So Ive Decided, (even Though This Is The First Time Ive Tried To Interact With You And I Literally Stumbled

so i’ve decided, (even though this is the first time i’ve tried to interact with you and i literally stumbled onto your page yesterday) that we are best friends.

mwah, besties at first sight.

hell v heaven.

pairings. harry bingham x fem!reader

about. reader gets scolded by her friend only for harry to defend her

warnings. swearing

from ricky's mailbox to yours. I don't expect anything from this, I just wanted to post because I miss this damn show

west ham was always ordinarily boring and filled to the brim with people who had their pockets filled with more than enough money to know what to do with.

your life was a repetitive process and ran on a schedule that really never changed unless you chose to eat breakfast for once in your life, which you never really did--or take your mom up on the offer to go on walks—which you also really never did.

the day you got off that bus and found no parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, or even siblings was a day you couldn’t help but sigh in relief with finding a loss of obligations and responsibilities. you felt a lift from your shoulders and a greatness fill your chest as you finally let go and fell from your schedule.

but it wasn’t funny and you were no longer having any fun the moment you discovered your situation was permanent and a forest had overgrown all roads and tracks out of this new found nightmare of yours.

“you think god's trying to teach us a lesson?” you looked up from your book seeing your friend maddie who had her lips pressed into a thin line, still trying to figure out this whole predicament.

even as this was a nightmare and you weren’t used to change, you found yourself leaning away from getting caught up in caring so much or getting too emotional about it. you figured you could be in worse situations and at least you were still alive.

“i don’t think it’s that deep,” you mumbled carelessly, flipping the page to your book, not sparing another glance to her till she stands up with a huff and grumble, clenching and unclenching her fists while exiting harry’s living room.

but then she felt herself flipping around, facing you and your slightly confused expression, “what’s your problem?”

you frowned a little deeper as she stood before you with her poised posture, seeming more angered than you had ever seen her, “what?-” you shared a look with harry who seemed just as lost as you did before she cut you off.

“because ever since we discovered we’re trapped here it seems like you couldn’t give a damn and it’s really pissing me off,” she exhaled roughly with her chest puffing in and out with air, like she had been waiting a long time to say this. “you’re not here for anyone and i haven’t heard you cry once either, y/n.”

“you want me.. you want me to cry?” you raised an eyebrow, slightly taken aback.

“yes, y/n, because i’m really close to thinking you’re a sociopath-”

“woah, woah, woah, maddie” harry shook his head with his lips deeply curved downwards, “shut up.”

“don’t tell me to ‘shut up’ harry.”

“don’t be a cunt, maddie,” he scoffs, looking at her as if she were a fool. his stare is harsh and she even slowly begins to feel like one with how hard and taunting his eyes are.

if harry had a skill in something, it'd be his way of looking down on people and making them feel his disgust and repulsion toward them. harry had to be one of the most arrogant people you had met, but at least his arrogance came in handy in situations where you needed defense.

"whatever, harry," she rolls her eyes at him, trying to push off the sickening feeling he pushed on to her. "you two deserve each other, especially if you're both enjoying this little vacation we were gifted."

harry sits in the grey chair maddie previously sat in, "you okay?"

"yeah, I'm good."

“you sure?”

you look up to him, finally meeting his dialed in expression that was genuine and curious to your well being.

strange.

it was things like this that gave you somewhat joy that you no longer had a schedule, that kept you from hating your new reality.

west ham turning upside down revealed a lot about your fellow classmates and even best friend’s character, as seen seconds ago. you couldn’t decipher whether or not you found joy in the fact of that, but right now, with harry sitting across from you and close to reach out to you, was something you knew you enjoyed.

before, in your tight knit schedule, harry didn’t fit in it. he was only a family friend you saw at birthdays and conjoined vacations since the beginning of your memory, but nothing more.

“yeah, i’m sure,” you pressed your lips into a thin line.

“i don’t think she understands people handle grief differently,” he looks sympathetic but drops any attempt to move closer with a reach of comfort upon realization that you were really fine.

“you think i’m in grief?”

he pauses, doesn’t look at you for a minute with silence as he narrows his eyebrows before looking up to meet your eyes, “i mean, aren’t we all?”

aren’t we all?

jesus, maybe you were a sociopath.

“i-uh-“

“y/n,” he stops you, shaking his hand. “when-when my father died, i didn’t think it was real. all these people came up to me, your parents, all would walk up, apologize, offer their condolences, but i never really understood. what was the big deal?—just a death, right?”

he offers an awkward smile with a glance through his eyelashes, before looking back to his carpet, “thing was, i didn’t realize that that death, was my fathers death—i mean i did, my body didn’t. i was in denial.”

silence. you both think about his words.

the way he spoke was really smart--it surprised you that it was him that they were coming from. not only did you start to enjoy his company, but his words...

“i shouldn’t have-“

“no,” you cut him from his potential regret in sharing. you knew that took a lot from him. “maybe you're right… or maybe maddie is. maybe i really am a sociopath.”

