#*casually pulls up to your window in a stolen jeep*

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Wildest dreams, pt. 4

Wildest dreams // part 2 // part 3  

Summary: Paul’s tormented by the imprint bond, but remains reluctant about pursuing Y/N. It doesn’t mean he can stay away, nor that she will wait for him.

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Every morning Paul would welcome the sunrise with eyes already open, weary and tired. It’s been three weeks since he’s gotten a proper night of sleep and it’s slowly killing him. There’s nothing he hasn’t tried to force a nap to keep his sanity, but he’s unable to find even a few minutes that do not include him nodding off with eyes open or just passing out while on patrol.

Never before had Paul been troubled so much for his sleep to be stolen from him. It feels as if his heart has been taken, ripped out of his chest and his mind cannot process the loss. The only time of day his strength returns is when he parks at the hospital’s parking lot.

He might not be able to turn his mind off, but she does it for him so effortlessly. Paul hasn’t missed a single day, always eagerly awaiting for her to walk out. 

At first she was cautious, perhaps even annoyed by his insistence on driving her home.

“Are you stalking me now?” She narrows her eyes at the umbrella he’s holding, secretly wishing he’d stop being so attentive so she can continue being suspicious of him and his intentions.

Paul shrugs, “If you wanna call it that.”

Rolling her eyes, she grimaces. “Chief Swan may be your friend, but he can’t stop me from getting a restraining order.”

“All because I came to pick you up, so you don’t have to walk in pouring rain?”

“All because you’re annoying me.”

Paul chuckles, “Well, I’d love to lie and say it’s not reciprocated, but you do annoy me. Probably more than I annoy you.”

“Impossible”, she insists.

Pressing his lips in a thin line, Paul nods. “Prove it.” Moving to her side, his umbrella covers her as well. “You have the entire drive home to make your argument.”

Lifting her chin proudly, she pouts. His free arm slowly wraps around her shoulders and she can’t help but shudder. It’s an unexpected advance, but necessary if she doesn’t want the umbrella to be rendered useless.

“If you’re uncomfortable, you can have the umbrella”, Paul offers and she realizes he noticed her reaction. The shudder wasn’t caused by lack of comfort, rather by surprise. She didn’t anticipate him touching her so casually and with no warning.

Blood rushes to her cheeks, making her self-conscious. Paul seems to notice every single detail about her, as if he’s studying her. For a man who barely spent time at school, he’s surprisingly insightful.

“What about you?” She frowns, unsure as he hands her the handle and walks into the rain. As it pours over him, Paul laughs.

“I love the rain.”

“You’ll get a pneumonia!” She shouts, trying to pull him back under the umbrella, but he shakes his head.

“I like what you did with your hair today. It would be a crime to ruin it.”

And as he rushes to his Jeep, she watches him go with lips parted in confusion. Did he just…Compliment her hair? The same guy who pulled her pigtails in middle school?

With shaky steps, she walks to the Jeep too. Inside, she clears her throat awkwardly. What does she even say after that?

“The heating takes a bit to work, but it’s going to be warm soon enough.”

Nodding, she glances at him, just for a moment; a moment too long. Turning to the window, her eyes are wide. She can’t remember Paul being this attractive before, but the image will forever be ingrained in her memory. The rain has made spectacular work as each droplet caressed his face and his plush lips. His shirt is accentuating each muscle as it sticks to every curve. There is no denying his body is perfection and if he looks this good clothed, just how amazing would he look without it?

“Are you alright?” Paul asks, seeing her nod vigorously.

“Peachy.”

Despite their initial banter, Paul has come to notice her looking for him the moment she leaves the hospital.

Paul could have sworn he saw a fleeting smile upon her lips as she walked out, her eyes finding him in an instant. He always parks in the same spot, the only one he can be certain she won’t leave unnoticed. The last thing he needs now is to worry about his imprint walking the woods alone.

“You’re here”, she states.

“I’ve been here for weeks”, he remarks. “Did you expect someone else?”

“Actually, yes”, she smirks. “I’ve got a date.”

Paul’s lips part as his usual cocky smile is erased, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. His entire body is tense as his eyebrows furrow and his forehead wrinkles.

“No, you don’t.” Paul’s voice is low, throaty.

“Yes, I do”, she insists. Licking her lips, she frowns. “Is it so inconceivable for me to be desired by someone?”

