#bleyton fanfiction

[waytoomanyhobbies]

It's time to feel good about ourselves! List your BEST, FAVORITE, MOST CREATIVE (however you interpret that), and MOST POPULAR works! It's fine if the categories overlap. Then pass this on to other creators to spread the love. No self-deprecation allowed!

Hmmm.

BEST is probably still Bittersweet Between My Teeth:

Rated M. It's a Blaine/Peyton and Ravi/Liv iZombie fic. It's the biggest plot I've tackled. I mean, it turned into a full novel length and has got: action, romance, horror, mystery, people plotting all kinds of stuff, mass murder, amnesia, semi-fake relationships, love confessions, zombie-making sex... etc. It's got some real gore and violence, but it is based on a series where a zombie eats dead people's brains to solve their murders and spends lots of time worrying about other zombies creating a zombie apocalypse, so that's to be expected.

FAVORITE is Dance Me to the End of Love:

Rated M. It has Tina and Jimmy Jr. preparing for their upcoming wedding, and tensions are rising because of a secret Tina has been keeping. There's a bit of romantic drama, lots of humor, and a character driven story; and it allowed me to write the entire Belcher family, which was a huge treat to write.

MOST CREATIVE is a bit harder to define, but I'm going with A Day at La Playa:

Rated T. More Tina and Jimmy Jr. The jealousy prompt for Tinimmy Week was so damned fun, and I am proud of my little twist on it. Lol.

Warm Butts (also rated T) was a really close contender for this one, too. So, I'm gonna include it. The prompt was secret/barrette, and it turned into the beginning of one of Tina's erotic friend fics in a really fun way.

MOST POPULAR is Close Calls and Closer Comforts:

Rated E. Stardew Valley is probably the biggest fandom I've written for in ages. I've seen lots of folks say that Sam isn't a character you can write anything dramatic and angsty for because he's so friendly and sweet, yet I find Sam's story arc and family in the game filled with lots of drama and interesting, meaty character stuff to explore. So when the farmer gets KO'ed in the Skull Caverns in this fic, it was a perfect way to dig into that trauma and angst for all us Sam lovers out there... and we get some sweet sexytimes afterward.

[actuallylorelaigilmore]

King And Queen Of The Weekend, Chapter 2: Time We Danced With The Truth

Peyton x Blaine, post-“Some Like It Hot Mess.” Part angsty fix-it-fic, part smut, with just a dash of songfic along the way for flavor. A plot bunny that would not be denied, this was heavily inspired by Lorde’s Melodrama, especially “Sober.” 

Summary: Blaine’s turn. What happens when you and your ex both decide to drown your feelings rather than facing them...in the same bar, with an unoccupied piano? "No matter what can be said about the wasted potential that is Blaine Debeers, he is not and will never be exactly like his father, because the old man would never sidle up to a piano in a dive bar and start playing quietly for his own entertainment.”

Cross-posted on AO3; fun with tags + more notes can be found there.

“So even if I faked losing my memory, you wouldn’t be a little mad?”

“I don’t know. I’m just��I’m so happy right now.”

“I have good news. Major is going to get his memory back…and the good news doesn’t stop there. This is me. This version of me, small business owner, amateur lounge singer, guy that feels lucky every time you walk through that door.”

—-

Blaine keeps moving, on autopilot. What other choice does he have? The show must go on, right? He quits playing piano, though, when the customers complain. They want more upbeat music and he just…doesn’t care. He’s tired of faking it. Hello irony, oldest of friends.

It’s the brain biz instead, again. Scheming and clawing his way back to being king of the hill is what comes naturally, so that’s what he does, burying his feelings.

He’s a villain; they’re not supposed to have feelings anyway. Idiotic to have let himself believe otherwise.

Branching out suppliers while he tests the blue juice leads him south to a small town for the weekend. He could’ve sent Don E., but he wanted the distance. The time. Once business is concluded, he heads straight for a bottle.

The town’s only bar was easier to find than a solitary bottle of Jack, so he settles in a corner, sulking over his whiskey while the entire place seems to be filled with couples.

They kiss, they cuddle, they share shots like the world might end tomorrow–little do they know–and they’re everywhere, physical reminders that against all odds, he actually got the girl, only to lose her again.

Technically, he remembers, he’s lost her twice now. That’s when he decides this particular establishment isn’t doing him any favors and gets up to leave…until he sees the piano.

Much like a beautiful woman, he’s always had a hard time resisting the lure of a piano. His father disapproved of such a sentimental pastime, but his mother–and then grandfather–encouraged the lessons, and eventually, every session of putting his fingers to the keys felt like fighting back.

It still does, bringing solace along with the bittersweet memories of his mother’s hands on his and his grandfather teaching him old Irish ballads. No matter what can be said about the wasted potential that is Blaine Debeers, he is not and will never be exactly like his father, because the old man would never sidle up to a piano in a dive bar and start playing quietly for his own entertainment.

“Love and other moments are just chemical reactions in your brain, in your brain...and feelings of aggression are the absence of the love drug in your veins, in your veins...”

As song choices go, it’s a bit on the nose, but he’s half-drunk and moping over Peyton, much as he wishes he wasn’t, and it’s what comes to mind. Along with it comes more moping, because he came here to forget–but he can't.

She sparkled.

That was the thing about Peyton that had first tugged at him. From the beginning, underneath her professional demeanor and through all the dark, dismal events to follow, she glowed in a way that made him want to be near her.

If he simply wanted sex and conversation he could find a beautiful woman in a bar somewhere, without getting mixed up with the ADA whose help was crucial to his plan. Slipping her his card was as practical as it was invitational, given how well he knew Mr. Boss and the danger she was courting. Against his own interests, he cared that she might get hurt because of her involvement in this scheme of his.

He never thought she'd invite him to stick around after work, as it were, to get a little sloppy on fine whiskey and do very little talking. All he’d really wanted was a little flirtation and to get rid of Mr. Boss. But when he laid out the map for her and connected the dots, she just lit up at him and took his breath away.

That was unexpected.

She made him a little tongue-tied, awkward, slightly off his game. He had better lines, smoother moves, but facing her, he was more the teenage loser of his youth than the suave king he’d remade himself to be.

The worst part was, he liked it.

“Love come quickly, because I feel my self-esteem is caving in, it’s on the brink...”

Had anybody ever come so close to sweeping him off his feet? It was a silly thought for someone who’d made a name for himself as a killer and drug dealer, but Peyton just had this way about her, part warrior queen, part soft and warm and vulnerable. The way she entered an interrogation room and demanded his release, as though anyone she came into contact with should be expected to do nothing less than exactly what she commanded.

Maybe it was a lawyer thing; he wouldn’t know. But it was hot.

And though he’d never admit it to anyone, she tunneled right into his weak spot. All he’d managed to make of himself, out of his personal hell growing up, was a cliche. The poor little rich boy, the failed entrepreneur…the thief who barely managed to graduate to drug dealer on somebody else’s turf. Once his grandfather was locked up, long after his own mother didn’t think he was worth living for, Blaine just didn’t see the point. Survival he was good at, but believing he was worth something? He'd left that behind as soon as he was old enough to understand how much his own father hated him.

Peyton was the first person to try and protect him, to stand up for him, since he was a child. It was the strangest feeling, but not unwelcome. Instead it was terrifying, because he wanted to lean into it, accept it. Her hand on his back as she ordered his father to leave, snapping at Ravi and choosing him over Major, welcoming him into their home when she knew Liv wouldn’t.

