#speak your wildest dreams into existence

[writeroutoftime]

Rita!! Congrats on 3k/yay for 5 years!! I wish you many more in both respects!!! 🥳

I just had to come in and join the fun!!

Would you be willing to write something for Tommy Shelby using the prompt "it's okay, I couldn't sleep anyway" ??

Thanks so much if you do!! 🧡

a/n: K, thank you for this request - sorry it took a couple days to get this for you! it's been a hot second since I've written for tommy - I forgot how much I love this man!

oOoOo

The bed felt cold and empty as you tossed and turned for the nth time that evening. An hour now and slept still evaded you. Curled up on your side, you looked at Tommy's empty spot and sighed. Yet again, another late night for your husband.

There had been many nights apart from Tommy as he expanded the business. An expansion which included your move into the newly renovated Arrow House. A move which still left you unsettled each and every day. Never in your wildest dreams did you imagine a house with so many extra rooms.

"Fuck!" a sharp voice rang out following a loud thud, effectively pulling you from your thoughts.

Speak of the devil. Suddenly determined, you threw the covers back and let your feet hit the cold, hard floor. Before you made your way down the winding halls, you grabbed your dressing gown and wrapped it around your shivering figure.

The stairs didn't creak as you crept down them - the silence was unnerving. So much of this house was unnerving compared to the coziness that existed at Watery Lane. And you could never find the warmth you so desperately craved. While Watery Lane might have been drafty and leaky, it still exuded a warmth you'd yet to find in your new house.

Somehow, in the midst of all your pondering, you finally found yourself in front of Tommy's study. You carefully pushed open the door and leant against the frame. Inside, your husband sat behind his desk, looking rather angrily at a pile of paperwork. A stack of innocent books laid on the ground beside him.

A small cough caught his attention, his blue eyes softening ever so slightly as he took in your presence. "Sorry, love. Did I wake ya?"

"It's okay, I couldn't sleep anyway." you shrugged.

Tommy pushed the paperwork away and held out his arm in your direction. As if your feet had a mind of their own, you were by his side, squeezing his rough hand in yours before you knew it. A second later and you laughed in spite of yourself. Tommy had pulled you into his lap and tightly wrapped his arms around you, like he had so many evenings when you first were dating.

In that moment, it felt like coming home after years away. His familiar scent flooded your senses, causing your body to melt even further into his. This. This is what you had missed. Quiet moments with your husband, when nothing else in the world existed.

"I miss you, Tommy."

"I'm right here, love."

"But you're not. This house makes it feel like we're miles apart from each other." you countered, pulling back ever so slightly to really look Tommy in the face. "Not that I'm not proud of you, but it's just been really lonely."

Tommy sighed, pressing a soft kiss to the shell of your eye before his head fell to rest against your chest. "I know, I know." his voice barely a whisper. "I promise you, this is all gonna change - you'll see."

Running your hand through his hair, you hummed softly. Maybe his words would be true, maybe they wouldn't be. All you knew was that for this moment, Tommy was in your arms. And that was enough to lull you to sleep.

[loveharlow]

SEVEN [THE INBETWEEN] - KISS IT BETTER

PAIRING ‧₊˚ JJ Maybank x Fem!Reader

SYNOPSIS‧₊˚[2.5k] Three weeks of no John B or Sarah and you're officially overwhelmed with grief and mixed signals, leading to an emotional outburst directed at certain blonde.

WARNING(S)‧₊˚ swearing, mentions of death, mutual pining, grief avoidance, little fluff, mentions of low self-esteem/negative self-image, mentions of past non-con

NOW PLAYING‧₊˚

A/N‧₊˚ I think this chapter is actually so soft and beautiful🥺 and I never really say this but I do think listening to the song on repeat as you read makes it one hundred times better.

˗ˏˋ series masterlist ˎˊ˗

THIS DAY MARKED THREE WEEKS SINCE YOU’D LOST JOHN B AND SARAH…And one week since JJ kissed you out of nowhere. Co-existing in your other presumed dead best friend’s house has been…odd, to say the least. You didn’t really know how to talk to JJ now, which was something you never thought would be an issue.

He’d been in the surf shack working on your car more than usual, without your company unfortunately. You’d been taking more small jobs just to get out of the house at this point. But barely talking to your best friend for an entire week while living in the same space was starting to take a toll on you.

And so was the kiss.

Did he mean to do it? Was it a spur of the moment thing? Did JJ have feelings for you? Ten thousand thoughts running around in your mind at once, driving you closer and closer to the edge of crazy. Your heart was telling you that the kiss was no accident — that it seemed too passionate and eager to be something he’d done in the heat of the moment. But your head was telling you that the kiss was an act of grief — something he’d done in a moment where his head wasn’t exactly screwed on straight.

That it was an honest mistake.

You didn’t know which part of you that you believed.

Or which part of you that you wanted to believe.

It was nightfall when you walked up the steps of The Chateau, bag slung lazily over your shoulder as you huffed out a puff of air, exhausted from your nearly ten hour long babysitting gig. Some couple needed someone to watch over their three kids while they went on a date. You should’ve known something was off when the mother was offering fifty dollars an hour, way over minimum wage — her three kids were more like a pint-sized trio of bats from hell. But you walked away with five-hundred more dollars in your pocket, so who were you to complain?

But even with fatigue and hunger weighing heavy on your bones, your heart still dropped at the thought of seeing JJ at the end of the day.

Sighing, you quietly opened the door of the home, throwing your bag on the sofa and letting the door close behind you as Marley immediately came charging, light paws feeling like punches on your thighs but you smiled nonetheless.

“Hi, pretty girl. How are you?” You cooed, scratching behind both of her ears as she wiggled against you.

Another set of footsteps rounded the corner, a freshly awoken JJ coming into your view. You coughed awkwardly under your breath, straightening out as the two of you locked eyes. “Oh, hey. I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“Nah, it’s fine. I’m just glad you made it in before it got too late, one of the corner stores got robbed a couple hours ago.” He said, voice raspy and low from sleep as he rubbed the exhaustion out of his eyes.

The two of you stood there awkwardly— JJ scratching the back of his head as you averted your eyes anywhere else, Marley’s panting filling the silence.

You took a deep breath, shoving your hands in the back of your pockets as JJ mindlessly nibbled on his lower lip. You took the opportunity to break the silence, the blonde seemingly having the same idea.

“Well, I’m gonna get ready for bed-”

“Look, I’m sorry-”

You both stopped talking, attempting to allow the other to speak. Small smiles broke out on your faces, the two of you looking down at your feet simultaneously. “This is awkward, if I’ve ever seen it…” JJ huffed out humorously. “Can we just…like, sit down and talk, for a minute?” He asked, his own words making him cringe slightly as he motioned towards the battered sofa.

You nodded, not saying a word as you plopped down on the piece of furniture, eyes on the floor as your hands held each other in your lap. JJ sat down oddly slow next to you. You expected him to try and create as much distance between the two of you as possible but surprisingly, he sat so close that your shoulders were brushing in the tiniest of ways.

The unexpectedness of it all had your brows furrowing, finding some kind of courage to look the boy in his eyes as he finally settled on the right words to say.

“...I shouldn’t have kissed you.” For some reason, the string of words made your heart tremble and your lips parted in surprise. They hurt more than you ever expected them to. Noticing your solemn expression, JJ was quick to clean up his statement, turning in his seat to look at you completely. “Not in the sense that I didn’t want to, no, God no.” He sputtered, hands moving around wildly. “It’s just that, with everything going on, I don't think that moment was the best moment to act on my feelings-”

He was cut off when you lurched forward, colliding your lips with his in the heat of the moment. In your haste and his surprise, the blonde accidentally bit your lip but you didn’t mind, never breaking the exchange. After a moment, you both seemed to settle into it — one of his hands sliding around your hip and waist to find a home on the end of your back, pulling you closer in the smallest motion. Your own hands cradled his jaw on each side, pulling him deeper into you.

You kissed that boy until you couldn’t anymore. Until your lips were swollen and wet, your head spinning as you pulled back and let your hands fall, sliding down the length of his neck and shoulders while his own hand slid back to rest on your thigh.

“...What was that for?” He asked in a whisper. He sounded breathless.

You simply gulped, tucking a small strand of hair behind your ear before speaking. “...When you kissed me, I felt something. Something I didn’t think I should feel while kissing my best friend. Because I never thought I’d be kissing my best friend at all.” You explained, elevating your gaze to meet his eyes. “And I thought to myself that I should feel repulsed. That the kiss should feel wrong. Right? But nothing about that kiss felt wrong.” You told him. “I haven’t been avoiding you because of the kiss, JJ. I’ve been avoiding you because I haven’t been able to get the thought of kissing you again out of my head since it happened.”

“And now that you have?” He asked, eyes searching yours. “Now, that you have kissed me again?”