"y/n, that's an insane thing to say," he shakes his head, still looking down, but now at his hands as he begins to rub them together. "everyone handles grief differently," he repeats, "especially something like this; especially something that feels nowhere near real."

you stare at harry, blinking, while he stares back at you with a thin-lipped smile. you felt your chest tighten to an extreme as you continued to watch, thinking about his words that tumble around in your head. you somehow couldn't grasp it; the reassurance. but rather... you were more hung up on the matter that it was him saying such kind words to you.

everyone knew harry was the biggest asshole in west ham and he had no shame in it. everyone would call you a liar is you ever exposed the conversation; harry didn't have a nice bone in his body, so how was it that he had just created one of the nicest convos you had ever had with anyone?

your chest pulls into a ball even more. you feel like you can't breathe.

what was happening to you?

you hadn't felt a pang of sadness till now.

"you okay?"

you hate that question.

"yeah, i'm okay."

"you sure?" he's leaning towards you, his eyes prying.

you feel the pressure intensify, but this time around your eyes as if something had the need to be forced out.

fuck, not now.

"y/n, woah," he's quick to come closer to you, now kneeling before you with his hands on your face.

“i shouldn’t be crying-“

he shushes you as he tries his best to clear your face from the salty tears that begin to run down your cheeks like a hill. he smiles lightly to your embarrassment while shaking his head, “crying is fine.”

“i feel bad.”

“for what?”

“harry, i don’t even feel bad about them being gone,” you sniff, wiping your face from the wetness quickly. “i feel bad about you and your father and everything.”

“oh?” he seems caught off guard about this, taking a step back from your distraught stare. “why?”

you stare over at him with wide doe eyes, something that looks like fear for the matter of having to provide an explanation. you glance to the side, also leaning away from him, bracing yourself to answer. you feel even more choked up, like your throat had been clogged and stuffed with toilet paper--or whatever it was to help you not speak.

"my parents-" you sniff, wiping your nose with the back of your hand. "god, I hated my parents--so I'm not sorry that I'm not sad about something that is ultimately a blessing... but I am sorry that this has happened to you... all of you."

he stares. he feels as if he's about to explode.

"I'm sorry, harry--that you had to lose your father and your mother as fast as you did," you shake your head, "I'm sorry that you think that that's how I feel about my own parents."

why does he feel like this?

his hand is mid air, reaching to clasp his chest as if consoling his heart, but it doesn't goes as far to make contact.

he feels strange. he doesn't know how to cope with someone he has known for so long revealing what must have been the biggest burden on their shoulders, hidden in plain sight from him, as well as gushing about sympathy for him--he hates that.

as for the other thing; harry had known you since the beginning of time, he knew your parents since the beginning of time. you were both absorbed within the same lifestyle but the two of you were never anything more than acquaintances.

he found it strange that he could see your life so clearly like it was his own, but it seemed that was only the surface of a glass window that only you and your family allowed people to see.

"y/n, you're not a sociopath," he finally says, "sociopaths don't feel sympathy for other people. you're just in a difficult situation that no kid will understand because their parents are their heroes."

he pinches the bridge of his nose, finally looking up to you, "you also shouldn't feel bad for me."

you looked at him confused, urging him to explain.

"none of us are saints, y/n. somehow i think we all deserve this," he runs a hand down the front of his face. "you... you're just somehow better than the rest of us, this is a vacation god has granted you."

you stifle a laugh, shaking your head.

he smiles in return before dropping his face into a softer expression, reaching for your hand, "you good?"

"yeah, i'm good," you nod.

"good," he squeezes your hand. "enjoy heaven while you have it."

Can we get a smart Peter Pan on God and like the Peter Pan from2003 like can we get it in smut on God like I would love to see that where the reader loses her virginity Peter Pan

bro WHAT 😭

oh yuh, update. not much of my opinion changed tbh.

love the conrad angst within the last two episodes, but i feel like they were more entertaining than the whole season.

also steven listening to the diss was my fav scene.

omg, is it that boring? i haven’t seen the new season yet but i’ve seen a few clips and heard some people talking about it and such. damn, i love both fisher boys as i have two stories for the series. i heard tho that steven and taylor are a couple now, ig?

there’s cute little moments within the season and some good angsty parts, but i feel it honestly gets no where and the season ending is just mid. last season was better. steven and taylor i think are so cute and the best part of the season.

i think it could just be a filler season type thing to just build up for next season. i also liked jeremiah better last season, this season i just can’t stand him.

it’s all personal opinion though 💯💯 anyways

EDIT: i also haven’t watched the 7th episode yet, i thought #6 was the last episode 💀💀

will start repubing some recs! it rarely happens because I am very picky when it comes to the fics I read but tis the season to be in a very bellamy mood.

In the Mountains Shadow

summary: in which he comforts you.

tags: panic attacks. ptsd. hurt/comfort.

w/c: 1.1k.

a/n: no one will ever convince me that the 100 delinquents that were sent the earth, and the subsequent 48 of them that survived mount weather don't have serious ptsd. none of them are okay.

In the late afternoon hours, there was no peace to be found—not for her.

The feeling had come from nowhere, starting so small that she hadn't even noticed it before it crashed against the shore of her emotions, where it shattered into a thousand pieces, and infected her blood. If she could, she'd pull the blood from her veins to stop the feeling.