Not to mention, how she exuded cool with her shields up, so different from the woman he’d parted ways with who’d still been flush and warm and relaxed from their spontaneous encounter in her office. It should have been awkward, when they pulled back and tugged their clothes into place and she smoothed down her couch cushions, but it wasn’t.

She had grinned at him, seeming totally at ease, possibly the most confidently sexy woman he’d ever met, and asked flippantly, “Catch you later?”

Her grin was contagious. “Well,” he’d replied, “I do have a previously scheduled appointment to go over evidence with this smokin’ hot attorney. Maybe we could hook up after that?”

“Sounds good.” She linked her arms behind his neck, leaning in for a long, slow kiss. “Tell me more about this attorney.”

“Hmm…” He let his gaze wander down her body and back up to her deep hazel eyes. “Well, she’s gorgeous, and smart, and brave...”

Peyton interrupted him. “Brave?”

“Definitely. Not just anybody would take on Mr. Boss, let alone face him solo in her office without caving in to the fear. He threatened you,” Blaine reminded her gently. “And you stuck.”

She shrugged. “It’s my job. I’m good at it.”

“That’s kinda my point. But it’s more than that. You’re in it for more than the title and salary. I can tell. You really want to get him–just for what he does to this fair city of ours. That’s an admirable quality.”

“Well, we share it.” She gestured at her outfit. “So. Do I look like someone who just had sex on government property?”

“Huh. Presuming I know what that looks like,” Blaine replied, “no. I think you’re good to go.”

Nodding, Peyton stepped back toward him for one last kiss. “Then I’ll see you around.”

“Love come quickly, because I don’t think I can keep this monster in, it’s in my skin...”

He almost went for it that night on the couch. He almost couldn’t help himself, his hands full of Peyton and everything he secretly wanted most beneath his new persona. He couldn’t do it, of course–what if she regretted it? he knew he would regret it–but he almost did before he managed to pull back.

He wasn’t exactly known for his impulse control, before her. But he really did want to be better. Worthy of her company, let alone her affection. Worth that smile she shot his way that warmed the darker parts of his soul.

She made him feel poetic.

There was nothing he could do about how damaged he was long before they ever met, or what he did before and after becoming a zombie. But he was just a man now, and he wanted a real chance with her. So he stopped it.

He spent the night tossing and turning on the couch, cold without her, and wishing he’d never lied in the first place.

“Love and other socially acceptable emotions are morphine, they’re morphine, cleverly concealing primal urges often felt but rarely seen, rarely seen...”

When she took his hand the next morning, and led him to her room, he couldn’t believe it. And he didn’t try to stop it. She chose him, knowing his past, knowing the new man he was trying so hard to be–her hands were in his hair, her lips were parted against his, and they were kissing in the muted daylight where it felt like a dream.

He didn’t ever want to wake up.

His old life and the new one where she treated him like a decent guy who she was interested in were worlds apart. Despite her best friend being a zombie, Peyton had managed to stay surprisingly untouched by the violence surrounding her. She fought the seedy underbelly of the city…and he belonged in it.

But not anymore. He’d gotten his second chance, and he was determined to keep earning it, every day with her. Standing in her sunny bedroom, he lifted her shirt up, letting his fingers trace her skin as it was exposed. She stretched into his touch and he wondered if she did yoga, then refused to get distracted by how sexy the idea of her doing yoga was.

He was such a lost cause when it comes to Peyton Charles, it was ridiculous.

Unlike the last time, Blaine didn’t ask if she was sure, because he knew her well enough to know that this wouldn’t be happening if she weren’t. Instead, he indulged, the way they didn’t during their fateful one-night stand, when things were too new and frantic and fueled by the risk of getting caught at any moment.

Now, he could take full advantage of the light warming her bronze skin, drinking in his fill of how she looked in her bra and soft cotton pjs, before he slid those down her endlessly long legs and followed them with kisses.

“God, you’re gorgeous.”

She was so beautifully responsive, angling toward his every touch, humming her appreciation. It made him want to stay with her for days, finding every sensitive spot and claiming it for himself.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” she breathed back.

Peyton was already exploring him in return, dispatching his t-shirt and running her hands over his chest, leaning in toward him as her hands drifted lower.

Their lips met with excruciating slowness, neither of them rushing toward the bed. He traced her lips with his tongue, and when they parted she sighed. Then their tongues met eagerly while his fingers roamed down her back to caress her ass.

Her hand grazed him through his boxers and he jolted, growling against her mouth, their kisses growing more passionate. With an easy flick of his fingers, Blaine opened the front clasp of her bra and slid the straps off each shoulder.

They finally began inching toward the bed, still linked at the lips, her hands in his hair as the full length of her pressed against him. He kneeled next to her when they landed, running his hands over her chest and following his fingertips with his mouth.

Peyton moaned when he tugged lightly on one nipple and circled it with his tongue. He was stroking the other with his fingertips, shifting his legs so that one was between her knees and pressing against her. She rocked against him a little as their lips met and parted, breath growing thick and more desperate.

Her hands gripped his back, digging in as he continued to explore her, running his tongue along the crease of soft skin beneath her breast, then blowing lightly on her nipple before taking it back into his mouth.

Her hands moved up to his neck, running through his hair until he ceded control of the kiss to her, and she left him panting for breath. Then she was gripping his shoulders as his mouth found the curve of her neck and lingered there, leaving behind the faintest of marks.

She arched up toward him, nails digging into his skin, and he moved over, making room to slide down and let his mouth journey south. His lips left a heated trail down her taut stomach and over to her hip, where he planted a firm kiss that made her shiver.

Peyton released her grip on him and reached out to run her fingers along the waistline of his shorts. With her eyes closed, she waited until he leveraged himself up and then she tugged them off. He kicked them away, sucking in air as her hands found him and caressed the sensitive skin beneath his balls.

Blaine teased his fingers along the edge of her satin thong, then slid it aside to circle her clit with his fingers. Peyton started to shift along with his movements, quaking against the sheets.

“Oh, God. Blaine,” she murmured, taking him in her hand and stroking. His fingers kept moving against her until he was hard and ready, and their mouths clashed as he lifted himself.

She was wet and hot when he slid into her, and he found himself whispering endearments in her ear, just like the last time.

They moved together with an easy familiarity that didn’t make sense for only their second time, but he didn’t question it, straining with her toward their lush, convulsive peak. To Blaine, she felt like coming home.

“Love I beg you, lift me up into that privileged point of view, the world of two...”

Nothing she said was wrong. He was selfish, and greedy…and sad, most of all. He was angry at her for the way she tricked him into confessing–lied to him, led him into a trap–but he couldn’t muster up much enthusiasm for it, because he'd done far worse. And she was right.

He hadn’t been thinking about her friends, or making a fool of her, when his memories came back and he pretended they hadn’t. He’d been thinking about himself, which, once he had his memories back, he knew was what he always did. How he’d always been, before.

It took everything he had not to chase after her. Not to go looking, to make his case, the way he might with anybody else. But this was Peyton, who won arguments for a living, and he knew it would just make things worse. So he covered up the wound with jokes and business and liquor and tried to move on.

“Love don’t leave me, because I console myself that Hallmark cards are true, I really do...”

The liquor isn’t helping much. It never really does. Must be the Irish in him; drinking just makes him maudlin.

He sips again anyway, because he’s here and has nothing better to do, closing his eyes and remembering the way Peyton leaned back that first night, her skirt shifting and catching his attention when she crossed her legs. Her voice was sultry between sips, inviting--more intoxicating than the alcohol.