“...I’m struggling not to do it a third time.” You breathed out, eyes fleeting towards his lips for the slightest of moments. “I don’t know what this is. In my head, you’re my absolute best friend and I love you in that aspect but everytime I see you now, I can’t help but think about you in ways that I shouldn’t. So, if that kiss or this one didn’t mean anything to you, you’d better tell me now because-”

“Oh, it meant something.” He cut you off enthusiastically, a small smirk playing on his lips. “I know you probably have no idea but that kiss meant everything to me.” He told you, edging closer on the sofa. “I’ve had this huge crush on you for, like, ever. Probably since I even knew what a crush was. But you know how I am…” He lowered his voice, avoiding your eyes. “I didn’t trust myself with you. Anytime I look at you, I see this ball of light around you and I never want it to go away. Or be the reason for it going away. With me and all my shit…”

“I don’t think of you like that.” You said honestly, a small frown on your face. “You aren’t some southside screw up or a charity case. JJ, you know that I don’t care about all that. I’m always there to walk through it with you, your life doesn’t define you, you know that. Or at least, you should.” You told the blonde, running a soft hand through his hair. “And I know that it may take some time for you to believe that for yourself but I’ll be the one to tell you it everyday until you actually hear it, as a friend or…whatever else.”

You reminded the boy, biting your lower lip in thought. “...That’s why you never said anything? Because you thought you weren’t good for me?”

He seemed to ponder on the statement before nodding, somewhat shamefully. “I mean, c'mon, look at you.” He scoffed, wide blue eyes looking at your face with so much adoration and purity that you never cared to notice before. “Someone like you doesn’t need to waste her life away trying to love someone like me.”

“I do love you-”

“Not in the way that I love you.” He blurted, pinching his eyes shut as he cut you off.

“...I could. But you’ll never know if you don’t let me try.” You told him. “I won’t sit here and tell you that I love you in that way because I really don’t know. But whatever I’m starting to feel for you is beyond a friendship and once I figure that out, who knows? But I also don’t want you to wait on me to figure things out if that’s not what you want.” You concluded, retreating your hands back to the comfort of your lap.

You don’t know how helpless you looked, but you made no attempt to hide the frown that you could feel on your face. You knew JJ was known as promiscuous but his ways seemed to have settled with everything that’s happened. Although the thought of him with anyone made your gut turn, you didn’t want to confine him within the cage of your emotional contemplation. You didn’t want to lead him on now knowing how he felt about you.

“Hey,” He started, a hand on your arm. “I will wait. And that’s my choice. If you decide that you want me, that you want this, then I will be here. I know my past actions are probably making my words seem like a load of shit right now, but weeks ago? When I was hooking up with half the island? I was under the impression that you and I would never happen. But now there’s a chance.” He spoke, laughing at the end of his sentence, the oddness of the action making your face twist. “Sorry, I just, I thought about somethin'.” He said, waving himself off. “I was talking to Bree one day, about you. I told him that the odds of you ever liking me back were one in a million. And he told me that a one in a million chance is still a chance, to which I told him that he was full of shit. But now…” He trailed off, shrugging.

“...John B knew?” You asked, tilting your head to the side. JJ rolled his eyes playfully.

“I think everyone knew, except you, of course.” He cocked an eyebrow, you being the one to roll your eyes this time. 

“...So what do we do now?” You asked, voice small.

JJ sighed, suddenly sitting up straighter in his seat and taking both of your hands in his own. “...As much as I want to make you my girlfriend, right here and right now, I don’t think it’s a good idea. I think that we both need time to grieve and sort ourselves and I also think that you need time to explore your feelings more and make sure that this isn’t a fluke.” That was the most mature sentence you'd ever heard leave JJ's lips.

“A fluke?” You asked, mildly offended. “What does that mean?”

“Just that, I’ve seen how you can deal with grief. And not to twist the knife…are you okay with me talking about the…Rafe thing?” You clenched your jaw at the mere mention of his name, nodding stiffly in JJ’s direction, the boy drawing his lips into a thin line before continuing. “When that happened, you were still grieving. You kissed him because you were in a bad place and he was there and he ended up...taking advantage of that vulnerable part of you, right?” You hummed in agreement. “I am not at all blaming you for what happened when I say this. You didn’t deserve it and that asshole should be six feet under for what he did and, God so help me, I will put him there myself-”

“JJ.” You interrupted the boy’s rant, wanting him to finish his point completely. Huffing out a puff of air, he continued.

“I’m sorry. I just, I really hate that that happened to you. And I know it happened to you, not me but I want to kill him. Every day that I wake up, I just hope he's dead somewhere.”

“I know. Trust me, I know.” You reassured.

“But all I’m trying to say is that, I don’t want to repeat that same cycle — taking advantage of your emotional state. I want you to be yourself again and be in the right space before trying to take this any further. And I want you to have no doubts and be completely sure.” You understood his point of view and his reasoning behind it. Nodding, you allowed him to finish his sentence. “So, for now? We can just figure things out, set some kinda boundaries, if you want.”

You thought about it for a moment, fingers drawing shapes on one of his hands. “...Just honesty. If you kiss someone, hook up with someone…” The words made your eyes twitch. “Just don’t let me find out from someone else.”

“Oh, I can promise you that I have no one else on my mind, especially now that I know I’m on yours, so there will be nothing to tell ‘n nothin’ to find out, m’lady.” He smiled, saluting towards you. “I’m all yours, even if you aren’t mine. Yet.” He winked.

It’d been weeks since you’d seen the goofy side of JJ. It was comforting. 

You giggled, bowing your head slightly. “I promise that I am solely focused on clarifying my feelings towards you and only you, blondie.” You returned the sentiment and the salute. “What about our friendship, though? Is it still a friendship?”

“Mmm….” He thought aloud, chewing the inside of his cheek. “Actually, you’re the smart one. What’s like a fancy, silly term for developing a relationship? Like getting to know each other but not dating, like the in between stage?”

“...We can say we’re in a courtship?” You suggest half-jokingly, shrugging. “But… does this also mean we have to stop kissing each other? 'Cause I kind of like that part.”

JJ faked offense, throwing a palm against his chest and gasping. “Kissing?” He asked, wide eyed and shocked. “We are pogues. And number one rule of pogues, is no pogue-on-pogue macking…Eugh.” He reprimanded playfully, fake gagging. You slapped his shoulder in response, a smile on your face as one grew on his.

“No pogue-on-pogue macking, huh?” You said, playfully swatting his arms as he did yours. “

“That’s exactly right, little miss lips-a-lot - Ow! Did you just pinch my nipple?” He laugh-shouted, holding his chest as your swatting ceased. “What are you? Six?-”

You took the opportunity with JJ's guard down to grab the nape of his neck and pull his face into yours, giving him one last hard, passionate kiss of the night, slightly biting his lip as you drew your face away from his.

“How’s that for no pogue-on-pogue macking?”

next chapter>

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©loveharlow.

[sofiareidings]

Falling For You

Summary: Spencer is completely oblivious to how madly in love you are. That's it. Warnings: fluff and swearing.

A/N: I feel like this idea has been done before, so if I subconsciously copied a fic, let me know!! Also, I didn't mean to do it, but this story is technically spencerxgn!reader so. Also, i'm back!! Another story is coming out at 9pm EST, so be ready!!!

Word Count: 0.9k

Song Suggestions: Wildest Dreams (Taylor's Version) by Taylor Swift

You two clicked immediately. It was strange, you were both so opposite. I guess that's what made it work. What he lacked you made up for and reversed. Not many other people knew much about your personal life except for him. Your favourite thing about him was his words. Everytime he rambled about the most random times you could listen forever.

Whenever he looked at you, you melted. When he smiled your face burned from blushing. And whenever he talked you just wanted to kiss him. But you had no clue if he felt the same. For a genius he was quite oblivious to your flirting and comments. If he liked you he definitely had a good way of hiding it.

There was only one issue.

***

The movie was about halfway through and you made sure to turn the couch into a bed, Spencer had come over to watch it with you. If someone asked you tomorrow morning what the movie was about you wouldn't be able to say, he'd been talking the whole time.

"...That actually isn't correct," He started, moving his hands around for emphasis. "In the wild, there are two formally recognised lion subspecies. The African lion is found in Africa, south of the Sahara desert. The Asiatic lion exists in one small population around Gir Forest National Park in western India. Wild lions in the west and central Africa are more closely related to these Asiatic lions in India than to those found in southern and east Africa. So realistically the characters would be..."

Listening to him talk was like heaven, but at the same time it was hell. He just looked so huggable.

No, kissable. The butterflies in your stomach made you giggle, he paused and frowned. Looking like a lost puppy.

"What? Did I say something wrong?" Stumbling over the words as he spoke, you stopped laughing and grabbed his hands while smiling.

"No, no you didn't. It was just…cute." You muttered.

"Thank you?" A confused look on his face when he responded. Your heart shattered a little, that was obvious wasn't it? Did his feelings not reciprocate? "Oh! Also, manes on male lions tell a story. Male lions grow impressive manes the older they get. These manes grow up to 16 cm long and are a sign of dominance. The older they get, the darker their manes go. As well as attracting females, their manes may also protect…"

His words trailed off again and he stared at you. "You keep being weird. You're all red. Did I say something wrong? I know that sometimes I speak for too long and I go on and on, which annoys people-" He sighed, "And I'm doing it now. I'm sorry."