“Yes!” He shouts and she flinches, taking a step back. Realizing it, Paul runs a hand across his face in exasperation. “Fuck!” He sighs. “That didn’t come out right.”

Clinging to her bag, she scoffs. “I think it did!” Shaking her head, she turns around and heads for the woods.

“Where the hell are you going?!” Paul shouts after her, hoping she’d stop and talk things through but as she reaches the tree line, he’s quick to run after her with his heart in his throat.

His temper has always been nasty, but he’s gotten so much better in the past decade. All of his anger was channeled into physical activities – sometimes it was work, other times it was a fun night with one night stands,  but he was genuinely peaceful for so long that even he didn’t know how to react to his outburst.

Nearly stumbling, Y/N huffed as she walked as quickly as possible in her…admittedly, city shoes. She’s gotten used to her father giving her a ride in the morning and then having Paul pick her up from the hospital. For a while, she didn’t really give much thought about what she wears or her makeup, but this morning was different. She wanted to look cute in her heels, she even wore her red lipstick!

“Slow down!” He grumbles behind her, horrified by how fast she can walk in those death traps on her feet. “You’ll break a leg!”

“And what if I do? You’ll celebrate?!”

“No! I’ll have back pain from carrying you back to the hospital!”

Glancing over her shoulder at a bewildered Paul, she scoffs. “Are you calling me fat?!”

“NO!” Rubbing his forehead, he finally catches up. Deciding not to touch her, he simply follows her as she trudges through the still wet forest terrain. “You’re curved in all the right places, okay? You look great!”

Pausing, she lifts her forearms up to her chest, her palms turned out as she grimaces. What is he even saying?

Using the opportunity, he stands in her path.

“Will you please let me walk you back to the Jeep now?”

Chuckling dryly, she crosses her arms. “Why would I want to do that?”

“Because I’d rather you not die ripped apart by wild animals.”

Rolling her eyes, she looks to her side disgruntled. “You can barely stand me. Hell, you probably hate me. Why’d you care?!”

“I”, he runs his hand through his short hair, “don’t necessarily hate you. And call me stupid, but I don’t think you hate me either.”

Pursing her lips, she opens her bag.

“You called my overalls manly”, she pulls out a paper with a victorious smirk.

Scoffing, Paul raises his eyebrows. “Please tell me that’s a shopping list!”

“It’s a comprehensive list of all the things you ever did to make me hate you!”

“Of course it is.” Rubbing his forehead, Paul sits down on a log. It’s far from comfortable, but it’s better than standing all while she reminds him of the past he wants to forget.

“You stole my journal”, she shakes the paper violently before his face as she continues, “and then you threw it into the damn ocean!”

“But I never read it”, Paul tries but the determined look on her face stops him from arguing further.

“You called me Bumblebee for a whole year”, her eyebrows furrow as he stifles a laugh. “Everyone picked up on that and did the same.”

“It was the leggings”, Paul he exclaims.

Her eyes narrow. “What leggings?!”

“The ones with black and yellow stripes.” Paul bites his lower lip to stop himself from smiling as his eyebrows rise teasingly. “They were actually kinda cute.”

Pursing her lips, she closes her eyes and inhales sharply. “Those were my favorite leggings you mocked.”

His eyes widen for a moment as his eyebrows rise, wondering if she’d murder him if he laughs. “I said they were cute, what else do you want me to say?”

“And what about the book you took from me and never gave it back?” She crosses her arm over her chest. “I had to pay actual money for that in the library and I know you took it!”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he bites his lower lip. “Was it the Romeo and Juliet one?”

“Actually it was Harry Potter, but nice to know you took more than one”, she huffs. “The money I gave for that book was for the school trip. I was the only one in my class who couldn’t go!”

“I swear, I never took that book from you.” Paul stands, his hands instantly enveloping her shoulders. With the tip of his right index finger, he lifts her chin so their eyes would meet.

“But you took Romeo and Juliet?”

Nodding, he licks his lips before speaking. “You were always making notes while reading it. I wanted to know what they were”, he shrugs innocently. “But I took it to the library for you once I was done.”

“Actually, I owned that one”, she presses her lips in a thin line, suppressing a smile as Paul’s eyes widen.