He’s not sure which is more of a tragedy, the fact that getting his memories back means he lost her, or the fact that having them means he remembers so clearly what he’s lost.

Putting his own flourish on the melody with one hand and sipping with the other, he catches movement in his peripheral vision that makes him dizzy.

He must be more drunk than he realizes, Blaine thinks, if he’s starting to hallucinate. This one isn’t exactly the way he would’ve imagined it, if he had a choice in hallucinations…which is how he knows he’s not that drunk.

Peyton’s come back to him, in all her fierce and shining glory–but she doesn’t look happy to see him. In fact, she seems just as stunned as he is, striding toward him with an accusatory finger outstretched.

He can’t help leaning into the chorus as their eyes meet, as she approaches without hesitation and all he can feel is the dull ache of missing her.

“I’m gunning down romance…it never did a thing for me, but heartache and misery—ain’t nothing but a tragedy.”

She carries herself like a fighter ready for the next round, despite her slightly glassy eyes and the tequila on her breath. If this is Peyton Charles on tequila, no wonder she wouldn’t tell him about it that first night.

She raises her voice over the piano he’s still playing, heedless of the heads that turn their way.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing here?”

[waytoomanyhobbies]

Or one of them has amnesia, or one was buried alive, or one has run afoul of a crime boss and the other risks everything to protect them, or one is shot, or they've been put on opposite sides of a lethal situation, or one is a starving zombie on the verge turning Romero and the other gets locked in with them, or one gets tortured in order to rescue the other....

well yes of course i want my otp to be happy 

but first let me see one of them choking back tears at a hospital bedside while the other lies in a coma (◉‿◉✿)

[blasphoeme]

My first ever fanfic!!! Has to be a Bleyton one of course~ 

Summary: Little Blaine needs a friend. What better candidate than Peyton!

[thornyrosesbush-blog]

Hey guys :-)

This is my iZombie fan fiction I'm currently creating and live for :D 

It's gonna be pretty long. There is first chapter published so far, I'm probably going to add one more each day.

It's a romance/drama story about Blaine and my own fictional character, young journalist Jean Nixon (a little bit me :D).

Even if I'm a huge Bleyton shipper in the show, I decided to go a slightly different way. But Peyton is still a huge part of whole story. Hope you'll stay open to my idea and enjoy it anyways :-)

Please, note that I'm not a fluent english speaker, so I'm sorry for eventual mistakes. 

I'll be glad for ANY reviews :-)

[waytoomanyhobbies]

you!!!!!!!! you’re sfdoll on ao3??? I love your fics I reread them every once in a while when I’m in the mood for a good iZombie fic. you’re so good at writing Peyton and blaine!

Yep, that's me. Thank you so much!!! I'm really happy that you enjoy the fics. I still love Peyton and Blaine. They've always had an incredible dynamic and so many stories you could explore with them.

[actuallylorelaigilmore]

King And Queen Of The Weekend, Chapter 1: Different Drinks At The Same Bars

Peyton x Blaine, post-“Some Like It Hot Mess.” Part angsty fix-it-fic, part smut, with just a dash of songfic along the way for flavor. A plot bunny that would not be denied, this was heavily inspired by Lorde’s Melodrama, especially “Sober.” 

Summary: What happens when you and your ex both decide to drown your feelings rather than facing them...on the same weekend, in the same small town? “Most of the time she appreciates being able to drink just about anybody under the table, but when all she wants is to forget her own name until morning, her high threshold is a pain in the ass.”

Cross-posted on AO3; fun with tags + more notes can be found there.

You’ve made a fool of me. This whole time, my friends could’ve been cured. Liv could’ve been human for months. You’re a sad, selfish, greedy man.”

“Wait. What happened to, ‘It didn’t matter how we got here?’”

“I’m a lawyer, Blaine. I shouldn’t be trusted.”

----

Peyton is spacing out at work, lost behind her efficient mask. She’s so angry at Blaine for lying, even more furious at herself for falling for it–for wanting to believe it, queen of denial–and she feels so guilty for the part she played in Blaine, well, playing them all.

It’s too much at once. She’s drowning.

The worst part is not being able to lean on her friends. How much she misses Blaine is the last thing they would want to hear about right now.

Maybe that’s the worst part, actually: how much she does miss him, even while she completely hates him, too.

So she is exhausted and more than ready for a vacation when her cousin invites her down the coast to use his beach house for the weekend. It isn’t like her to actually take time off, but Baracus practically shoves her out the door, wanting her refreshed for his campaign.

Dylan left the key under the mat along with a note that just says ‘Hey. The Sand Dollar is good. Love.’ That’s his code for “Hello. There’s not much fun to be had around here, but The Sand Dollar is your best bet if you need it. Love ya, cousin.”

Sneaking away without inviting anybody else along had seemed like a good idea at the time, but as soon as Peyton drops her bag on the couch and listens to the windy silence, she knows she'll go crazy just lying around for two days. She’ll spend all her time thinking about what she came to escape.

Who, her treacherous brain corrects her, which she ruthlessly ignores.

She heads for The Sand Dollar, which turns out to be a seedy bar just off the beach, full of handsy, stoned locals and drunk kids on spring break.

Obviously it isn’t her scene–not the kind of place you’d ever expect to find Peyton Charles, Assistant DA to the aspiring mayor of Seattle. But it is dark, and secluded, and has plenty of alcohol…which tonight, she decides, will be just fine.

She takes a seat at the bar with Lyft at the ready–in this day and age, who needs friends when an app can send you a designated driver?–and signals to the bartender.

“Tequila,” Peyton tells him. Ready for that escape, she lets the flashbacks hit her the way the liquid hits the shot glass, slow and warm. They’ll be washed away soon enough.

Shot #1.

Reckless normally didn’t suit her, and even the people who knew her best–especially them–would’ve been shocked by her behavior, but she didn’t care. Aching lately, intrigued by this man who had confounded her expectations from the moment they met, and loosened up by the whiskey, Peyton deliberately turned off the critical-thinking side of her brain and gave in to the sensation of his body pressing hers into the couch.

Her office couch, where she spent so many late nights stressing over the Mr. Boss case as potential CIs declined her offers; the place where she’d sunk down, shaking and pretending she wasn’t scared, after Mr. Boss himself had threatened her and waltzed out unnoticed. A place her hyper-professional self would never have invited over anyone she was dating for drinks, let alone started making out with them.

Let alone…dear lord, he had amazing hands. It had been too long since she was touched, such a long time since she let herself be open to it, vulnerable. But Peyton trusted him, a former lowlife drug dealer of all people, because he’d given her no reason not to. Instead he came to soothe her nerves and held back when she gave him every flirtatious opening.

“You’re sure?” he paused to ask when things got more heated, his own speech a little slurred. Her nod seemed to be enough for him, as he searched her eyes for consent and got her hand pulling him back toward her by the nape of his neck.

Shot #2.

His fingers stroked down her back while he murmured in her ear, more words about how gorgeous she was, how much he wanted her, how he’d been drawn to her from the moment they met. She lifted up her own shirt, wanting to ask him to hurry, please, to just keep going, but she couldn’t find the ability to speak.

The pressure building inside her normally would’ve alarmed her, so intense so quickly, with someone she didn’t know that well. It was that charming, self-aware grin and those insanely blue eyes that made her stomach muscles twitch, contrasted with his trying-too-hard hair and slightly hesitant moves. The combination made him seem more sweet than cocky, someone who she believed when he said he wanted to atone.