"No, please. I love when you talk. It's calming." Grinning, you continued, "So what about protection?"

"Oh, um…manes can also protect their neck and head from injuries during a fight." He slowed down his speaking, like he was a little self-conscious about his words now. When he stopped talking everything was silent, except for the sound of the movie quietly playing on the TV in front of you.

"Spence? What's wrong?" Tilting your head and looking at him, he was staring at the TV but he didn't seem to be watching it. Just thinking, his eyebrows furrowed like they normally did while he was deep in thought. "What are you thinking about?"

"Have you been flirting with me?" He blurted out, looking back up and at you. You almost jumped, not expecting that question.

"What?" Still in shock it took you a minute to respond. Letting the silence fill the air again, he didn't speak. He just stared, waiting for an answer. "I-What would you think if I was?"

"I would've wished I'd noticed sooner." He sighed, making that puppy-dog face you loved. Neither of you really knew what to do and sat there for what you would believe could've been hours.

"Fuck it." You breathed out and as if he knew what you were thinking as well he leaned in at the same time as you, kissing you softly. After a couple seconds you felt his hands wrap around your face, holding it as he kissed more.

Your hands didn't know where to go, after a couple more seconds they finally found their place, one around the back of his neck and the other tucked around his waist. Pulling you closer to him.

A couple seconds later you both moved away from each other, only long enough to catch your breaths and muttering random words. Before you knew it the both of you were back to kissing, to make up for how long you guys spent not kissing.

The longer it went the closer to each other you got, his one hand started to slide down your neck and then your waist when suddenly your hand hit a button and the movie that was still playing turned up to full volume.

Both scrambling for the remote he managed to shut the TV off, surrounding you both in the darkness of the night.

The two of you continued to kiss every once in a while but it didn't take long for the darkness to make you both sleepy and you ended up just cuddling. You fell asleep with your head on his chest, listening to his heart beat. He had one hand holding you close to him, as if someone was coming to steal you away. The other hand tracing up and down your back until he too, drifted off to sleep.

[askinkiskarma]

say you'll remember me

➳ young!coriolanus snow x f!reader

➳ warnings: angst, mentions of lucy gray, some violent imagery, no happy ending, allusions to smut, snow should be a warning by himself honestly

➳ wc: >1000 words

➳ a/n: i'm back from the dead after ?? months ?? because much to my dismay, i have fallen prey to movie coriolanus snow's charms (tom blyth the man that you are). i need that man biblically. no i have not read the books, please don't come for me, i don't care how unhinged he is, in the movies he's pookie and i love him and i could change him i KNOW it. anyway please enjoy x

He's so tall and handsome as hell He's so bad, but he does it so well I can see the end as it begins My one condition is

Coriolanus Snow was a hard man. Barely a man, when you really stopped to think about it, but it didn’t look like it right now, as he was sitting in the empty auditorium of the university he just left behind, with the stature and poise of a titan… or a god. His time in district 12 changed him. It brought out a side to him very few people knew him capable of, least of all his beautiful, gentle cousin, Tigris. The boy you once knew, golden curly locks of hair inundating the space on his face his azure irises usually lit up, wit and ambition so clearly displayed in them, the boy who, despite it all, despite all that stood against him, still had the remnants of a gentle heart in an environment that thrived on beating such a needless thing out of you… that boy seemed gone, killed by the person who stood tall in front of you, who desperately fought to let bygones be bygones. 

Coriolanus Snow was a hard man. He had to be, to get to where he wanted, to become who he knew he was always destined to be. He had to be, to forget - the war, the famine, the hurt and pain, the loss of love, the loss of hope, the loss of innocence. His blood-red coat was still and unmoving, the fabric as rigid as the persona he skilfully embodied, even as the wind blew past him and circled the room you were carefully eyeing, noticing every detail of it, of him, as you tried your hardest to gauge a mood, or hear a thought, through the unwieldy silence that met you like a careful, long-lost friend.

“So curious, aren’t we, little bird?” 

It shouldn’t have, not when he was the one whose back was turned to you, whose head lost in rumination, but his words, soft and whimsical, took you by surprise. As it always happened, your heart jumped in your chest in quiet anticipation, yearning to catch a glimpse of the one only you were fortunate enough to see. 

“Is it less intimidating… now that you’re done?” 

He turned then, his bright eyes finding yours immediately, drawn like a moth to a flame, and he smirked knowingly, the facade slipping away little by little, chipping like the paint on old walls. It’s funny. Out of the pair of you, you’ve always thought that was you. The moth. Forever risking your life and wings, for the beauty of it all, for the fire that you knew would either consume you or breathe new life in you. It was always a gamble, being in his presence, a game of Russian roulette you were addicted to, because how could you not be? How could you not… when he approaches you, slowly and methodically, his eyes never leaving yours, hungry and needy, speaking all the words he refused to say out loud, allowing you to see it - the glimpses of the boy. The boy you loved, the boy who survived somewhere inside of him, begging to be let out in the presence of someone who wouldn’t hurt the frail, withering existence that still clung to life the best way it knew how. 

“Who says it was ever intimidating, huh?” 

Your smile was enough to thaw the ice, enough for his hand, cold and calloused, warm and calming, to find your face, his thumb caressing the supple skin of your jaw, tracing the soft lips he dreamt about in whispered nights and wildest dreams. He tasted like roses and desire, and he kissed you like you were the breath he’s been denied his whole life. It was easy to forget in those moments, who he was, who you were, all that stood against you, the ghost of the girl he was trying so hard to banish from his mind. 

“Let’s go for a walk, just you and me.” 

Long walks in the city that was still reeling after the war you could barely remember felt intimate and almost like for your eyes and ears only, for only your bodies to feel and touch, for only your minds to wonder about and wander through. Through them, you knew Coriolanus - his many strengths and few weaknesses, his outright dreams and closeted desires, the depths of his soul he felt reluctantly comfortable to bare to you… and in turn, he knew you, more and more each day, as he found breath in the drowning sea that was once Lucy Grey and was levitated to better and never-seen before heights, away from the pain that haunted him every moment of his life.

“I think I loved her.” He tells you one night, his fingers massaging your back, tracing patterns onto it only he could understand, patterns you could spend the rest of your life trying to decipher. 

“I think you loved her, too.” You sigh, happy that his walls, tall and reinforced in layers of heavy, indestructible brick, were slowly chipping at the seams for you, but sad at the ghost that tormented his every breathing moment, and, as a result, yours, too. 

“I think I love you.” His voice was dark, serious, plagued with a twinge of uncertainty and fear, for the feelings he wanted to bury but couldn’t, that he wanted to hide from you and from himself, but decided against. It was short and simple, the confession, barely a few words whispered in the dead of night, while his glistening body was trembling softly under your touch and under the weight of the confession. It was short and simple, but it was enough to knock the breath of your lungs and any semblance of thought from your mind. 

“You wouldn’t… leave, right? You won’t leave.” 

You smile in his chest, and it almost hurts, the need to feel him, closer still, to touch your lips to his and pour it all into a kiss and watch him do the same. 

“Never.”

In these moments, he wasn’t Coriolanus Snow, future president of Panem, the heir to the Plinth fortune. In these moments, he was your Corio, and you were his little bird. When you are done, the disjointed song of the city coming to life falls upon deaf ears as you hold each other, reluctant to let go and face the harsh realities of the world that surrounded you and seeped into every aspect of your being, no matter how unwelcome. You hoped you could stay like this forever, safe in his arms, in the arms that welcomed you, in the arms that held onto you and thus, onto the inherent goodness born into him that he was forever struggling to subjugate, that you hoped he never would. 

But… Coriolanus Snow was a hard man. And when he inevitably left you one fateful night, you tried to forget the tears that stained his pillow, the last remnants of the boy who gave his dying breath in his soul, that cried and screamed for the life he could have had, a life that was taken from him, a life that the world and the man whose presence still inundated the now lonely, deserted room, conspired to end. And as you lay on the empty bed, your own tears mixing with his own as they drenched the fabric you knew you’ll never see again, you couldn’t help but wonder if the man he would become would remember you, and all you shared, or if to him, much like the boy you loved, you were already dead. 

Say you'll remember me Standing in a nice dress, staring at the sunset, babe Red lips and rosy cheeks Say you'll see me again, even if it's just in your wildest dreams

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Wildest dreams, pt. 32 (Paul Lahote)

Summary: Rebuilding their relationship is slow, but worth it. They struggle to find their footing as life goes on, sharing what's on their mind and weighing on their hearts.

Warnings: angst, fluff, sexual innuendos, swearing, GRAPHIC depictions of death and blood

Wildest Dreams Masterlist

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It’s been a few days since Paul promised he’d ask Y/N’s permission to host a birthday dinner. Daisy has texted him at least a dozen times by now, demanding details he cannot provide. Some would say he’s afraid to ask, but that’s not the core issue here. The key to this puzzling silence on his behalf lies in the way Y/N is sitting on his lap, running her soft hands over his as she lathers them in sweet-scented hand cream. A soft smile lingers upon her supple lips and her eyes shyly shift to his curious ones so often he’s barely able to keep his composure. All he wants is to taste her again, to feel her responding to his advances the way she once did – hungrily, unapologetically, wildly, and often. There were days he was concerned about how often she initiated sex…he missed those days. And now when they’re rebuilding intimacy brick by fragile brick, Paul isn’t all too happy about it being put at risk because of Daisy and her inability to give others space.

