#i think it was chash that said bellamy is always wearing glasses in her fics unless explicitly stating otherwise and honestly same

[craniumhurricane]

FINALLY finished one of my @bellarkebingo fics!

@kindclaws suggested established relationship and prank wars. I did it in  modern setting so I checked alternate universe (any kind) off as well. Ignore the other colors, I didn’t save this photo in parts so it’s marked with my wips.

fool you once, shame on me

[ On AO3! ]

The whole thing had honestly started as an accident.

One of Clarke's coworkers made an offhand comment about the cleanliness of her workstation which, in true Clarke fashion, meant she had to prove anyone and everyone wrong, sending her into a cleaning frenzy. Unfortunately, that energy didn’t just keep to her place of work.

Their place was never dirty, by any means; Bellamy was used to cleaning up after his sister, so tidying up after himself and someone else was just habit at this point. But after the thing at work, Clarke made a declaration about pulling her weight around the house and thus "Clarke's Spring Cleaning Project" was born… nevermind they were a couple of months well past Spring. Unpacking boxes that they haven't touched since they moved from their apartment into their house 5 years ago, only to then turn around and use those same boxes for sorting the donations from the trash which was certainly economical. She even had plans for the attic, which honestly even Bellamy is too scared to go in there; it's why most of their holiday decorations are in storage containers in the garage instead. 

The crowning jewel of Clarke’s project came this past weekend in which she spent cleaning, rearranging, and even painting their kitchen.

"This color is much more cheerful," she had told him, along with, "And doesn't the silverware make much more sense in this drawer?"

Bellamy didn't mind. And honestly? It did make more sense for the silverware to be in that drawer.

It's early the next Monday morning when he stumbles into the kitchen and gets the coffee pot going, completely unable to start his workday without having a cup. He's still groggy so it takes him two tries before he remembers that Clarke moved the mugs too.

He's waiting patiently, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and when the coffee is finally ready he pours himself a generous cup and doctors it up with cream and sugar. He's taking that first blissful sip and as soon as the liquid touches his tongue… he spits it out all over the counter.

"What the hell?" He manages between coughs.

Bellamy takes an experimental, tentative sip like somehow this one will be different from the first. At least this time he manages to spit the god awful stuff back into his cup. He grimaces and glares at the liquid like it's personally betrayed him.

He glances around before his eyes land on the ceramic sugar container on the counter. Slowly, Bellamy pulls it towards him and sticks his pinky inside, bringing the white granules to his tongue. The taste of salt makes his face screw up.

Bellamy eyes the salt container next and brings it over to repeat the process. Sugar. 

It’s still too early for him to properly process this so he just makes another, proper, cup of coffee and goes about his morning getting ready. He kisses Clarke on the forehead goodbye before she’s even gotten out of bed and writes her a note and leaves it on the counter in front of the coffee machine.

Bellamy gets a text from her later when he’s unlocking the door to his office at the University saying, “Sorry! Thanks for the heads up!” and honestly that should have been that…

*

To be fair, he didn't plan on seeking revenge. All of the pieces just sort of fell into his lap. Or rather, fell into his desk drawer after he confiscated it from a student.

It's a couple of days later in the week and Clarke's decided to try one of those websites where you type in all the random ingredients you have in your house and it tells you a possible meal you can make with what you got. They usually have to do this once or twice a month because they forgot to put something on the grocery list and they don't feel like ordering takeout again.

She walks out of the kitchen carrying the pot of gumbo or goulash or whatever it's supposed to be (stew maybe?) and brings it over to the table. Bellamy watches intently, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling and tries to hide it behind his glass of water.

“Well, at least it smells good,” Clarke says and sets the pot on the trivet. She plops down in her seat and then immediately shoots out of her chair due to the sound it makes.

Bellamy can’t contain his laughter after that, not that he's really trying anymore.

“What the hell?” she asks, brows furrowed in confusion. She moves the cushion on her chair to find a whoopee cushion underneath it. Clarke lifts it up with something like disbelief on her face before she turns her focus on him and stares with a frown.

Bellamy’s still chuckling, “Consider it payback.”

Clarke purses her lips but he can tell she’s trying hard not to smile. “I'm sorry,” she starts as she sits down again and waves the whoopee cushion back and forth, “are we 12?"

"Funny enough,” he says as he starts ladling food into their bowls, “I confiscated that from some frat kid in my Ancient Civilizations class that probably has the IQ of a 12 year old."

She laughs at that as he sets her bowl down in front of her. "You know the salt and sugar thing was an accident, right?"

Bellamy shrugs as he sits back down, "I know."

She shakes her head and then blows up the whoopee cushion so she can squeeze the air out directly in his face. 

He smirks. Now he knows it’s on.