She bit back a moan when he shifted, his lips against the bare skin of her throat. “God, don’t stop,” she said, and then his hands were stroking over her black satin bra, cupping her as she arched against him.

Tugging his shirt off and trailing her fingers down his chest, she enjoyed the way he shivered. Their skin was slick where it met, her bare legs entwined with his, everything too hot and bright and slow.

“Oh, God.” His tongue was circling her nipple even as his hands traveled lower. Eyes shut to the sensations, her breathing hitched when he slid a hand down her leg, then under her skirt and across the sensitive skin of her inner thigh.

She unbuttoned him with her eyes still shut. His mouth was teasing against hers as he stroked his fingertips along the lace edges of her underwear.

She was wet and ready by the time she tugged his pants down. Balanced precariously against the cushions, he slid into her, the two of them shuddering in unison. Then they were moving together, faster and faster, the tension building, until he came on top of her while she was still shaking from her own climax.

Wondering to herself if they’d just permanently dented her fancy office furniture, she started giggling in her post-coital glow. With his face buried in her hair, he didn’t even ask why she was laughing.

Shot #3.

“Can’t we just stay here all day?” Blaine was idly curling her hair around one of his fingers while the sun streamed through the gauzy curtains. Seattle had a terrible reputation for rain and general gloom, but every once in a while its residents caught a perfect spring morning.

How long had it been since she felt so utterly relaxed? Just being around new-and-improved-Blaine made it easier for her to take a mental step back from all the apocalyptic drama, so after their second night together as a sort-of-couple, Peyton knew just how he felt.

“Mm, I wish,” she replied, arching back a little against his chest. “Gotta get up, though. Brush my teeth…eat…do people stuff.”

“Ah. Yeah, that stuff.” He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, then just rested his nose in the curve of it and lingered there.

“Blaine.”

“Hmm?”

“Getting up. Remember?”

“Right.” He moved his lips up the line of her neck, grinning when she hummed in approval. “You sure?”

“Yeah. Breakfast time,” she informed him. “I’m starving.”

“Okay,” he agreed with a yawn. “Who’s cooking?”

Catching her look, Blaine raised an eyebrow. “What, you don’t think I know how?”

“Well, not to cast aspersions on your boarding school upbringing, but the only thing I know you used to know how to cook was brains. Anyway, this is my apartment. I didn’t expect you to offer.”

Sitting up, he watched her slide out of bed. “It seems only fair. Tell you what: you cook today, and I’ll be up next time. Who knows, maybe I’ll surprise you.”

Shot #4

She ended it. Both times, she got to hold onto at least that little bit of control. Or pride. For whatever good it did.

The first time, as enraged and disgusted as she was, she couldn’t quite keep eye contact. He was a literal monster and yet there was real hurt in his expression. Disappointment, too. She couldn’t believe in it, but that didn’t mean she didn’t see it.

The second time was worse.

Now, she knew him. His family history and why he seemed so fragile sometimes, his ability to be truly sweet and selfless and silly. So the second time, when she left him there in his office, looking as lost and stunned as she felt, Peyton knew she was breaking his heart. What he had of one, anyway.

Because that was what happened when you really put your trust in someone, especially when it was messy and difficult and they were maybe the last person you should trust, and then they made you regret it.

They broke your heart…and you owed them the same.

Shot #5

She’s not drunk yet, though she’s finally starting to head in that direction. Most of the time Peyton appreciates being able to drink just about anybody under the table, but when all she wants is to forget her own name until morning, her high threshold is a pain in the ass.

So she’s about to signal to the bartender to pour again, or maybe just leave the bottle, when she catches something through the chatter of the crowd that makes her freeze in place, head tilting to hear it better over the flirting and dancing and rousing arguments that surround her.

Damn it, she would recognize that silky, melancholy voice anywhere.

Of all the bars on all the beachfronts, Blaine had to walk into hers.

[waytoomanyhobbies]

Chapters: 2/? Fandom: iZombie (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Peyton Charles/Blaine DeBeers, Ravi Chakrabarti/Liv Moore, Blaine Debeers & Don Eberhard, Peyton Charles & Liv Moore Characters: Peyton Charles, Blaine DeBeers, Liv Moore, Ravi Chakrabarti, Don Eberhard Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Romance, Action, Angst, Redemption, Mutual Pining, Second Chances, Jane Austen Inspired Modern AU, Rejection, Regret, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Constipation, Zombie Cure Summary:

Being a hero was supposed to feel like being on top of the world, but what if at the same time you're saving a city you let you let pride, fear, and the opinions of others rob you of the person you love? In one moment Peyton Charles let happiness slip away. It's a moment she's come to regret bitterly.

Ultimately a modern take on Jane Austen's Persuasion, but starting with a massive action backstory to set the stage for Blaine's redemption and all the changes of a post cure world.

---------------------------------

Chapter 2 is up!  The two year anniversary of the evacuation and zombie cure is approaching.  Everyone has built a new life in a world that is forever changed, but events are drawing the heroes of Cure Day back together. 

[waytoomanyhobbies]

Chapters: 8/? Fandom: iZombie (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Peyton Charles/Blaine DeBeers, Ravi Chakrabarti/Liv Moore Characters: Blaine DeBeers, Peyton Charles, Liv Moore, Ravi Chakrabarti, Clive Babineaux, Angus McDonough Additional Tags: Drama & Romance, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Amnesia, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Violence, Domestic Fluff, Secrets, mystery investigation, Blaine DeBeers Has Feelings, Peyton Charles Is a Badass, Awkward Tension, Mutual Pining, Fear of Confronting Their Feelings, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Plot Twists, Protectiveness Summary:

"Blaine? It's Liv. There's been an incident, and I need you to come to the hospital. It's Peyton."

When Angus's bloody rampage through City Hall leaves Peyton battered and missing her memories of the last six months, Liv reaches out to Blaine with a request he can't refuse--even if he has to turn himself inside out emotionally to do it. But what will happen to Blaine and Peyton's bittersweet happiness...? Because no lie can last forever.

Plans are being set into motion, but everything begins to go sideways for the gang.  How will Bleyton, Ravioli, and their friends react to the spiraling chaos?

[waytoomanyhobbies]

Chapters: 7/? Fandom: iZombie (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Peyton Charles/Blaine DeBeers, Ravi Chakrabarti/Liv Moore Characters: Blaine DeBeers, Peyton Charles, Liv Moore, Ravi Chakrabarti, Clive Babineaux, Angus McDonough Additional Tags: Drama & Romance, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Amnesia, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Violence, Domestic Fluff, Secrets, mystery investigation, Blaine DeBeers Has Feelings, Peyton Charles Is a Badass, Awkward Tension, Mutual Pining, Fear of Confronting Their Feelings, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Plot Twists, Protectiveness Summary:

"Blaine? It's Liv. There's been an incident, and I need you to come to the hospital. It's Peyton."

When Angus's bloody rampage through City Hall leaves Peyton battered and missing her memories of the last six months, Liv reaches out to Blaine with a request he can't refuse--even if he has to turn himself inside out emotionally to do it. But what will happen to Blaine and Peyton's bittersweet happiness...? Because no lie can last forever.

Blaine gives Peyton a glimpse of his inner demons.  Can anyone find a way to get ahead of Angus's plans for them?