“You’re staring,” she raises her left eyebrow.

“How can I not?”

Biting his bottom lip, Paul suppresses a smile. Seeing it as a challenge, Y/N cups his cheeks. Brushing the tip of her nose against his, she grins as he releases his tortured bottom lip a shade darker, lightly swollen, and kissable…so incredibly inviting.

“Now who’s staring?” Paul teases as his hands grip her hips.

“How can I not?” She mimics. “You’re incredibly beautiful and you’re mine.”

Unable to resist, Paul’s lips spread in a smile she’d been craving. She can see how it came from deep inside to light his eyes and spread into every part of him. When she lost her sparkle and stopped smiling, his faded as well. It’s truly rewarding to make an effort to get better when it reflects so perfectly in Paul.

“I am.”

“Mine?”

“Incredibly beautiful,” he exclaims, evoking a laugh from her he hasn’t heard in a long time. It’s bright and playful and she’s throwing her head back and he can’t help but laugh with her. Y/N’s laugh is Paul’s serenity and a sign she feels safe with him. Oftentimes Paul caught himself wondering if Y/N trusts he can keep her safe as he once promised her. There’s not a single part of him that trusted himself to be able to do as much, but it would kill him if she doubted him too.

Resting her forehead on his, Y/N lets out a soft exhale, her hands sliding lower until her fingertips rest on his jawline.

“Yours,” he murmurs. “Always have been, always will be.”

“Thank you,” Y/N’s voice is weak, as if her soul trembles for reassurance Paul was certain he’s diligently given time and time again. But if she needs to hear it more often, he’ll give it to her.

“Don’t thank me. Why are you thanking me?”

“For not regretting having me as an imprint.”

“I could never regret you,” Paul takes her face in his hands. Can’t she see she’s his entire world? “Look at me,” Paul orders but she squeezes her eyes shut. “Hey, hey,” he says firmly. “Look at me.”

Reluctantly, she does as told. Her lips part slightly in anticipation.

“Every day I get to spend with you is another day I cherish life, love, and destiny. I didn’t believe in that shit!” Chuckling, Paul shakes his head. “Don’t you see? You made me believe in love and destiny and actually speak that into existence! There’s no one else on this planet that I would let hear me being this sappy.”

“It is a little sappy,” she jokes and he chuckles heartily.

“Well, you’re gonna pay for that.”

Raising her eyebrows, she smirks. “And how exactly are you going to make me?”

Pursing his lips, Paul pulls up his legs, his knees coming up right from behind her back enough to push her firmly into his chest.

“Crushing me? That’s your perfect plan?”

Giving her thighs a squeeze, he nods. “In a way.”

Before she had a moment to think, Y/N yelps as she lands on the soft mattress, Paul on top of her. His body weight presses her into the bed, genuinely crushing her to death. So why does it feel so good? Her nightgown moved aside, revealing a part of her right breast and Paul’s licking his lips as he cracked a smile unable to keep his eyes from wandering lower to her chest. He wants nothing more than to possess Y/N again, to feel her writhe beneath him as she comes undone. Lost in his soul’s desire, his mouth comes down hard on hers, claiming them, nearly bruising them. Restraint crumbles beneath the weight of pent-up longing, and his lips mold to hers with an urgency that borders on primal. The kiss, though almost brutal in its intensity, is an act of reclamation, a fervent assertion of belonging.

He loses himself in the warmth of her breath, in the softness of her lips yielding beneath the onslaught of his need. The world outside this stolen embrace ceases to exist. His hands find refuge in the tousled strands of her hair, fingers tangling and releasing in a rhythm dictated by their synchronized heartbeats.

An inkling of common sense washes over him, pushing himself off her instantly. Laying on his back, beside Y/N, Paul covers his face. He allowed himself to lose control long enough to forget about her boundaries, about her wishes. It was a game that turned into so much more far too quickly and he lost himself long enough to act like a predator catching up with the prey.

“I’m sorry,” he swallows thickly, unable to look at her as a cold wave of regret washes up at the shores of his conscience. What started as a game, a dance on the precipice of shared longing he’s allowed to spiral into something he never intended. In this vulnerable moment, Paul grapples not only with the awful breach of invisible boundaries he feels were drawn since their almost wedding, but with the fear of disappointing her, of shattering the trust carefully woven between them.

Y/N doesn’t respond, but the weight on the mattress shifts and then it’s on top of him. Looking at her through his fingers, Paul can’t believe the sight. She’s entirely bare before him, her breasts on display, and her hands are pulling down his boxers faster than he can comprehend.

“What are you doing?” Paul’s voice is laced with curiosity and caution.

“What you’re scared of doing,” she remarks. Her movements are deliberate, determined to bridge the emotional chasm she feels separated them as they finally made some progress.

Grabbing her hands tightly, he sits up with a frown etched upon his forehead. “Stop that and talk to me.” His words sound like a tender echo in the room.

Chuckling dryly, she shakes her head. She meets his gaze unclouded by shame or disappointment. Instead, it holds a quiet reassurance. “That’s the point, Paul. I don’t want to talk, or think, I just want you.” His face is set in a firm, serious expression as she rolls her eyes at him. “I want you inside of me;” she clarifies, as her hands reach for his, intertwining in a gentle grasp.

“If that’s what you want,” he nods.

“Do you?”

“More than you could ever know.”

She pulls him to her, seeking his mouth. He laughs at her grasping hands, teasing her, but there’s no ridicule in his chocolate eyes. There’s only the wish to prolong their pleasure. A sparkle comes alive in her eyes, and Paul knows she will have the last laugh. Her hands move downward. When she finds what she wants, there is no more laughter in his eyes. They are black with passion as he pushes her down beside him.

It isn’t long before their pleasure reaches its high and they’re both released from their sweet torment. Y/N feels drained, her bones weak as Paul moves partially aside, though his leg is still across her calf, his arm across her breasts.

“That was -” Paul begins.

“Long overdue,” she exclaims. “I don’t think we’ve ever done it this quickly!”

“As long as we both finish,” he notes happily.

“How are you so sure I did?”

Paul smirks. “Oh, I know.”

Brushing his hair back, she sighs. “I love you.”

“Even with the beard?”

Giggling, she nods. “Even with the beard!”

“Good, good. Guess I’m going to throw away the shaving cream I bought this morning.”

Pecking his shoulder, Y/N places a hand over Paul’s chest. “Definitely. You’re not shaving until we see how well that beard works for me in other places when we take things more slowly next time.”

His chest quakes under her fingertips as his laughter fills the room. The birthday dinner can certainly wait until morning because there’s nothing in this world worth endangering the sweetness of this moment.

The problem is, the sweetness of that moment repeated often throughout the morning and then it lasted the entire day. Like catching up on lost time, Y/N and Paul spent the next day wrapped up in each other until they physically couldn’t move anymore.

“I’m pretty sure they’ll send out a search party for us,” Y/N snickers as Paul swipes away all the unread messages on his screen.

“If it was urgent, someone would be at the door by now.” Burying his head in her neck, Paul inhales her deeply only to realize she almost entirely smells like him. Playfully biting at her soft skin right above the collarbone, he licks the teeth marks left behind.

“I’m not even gonna say anything,” she snorts before checking her phone as well. “Well, they’re definitely relentless.”

“Mhmm,” Paul murmurs between feather-light kisses he’s leaving across her chest.

“What dinner are they talking about in the group chat?”

Pausing, Paul looks at her through his lashes. “Fuck. I forgot.”

“Well, now that you remember, fill me in.”

“They want a dinner party for your birthday. I promised them I’d ask you, but then –“

“I screwed your brains out?”

“Something like that,” he grins, “wait, that’s exactly what you did.”

Running her fingers through his hair, she sighs contently. “I think I’d be up for a dinner. Nothing glamorous, no gifts necessary. Just a dinner with friends.”

“I don’t think gifts are optional.”

Chewing on her bottom lip, she inhales deeply. “Fine. Fine. I can handle some gifts. Just promise me you’ll get me out of there if my social battery runs out.”

Pressing his lips in a thin line, Paul furrows his eyebrows.

“We’re hosting it, aren’t we?” She grimaces with realization.

“I think so.”

Staring at the ceiling, her fingers coil around the ends of Paul’s dark hair. “Tell them it’s a go, but you definitely owe me five more orgasms to be okay with hosting.”

Chuckling, he pecks her chin. “It will be my pleasure.”

When the day came, Y/N found herself overwhelmed by noon. She sent Paul to the store at least five times, constantly finding something new she could make for the pack on her phone to the point he confiscated it.

“Maybe I can make the mac n’cheese?” Paul suggests.

Pausing, with her hand on her hip, Y/N snorts. “Sure. We have time for the fire department to show up for dinner too. Might have to make a little extra. Would be rude not to invite them for dinner when they’re already going to be here.”