“There may be a copy of Romeo and Juliet with your notes in the Forks library.”

Nodding, she chuckles and he can’t help but melt at the sound. It’s what he always wanted – to make her laugh, to be at the source of her happiness. Slowly, he turns to walk back to the Jeep, his heart skipping a beat when she follows quietly.

The moment they just shared felt intimate, as if their hearts are tethered and Paul has been haunted by this bond he believes she finally sensed as well. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable, but it surely played on Paul’s insecurities. He wondered if he’d find her suitor waiting by the Jeep, if she’d leave with another and he’ll have to stomach the thought of another laying a hand on her.

“So”, he trails off awkwardly. “What else is on that list?”

Clearing her throat, she glances at the crumbled up paper over her chest.

“The basketball you hit me on the face with”, she touches her nose absentmindedly.

“I REMEMBER THAT”, he says a little too excitedly, with a small smile on her face. Noticing her glare, his smile retreats as they finally reach the Jeep.

“Good, because you broke my nose and Jacob nearly passed out from all the blood.” She deadpans as his lips curve, threatening her with a fresh smile. “I looked like a raccoon for a month!”

Clearing his throat, he nods. “And I apologized for that. I didn’t realize your grudge expanded to things I tried to make amends for.”

“You told me you’re sorry and then gave me a weird high five I reciprocated solely because I was high on pain meds”, she remarks.

Pressing his lips in a thin line, he nods slowly as he realizes she’s opening the door to his Jeep and there was no one in the parking lot waiting for her. 

Relieved, he sat behind the wheel and drove with a tinge of happiness no one could take from him.

Did she try to make him jealous? What was her plan, exactly?

“This drive was way too short for this list”, she states and he smirks.

“It’s a good thing there is always tomorrow.” He opens his door, rushing to open hers too. He hasn’t quite done it before, Paul realizes. He needs to do these things more often.

Cautious, she slips out with her eyes studying him.

“What?”

“Just wondering why you’re opening my door”, she replies.

“Can’t I be a gentleman?”

“You can, though I find it….strange.”

Shaking his head, he watches her walk backwards slowly; dramatically slow. Grinning, he closes her door. “So, what’s the worse thing on that list?”

And in that instant, he managed to destroy any playfulness between them.

“Is that how you want this day to end?”

Shrugging, he swipes his bottom lip. “Guess I need some time to think of an excuse for the worst thing I’ve ever done to you.” Removing some of the distance between them, Paul came closer. “Or at least a damn good apology.”

Letting out a heavy breath, she pockets her list. That should have been a fair warning for Paul to stop asking questions, but he needed to know.

“Getting Jacob, Embry and Quil to join the weird little cult you have.”

“Oh”, Paul steps back. He pockets his hands, looking toward his car with a pensive look on his face.

“Oh”, she repeats. “That’s all you have to say?”

Gnawing at the inside of his cheek, he shrugs. “Some things aren’t for sharing.”

Staring at him, her lips purse as she nods to herself. “Right. Of course. Silly me for thinking we were having a moment there.”

Letting out a heavy sigh, Paul looks up at the sky. All he wants is to keep her safe. If he drags her into his world, that will be made impossible. She can’t be one of them. Ever. 

“I should go”, Paul frowns. His voice is rough, words short. It’s as if his eyes have grown colder as they meet Y/N’s.

Nodding, she wraps her arms around her middle. “Agreed.”

A few steps toward his car, Paul pauses and looks back at her only to find her still staring at him.

“There was no date, was there?” The hope is palpable in his voice, embarrassingly so, but he needs her to confirm it so he can breathe easy again.

But the way her eyes widen and her hand covers her parted lips, Paul knows that won’t be the case.

“I forgot!” Shaking her head, she tucks her hair behind her ears. “I’m a terrible person!”

Swallowing thickly, Paul rubs the back of his neck. His chest feels as if someone had just fired a shotgun aimed at his heart and he cannot process the fact his imprint is out there, finding other men to date when he’s right there!

He’s not perfect, far from it, but does she not feel what he does? Perhaps the bond only added onto what was once in his heart, but as he looks her in the eye now, he can believe it. He deserved this.

Closing his eyes, he nods to himself as Y/N freaks out over another. 