[waytoomanyhobbies]

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: iZombie (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Peyton Charles/Blaine DeBeers, Peyton Charles & Liv Moore Characters: Peyton Charles, Blaine DeBeers, Liv Moore, Mistress P Additional Tags: Light BDSM, Eventual Smut, Communication Failure, Past Child Abuse, Feelings, Comfort/Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Zombie Blaine DeBeers, Blaine DeBeers Has Trust Issues, Humans and Zombies Doing Stuff, Canonical Child Abuse Summary:

When Peyton decides to show Blaine her Mistress P routine things don't go as she expected, but Peyton has never been the type to give up. She sets out to show him just how pleasurable trust can be.

[actuallylorelaigilmore]

I Can’t Love if You Lie, Chapter 2: Is Love A Feature Of Your Kind

iZombie, Peyton x Blaine. Still no intentional similarities to S3 as I haven’t seen it yet. This one features more Peyton POV, next chapter will have more Blaine.

Summary: Reluctant revelations in small spaces; beauty in the dark of night. “He refused to let his mind wander where it wanted to go. Clearly he had sense memories of her, whether he’d ever remember them or not, because it was too easy to drift there in his head, like a reflex, a path he’d walked before.”

Cross-posted on AO3; more notes can be found there.

“So, what do you like to do for fun?”

Blaine hadn't spoken to her much in the last few days--no easy feat when the house was small and they were tucked protectively inside it. His sudden appearance startled her.

“Um, a lot of things. Read. Travel. Not be on the run from murderous crime bosses.”

Closing her eyes, Peyton sighed. “Sorry.”

“No, I probably deserved that one.” He took a seat in the dining room chair across the table from her, scanned the papers she had strewn across it. “Working on the case?”

“What case? They killed it, and the guy I was trying to bring down nearly killed me.” She set down a folder. “I’m not sure what the point of any of this is anymore.”

“That’s crazy,” he argued. “We spent what, weeks? Months? With you piecing this together. You get kidnapped once and you’re just going to let that scare you off?”

His crooked, deliberate grin made her laugh. “Fine. I take your point, and yes, here I am still trying to work on the case. Not sure what else to do, honestly. I’ve never been good at just...sitting around.”

“What about you?” She turned her face to his, and Blaine was struck by the way her eyes were a slightly different color when they weren’t hostile. More misty forest, less stormy seas.

“Hmm?”

Peyton rolled her eyes, pulling him back to the moment. “What do you do for fun? I know how I’ve been keeping busy lately, but I’ve hardly seen you.”

“Oh.” He flushed a little. “I’ve just been around. Reading, checking out the house. Writing.”

He admitted the last part with visible guilt, like a kid expecting a lecture. She was surprised, but not unpleasantly. “You write?”

“Yeah. I mean, I do right now. And I did...when I was much younger.” He looked at her for a few long moments--just stared, as if measuring something. Then he continued.

“Like I said, I’ve been exploring the house. I knew this place had come to my family in some convoluted way that wasn’t traceable among my holdings. I assumed it was owned by someone else before that, people not connected to us.”

Blaine shrugged. “Either way, I found a box of stuff in the basement”--the basement, Peyton thought, that explained his successful disappearance--“while I was poking around, looking for more books. It was all from my childhood, my teen years...from me.”

“You kept journals?”

“Up to a point, yeah. I have to assume that after a while I was too busy with the drugs and...everything. But before then, I wrote a lot.”

He tugged on his hair, uneasy at having revealed that much. “So I’ve been writing. I’m hoping maybe it can help.”

A sharp pang hit Peyton in the stomach. “Have you been remembering things, then?”

On the one hand, it would make everything easier. Put things to rights. Once he was Blaine again, he could leave them alone, not be their responsibility. But on the other hand...she hadn’t figured him out yet. She was irritated by unfinished puzzles, and Blaine, who had violated her trust and then saved her life, was definitely a jigsaw without all his pieces.

“No,” Blaine told her sincerely, and she felt relief--and then guilt, for feeling relieved.

“I’m still not getting anything about before, but I’ve been writing about now. About what I’m learning I like, about my experiences since I started over.”

About you.

He didn’t say it; he didn’t have to. She heard it anyway.

“I’d rather you didn’t include me,” Peyton told him, but she said it with a shrug, as if she were brushing her own words away before they landed.

He nodded, taking her seriously anyway. “Why not?”

“It’s just...weird. I mean, are you writing about David Copperfield?”

****

It had been two weeks now of living together, one big strange family in the tidy safe house, and that first night of Blaine reading to her had turned into a regular occurrence. Dickens was slow-going, especially since he started the story over from where Peyton last remembered hearing it, every time. How his instincts were so impeccable for when sleep hit her, she would never know.

It shamed her how much safer she felt with Blaine around. She knew that she shouldn’t; she knew what a betrayal of Liv it was--but she tried to fall asleep in her temporary room and woke up in a cold sweat from the nightmares...too many nightmares. So as the days passed by, she found herself back in the office every night, and no matter how late it was by the time the rest of the group fell asleep, he always came to her.

It was Blaine who finally broached the subject a few nights in. “Hey, Peyton? You should really stop sleeping on the couch.”

She frowned.

“I’m serious. You’ve got a perfectly good bed waiting for you, right down the hall from your friends in case you wake and need company.”

Raising her eyes to the ceiling, Peyton considered his words. The problem wasn’t the couch at all. The problem was that she’d grown to depend on this ritual to keep the memories at bay.

Blaine delivered his next words so softly she could almost believe she'd imagined them. “I’ll still read to you, if you want.”

Her eyes pinned him in place, needy, scared, but still angry--and somehow so much more compelling for all that.

“I’d like that,” she whispered back, and he accepted the trust she was giving him.

There was an overstuffed chair in the corner of her room when Blaine entered behind her. He settled into it, flipping open the old cover and returning to where they’d left off, his voice caressing the words as though he loved this story...as though it comforted him as much as it did her.

The bedroom was too big, compared to the office, which Peyton hadn’t considered when she invited him in. “I can’t hear you,” she admitted reluctantly.

Blaine’s head lifted, and he looked around the room, his eyes returning to hers helplessly. Clearly he’d come to the same conclusion she had. Peyton knew then that things had begun to change for her, because she didn’t have to think about it for very long.

“Come here,” she said, with a resigned sigh.

He was frozen, certain he’d misheard her, until she gestured impatiently. “You want to help, right? That’s what you told me.”

Nodding, he stepped toward her bed with caution.

“So, keep reading to me. From here, otherwise I won’t be able to hear you, and then what’s the point?” Her no-nonsense tone made Blaine smile; he wasn’t sure why it was such an attractive quality on Peyton, but he found it delightful. Even in the brief time he’d known her, it was clear that she knew what she wanted and went for it...and then there was a fragility she tried not to show anyone. That tugged at him, too.

Okay, he might be spending his nights sleep-deprived just to watch over her and give her some peace of mind, but he could hardly be blamed for that. He was pretty sure he was half in love with her already.

Blaine sat himself carefully at the foot of her bed, on the empty side, as close to propriety as he could manage. He refused to let his mind wander where it wanted to go. Clearly he had sense memories of her, whether he’d ever remember them or not, because it was too easy to drift there in his head, like a reflex, a path he’d travelled down before.

A beautiful, tempting path, with sleepy eyes watching him warily as though he was the wolf she’d just encountered in the forest and chosen to walk with for a while. Shaking his head, Blaine turned his attention back to Dickens, and felt the bed shudder beneath him as Peyton settled into it.