Folding his arms across his chest, Paul says nothing as he gives her a pointed look. She looks surprisingly put together considering she spent the day cooking. Most times he’d let the comment made go, but this time he was waiting for an apology, one he hoped she’d realize he’s owed.

Tossing the oven mitts on the table, she sighs. “Pasta isn’t your dish, babe. I love you and your cooking, so if you wanna help, pasta is not on the menu. Butttt a potato salad is and I’d really appreciate it if you made it the same way you did last month because I craved it for a week.”

Huffing, he nods. They had ONE incident with pasta and it’s only because he forgot to put the water in the pot before he lost control and shifted. The look on her face when she realized he was a wolf while smoke was bellowing from the kitchen window had him staying away from the kitchen for months on end.

“Sure,” he releases a tired sigh. Instead of turning it into an argument, Paul decided to just keep quiet. This dinner clearly triggered her in a somewhat different way; where he expected depression and doing it all himself with Emily’s tips and tricks, he received an overly anxious perfectionist who was driving him insane. But it’s her birthday…the first one since she lost her dad. It doesn’t matter how old you are when you lose a parent, especially when it’s the last parent you had, there will be a sadness that clings to your heart for a long time after. He remembers losing his mom, and later his dad, and he wasn’t prepared for either death. To this day, Paul wishes he had more time to spend with them, to ask them why.

Why didn’t his mother tell him she was dying of cancer when she decided to send Paul to live with his father? He could have been there with her in the last months of her life, to have used the time she had left better. That’s a luxury they stole from him…the luxury he didn’t have with his dad at all. The only comfort he has is how quick his father’s death was compared to his mother's. Sudden cardiac death takes moments, not excruciatingly painful months as metastatic breast cancer does.

So, yes. Paul has more understanding than Y/N thinks. The first birthday isn’t easy, especially for someone who has a close relationship with their parent. She hasn’t taken a proper breath the whole day, wasting away precious moments they could have spent together.

When he woke up, Paul found their bed empty. He cannot even try to guess how long she’s been up cooking and cleaning, all of the things he planned to do. He wanted to cook for her, for them all. Paul wanted to make this day as easy as possible for her, but he should have known better. Y/N does everything well, but relaxing is not her strongest suit.

“Jacob said he’s bringing a cake,” Y/N breaks the silence. “Apparently, Alice had seen it in her vision and bought it.”

“That’s nice of her.”

“Yeah,” she turns to face him. “Is it weird we didn’t invite the Cullens? I kind of feel bad for excluding them.”

Licking his lips, Paul shakes his head. “We’re all perfectly happy to be on friendly terms, but I wouldn’t put a family of vampires in the same room with shapeshifters who’re struggling with old urges right now. You did well.”

“Is it really that bad?” Y/N places the spoon on the counter, approaching Paul with genuine worry reflecting in her eyes. “Are you struggling?”

“Every day,” he admits with a tightlipped smile.

“You never told me,” she realizes. “I really need to do better.”

“It’s fine.”

“I wish it was,” she frowns. “What else do you struggle with?”

Glancing at her, he shrugs meekly. “I don’t think we should be having this conversation now.”

“Why?” Swallowing thickly, Y/N leans on her forearms. When Paul remains silent, she bows her head low. “I’m just gonna ask then. Are you still having those nightmares?”

Noticing his hand stop stirring, Y/N’s eyes widen. Paul’s jaw clenches and her lips part. They’re not out of the woods yet. She’s still marked for death. If anything, her father delayed her death for a little while. There’s not a single part of her that doubts she was the intended victim, but her father managed to protect her the only way he could – by sacrificing his own life.

Flashes of his ripped-open throat have her grabbing onto her stomach as nausea forces bile up her throat. Unable to run to the bathroom, it spills past her mouth into the sink and before she has a chance to take her next breath, Paul’s warm hand is splayed between her shoulder blades and the other is holding her hair back.

“Ugh,” she groans. “Throwing up in the sink is so fucked up,” she tries to laugh only to gag as she senses the smell of stomach acid. Paul lets the water run, running a wet hand across her face and neck. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. I throw up thinking about it too.”

Looking up at him, she leans into his chest. “You could have said something.”

“Your dad was killed. It’s not a burden I was looking to share when you were already struggling.”

Inhaling sharply, she wraps her arms around him. “I’m strong enough,” she states. “I promise you can stop treating me like I’ll break if we argue or you have something on your mind. I don’t care how bad it is, I’m here for you.”

“Talking about your death isn’t something I like to do,” Paul pulls back lightly, his scowl playing with her heartstrings. He’s been so strong, but when will he let down his armor again? It can’t be good for him to bottle all this up.

“Let’s go for a walk.”

“We’re having people over in two hours,” Paul reminds her.

“And we have made like five dishes already. We can order pizza if they eat everything prepared.”

Paul smiles seeing her relax for the first time that day. This is the Y/N he’s been missing. “The beach?”

“Of course!”

As the sun begins its descent beyond the horizon, casting hues of orange and pink across the sky, they walk along the shoreline, entwined hands swaying gently like the rhythm of the waves as the ocean breeze plays with their hair. Little is said about the darkness they need to share, deciding to table it for another day. This is meant to be a moment for just the two of them – the couple who fell in love against all odds and chose to love each other every day continuously.

“It’s weird how this was meant to be the place we say our vows in,” she muses.

Pulling her closer, Paul closes his eyes. “Would have been beautiful,” the ache of unrealized dreams carries in his voice.

“I was so ready to call you my husband,” she confesses with a teasing smirk, a glimmer of playful light in her eyes.

Biting his lower lip, his eyes reopen, finding solace in the depth of hers. “I was already calling you my wife that day. It felt right.”

Staring at each other as the sun goes down, they smile longingly as if each glance is a rediscovery of love after the tragedy that stained their happiness.

“Let’s get married,” Y/N declares.

“I’d love to,” Paul places his hands on her hips, lightly pulling her in front of him.

“No, I mean would you like to marry me tonight?”

Caught off guard, Paul coughs as he nearly chokes on his saliva. He grabs her shoulders for support before cupping her cheeks, bending his neck to meet her eyes with furrowed brows. “Are you fucking with me?”

“I’m serious! We can have Sam marry us and then just file the paperwork tomorrow. I mean we have the marriage license; it’s not rocket science.”

Paul, running his tongue across his lips, takes a few bewildered steps to the left. Shaking his head in disbelief, he glances at her repeatedly, searching for any sign of it being a joke. But this isn’t a joke, this is real.

“Okay,” he finally utters, the shock evident in his nod.

“Okay?” Sparked by Paul’s unexpected agreement, a giggle bubbles forth from her, carrying genuine happiness. It’s infectious, dancing through the air, infusing the moment with warmth Paul is certain will linger in his memories.

“Yeah! Let’s get married tonight!”

A/N: Unfortunately Tumblr had been making me suffer regarding the tagging, and text limits. I am also aware it has been a while since I updated, so hope this was good enough of an apology.

PART 33

[anincompletelist]

feb + march recs <3

[other rec links below the cut!]

y'all know the drill! as always, please remember to leave kudos and a comment if you enjoyed the fic or show support in other ways, and be kind! mind the tags and if you come across something you dislike, please kindly (and quietly) move on.

I had quite a few recs to catch up on - and am STILL catching up on - as I have been MIA with physical/mental health shenanigans as of late (so please excuse the fact that these are a bit angsty skjdhkjhd). thank you as always to these authors and their beautiful words for being a comfort! I love having a full 'to-read' list! :D

see you again soon, and happy reading! <3

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At the NYE Gala, Henry starts feeling the hazy edges of anxiety and an uncomfortable tightness in his chest. It takes him longer than it should to take notice of the feeling, and even longer to realise that the cause is likely the binder he’s been wearing all day. He escapes the party, Alex gets him upstairs to his room to change, and the rest of the night goes far differently than Henry could have expected.

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“I've, actually, uh. I've never done this before.” At this, Henry stops short, takes a second as his gaze moves up and to the left, trying to recall something. “I've seen your films. You most certainly have done intimate scenes.” Alex clears his throat. He hopes his nerves aren't completely obvious, the slight waver in his voice about to give him away. “Yeah, well. Never with a man, so. Not at this scale, anyway.” “Would it help to, er, practice?" Henry winces a little as he says it, which does not inspire confidence. But Alex is shocked nonetheless. What the fuck?

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5 times Henry is too scared to come out to Alex and 1 time Alex gives him the courage. Or, 6 times Alex slowly falls in love with Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, for exactly who he is.

*I HIGHLY recommend this entire series! check it out here!

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Silence & Sound | @nocoastposts | E | 2k

Alex tugs at his hair and tries to focus on choosing his next words. He knows that Henry will help him - that he wants to help him. He knows that all he has to do is say the word. Henry stands and steps closer, holding Alex’s chin firmly and tilting his head up so their eyes are forced to meet. “You need me to clear that lovely head of yours, hm?” “Please,” Alex says in barely a whisper. or: Henry helps Alex fill the silence before indulging in the sound.

