in eachother’s arms.

“Your hands are so rough…” the blond said as he played with the larger man’s hands gently, “That’s because I do hard labor,” Otis chuckled placing a kiss on the others head gently. “But your such a gentle person… I still find it hard to believe your a bounty hunter…” he sighed. He said that a lot, how Otis was so kind and gentle despite the job he worked.

The hunter pulled his partner closer, wrapping his arms tenderly around the others more slender waist. “I love you…” he sighed softly, and he could hear the smile in the blonds voice, “I love you too…”

The nightmares had disappear to be left as a bad memory within the back of his mind, because with him, Otis could forget the evil in the world, and only see the light that shine over the darkness.

But light and dark go hand in hand, a shadow can only exist when there is light, and a light can only shine when there is darkness.

His happy life came crashing down once again on that fateful day all those years ago.

It had been the day he had preparing for. He had started working another job as a handyman, working longer hours to prepare for that day, and the sun was already setting by the time he headed home that day.

He was late for dinner, but he was sure his lover would forgive him.

A little black back which he kept opening, had been nestled in his hand as he walked up the trail to they’re home, an excited and giddy smile plastered on his face.

He had though of that day for months, fantasizing about it, and cherishing it.

Holding his lover close, telling him how much he loved him, telling him how wonderful he was and how happy he made him before popping the question and giving him the ring.

But that would never happen.

Never…

His happy life, was colored red, and in that moment, he couldn’t even scream.

All he could do was hold his lover tight, hoping it was all another nightmare, too shocked to even cry.

He ran his fingers through those beautiful sun golden locks, he cupped his soft face, his blue eyes were closed, and Otis prayed to god that Aussie was just sleeping so when he woke up, they could go on a hike together and chat during dinner.

A prayer that was never answered.

He couldn’t cry, he couldn’t scream, he had forgotten how.

He made the coffin, and carved the tombstone, he even help prepare the corpse.

During the wake, those who knew and loved him, cried for him, but Otis was too numb to even become choked up, he barely spoke, he just stared at his lover as he laid in that wooden box.

He looked like he was sleeping.

The coffin was never barried.

Aussie was too free of a spirit to spend eternity in the ground, and his ashes were spread at they’re favorite spot.

Still, he kept a small bottle full on a chain around his neck, he didn’t want to lose him anymore than he already had.

After that, his world had turned grey, the sun never shined, there was no beautiful spring, or warm summer, only grey. He was to numb to hurt.

He never returned to that house they shared, he could never return to it there were too many memories he had grown numb to, but he could never let anyone else live in it either, he didn’t want anyone to soil what the two had.

So in stead, he burned it down.

Each day blended into the next, as he went back to hunting, he became more brutal, more fierce when fighting, and became quick to anger.

More and more often, he brought his bounty back dead. So instead of dragging around a corpse, he started building coffins again. That was how he earned his nickname. And finding it fitting, to go with his chest of weapons, he added a scythe with a light blade, making it his main weapon of combat.

Anyone who watched him fight would call him suicidal, he was brutal, but often careless, and got hurt alot.

Not that he could feel his wounds.

Maybe he was suicidal. But his body never let him go that far.

So he pressed on, doing job after job, and drinking away the money he made from each one. Liquor does a funny thing to a mad when it’s overflowing in his blood, for some, it makes them confess the deepest of things, and causes the worst regrets.

For one man in particular, karma got him while was in one such state, and he spouted off on how he shot and killed a pretty blond boy with an Australian accent who had offered the man water when he had knocked on his door. He laughed, saying that the look on the youngman’s face was priceless when he pulled a gun on him.

It was unfortunate for the killer, that the pretty blond boy’s drunk and angry lover was only feet away from him as he spoke like what he done was something to take pride in.

He was beaten bloody right than and there. Unlike his Aussie, the hunter didnt allow that man to be given a quick death. Infact, it took him three days to finally die, and one more evil was taken out of the world.

Still, Otis saw a lot more evil in his life traveling the highway, each one numbing him more and more, and getting rid of Aussie’s killer did nothing to ease him neither.