“It was beautifully clean inside, and as tidy as possible,” he began. “There was a table, and a Dutch clock, and a chest of drawers, and on the chest of drawers there was a tea-tray with a painting on it of a lady with a parasol, taking a walk with a military-looking child who was trundling a hoop.”

As his voice sketched out the room inside the story, Peyton closed her eyes, seeming undisturbed by his closeness. She relaxed while the story continued, sliding more quickly into sleep than she had on the couch. Bookmarking the pages, Blaine kept reading long after her breathing slowed and deepened, unwilling to leave right away. Not wanting to leave at all. Exiting silently, reluctantly, once he was sure she would sleep soundly without him--and once he was sure the others weren’t likely to wake and see him leaving her room.

He didn’t care about their opinions, since they all hated him anyway, but Peyton didn’t need them thinking the worst of her.

So he crept back to his own room, careful to disturb no one, especially not the woman he’d done his best to lull into dreamless rest.

****

Blaine looked away, and she didn’t wait for him to admit the truth out loud. “See, that’s why I’d rather you didn’t. I’d really rather there wasn’t a record of...what we’re doing.”

He couldn’t help it. “And what exactly are we doing?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I do.” The grin he flashed her was so warm, and bright, it barely reminded her of who he used to be at all. “But I want to hear you explain it. Admit it, out loud. That’s your problem, right, Peyton? You don’t want me writing about you because then you might have to admit something to yourself.”

Her face was stony, self-protective. Blaine left without saying more, and she assumed that he was angry with her in return, but realized she was wrong when she went to her room that night and found a spiral-bound notebook next to her bed instead of David Copperfield.

“Read it,” the note taped to the cover said simply.

As soon as Peyton opened the notebook, she understood that Blaine had never planned for anyone to see this--and what it meant, him giving it to her. The journal was him talking candidly to himself, spanning the length of time that he’d gone without his memories so far.

It was also often rambling or downright chaotic, illustrating the progression of a mind trying to understand itself without identity. But as time passed, it had become more coherent. Sometimes it was almost poetic, as he’d made observations based on his childhood diaries and noted feelings. And, nearly from the beginning, there she was.

Peyton, confounding him in the mortuary. Peyton, giving him a purpose with their reading sessions. He talked about the others, too, Liv with her wounded eyes and Don E.’s patronizing annoyance with Blaine once he became less cooperative. But Blaine kept coming back to her in his writing, the same way he did to her room every night.

Reading his attempts to understand himself, she wished that he could be granted access to his memories again, despite what it would mean for her. Some of his passages even made her tear up, which she would never admit to anyone. By the time she closed the notebook, Peyton knew why he had given it to her.

She understood him now. Probably better than he did, since she had his recent past to add to the picture. And she couldn’t know him like she did, see him for who he was, and not admit that there were feelings there. Feelings she resented, complicated feelings, but actual genuine emotion. For Blaine.

It was his fault, she thought to herself as she set the notebook aside and turned off the light, snuggling into the covers. As this new man, who didn’t remember their history, he had to go and fall for her.

She had a weakness for that.

Alone with her thoughts, Peyton wasn’t able to sleep. Tonight, though, it wasn’t the noises or the nightmares. It was simpler--it was him. She felt the lack of him too dearly to push it out of her head and drift off.

Sighing, Peyton sat up, opening her eyes to the darkness and waiting for them to adjust. She had to hope this wouldn’t be a terrible violation of privacy.

Tiptoeing out of her room, she crossed the hall to his, keeping her ears perked for signs of the others. She could hear Ravi’s light snoring; nothing that warned her a door was about to open. Still, she didn’t want to risk getting anyone’s attention by knocking, so she slid into Blaine’s room and shut the door behind her silently, enveloping herself in the shadows.

With her eyes slightly more adjusted to the darkness, she could make out the furniture in the room, and there was just a touch of moonlight streaming through the window to help her along. Funny, she wouldn’t have pegged Blaine as the type to sleep with his window open, but she could feel a slight breeze wafting beyond the curtains.

She hadn’t thought this through, Peyton realized as she caught the outline of his bed. Was she going to wake him? How? Maybe she could just find somewhere to sit and doze, to avoid the loneliness of her own room.

Blaine saved her from having to figure it out. “Hey,” she heard him say softly. From her position next to the door, she finally realized he wasn’t in his bed. He was sitting across the room, in the corner behind the window.

When he leaned forward, the moonbeams cut across his face, making him look more intimidating than usual. She swallowed hard, feeling the slight trickle of fear--and something else she chose to ignore--dampen her palms. She shouldn’t have done this.

“You okay?” Eyes shining, Blaine didn’t move toward her, and she wondered whether it was to keep from spooking her or because he didn’t know what to expect.

“Yeah.” Shaking her hair back, Peyton straightened up, reminding herself that she could handle Blaine. She crossed the room to hand him his notebook. “I just wanted to give you this back.”

He turned to look out the window, no longer making eye contact at all. In this light, she thought, his eyes were so blue they almost lost their color entirely.

“Did you read it?”

His voice was rough, a tangle of raw hope and premature dejection. She couldn’t stop the sympathy, though she squashed it hard.

“Yeah.” When Blaine took the notebook and his fingers brushed hers, she looked away as well. Such a simple connection shouldn’t make her shiver, or give her flashbacks, but it did.

She sat on the edge of his unmade bed to face him. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“Nah.” He offered the stars a sad attempt at a smile.

“Why not?”

“Oh, you name it. Zombie apocalypse, psycho-killer history to atone for, living with people who hate me...it doesn’t make for restful nights.”

Peyton nodded. “Well, I guess that explains why you didn’t mind staying up to keep me company.”

“Yeah, that must be why.” He shifted in his chair, still looking out the window. “You don’t have to say anything about the notebook, okay? I just wanted you to know I didn’t write anything about you that was horrible. And I won’t mention you again.”

Peyton sat thoughtfully for a moment before making her decision. Once made, they were firm. “No,” she said quietly. “It’s okay if you do. I’m fine with it.”

“Okay...” He finally looked back at her. “Why?”

Peyton wasn’t able to think of an explanation that would be satisfactory without also giving too much away. She moved a shoulder uncomfortably. “I just am.”

“But-”

She reached out and gripped his forearm, startling him into the silence she preferred. “Take the win, would you? Just don’t show anybody what you write about me. Ever.”

“Deal.”

“If you do,” she warned him, “I’ll kill you.”

“Understood.” Blaine grinned at her and she held back the quirk of her own lips.

“I promise you, I could do it, and no one would ever wonder where you were.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it.” Blaine removed her hand from his arm by lacing her fingers with his. She’d forgotten she was even touching him. Now he was smiling and they were holding hands and the moonlight was glowing over his ridiculous bleached hair and she was in trouble.

“Okay.” She detangled herself from him, backing away from the bed, willing to look foolish in full retreat. Better that than the slow slide back into old habits.

He wasn’t who he’d been...except he was. And someday, he could start getting his memories back. She couldn't bear giving Blaine the ability to sneer at her and point out that she had been his willing conquest a second time.

He watched her leave with a knowing expression on his face, but didn’t try to stop her.

“Sleep well,” he murmured instead.

Neither of them did.

****

When Blaine didn’t come to her the next night, she wasn’t surprised, but she was disappointed. Peyton considered and rejected the idea of going to his room again. Too forward; definitely asking for trouble. There was no way he wouldn’t see it as meaning more than she intended.