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I love you (ain't that the worst thing you've ever heard) | coffeecatsme | E | 20k

Henry doesn’t doubt that, just as much as he doesn’t doubt now that Alex won’t have a single issue with him being trans. In another life, when Henry whispered it in the quiet hours of the night, he didn’t. In another life, when he kissed Henry anyway, he didn’t. In another life. In this one, when Alex meets his eyes, all there is left behind them is a cold glare that freezes Henry to his soul. One year ago, Henry had a whirlwind of a day with Alex after a chance meeting in a coffee shop, only to leave in the morning to protect his heart. He doesn't expect to see Alex again, until he shows up at June's wedding and finds out her brother is the same Alex he hasn't been able to get out of his mind for a year - and he's pissed.

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“Whose turn was it?” Henry asks while Alex is busy pondering the merits of throwing himself out their fifth-story window and hoping his boner doesn’t take anyone’s eye out on his way down. “Forgive me, but I am a bit tired. Do you think you could take it?” There’s no way that Henry’s not doing this on purpose. He makes words mean things when put in a certain order for a living, for fucks sake. Alex almost quips back depends on how big it is just to see how—or if—Henry would react. “Yeah, um, no problem.” There. Much more normal. He could steal Henry’s job at this rate. “Truth or dare?” [Or, Alex’s world gets flipped on its axis during a game of truth or dare]

At the end of a bar | @hgejfmw-hgejhsf | E | 9k+

Alex has a supremely shitty day at work and finds himself wandering into a bar where a mystery man catches his attention.

What do you have against color? | jumpsuit | E | 11k

Upon opening the hardcover of a found sketchbook to locate the owner's contact details, Alex discovers only this inscription: In case of loss, please return to: Instagram @henryfox.usk He, of fucking course, knows who Henry Fox is. That striking yet humorless, rude, and self-righteous British prick he met on the first day of the symposium. [Or, an AU where Alex and Henry are urban sketchers. A short story of how they get to know each other, fall in love and in bed within one day.]

Sunless Dusting Libraries | @itsmaybitheway | T+ | 7k

Henry should leave, he should wait until everyone is asleep and then silently leave, without a trace. As if he never existed in Alex's life, as if he never touched Alex's body, as if he never wanted only exist in his heart and mind. Because that is what Alex deserves. Alex deserves someone who can love him out and proud, someone who is not shamed for his existence, someone as bright as him, not the pale starlight gleam Henry is. But lying there on the pile of mattresses they piled together and called a bed- Henry can not even find it in himself to breathe, let alone get up and go. Betrayed by his own existence, once again. [or: what-If taken by a depressive episode, Henry can not leave the lake house?]

each time we touch / I wanna take too much | firenati0n | M | 1k

Alex keeps his head angled away from the couch, leaning his back against the base for support as he pretends to be engrossed in conversation with Pez on the floor; pretends not to shamelessly eavesdrop on Henry's conversation with some girl on the opposite end of the couch, a classmate in Henry's course on human sexuality and expression. He digs his fingers into the frayed edges of the shaggy rug, feeling the soft strands slip through his hands as he keeps his eyes on Pez. Keeps his ears on Henry, who's sitting behind him, his knee occasionally nudging Alex's back as he talks animatedly, his whole body moving as he gestures; all languid limbs, lithe body, loose lips, lazy smiles.

to repair a hollowed heart | coffeecatsme | E | 28k

Alexander Claremont-Diaz, the young ruler of the Underworld, the presider of souls that have passed away, has been banned from Olympus his entire life, on account of bringing death and destruction wherever he goes. His seat in the highest council of gods has been left permanently empty until someone sees all that he is and still falls in love with the man behind. It's been twenty centuries since the curse has been put upon him, and Alex has long since given up on finding the right person. [Or, a Hades and Persephone AU no one asked for]

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back with more soon! see my other recs below:

vol i

vol ii

vol iii

vol iv

vol v

emotional hurt/comfort

kid fics

tag for all recs

xx

[hes-sunshine-im-midnight-rain]

WHB boys as Taylor Swift songs

Kings

Satan

Better Than Revenge

Vigilante Shit

Blank Space

Mammon

Enchanted

Bejeweled

Gold Rush

Paris

Beelzebub

Shake It Off

I Can See You

I Forgot That You Existed

Wildest Dreams

champagne problems

Leviathan

Would've Could've Should've

Look What You Made Me Do

ME!

You're On Your Own Kid

Who's Afraid of Little Old Me?

Lucifer

State of Grace

The Archer

False God

Anti-Hero

Castles Crumbling

White Horse

Don't Blame Me

my tears ricochet

exile

mirrorball

Guilty as Sin?

Other guys

Paimon: "Style"

Leraye: "Electric Touch"

Valefor: "Fearless", "Enchanted"

Bael: "This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things", "All You Had To Do Was Stay"

Minhyeok: "You Belong With Me, "Speak Now", "New Year's Day"

Gamigin: "Superman"

Barbatos: "Cruel Summer"

Michael: "Say Don't Go", "Holy Ground", "Sad Beautiful Tragic", "I Bet You Think About Me", "no body no crime"

[dotieeee]

A Small Act of Kindness

A DARK one-shot

Pairing: Dark!Morpheus x you, afab reader

Warnings: dark!Morpheus, obsessive behaviour, dark!Dream won't take 'no' for an answer, disturbing themes like kidnapping, imprisonment, isolation, etc, 18+ only!!

Inspired by this ask for @roguelov See: https://www.tumblr.com/roguelov/721739134130143232/this-isnt-smut-but-dream-has-strong-miette?source=share

Summary: You were at the cusp of making a life for yourself when you bought a loaf of bread for a stranger, who seemed a little bit too taken with such a nice gesture.

When you were a kid, everybody around you seemed to think you got a great life ahead of you. You kept hearing them comment how bright you were, how talented, how lucky your parents were to have such a behaved, wonderful child - and for a time, it got to your head.

Until life proved you weren't really any of those things.

It started creeping in when you went away to college. You had a taste of freedom, of zero expectations, and a glimpse of a world suddenly leagues beyond yourself. It was one class at first, then another, until you started dropping out of every class and left college altogether.

Many therapy sessions, and a couple of therapists later, you found out what it was called: burnout. It just so happened it plagued you a little early in life.

In retrospect, perhaps you could've tried harder - if you had just snoozed your alarm off a little less; if you had just grit your teeth and stomached your way through a few more algebra periods instead of sitting alone in that little corner of the library, reading whatever, hidden from a world you barely knew - perhaps it all would've been different.

Perhaps, you wouldn't be stuck in this small, glass cage floating in a vast chasm, in a place you hadn't thought existed even in your wildest dreams.

It was a day like any other, you supposed: the day you met him. You had to go to work, to a desk job that you actually liked, writing for a local food magazine. You were quite good at it too - it's a skill you had when you were quite young and had not had a chance to cultivate until late. Sure, you were barely making ends meet and had very little time to spare, what with taking a certificate course at a nearby university and recently moving out of your parents' house to rent your own little apartment, but you were feeling optimistic for the first time in a long while. Your boss just let it slip the other day that you were due for a well-deserved promotion soon. It was a slow process, but you were finally on your way to getting your life back together. You had a future you looked forward to.

Having already established your morning routine, you were on your way early to the office and decided to stop for coffee at this corner bakeshop you had once featured in one of your articles. The smell of freshly baked bread distracted you from a mental draft you were making for an article due tonight, so on impulse, you asked the cashier for a plain butter croissant at the counter. You looked to your right where the pastries were to see whether you wanted something else (the danishes looked scrumptious). You opened your mouth to ask the other lady behind the bread counter for a cherry danish, but her attention was already on the man beside you, clad in a thick, woollen black coat, collar upturned, his chiselled jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly at the question the lady posed for him.

"Uh, sir? I asked what you'd like to have?"

He tilted his head imperceptibly and for a moment, you thought he couldn't speak, until he opened those pursed lips, and finally, came out the most velvety, alluring voice you've ever heard: "I'd like some bread, please."

"Well, we've got quite a lot of them," the lady replied slowly as if she was trying her best not to be snarky at the stranger. "Might I recommend the baguette? It's fresh out of the oven."

The man nodded curtly as the lady picked the steaming bread from the basket display using a pair of tongs and placed it inside a brown paper bag.

"That'll be one twenty-five, sir."

The man made no move to shuffle in his pockets for money. In fact, he stayed still, stiff as a board, staring at the lady behind the counter who was getting rather irritated at his dawdling, probably keeping her from attending to the growing line of other customers waiting to get their breakfast. Perhaps, he didn't have money? Perhaps, just like your first few weeks out of your parents' house, he was struggling and he had no one else to depend on?

"I-I'll pay for it."

You didn't know what it really was that compelled you to say it - maybe it was that draft you were itching to get to, maybe you found empathy in his situation, whatever it was - at that time, you had no regrets. Seemingly surprised by the gesture, the man in the black coat, with his dishevelled hair and his pale countenance, stared at you intensely through those long eyelashes of his, and for a few moments, you held his gaze.

His eyes. They were a nice shade of ocean blue. They were the most beautiful pair of eyes you had ever seen.

You would later discover they could bleed to depthless black - ruthless, vindictive, inhuman.