*

A few days later, they're both up at the same time, Clarke having to get up earlier than usual for a new exhibit opening at the museum. He's shuffling behind her on their way to the kitchen and nearly has a heart attack when he tries to cross the threshold. Someone put saran wrap from one side of the doorframe to the other, just high enough so that someone is able to walk under it while he gets a face full of plastic.

His "what the fuck!?" is drowned out by his wife’s laughter. Bellamy threatens to withhold her morning caffeine, but they both know that's an empty threat. 

He retaliates instead by putting bubble wrap under the rug that leads to their bathroom one night after she's gone to sleep. It succeeds in scaring the literal piss out of her at 3am. (That one kind of backfires because it scares him awake too and somehow he ends up on the floor.)

It's the next week when Clarke strikes again, sticking with her tried and true plastic wrap. Bellamy almost breaks the damn bottle of his body wash with how hard he tries to squeeze the soap out. Apparently that wasn’t enough because she covered the openings of his shampoo and conditioner too. Jokes on her though cause he doesn't mind smelling like her citrus wash and shampoo all day.

He tries something a little more creative next and hides all of her right shoes so she's forced to go to work with two mismatched left flats. 

Since apparently this opens up work attire as a new area for their so-called torture, she hides all of his ties except for the novelty one Murphy got him as a gag gift that has rubber ducks on it. She makes sure to take a picture and send it to their entire friend group.

Bellamy knows, logically, that they could stop at any time. But the pranks are harmless, even a little exhilarating, as they wait to see what the other will do next. They still kiss each other good morning, binge watch sitcom reruns curled up on the couch in the afternoons, and make love at night. They’re not even that subtle about it, each one having caught the other looking up pranks online which prompts Clarke to politely inform him that if he fills her Oreos with toothpaste that she would definitely divorce him.

It startles him a bit when, about a little over a month after this whole “prank war” thing started, she meets him at the garage door when he gets home with a smile on her face. He's wary, to say the least.

"What did you do?" He asks, wondering if he’s missed a sign taped to his back all day.

She chuckles softly, "Nothing. But I have a surprise for you.”

She takes his hand and leads him to sit down on the couch while she perches in front of him on the coffee table. Her hand never leaves his and now she’s brought the other one into the mix so his is sandwiched between her small ones.

"I'm pregnant."

He feels his breath hitch and his heart stop. But then his head starts to weigh in and he narrows his eyes as her.

"That's not funny, Clarke."

She blinks at him, opens and closes her mouth a few times before she finally speaks. "What, you think I'm lying?"

"Come on, clearly you stole this from Brooklyn Nine Nine. We just rewatched that heist episode the other night.”

Clarke let’s go of his hand so she can drop her head into her’s and groan, "Oh my God, Bellamy.” 

He’s not done though; he’s more than a little miffed. "Where did you see this prank going exactly?” he has to ask.

"It's not a fucking prank,” She snaps at him. “And if I have to pee on a Goddamn stick in front of you to prove it then fine."

She's clearly upset about this which makes him more inclined to believe her. And really, deep down, Bellamy knows she wouldn't lie about something like this. Something they both want.

All the same, he follows her without protest as she drags him into their bathroom and makes him sit on the edge of the tub while she rifles through the cabinet under the sink, grumbling the whole way as she does it.

When she's done; she sets a timer on her phone, crosses her arms, and stares at him while they wait. She’s sitting on the closed toilet lid, her eyes narrowed and her mouth twisted into a pout.

Her phone goes off and she continues to look at him but her stare turns pointed, eyes shifting from him to the stick and then back to him. His palms are sweaty and he doesn't know why but he reaches across her for the pregnancy test on the counter

All the air leaves his lungs in a simple, "Holy shit."

"I'm going to hold this against you for, like, the entire pregnancy. And maybe the first few years of this kid's life."

She's probably still pretty pissed at him but she's looking at him with tears in her eyes so he figures it’s safe to lean forward and press a soft kiss to her lips.

She keeps her word. And when she says she's in labor, he’s sure to believe her.

[chasholidays]

Hey Chash! Just a silent follower from Australia, thought I'd finally break the wall to say hi and I really fkn love your work. Here's my prompt: clarke starts wearing bellamy's glasses by accident and he doesnt know how to ask for it back because it's clarke wearing his glasses Looking forward to reading ur fics like always! Thanks!! 😀😀

It really is an honest mistake, at least to begin with.

Here’s the thing: Clarke is incapable of holding onto sunglasses. It’s like some sort of weird disease; she’ll buy sunglasses, wear them once or twice, and then lose them. It’s not a purposeful thing, they’re just somehow very hard for her to keep up with. She has the same issue with chapstick, which is why she ended up leaving one at home and one at her desk at work and asking Bellamy if she can borrow his when they’re out in public.