If he never introduces her to the tribe and what he is, will he avoid losing her? Maybe the vision of her death will fade as he distances himself and she will be safe. Maybe she will be happier with a normal person, someone who can always be there for her without a temper that could very well be why she dies.

For the first time since he saw the vision of her dying in his arms, Paul considered the possibility of it being his fault and his heart sunk. What if he lost his temper with her and she wasn’t as lucky as Emily? Paul refuses to be her death sentence.

“I have to go”, Paul exclaims as he rushes off to the Jeep.

Y/N didn’t get a chance to stop him. Truth be told, she didn’t know if she wanted to. All he does is confuse her. All his presence brings are dreams of a life they will never have together. Whatever the reason is for her mind to cast him as her lead in romantic dreams, Y/N isn’t a fool.

Paul Lahote has never loved anyone but himself and she refuses to be just another in a string of girls he beds.

Yet as he drives away, she can feel an emptiness in her heart. Somehow, as he drove away, it felt as if a part of her left with him; as if he had wounded her and she couldn’t find the source of bleeding.

She sent an apologetic text to a charming nurse she agreed to have dinner with, but her mind wasn’t focused on the date she missed. Much to her dismay, it focused on the very man who left without the usual smile on his face and she knew she was to blame.

The night brought no reprieve and when she went to bed, all she could do was toss and turn until unconsciousness claimed her. It only brought flashes of their conversation back, an array of all the ways it could have gone better.

As the day went by, she anxiously anticipated the moment she’ll see him again. When her shift was over, she didn’t bother changing. She grabbed her things and all but ran outside, her eyes searching for the blue Jeep and the dark eyes she’s grown attached to.

But when she comes out, Paul isn’t there.

Barely keeping herself standing, she finds her bottom lip quivering as she sees Embry instead. Never had she thought she’d be disappointed seeing Embry Call. Teenage Y/N would be ecstatic, but grown up Y/N just wants to cry.

Swallowing the lump at the back of her throat, she inhales sharply as she makes her way to Embry.

“Ready to go?”

Furrowing her eyebrows, her left eye narrows. “Why are you here?”

“To pick you up!” Embry’s cheerful tone is a stark contrast to her gloomy one.

She wanted to clarify, to ask where Paul is, but to ask for him would be admitting she misses him. It would be admitting that she longed to see him, to talk to him, that these drives back home is what keeps her going during a difficult day.

Y/N refused to admit defeat.

Forcing a smile, she nods, “Thanks.” But all she could think about is Paul.

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Tags: @the-chaotic-cow​ @xxxjaexxx​ @captainrogers-19​ @bexloxl​ @laehlaluvs​ @sunsetevergreen​

PART 5

#paul lahote #twilight #twilight fanfiction #paul lahote x reader #paul lahote series #twilight fandom #twilight saga #paul lahote angst #embry call #jacob black

[funfanfin]

I love(d) you

Clarke finds the jacket—his stupid, ugly, brown jacket—four years after they break up.

It’s wedged in her closet, where it hangs innocently between two dresses, taunting her. Narrowing her eyes, she crosses her arms and stares at it, wondering how, of all things, she forgot to give that stupid jacket back.

After standing there for a stubborn half hour, she yanks the jacket off its hanger and brings it to the coat rack by her front door. Despite the fact that she held it far enough away from her face, she still accidentally catches a whiff of his cologne.

The memories that come rushing back are rosy-tinged bastards.

She curses her olfactory senses and her penchant for nostalgia and him, and hangs the jacket unceremoniously by her front door. With a sigh, she heads to her bathroom and sprays perfume until it hangs in a thick cloud around her head.

It’s still not enough to mask the memories still stubbornly playing in her mind.

“Just give it to Octavia. She’ll give it back to him,” Raven suggests, stealing one of her fries and waving it in the air nonchalantly.

Clarke raises an eyebrow. “Octavia’s in Nepal, in case you forgot. What’s she going to do? FedEx the jacket to him halfway across the world just because I asked her to?” She shakes her head. “That’s not going to happen. Plus, I’m pretty sure she’s still not talking to him.”

“Seriously?”

“She wasn’t when we were—” she cuts herself off, sighing. “She wasn’t a few years ago,” she corrects with a terse smile.

