bellarke prompt: the "forced confession" trope. someone is forced/maneuvered/compelled to confess ~secret feelings~~. ex: blackmail, drugs, magic curse, hostage, a bet, a test, hypnosis, truth telling. Go nuts with the melodrama!
This was really fun to write! To go all-in with the melodrama, I borrowed a plot idea from one of my favorite Smallville episodes (Committed, 8x05) to get these two crazy kids to admit their feelings for one another. Enjoy :)
Warning for minor instance of torture.
When Bellamy woke, he realized two things: one,he was tied to a chair, and two, he was going to kill Clarke Griffin. Groaning
quietly, he tried to shake off the drowsiness from whatever drug the
psycho—whom he and his partner had been pursuing for the last few weeks—had
used to incapacitate him. Stupid, he
thought, you were being so stupid. As
one of the top FBI agents at his field office, he should’ve known better than
to be so careless as to not scouting his surroundings better. The guy had overpowered
him walking back to his car behind the coffee shop down the street from their
hotel. Caffeine was always Bellamy’s go-to solution for soothing raw nerves,
especially when it came to dealing with Clarke. His field partner drove him up
the fucking wall with her by-the-rule-book mentality and control freak
tendencies. She drove him up the wall in other ways too, with her hair flips
and charming laughter, the way her eyes followed him around and her teasing
ago, Clarke had walked into Bellamy’s office and brashly introduced herself as
his new partner (the best he was ever
going to get, were her exact words) and since then, his life had been
chaos. The first few months of their partnership had consisted of one or the
other barging into their boss’s office and demanding a partner reassignment.
With a knowing smile, Kane dismissed them each time, saying they would just have
to find a way to work it out. After Clarke had ‘accidentally’ backhanded
Bellamy with her gun during pursuit of a suspect, they had come to an
understanding: they both wanted to be the best, so instead of fighting each
other, why not work to put everyone else to shame? Wonder of wonders, it had
worked. Coworkers who had once complained about their constant bickering now
grumbled enviously about their stellar case closure record. The two of them still
fought, and often, but the hostility was gone, replaced by hard-earned respect
and professional admiration. Though on his side, admiration had moved way
beyond professional months ago.
Bellamy struggled against his bindings, admiration wasn’t what he was feeling
for Clarke. Irritation, or downright anger, was more accurate. Their suspect
had only caught him because he had been so distracted after his fight with
Clarke fight earlier that night. Apparently, she had had a problem with his
springing their fake engagement cover on her in the field, a sentiment that she
had made abundantly clear (via very loud shouting) after returning to the hotel.
It’s not like they could’ve just flashed their badges around without spooking
the suspect. How else did she suppose they were going to figure out what
jewelry store manager was kidnapping couples and killing them?
From the minute he had pulled her into
an awkwardly close embrace and called her his fiancée in the first store they
had visited, she had pasted that I’m-pretending-I-like-you-but-I-just-really-want-to-punch-you-in-the-nose
smile that he was so familiar with from their early days working together. Still,
she had grudgingly gone along with it, calling him some hideously saccharine
nickname in revenge. He’d almost jumped out of his skin when she had slid her
hand up his chest seductively, but he had got her back by toying with loose
strands of her hair. Their act had been better at the subsequent stores, even
if her continual proximity strained his self-control.
Apparently, someone had bought it
though, otherwise he wouldn’t be here, in this decrepit warehouse basement,
tied to a chair. Gritting his teeth as he futilely pulled on the rope securing
his wrists, Bellamy seethed and thought of the nice, long apology Clarke was
going to owe him when he finally escaped, because the plan had worked. They had caught the suspect’s attention, though Bellamy
did realize that literally getting caught by the psycho wasn’t the best
outcome. Still, the only upside to this situation is that the guy had taken him
and not Clarke. His stomach dropped suddenly at the thought, and he tried to
block from his mind the disturbing image of her lashed to the chair instead.
Over the soft drip of leaking water
and groan of old pipes, Bellamy suddenly heard footsteps tread lightly down the
staircase lining the opposite wall. At first, he thought the shadowy figure was
their perp and tensed up in anticipation, but then he saw the flash of blonde
in the dark shadows. Goddamn it.
“Bellamy?” Clarke called out
worriedly, rushing forward with her gun raised, eyes flicking back and forth across
“What are you doing here?” He
hissed back, guessing she must have tracked the GPS signal on his phone when he
hadn’t returned to the hotel.
Rolling her eyes, she retorted,
“Saving your idiotic, kidnapped ass. Really, that cover was such a great plan, Bell.”
“You should sweep the building,” he
insisted, ignoring her commentary as she reached down to untie him. “I’ll be
fine here. You need to find the suspect. He wouldn’t have gone far.”
“Two pairs of eyes are better than
one,” she replied with a small smile.
Before Bellamy could respond, a soft
rustling sounded behind them. He turned his head around just in time to see a
hand holding a pipe come crashing down onto the side of Clarke’s head. He was
able to get out one loud, angry cry of protest before cold metal met his temple
and blackness descended.