The cashier handed you your change and your croissant, effectively breaking the spell the stranger beside you had on you. The cherry danish all but ignored, you flashed the man a small smile and headed out of the bakeshop, going about your merry way to the office with nothing but that article in mind.

And for the next two weeks, you had already put the rather bizarre incident (man) behind you, having been assigned to another place to visit and write about.

The man, however, never forgot.

The place you had been assigned to, called the New Inn, actually belonged to a professor in your university. You've had quite a lot of fun in his classes, so this was a gig you were pretty excited about.

It was a little over five in the afternoon when you stepped inside Professor Gadling's pub. He was already there in the corner booth, grading several essays. He put them aside as you arrived and asked a waiter to bring you both coffee. You were in the process of bringing out your digital recorder for the interview when you heard a voice so familiar it sent shivers down your spine.

"Hob."

Completely taken by surprise, you dropped the recorder to the floor, and it landed just a few inches from a pair of black boots. You tried to reach for it, but a pale, bony hand picked it up and wordlessly handed it to you. You looked up, only to get lost in a pair of ocean-blue eyes focused entirely on you.

It was the stranger from the bakeshop.

You took the recorder, muttering a flustered 'thank you,' before Professor Gadling greeted him like an old friend. He then introduced you to the stranger, who oddly enough just stared at you the entire time.

"She's interviewing me for the pub. I'll be featured in a magazine, can you believe it?" Professor Gadling said to the stranger who stepped inside the booth, intending to take the empty seat directly across from you. Turning to you, he stated, "This is my friend -"

"You may call me Morpheus." The man interrupted, a ghost of a smile visible on his usually blank features. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you."

It was unnerving the way he held your gaze without blinking, but perhaps it was just your imagination - after all, you hadn't had anything to eat since that leftover Chinese noodles this morning.

“Pleasure’s all mine,” was all you could come up with.

You were grateful when the waiter arrived with two cups of coffee and a dessert platter, and the interview with the professor went well and without interruptions. You both had so much fun, you ended up having dinner and drinks at the pub, and while it struck you odd that your third, silent companion did not partake in any single morsel of the food, by the time the evening ended at half-past ten, you had enough material for your article and were in great spirits. You thanked him for being such a gracious host and politely bid your farewell, as you were anxious to get a headstart on the draft.

The three of you simultaneously got to your feet - Professor Gadling to walk you outside, and the odd man named Morpheus trailing behind.

"Do come by again, my dear, and good luck with the article. I know you'd do a fantastic job." The professor said as he waved farewell outside the pub. He turned to Morpheus, who stood just a few feet away, watching the interaction, and gestured to him inside - presumably for them to continue their conversation - but as soon as you waved goodbye, he made a beeline for you, stopping just a few inches away and towering over you.

Too close, you thought. Wait, were his eyes twinkling? It must’ve been the streetlamp, the lights outside were pretty dim.

"I would like to accompany you on your walk home."

His words threw you off because they were so unexpected. He had no reason to do so, after all. Shyly, you beamed at him and replied, "I'd appreciate it, Morpheus, but I wouldn't like to impose...weren't you meeting with the professor?"

Professor Gadling, who apparently was in earshot of your conversation, waved you away.

"No, it's fine, dear. Besides, a young lady such as yourself shouldn't be walking alone at night. I'll see you some other time, my friend," he added, winking at Morpheus, who just tilted his chin in reply.

The professor had a point. You lived nearby, that was true, but the streets weren't safe on a Friday night, especially at this hour. You chewed on the insides of your cheek, nervous at the fact that you have not had anyone walk you home in a long while.

It's just a walk home. It couldn't be that bad, could it?

"Okay."

You would come to regret your response.

***

Inwardly, Morpheus rejoiced at the thought of you lowering your guard with him. He motioned with a hand to let you lead the way, not that he needed it - in two weeks after your fateful encounter at the bakeshop he had gotten to know every little detail he needed to know about you, including where you lived, of course. He had seen the little apartment himself when you were out at work, and while it irked him that you had to live in such a humble abode, he knew through your dreams that you had filled the apartment with love and considered it your sanctuary. It wouldn't matter once he took you home to his kingdom as his lover - for you, he'd craft an entire palace carved in precious stones in the blink of an eye, and it would be your sanctuary, just as much as this tiny home.

He did a fine job, too, of luring you into the place his centuries-old friend now owned. It took him only one dream, planted during your boss’s deepest slumber, for you to get sent right where Morpheus wanted you to be. All this planning and you were right there, with him, just as the fates would have it.

He had to ask you tonight. He has waited long enough.

***

You were just a few blocks away from your apartment building when you finally gained the courage to break the awkward silence between you two.

"Thank you for walking me home," you said quietly as you eyed him sideways. Your eyes widened at the sight that greeted you: he had a genuine, warm smile on his face you'd never seen on him before, and if his demeanour is anything to go by, you knew this was a rarity.

He looked like a prince, even with his hair sticking out in all directions.

"It is I who should be thanking you for your kindness to me at that establishment," he spoke with conviction. "I have not forgotten."

Surprised, but overall glad that he remembered, you matched his expression as best you can and replied, "You're welcome."

Nothing was ever exchanged until you reached your apartment door, but he seemed to draw closer to you, your shoulders almost touching.

Your hand was already at the keys to the doorknob when you asked him if he wanted to come in.

"For tea, perhaps?" You added. "I couldn't help but notice you didn’t eat at dinner, so…”

It was a last-minute decision, seeing as he was kind enough to ensure you got home safely. He could do with a few biscuits, too, in your opinion, judging by his pallor and his refusal to eat anything at the pub.

There it was again - that captivating smile, but behind it, you see a flash of something else entirely. It was gone even before you could fully take it in, so you shrugged inwardly. The hallway’s lighting has always been too dark to see a damn thing.

“You need not concern yourself over me, I am much stronger than I look,” he said in a light, teasing tone. “However, your effort would be appreciated.”

“Oh, it’s no problem!” You waved him off and pushed the door open to your home. “I just hope you don’t mind tea without milk, I haven’t done any grocery shopping yet…”

Morpheus followed you inside, closing the door behind him, as you went off to your room to drop your bag on the bed and set up your laptop on your work desk. As soon as you got out of your room, you found him with his back to you, rummaging through the copies of the magazine you wrote for.

“Nothing interesting in those, I’m afraid. Still, not bad for a would-be writer, don’t you think?”

Chuckling to yourself, you made your way to the tiny kitchen to put the electric kettle to boil, then rummaged through the cupboards for a mug you were saving for when you had guests over. Not that you’ve ever had any - so far, he was the first you’ve had since you moved in.

“‘A would-be writer?’”

The proximity of his voice startled you, seeing as you thought he had still been reading back in the living room. It’s admittedly only a few steps away, but you hadn’t heard him approach. He was at the kitchen doorway, casting a long shadow in the dimly lit space. You had forgotten to turn the lights on, but it didn’t seem to bother him.

“You give yourself very little credit for such riveting work,” he said as he closed the distance between you. The kettle had just turned off by itself, so you concentrated on pouring the boiling water on the mug and dropping a Ceylon tea bag inside. Leaning on the tiled counter, you watched the tea leaves bleed into the water, turning it to a lovely amber colour.

“I don’t know about that -”

Your sentence was cut short as you felt his fingertips subtly stroke your elbow, giving you goosebumps all over your arm.

He’d gotten so close…

Scooping up the mug with both hands, you turn around to hand him the mug, only to find yourself inches away from him you almost spill the hot liquid on his woollen coat.

“Your writing has soul. I should know: I have read every word you have ever written.”

Blinking up at him, you saw him dip his head closer to yours as his pale, warm hands enclosed around yours, still holding the tea.

You were trembling, it seemed, but he stilled it.

“Th-thank you," you whispered, unable to avert your gaze from those piercing blue eyes that seemed to pin you to place, as was his tall, imposing form enclosing you between him and the kitchen counter. He was so close you could feel the heat emanating from him. "That means so much to me.”

Or was it the heat from your cheeks you felt?

Seemingly oblivious to your increasingly flustered state, Morpheus made a deliberate move to extricate the cup of tea from your grasp so he could set it back down behind you (it was probably already over-brewed, you thought), while you try to compose yourself and ignore his fingers softly grazing your knuckles. You didn't have much time, however, because the next thing you knew was those same hands cupping your cheeks and his soft lips brushing over yours in a chaste kiss that stole your breath completely.

You felt him release his hold on you, perhaps to observe your reaction. Perhaps, you could’ve pushed him away right there and then; screamed at him for touching you and thrown him out of your home; but you couldn’t summon your limbs to respond. He took your momentary lapse of judgement to crash his lips on yours once more - it was a more heated, more insistent kiss, and as if to seal you to him, his hands travelled to your back to encase you in an embrace and pushed you further into the counter.

This was wrong.

It was all your instincts could tell you. So you heeded them and pushed against the lapel of his coat with all your strength. It was like pushing against a wall, but you managed to wriggle free from his grasp, so you made an effort to put as much distance between you and him as your tiny kitchen would allow. You glanced immediately at his face to gauge his expression, and to your utter shock, his eyes had gone entirely black. One blink, and it was blue once more, maybe even a tad regretful.