The look Raven gives her is spectacularly unimpressed. “When you and Bellamy were dating you mean?” She rolls her eyes. “Why the hell are you so dramatic about it? Your breakup was nowhere near the levels of uncomfortable that mine and Finn’s was, and it had a hell of a lot more closure than mine and Wick’s had.”

Clarke shudders involuntary. “I know. It’s just—you know, Raven. You know how we were.”

“Ridiculously in love? Perfect for each other? Soulmates?’

She glares at her. “Raven.”

“What?” She shrugs irreverently. “You know I’m right. Look, I know it sucked for you. It sucked for all of us. Have you noticed that we haven’t all hung out as a group since you two broke up?” You guys—” Frustrated, she shakes her head. “When you guys broke up, it affected all of us. It changed everything.”

“I know,” Clarke says, and it sounds like an apology. In some ways, it is. “I just—I wish things had turned out differently.”

“We all do,” Raven mutters, uncharacteristically soft. She steals another fry and expertly changes the subject to the unfairly attractive CEO of Azgeda Corp that she has to see every single day now that they’ve hired her for some ‘X-files level top secret shit’, as Raven so eloquently describes.

Afterwards, Raven grabs Clarke’s hand and pulls her around.

“Look, Clarke, I can take the stupid jacket back to Bellamy,” she offers, sincere.

“It’s been four years.” Clarke smiles, squeezing Raven’s hand. “I’m an adult. He’s an adult. I can handle seeing him.”

Clarke can’t handle seeing him.

And she’s tried, she really has. She’s driven down his street more times than she’d like to admit, his jacket riding shotgun, with every intent to stop the car by his ugly, pale yellow mailbox.

She’ll slow down, tires grazing the curb, and glance at the house. She’ll imagine him stepping out into the golden evening sun, all mussed curls and broad shoulders and wicked smirk and it’s too much. Muttering curses under her breath, she’ll throw the jacket in the backseat and angrily accelerate to the 25mph speed limit, accidentally blowing through the stop sign at the end of his street, again.

Their breakup hadn’t been that bad, it was true. It was just so—unexpectedly final. Clarke doesn’t even really remember what started the beginning of their end.

What she does remember is this: her voice, cold and bitter, telling him that he would be better without her; without a girl who could hardly say the words I love you without them feeling like a damning sentence in her throat. He deserved better than a girl who could only ever give him part of an already broken heart.

“I can’t do this anymore, Bellamy.”

She remembers the look on his face. Vulnerable, stricken with emotion, his brown eyes blinking at her in hurt disbelief.

“That’s it, then. Just like that, you’ve decided we’re done.”

She remembers how, after her bags were packed, he asked her to stay—gently, desperately, tragically—the way his voice trembled in a way she hadn’t ever heard before, the way her heart twitched at the sound.

The doorknob had been cold to her touch. Through blurred vision and with a sob caught in her throat, she croaked a goodbye and left.

A relationship that only lasted five months and ended four years ago shouldn’t still be affecting her, but…it wasn’t just any relationship. It wasn’t just any breakup.

It wasn’t just any ex.

It was Bellamy.  

It was strange, honestly, how they had somehow managed to avoid each other for four years even while living in the same city. She’d seen glimpses of him at parties and random coffee shops, sure, but they hadn’t spoken or even said hello in four years.

The only way Clarke knew anything about him at all anymore was thanks to their mutual friends. They’d mention carefully, casually, what he’d been up to. It was how she knew that he had graduated with his doctorate in the Classics, and had landed his dream job at Ark University.

And she was sure it was how Bellamy had known she had dropped out of med school to reopen the art gallery her father managed before his death.

He hadn’t attended the fundraising gala, but his name was included on the list of contributors. She had stumbled over his name during her closing, thank-you speech, and the taste of his name in her mouth after so many years couldn’t even be drowned with a generous amount of alcohol, she quickly learned afterwards.

That night had been one of the many, many nights she had stopped and asked herself if she had made a mistake leaving him all those years ago. She’d wonder if he was the reason she still couldn’t move on after four damn years. She’d ask herself if he was the reason all of her one-night stands seemed to all have the same dark, curly hair and dimpled chins and warm skin.

Their eyes were always wrong, though, she’d noticed. She’d never been able to find someone with eyes like his, eyes darker than a night sky whose stars had been stolen and draped across his cheeks.

She definitely can’t handle seeing him again.