She just...she wanted this new lifeline. She wanted to keep it, at least while they were on hold in this little house, plans flowing around them and the zombie hordes at bay for the time being.

So instead of intruding on Blaine, and unable to stay in a room that felt even emptier now that she was used to his carefully restrained presence on her bed, Peyton snuck back to the empty office at 2 a.m.

Only it wasn’t empty. This time it was Blaine who appeared to be using it with the expectation of solitude, and he lacked her instinctive terror.

After what happened with Liv, when she was nearly killed by a zombie, it took her a long time to heal from the trauma of that--to not jump at every floor creak or car door slamming. It didn’t matter that Liv, also a zombie, had saved her...the experience had knocked her down hard. But she had recovered. She knew she could do so again--she was Peyton Charles, after all. It would just take time.

Blaine was clearly less jumpy, despite actually dying along the way. And apparently he was pretty tired, because when she entered and found him stretched out on the couch, it was her automatic apology that woke him. She might have gotten away with backing out the door, Peyton thought ruefully, if she had said nothing. Instead, Blaine blinked slowly as he focused on her.

“Fancy meeting you here,” he said with a yawn, covering his mouth and waiting for her to do or say something.

“Yeah.” Peyton took the chair this time, mildly amused at the turning of tables. “Why aren’t you in your room?”

Blaine sat up, halfheartedly trying to pat his hair back into shape--bedhead didn’t suit his image, old or newly-formed. He stared at her, silent for an unsettlingly long time before asking, “Truth?”

She blinked. “Sure. Truth.”

There was still a touch of sleep slurring his words, though his eyes were clear. “Missed you.”

Peyton flinched. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Pretty much the reaction I was expecting.”

She nodded. “Truth?”

His eyes cut through her with the hope in them. If she hadn’t already made the impulsive decision to be honest when she found him there, she would have been helpless to resist.

“Me too.”

“Yeah?” Aiming for cool, even nonchalant, he attempted to cover his joy. Blaine Debeers was terrible at nonchalant, Peyton noted with fondness.

Then she noted her fondness with terror, and knew that she had crossed a line somewhere along the way. No turning back. Too late. All the sirens and warning signs couldn’t help her now.

Damn it.

[actuallylorelaigilmore]

I Can’t Love if You Lie, Chapter 1: Hiding Under Other People's Skin

My first iZombie fic, Peyton x Blaine, post-“Salivation Army.” Because I feel like they have much potential and surprisingly little fanfic, I’m adding my love. 

Author’s note: the first chapter features amnesia!Blaine, but he will be getting his memories back later on. 

“So why did you do it? Rescue me? I know that’s what Mr. Boss expected, why he took me, but you didn’t have to. According to you, you don’t even remember me.”

Cross-posted on AO3; more notes can be found there.

Major personally escorted Peyton to the safe house, despite her half-hearted protests. Since he was the closest thing she had to a big brother, deep down she had expected nothing less.

“You.” He glowered at Blaine when the door opened, but there was little anger in it. They were a team now, no matter how much resentment bubbled under the surface.

Peyton had her gaze fixed just to the right of Major’s ear, as though Blaine didn’t exist. Okay, maybe some resentment had breached the surface.

“And you.” There was no heat in Blaine’s voice. There was no inflection there at all. "Come in, please.”

“I’ve actually gotta go,” Major replied, entering to drop his duffel and then kissing Peyton’s forehead on the way out. “But you call me, if anything--” 

He visibly calmed himself. “Just, call me if you need me.”

Major's voice was brusque as he turned back to Blaine. “Keep her safe.”

Brow furrowed, Blaine stared after him. “Is he alright?”

She sighed. “He’s still pissed he wasn’t reachable when I got kidnapped. Like it’s his job to save everybody. He’ll be fine.”

Nodding, he tilted his head toward the couch behind them. “Want to sit?”

“I’m good.” Peyton regarded him from her stance near the door, and he wondered what he was supposed to do now.

“Okay. Well, I’m going to sit. You should really consider making yourself comfortable. According to your friend, we’ll be here a while.”

“Comfortable seems like a long shot.” But she unthawed enough to take a seat in the chair next to him, and ignored the way his eyes followed her.

Blaine perched on the edge of the couch. “So, how have you been...since that night?”

Days later, it still wouldn’t leave him be. Peyton had clung to him gratefully, shaking from the adrenaline. He’d reached up to wipe the tears from her cheeks, before the doctor--her boyfriend?--had cleared his throat from across the room, gun still in one hand.

“Ravi,” she’d gasped when she saw him, and leapt up without a backwards glance in Blaine’s direction. Then it was Ravi hugging the woman Blaine saved, his face pressed into her neck like she was everything. Blaine ached watching them, and didn’t understand it.

Back in the present, Peyton was staring at him, and he realized she’d spoken while he was lost in thought. “Sorry?”

“I said, I’ve been fine.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Really. You got kidnapped and nearly killed last week, but you’re fine now.”

“Yep.” She challenged him to argue with her stubbornly lifted chin. “Hunky dory in the land of Peyton.”

“And having to come live here with me? The guy you hate because of whatever happened between us? That’s no big deal?”

“Oh, no.” Her eyes glittered at him. “That’s a huge deal. But I promised people who care about me that I’d put my safety first.”

Obviously, he was the last person she wanted to talk to about what had happened. It made sense, but Blaine found himself disappointed anyway. 

“Fair enough.” He relaxed into the couch and smiled. 

It was a guileless expression now, unsettling in the same face that Peyton knew had killed her best friend. She took a gray blanket from the back of the chair and wrapped it around her shoulders. “So...this is for real. Your whole lack-of-self thing.” 

After that night, Peyton no longer harbored any suspicion that he might have been faking the amnesia. 

She could still feel his arms around her, hushing her as she tried to stop shaking. “It’s okay,” he kept saying, as though that would help. 

“It’s me, Peyton. It’s me.” Like that meant something.

But knowing he was telling the truth now didn’t change what came before; it couldn’t.

She wouldn’t let it.

Peyton’s green eyes were wounded, and Blaine didn’t know why. More than anything, he wished he could remember the relationship they’d apparently had. How badly did it end, to make her so angry?

“Yeah.” He scratched the back of his head. “I’ve got nothing. My childhood, my criminal career...that whole undead thing? It’s like getting told a crazy story about somebody else. Doesn’t ring even the slightest of bells.”

Blaine sighed. He wasn’t sure risking her wrath was wise, but he was sick of not understanding. “When I talked to your, uh, guy, the doc? He couldn’t tell me details. Or didn’t want to. I don’t know. So, please--how deeply were we involved?”

“Oh.” Peyton shook her head. “We weren’t, really--not like that. A lot of long hours building the case, I think Mr. Boss got the wrong idea about us. We slept together once, I found out the truth about you, and that was that. Trying to use me as bait was stupid.”

“Not so stupid,” he pointed out. “It worked. I did go after you.”

“The way you are right now, sure.” She shrugged the memory of that terrifying night off again, pulled the blanket tighter around her. “But the real Blaine would never have bothered. I didn’t mean anything to him.”

Uncomfortable with her phrasing, as though he wasn’t a person sitting right in front of her, Blaine blinked before moving on.

“I doubt that’s true,” he told her. “I think your time together meant something to him. Me.”

“And why do you think that?”

Reaching a hand up, he tucked a curl behind her ear--aware that she was allowing it, aware of how carefully she was watching him. “Because I think it meant something to you. Even though you pretend it didn’t.”