She was breathing in shallow gasps as she stared at that mountain of death—its shadow looming over her, blocking out the sun until she felt swallowed by darkness. She clutched the handle of the rover to ground herself; her fingers wound so tightly around it that they ached; and her legs wobbled and threatened to give out.

It was getting harder to breathe. It felt like someone had punched her in the chest, grabbed her heart, and squeezed the air from her lungs. Why had she agreed to come back? She never wanted to see this place again, not after...

She gasped loudly and suddenly.

The memories assaulted her all at once, without warning or mercy. The humming of the drill replayed in her ears, a haunting melody that accompanied her torment. Pain scored through her limbs, radiating from the scars on her thighs. Screams echoed around her—Raven's, Abby's, and her own. She could hear Marcus begging and pleading with Cage to stop, insisting that they would donate their bone marrow.

Her stomach twisted into knots, threatening to bring her breakfast up and dump it on the ground right there beside the rover. Waterfall tears fell from her eyes, streaking down her cheeks, leaving her vision blurred. Her body shuddered as a sob welled up in her chest.

"Bellamy..."

Her voice was impossibly soft, so full of fear as the memories of her time inside the mountain continued their relentless assault. She reached out blindly for him, needing something real and warm to hold onto—someone to ground her in the storm that was threatening to undo her. "I don't think I can do this."

She hated this place; no, that was too kind of a word. She loathed this place with every fibre of her being and with every beat of her broken heart.

The mountain was filled with so much needless death—not only the mountain men and grounders but their own as well. Another sob spewed from her trembling lips—the sound gut-wrenching, cutting the dark-haired man to the core—as she remembered being trapped on level five while guards took her friends one by one. They had fought. They had screamed. They had run. None of it mattered in the end.

She remembered Fox's face when they'd found her after everything had been said and done. The blank look in her eyes, the blood dripping from her mouth, the expression etched upon her features, forever frozen in time.

"Oh god."

And then he was there.

Strong hands grabbed her shoulders and dragged her into the shelter of his body, where she buried her face against his chest, hiding from the world just as she'd done when he found her wandering the halls of the mountain. He felt her ball his shirt in her trembling hands, the material being pulled taunt across his back as her tears soaked the front. Bellamy held her tightly as the tears shuddered through her body. He wanted to cry with her, to break down and be weak, but he couldn't.

They had all been broken by the mountain, left tired and scared, but he couldn't break down. He had to be strong when the delinquents couldn't be; he'd bear it so that they didn't have to.

PTSD ran wild through the survivors of the one hundred, all forty-eight of them, and no amount of talking or time would help. Sure, their wounds would heal and scar, but the psychological trauma—the torment—would remain with them every day until they died. None of them would be okay again.

"She doesn't have to go," Bellamy said, his voice gentle as he patted her head, running his fingers through her hair in a soothing gesture. She didn't have to do this, and he wouldn't make her; he wouldn't let anyone make her.

There was a very strong loyalty that Bellamy felt for the delinquents in particular. He had a great deal to make up for, and going into Mount Weather to save them barely covered it. He would go in again, alone; he could find the things that would make their lives on post-apocalyptic-and-current-apocalyptic earth more comfortable.

Her breath was wild and erratic, impossible to catch. Inside, her lungs were burning, desperate for air, as she sobbed and hyperventilated against his chest. She clung to him without shame, her arms wrapped around his torso. He was the only thing that kept her grounded when the trauma threatened to consume her. "I can't, Bell, I can't." She repeated the words, babbling mindlessly.

She remembered how peaceful the mountain had seemed and how utterly perfect it was—a paradise found in a world trying to destroy them. She had loved being inside Mount Weather. All the history at her fingertips, real food, a soft bed, and books!

There had been so many books.

It was home.

Until Clarke pointed out the flaws and inconsistencies, and then the bubble burst. The mountain men's secrecy had come to light, and the superficial charm of Cage Wallace had peeled away like a snake's skin. She remembered Clarke escaping and how hopeless she'd felt while still trapped inside. But most of all, she remembered the feeling of the cuffs around her wrists and ankles—how her skin had been rubbed raw, cut open, and her bones drilled into.

She had been left devastated. Even the whirring of a power tool at Camp Jaha would send her into a panic. There was no concern that she was appearing weak in front of Bellamy. There was only a fear that she might not escape the mountain alive this time.

Bellamy waved for the others to go on ahead, ignoring their concerned stares. When one of them took a tentative step forward, his arms tightened around her, iron bands of muscle pressing her into his body. Above her, he shook his head, silently telling them not to look or touch.

He knew her; he saw her.

And he knew that comfort from anyone else, especially one of the adults that had been responsible for sending one hundred children to earth, would only break the little resolve she was holding onto. So Bellamy held her as she cried; he let her bury her face against his chest and hide from the world. And when her legs gave out, he went to the ground with her, and he held her still.

"I promise you're not alone," he whispered, his lips pressed against the crown of her head, his own heart breaking. He pulled her closer, held her tighter. "You'll never be alone again."

bae ily 💘

bae ilyt 🤍