And so the jacket sits smugly in her car, judging her. It’s starting to lose its rich, musky smell, leaving only the distinctive smell of cigarette smoke on it. She had long quit smoking and, according to their mutual friends, so had he, but the smell of it on his jacket makes her tongue taste like nicotine and her lips tingle with the memory of smoke-filled kisses on the fire escape of his old apartment. It makes her mind buzz with memories of a time when their biggest problems were college midterms not being able to decide on a matching Halloween costume. Back when the future was still colored with words like we and together and us and ours.

A week later, when Raven asks her if she dropped the jacket off, Clarke shakes her head and tells her to ask her again tomorrow. The pained, frustrated tone of her voice is enough to make even Raven not push the subject.

It’s eleven o’clock at night when she finally musters up the courage to give the jacket back to him. She knows this random burst of bravery won’t last long, so she spits out her toothpaste, pulls on some pants, and grabs her keys.

The air outside of her house is chilly, a late-Autumn breeze trembling through the trees. She shivers. Almost as an afterthought, she shrugs the jacket on.

Just because it’s cold, and I don’t want to run back inside and grab a jacket, she justifies to herself, but she knows it’s a bold-faced lie. The jacket rests comfortably on her shoulders, and she immediately knows it was a mistake to put it on.

Still, she doesn’t take it off.  

The drive to his house is quiet, expectant. She doesn’t turn on the radio or blast music from her phone. The windows are rolled down, and she feels the cold air rush through her hair and realizes why she loves fall so much.

It was when they met, six years ago on a random Tuesday on campus, walking home after the party they were at got crashed by the cops. They flirted half the way home, before Clarke realized that he was the Political Science T.A. who refused to give her an A on a paper she had spent four days working on.

They argued, argued some more, and argued even more as time passed until they called a ‘temporary’ truce for Octavia’s sake.  That ‘temporary’ truce led to a long-lasting friendship, one that only solidified as the semesters flew by. And one drunken October night, they ended up making out behind Raven’s Jeep. She couldn’t remember if he had been the first one to say it or her, but one of them had accidentally confessed to being in love with the other, and they’d been together ever since.

Until their breakup, of course.

Clarke pulls her car into his driveway. She places it into park confidently, despite the fact that her fingers are shaking when she pulls the keys out of the ignition. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she steps out of the car.

Her steps against the pavement echo in the still night air. It takes her two minutes to decide whether she should knock or ring the doorbell. In the end, she rings the doorbell, listening to it chime through the house mutedly on the other side of the door.

Rolling on the balls of her feet, she twists her fingers anxiously.

“This is crazy. You’re crazy,” she mutters to herself, through grit teeth.

When not even ten seconds have passed, she decides that he must be asleep and chickens out. She’s halfway to her car when she hears the front door swing open.

She stops in her tracks, refusing to look back at him. She knows that once she does, every feeling, every memory, every suppressed emotion from the past four years will come swinging back at her with an unimpeded vengeance.

“Clarke?”

His voice, confused as it is, sounds like music to her ears. It’s deep and hoarse, like he’s just woken up, and it reminds her of a lifetime ago, of lazy Sunday mornings waking up curled beside him in a tiny bed, the sun creeping up the walls of his book-littered dorm room.

Her traitorous body begs for her to turn around and look at him. She takes a deep breath, and turns.

It shouldn’t surprise her that he’s still annoying beautiful. Maybe even more so, than before, which, honestly, isn’t fair. His hair is longer, she notices. Messier, too. Her fingers twitch at her sides with the unholy desire to run through the inky curls like they used to, to pull the ends and make him groan.

There’s an Ark University t-shirt stretched across his broad shoulders, and plaid pajama bottoms resting low on his hips. Long fingers slide out of his pocket to push clunky glasses up the bridge of his nose.

Finally, she meets his eyes. The relief that courses through her is practically intoxicating. She could die happy now, knowing that his eyes are still as warm as she remembered, that her memories didn’t exaggerate their sun-warmed-earth color. His eyes are just as vulnerable as she remembers, just as expressive, and she hates how much it feels like coming home.

“Bellamy,” she says, hoping he doesn’t notice the way his name is still precious in her mouth, still fond on her lips, despite everything.

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#bellarke #bellarke fanfiction #the 100 #someone help me i'm writing fic again #bellamy blake #clarke griffin #my writing