On the rare occasion Though, when he went to a church, he would sit there, and bask in the peacefulness of the holy ground, and it would remind him of his lover, and he would wish his Aussie was with him again, but still, the tears wouldn’t come, and the hurt never set in the way it was suppost to.

Everyday he wished to god he hadn’t be late that day.

But no amount of wishing or praying could turn back the hands of time. Time had stopped for him that day, it had stopped for both of them. All he could do was move his body forward and hope time would start for him again, or maybe even stop completely.

It wasn’t until he received a wanted poster for a particularly evil son of a bitch. A man who dealt in some pretty bad stuff, his passion seeming to be the act of abducting and selling people like livestock.

Like any good hunter followed the trail his prey left behind, and soon that lead him to a small out of the way town.

And from there he started asking questions, it was hard because like always, people avoided him, and as a result he had to pin a few people to get them to anwser his questions until he got an idea where the bounty was, eventually he got information, but what he heard made his blood run cold.

The man was seen in the town, but no one recognized him, and not long ago was he seen following a young couple and they’re two daughters up to they’re farm house.

Now thing was, no one who encountered the man that day got a good felling from him, but no one bothered to warn the small family when they offered him some help.

When he heard this, Otis booked it to the farm house as fast as he could, he ran and ran and ran with hid scythe in hand, praying to whom ever was listening, that this time, he wouldn’t get there too late.

Something that came with the job, was that eventually, you develope a sensitivity to the smell of blood.

The smell of iron and copper became thick in the air, the smell of blood was fresh the moment he was in front of the house the family of four shared.

Otis prepared himself for what he might see, holding onto the hope that there was still a chance that the family was ok.

He pushed open the door, and a flash of a cruel memory was visible before his eyes for a moment.

Just like his Aussie, the mother and father were on the ground, in a pool of they’re own blood which slowly grew.

The hunter felt like he was going to throw up, unlike before, the man and woman both had deep large wounds, and he later found out they were both killed by an axe the father used while cutting wood.

Without another moment to spare, Otis quickly followed the bloody footsteps, he still had a chance to save the girls, the blood was still wet, and left a trail, they had to be close. That was what he had thought anyways.

But what he had found in it’s stead was something far different.

You can think a lot of things are a possibility, that the bad guy hadn’t found the children and that they were hiding, or that Otis was the hero that stopped him just in time to save the girls, or even that he was too late again, and they were gone.

But when you remove what’s possible, what you think is an impossible outcome is all that’s left in it’s wake.

At the door was to the room the girls shared, laid the very man that killed they’re parents, the man Otis had been after was laying on the ground, barely breathing, with an axe in his side.

And the two little girls, barel tall enough to reach his knee, were huddled in a corner, shaking and scares. They were both splattered with blood, and they’re eyes were glowing bright colors, molten gold, and haunting turquoise, and they stared at the large man unwavering as he stared back at them in total shock. Soon they’re eyes faded, the oldest eyes that were once a bright glowing yellow faded into a dark brown like tree bark, and the youngest’s bright sea colored eyes faded to a deep green as they filled with tears.

The two stood up and ran to the man, sobbing and crying loudly, some how knowing that he was a good person, unlike the man who lay dying at they’re feet.

Otis took the two children with him as his bounty was collected. And like before, the same things were put into place when they left.

He saw to it that the girls would not have any need to return to that house, and that they would always have a piece of they’re parents with them.

Rumors spread around after that to go with the ones that already surrounded they small family.

The rumors that had surrounded the small family in the past was that the mother was a gypsy witch, and the father was a dark shaman turned monster, and that they were both in hiding when they had they’re two daughters, which the town’s people dubbed, the little demons of a witch and a monster. Because of the rumors, the family barely ever went into town and lived secluded from everyone else, and that was why the outlaw had went with them, blowing the rumors off as superstitions.

Little did he know that some rumors can have grains of truths mixes in.

But well, let’s not get into much detail.

Whether the girls really were monsters or not, that wasn’t for Otis to decide.

All he knew was that the moment he saw that the two small children were ok, all the tears that had been held back finally fell when he held the two for the first time.

His world had color once more.