Which is not how she ends up stealing his sunglasses. It’s just a coincidence.

What actually happens is that she’s in a hurry to get to work, and when she finds a pair of sunglasses, she just assumes they’re hers. After all, she’s had so many sunglasses over the course of her life that it’s hard to remember what all of them look like. They do seem nicer than her usual ones, and a little big, but it doesn’t seem particularly suspicious. She’s bought a lot of last-minute sunglasses just to have some.

And, she has to say, they look good on her. They’re a flattering style.

She’s still wearing them when she gets home, and Bellamy raises his eyebrows at her.

“What?” she asks.

“New sunglasses?”

She rolls her eyes, which he definitely can’t see. “You act like that’s a surprise. Do you know how much money I’ve wasted on sunglasses over the years? If I could just stop losing them I could buy a boat or something.”

“Which would be great, because you have so much to do with a boat. Also, you’d waste less money if you didn’t buy nice sunglasses.”

She takes them off, examining them. They really are nice. “Or maybe I’ll actually keep this pair.”

“That would be a miracle,” he says.

It feels like their standard shit-talking, so Clarke doesn’t think much of it. It’s not even unwarranted; she does lose sunglasses like it’s her job. But she likes this pair, and Bellamy actually keeps asking about them, which gives her incentive to keep them, because he just seems to be smugly waiting for her to lose track of them.

And, to be fair, at least twice his reminding her is the only reason she doesn’t forget them, so maybe she’d lose fewer sunglasses if he was constantly checking in.

When he buys her one of the chains like librarians have, that’s a little much, but she still wears it, about half to fuck with him and half because, like Bellamy’s check-ins, they actually do help her keep track of things.

It’s been about a month of that when she, Raven, and Octavia grab lunch one Saturday and Octavia asks, “Are those Bell’s sunglasses?”

Of course, her immediate reaction is to say no, but the answer dies on her tongue before she can voice it. Bellamy does have sunglasses of his own, and he generally gets nicer ones than she does. He has a few in rotation, but Clarke doesn’t pay a ton of attention to them. Sunglasses are sunglasses, and Bellamy looks good in all of them. She’s never noticed much about the specific style, except when he’s wearing aviators or something. Mostly, she just doesn’t know a ton about sunglasses.

But it would explain a lot.

“Are they?” she asks, casual. “I must have grabbed them by mistake.”

“Yeah, those are like his favorite ones. I can’t believe he left them out. You better not lose them.”

Raven snorts. “Good luck with that.”

It’s tempting to point out that she’s had these for a month and not lost them yet, but then Raven and Octavia will know both that she didn’t notice she had Bellamy’s sunglasses for a month and that Bellamy didn’t tell her, which will doubtless raise many questions she doesn’t want to deal with. Not with Raven and Octavia anyway.

“I’m not that bad,” she says, and lets them tell her how she really is that bad instead of saying anything more.

When she gets home, she doesn’t bring it up with Bellamy either.

“Still have my sunglasses,” she says, holding them up, and he snorts and shakes his head.

“Congratulations.”

*

“If I stole your sunglasses, would you tell me?”

Wells frowns. “How would I know? I assume you’d lose them before I saw them again. Is this your way of telling me you lost my sunglasses?”

“No, I didn’t lose your sunglasses. I don’t have your sunglasses. This is an actual hypothetical.” He makes a face, and she sighs. “These are Bellamy’s,” she says, tapping the glasses she’s wearing. “I took them by mistake last month.”

“And you still have them?” he asks.

“That’s your takeaway?”

“Remember when we were in high school and you lost a pair of sunglasses on the roller coaster at Six Flags and bought a new pair and lost that one before we got back to the bus? Because I do.”

“I’ve been working really hard to keep up with them.”

“Because they’re Bellamy’s?”

“No, I only found that out a couple days ago. But he’d been asking me if I’d lost them like ten times a day, which made it easier to not lose them and also should have tipped me off.”

“So, your question is if I would have just let you wear my sunglasses for a month without telling you.”

“Pretty much.”

“Definitely not.”

She sighs. “Yeah, I thought not. It’s weird, right? Why wouldn’t he just ask for them back? I would have given them to him.”

“Except now you know and you aren’t.”

“Because he didn’t tell me!”

“So he needs to be punished?”

“No, but–if he doesn’t want them back, why should I give them back? They’re the only sunglasses I’ve ever managed to hold onto, maybe it’s fate.”

“Uh huh.”

“Seriously, why wouldn’t he tell me? They’re nice.”

Wells sighs. “Look, you know I don’t like offering opinions on whatever the deal is with you and Bellamy,” he says. “But I would assume this was yet another step in your weird flirtation.”