Peyton looked away, too quickly. “I was just going through a dry spell. And you were...there.”

He shrugged, leaning back. “Well, it seems to me like you’d have good reason to want to distance yourself from sleeping with a monster.”

Blaine’s eyes flashed as he used the word, she saw it, but he continued. “So maybe it was just one night, or maybe it was one night with the potential for more--but now it’s easier to look back on it as a mistake that was never going to happen again.”

Resenting the hell out of his new perceptiveness, Peyton glowered at him. “Maybe.”

“And maybe,” he suggested with the lift of an eyebrow, “for me it was no big deal that sleeping with you could put the Mr. Boss case in jeopardy. Maybe I really was that reckless and short-sighted, in the middle of apparently wielding master plans and criminal empires. But I doubt it. It could have had a lot more to do with how smart and sharp and beautiful you are.”

There was a glimpse of the old Blaine, Peyton thought, strangely pleased to have her wariness justified. There was the man whose words were designed to charm and weaken before taking advantage, even if he didn’t know it now.

“Stop it.” Her tone was firm, only a little biting. 

“Complimenting you?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because you can’t...do that, and not sound like the person you really are. That guy makes my skin crawl.”

“Wow.” He laughed hollowly. “Harsh.”

Peyton shrugged. “You’re all about honesty now, right? That’s the truth. John Deaux, who I worked with and defended--the man I thought I knew well enough to spend an ill-advised night with--turned out to be a murderer. And despite what you did for me...now I’m going to be trying to sleep in the same house with that face.”

Sighing, Blaine ran a hand through his hair. “So what do you expect me to do? It’s not like I'm trying to make things harder for you, Peyton. I have no idea when I’m acting...retro.”

The gesture reminded her of their night of stupidity and heat. How much product do you got working in here? I think you put some serious time into this look. It would be so much easier if looking back, she could tell herself he’d set out to seduce her, that she hadn’t crossed that line just as eagerly. 

At least now that she was the only one who remembered, she could take to her grave the fact that actually, he hesitated, and she breached his personal space first. No one needed to know about the intensely vulnerable moment when he paused to look down at her and she stared back...or the way she let herself be touched because her instincts said that maybe he wasn’t a good guy, strictly speaking, but he was sweet and sexy and really meant the things he said about redemption.

Amnesiac Blaine didn’t remember what came next, either: the way he seemed genuinely happy to see her, until he was surprised to see Liv. The way Peyton wasn’t able to hold eye contact, because even while she was horrified to have been so easily played, his faux-sincerity still tugged at her a little. The man she had thought he was tugged at her, a little. She would be taking that one to her grave as well.

Resigned to the fact that she had this version of Blaine to deal with, Peyton gave in and asked the question that she’d been mulling over since it happened. “So why did you do it? Rescue me? I know that’s what Mr. Boss expected, why he took me, but you didn’t have to.” 

Searching for the words, he took his time answering. “I felt like I needed to. It was my fault you were taken. And also...when you came to Shady Plots that day and accused me of faking, when you talked to me like you knew me...I felt something.”

Peyton’s eyes narrowed. In this light, he could see rings of gold centering the deep sea green.

He pressed on. “You have every right to hate me. If I remembered half the things I’ve been told that I did, I would probably hate myself. But even though I didn’t recognize you when we re-met, there was something there. So I’m sure this sounds crazy, but those people who care about you? I think I’m one of them.”

****

Peyton spent her night curled up in the office she found down the hall, staring blankly at the trashy romance novel she’d plucked off a shelf. She and Liv used to giggle over these, beachside on spring break when they let themselves destress. Now, unable to focus on it, she wondered if life would ever feel simple again. 

When the door opened with no warning, she sprang to her feet, back pressed to the wall. 

“Hey! Hey,” Blaine added more gently, alarmed by her defensive stance. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Didn’t know anyone was in here.”

She let out the breath she was holding, eyes locked on his while he shut the door behind himself gently. “No. No, I’m sorry. Stupid of me. To be so jumpy, when everybody’s here.”

"They’ve all crashed for the night,” he told her. “I assumed you were asleep too.”

Her heart was still racing. “I couldn’t. Didn’t think anybody would mind if I hung out in here instead,” she added, turning away to return the paperback to its spot.

“Nobody does.” Blaine took the desk chair and waited while she visibly weighed her options. In the end, she returned to the office sofa, stretching out across it so that her face was as far from his as she could manage in the small space.

Liv and Major were bunking together in the master bedroom, Peyton knew, and Ravi was next door to them, where he had welcomed her in case she didn’t feel safe in her room alone. 

With the anxiety and anger rattling around in her brain, she hadn’t wanted company...but somehow, being in Blaine’s presence was different than the sweet but oppressive concern of her friends. Maybe because he was such a blank slate of a person at the moment. 

It was almost soothing, if she pretended it were real. Of course, he had to speak, and spoil that.

“You can’t sleep?”

She shrugged. 

“Is the room okay?”

“It’s fine.” Like the ones her friends were staying in, it was clean, if a bit cold. But she had found herself sitting on the bed, frozen in place, listening for any tiny sounds outside, and knew she couldn’t stay there.

Blaine frowned. He was silent for so long that Peyton shut her eyes, hopeful that maybe he would leave again, freeing her from more questions.

“Anything I can do to help?”

Peyton opened her eyes again, and found him sitting slightly closer then she remembered, concern lining his face.

She relented, just a little, because his pale eyes were sincere--and while she couldn’t separate Blaine from his past, he couldn’t connect to it. Was it fair to treat him like someone he had no memory of? 

“Doubtful. I just...when I close my eyes, I see things I don’t want to see. When I try to relax, it doesn’t work. So of course sleep’s not happening.”

Nodding, Blaine steepled his fingers together. Then his eyes lit up, transforming his face. “I have an idea.”

“Really.”

“Yep.” He rose to tower over her prone position on the couch, standing in front of the wall shelves.

Uncomfortable with his close proximity, Peyton held very still until he moved back to the chair, book in hand. “And what’s your idea?”

“Audiobooks.” He grinned at her. “The live version.”

She gaped at him. “Huh? You don’t mean...” 

“It’s worth a shot,” he offered. “Worst case scenario, you rest a little and hopefully relax. Best case, maybe you get some shuteye.”

“I’m not going to let you spend your night in here reading to me. Go to bed yourself, Blaine.”

His reply was droll. “You’re not the boss of me, Peyton. There’s no harm in trying. I’d like to help,” he added softly. 

Then he hit a weak spot--her pride. “Unless you’re afraid?”

“What could I be afraid of?”

“Beats me.” Taking that as a win, Blaine settled back in the squeaky chair and flipped open the front cover of the book. “Tonight’s reading shall be the classic tale of David Copperfield--not the magician.”

“Dickens,” Peyton murmured, watching him through lowered lashes. Not the worst choice. He liked winding descriptions; she’d always found it soothing.

“Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life, or whether that station will be held by anybody else...these pages must show.” 

Blaine’s reading voice, his attempt at a calming tone, was silkier than his normal one--somehow richer but not deeper. Listening to it glide over the words, she was reminded of their half-drunken flirting on the couch, jumping in and out of accents. 

As Blaine drowned out the flashbacks and she began to drift off, Peyton wished she had the option of taking comfort in his presence. If only she could forget the history that made her queasy...as easily as he had.

Peyton woke up alone the next morning, covered by a blanket. When she left the room, she found a ‘do not disturb’ sign taped to the outside of the door. It made her smile.