“How is taking someone’s sunglasses a flirting thing?”

“I’m not saying I understand it, just that it’s the only explanation I’ve got. I wouldn’t do that, but I don’t have a thing for you. There’s the difference.”

“I don’t think that’s the only difference between you and Bellamy.”

“Seriously, I don’t have an explanation here. Maybe he thinks they look good on you.”

Clarke thinks it over. “If it was flirting,” she says, slow, “what would I do? Like–what’s the next step of flirting here?”

“Actually flirting with him like a normal person? I don’t know how to glasses flirt. That’s not a thing.”

“You’re not helpful.”

“Hey, I told you like three useful things. But yeah, there’s only so much I can do with this.”

“Yeah, okay,” she grants. “I’m on my own. Thanks anyway.”

“Good luck. And I do like the sunglasses,” he adds, making her smile.

“Yeah. Me too.”

*

“Do you think I should get glasses?” she asks Bellamy that night. He has a prescription, but his eyesight isn’t actually that bad, so he doesn’t wear his all the time.

Which means it’s easy for her to try them on.

He glances away from his grading, frowning. “It’s not really something you do just for fun. Do you think you need glasses?”

“Some people do them as a fashion statement now.”

“You want to get ironic hipster glasses?”

“I’m just wondering if I look good in glasses.”

“Everyone looks good in glasses,” he says, like this is a well-known fact.

“Really?”

“Maybe not everyone. But I like glasses, yeah.”

“What about sunglasses?”

There’s an unmistakable tensing of his shoulders, but he keeps his voice steady. “What about them?”

“I really like how I look in those sunglasses I’ve got.”

“And you’re worried about inevitably losing them, so you want to replace them with ironic hipster frames?”

“I feel like I should give them back to you.”

He takes a second and then he asks, “How long have you known?”

“That I stole your sunglasses? About week. Octavia recognized them. And it did make sense. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You held onto them for a whole day, I wanted to see how long it could last. You should just always steal my stuff, if it helps you not lose it.“

“So, what, you think I subconsciously wasn’t losing those because deep down I knew they were yours?”

He shrugs. “It makes as much sense as anything. Will you take those off?” he adds, making a grab for his glasses, but she ducks out of the way.

“You weren’t even using them.”

“You can’t steal my actual glasses, Clarke.”

“Just your sunglasses.”

“They aren’t prescription.”

“Octavia said they were your favorites. The sunglasses.”

He wets his lips, watching her carefully. “They look good on you,” he finally says.

“Yeah?” she asks, grinning. “What about these? Do these look good on me too?”

“Clarke.”

“What?”

“You always look good. Take off my glasses before you permanently damage your eyes.”

She has to laugh. “Wow. Wells might be right, we really suck at flirting.”

"That wasn’t flirting, that was genuine concern.” He clears his throat. “Were you flirting?”

“Yeah. I couldn’t figure out what the next step from you apparently being into me wearing your sunglasses was.”

“Seriously, how did you come up with that?”

“Wells, like I said. I had to call in a consultation because I didn’t know what was going on.” For the first time, she realizes he hasn’t really confirmed anything, and her confidence wavers. Not that much, but–she does need to hear it. “He wasn’t wrong, right?”

His face breaks out in a grin, and he leans in, presses his mouth against hers, just a whisper of a kiss, but enough for a start. “I wasn’t really trying to flirt, honestly,” he says. “But, uh, you looked cute. And I kind of liked–I don’t know. It’s not like you’re wearing my shirts or anything, but it was cool that you actually managed to hang onto them.”

“So, just kind of a weird fetish for you,” she teases.

“You’re a weird fetish for me,” he shoots back, reflexive, and she snorts.

“Great burn.”

“It’s kind of true.” He pauses, scrubs his face. “So, this is the worst love confession ever, right?”

“Definitely,” she says, and tugs him back in for another kiss. “But it worked.”

He smiles, pressing her back onto the couch. “Well, as long as it worked.”

*

Two days later, she comes home wearing a pair of ironic hipster glasses with a new pair of sunglasses for Bellamy.

“Does this mean you lost mine?” he asks, wary.

“No. It means I’m planning to keep yours and you need a new pair.”

“These are a lot shittier than the ones you stole.”

“It’s symbolic.”

“Uh huh.” His eyes flick over her in a way that makes heat coil in her belly. “What about the other glasses?”

“For your weird fetish,” she says, with a shrug of one shoulder. “Assuming you’re interested.”

He grins, puts his papers aside and tugs her into his lap. “You know you don’t need to be wearing glasses to seduce me, right? I don’t mind, but all you have to do is exist and I’m sold.”

“You’re worth the effort.” She straightens her glasses with a smile. “Besides, I’m kind of starting to like them.”