It’s the lighting in this damn kitchen, you assured yourself.

“I understand I may have been too forward,” he began, “But I assure you, my intentions are pure. I have waited for this since our fateful meeting.” He took slow steps towards you, and unconsciously you backed away until your back hit the fridge. There was nowhere else to back into. He halted as soon as he sensed your guard up.

“Morpheus, it was just a loaf of bread, really…”

Morpheus’s eyes softened visibly at your words and simply continued, “And by that selfless act, you have saved me in more ways than you could ever understand. I have held you in my heart since, my precious little saviour.”

“I-I'm sure it's nothing...” you stammered.

“Allow me the honour of courting you, and in turn, you shall know of my gratitude, and my love, until the end of my days.”

Your heart sank at his declaration. Somehow, you knew in your heart he meant every word he said. You couldn’t have this, not when everything in your life was just starting to fall into place. You put on the kindest smile you could muster and spoke slowly as you chose the right words, hoping he wouldn’t be too downcast with what you were about to say to him.

“I'm sure you're a wonderful man, Morpheus. I just…I don't think I can make that commitment right now. I mean, I just met you, and all I know about you is that you’re Professor Gadling’s friend.”

“That can be rectified.”

You let out a sigh. This was going to be difficult, but you really didn’t like the idea of egging him on. “I know that, but…I don’t think I have time for that, you know?”

“How so?” he asked in a low voice, tilting his head slightly.

“It's been a struggle just to get to where I am today… I have my work, which I love, and for the first time in my life, I feel like I'm doing something right and…one wrong move could make me lose my footing. I’m sorry.”

Morpheus seemed unconvinced, taking a few steps forward to close that gap between you. “You need not worry yourself over such trivial matters. I know what you dream of. I can give you the recognition you deserve, the stability you crave and more… Come with me and I can show you.”

He offered an outstretched hand, urging you to take it. But if you were being honest, you just wanted to crawl into bed, the draft be damned. Exhaustion was starting to creep up on you.

“‘Come with you…?’ I'm sorry, please don't take this the wrong way, I'm sure you mean well…but-but-th-this isn't really a good time for this…” you stammered as you crossed your arms to make a point, which you hoped he’d finally take. “I think I'd like to be alone now, please. I-I have that…thing I want to finish, and it's getting late…I’m sorry, Morpheus. I really am.”

Morpheus’s hand lowered steadily, but all the softness he had in his expression was gone without a trace, replaced with cold, hard eyes and furrowed brows. The warmth you have loved your apartment for all but disappeared, replaced with a clammy air that seemed to come from…from him.

“You have no idea what you've just turned away…nor who I am, and what I can do,” came Morpheus’s voice, lowered to an unrecognisable timbre. “I will give you this final chance to amend your answer, my little saviour.”

“E-excuse me?�� you said, fighting the urge to run away from him and hide. This was your home, you had no reason to. Who the hell was he to threaten you in your own home? “I'd like you to leave, please, or I'm calling the police…”

He was only a few feet away from you now, and the wind somehow grew stronger, you could feel its rough caress on your skin.

Sand.

The light in your kitchen turned on without a warning, and your eyes widened at the sight of the man you had so carelessly allowed into your home:

A dangerous man - now a being transforming right before you - with chilling black eyes, a heavy flurry of sand circling him, and waves of black smoke emanating from his growing form…

Paralyzed in utter fear, your heart pounding in your ears, all you could do was hold on to the fridge as you watched him approach your cowering form on the floor. Gone was that princely face you shared a gentle kiss with, replaced by a bony, skeletal mask with hollow cheekbones, his mouth contorted in a snarl that revealed razor-sharp fangs.

His voice echoed as he spoke, raspy and deafening:

“I am quite disappointed in you, my precious saviour. No matter: I am not unmerciful.” A pale hand, now with blackened, sharpened nails, made an appearance before you. “Take my hand, my beloved, and I shall forgive your error.”

In your terrified state, all you could muster was an adamant shake of your head.

This can’t be real. It couldn’t be.

“I’m dreaming, I'm-I’m dreaming this, this can’t be real, you’re no-not real…” hunched on the floor, hugging your legs, you muttered to yourself.

“Very well,” he thundered. “You have made your choice. ”

You would later discover just how real dreams could be, and that they weren’t that much different from the nightmares.

***

Morpheus released a small sigh as he watched you in your spherical compartment, deep in troubled slumber. He had not meant to frighten you that much with his nightmarish form. Admittedly, he could’ve done a much better job with reeling himself in, but the pain of your rejection felt to him like a thousand daggers being plunged into his heart. All he wanted was for you to be happy with him. He could’ve given you everything he had seen you dream of - he still could, but not before he heard from your sweet lips an admittance of your guilt, and a vow never to spurn him again. 

He held the tiny sphere that contained your form in his palm and drew it closer to his face to get a better look at you. He had fashioned you a dress that brought out the colour of your eyes and soul: you looked ravishing, even in imprisonment. In his mind, he had played the memory of the kiss you had shared with him in your home a thousand times over. You were intoxicating, and the thought of kissing you again and finally marking your skin cemented his decision of keeping you in this space he crafted in his kingdom. You needed time to consider his proposal, that was to be expected. He would allow you the time you needed. All he had to do was assure you of your safety and well-being, seeing as scaring you even further might prolong his wait.

He knew you would wake soon, and he would explain his actions when you do. You would have no reason to refuse him, then.

***

You woke with a start, rubbing the sleep off your eyes, just to sit up and think.

You had lost count of the number of days you had spent in your glass enclosure, and there was nothing much to do except to observe your surroundings - nothing but a vast space, where distant stars glittered in the black tapestry that was space, with a single source of light in sight, like the sun, only that it offered no warmth. That, and to ruminate on the events that led you to this situation.

You remembered when you first came to, locked in this glorified cage. You still thought you were dreaming then, so you did everything you could to try waking yourself up, only none of it worked. That was when he appeared.

Dream of the Endless, he had called himself. The King of Dreams and Ruler of the Nightmare Realm.

He claimed to rule the place he had taken you to, which he called the Dreaming. He had then explained that everything humanity (‘your kind,’ you recalled him saying) had ever dreamed of in its sleep was as real as everything it sees, hears, and feels in its waking hours and that he presided over them since the first living creature dreamed, and will do so until the end of all life.

He had revealed that he had watched over you, your dreams and your waking hours, since your first meeting, and that he had not meant to scare you, only that he wished for you to accept his advances.

That was the first of his many attempts to get you to say ‘yes.’

He would ask in many ways: a long walk in this garden he called the Fiddler’s Green; a sumptuous dinner in one of his many grand halls; an adventurous tryst in one of the humans’ dreams. He had promised that if you agreed to be courted by him and be with him, he would take you out of your enclosure and release you, allow you to roam his kingdom as his lover, forever wanting nothing and lavishing in all the riches and trinkets he could offer.

From then, you knew you would never be allowed back into the life you had worked so hard to build, humble as it may have been.

At first, your response to his attempts of coaxing you into a relationship with him was a string of incoherent curses and screaming. After a while, they were plain ignored - his face would remain blank every time, if not a tad disappointed, or hurt.

You didn’t care.

But you were also lying if you said it hadn’t worn out your resolve. This day was one of them.

You missed food. Not that you were ever hungry - he had removed hunger from you in your imprisonment. He had given you the gift of dreamless sleep as well, but in your time alone with nothing to do except wake and sleep, you’d give almost anything to have dreams again. You had no other company except him and the vast, endless space beyond your cage that he had conjured for you. You being sealed away from everything was driving you closer to insanity every day, and that was his design: to make you desperate enough to submit to his will.

Without warning, your hair stood at the back of your neck, your senses on high alert.

Dream of the Endless had arrived.

“My precious little saviour,” he greeted in that deep, velvety voice you had grown to hate and find comfort in at the same time. “I have come for you.”

Your captor had a warm smile on his regal features, one that didn’t match his true intentions. You stared at him with a blank expression and let his greeting go unanswered.

“Will you join me for a walk in my garden?”

He kept his eye contact with you as he waited for your response. It unnerved you to no end, the way he held your gaze with those ocean-blue eyes of his, knowing a single ‘no’ from you would instantly turn it to the black ones you have known to fear. When you opened your mouth to speak, it actually hurt your throat - you hadn’t spoken in a long time.

“Will you be locking me up again, after?”

He grinned at you and tilted his head slightly. “If you behave and do as I say, I will not.”

Only a single tear that escaped from your eye betrayed that gnawing feeling of defeat in your gut. Finally swallowing whatever pride you had left, you made a decision.

“Yes.”

You should never have bought him that damned loaf of bread.

***

Just a little one-shot I wanted to write to get myself out of a writing rut I've been stuck with wanting Comatose to be perfect it stressed me out too much :// I will still work on it, I promise! I just need to get this out the way to get my writing mojo back :D

PART II here!!!!

Thank you for reading!!!! Please engage and all that it's really appreciate iiiit

***

[elucienweekofficial]

Elucien Fanfic Crossword Answer Key- Smut Day One

How did you do? It's our hope through this week of puzzles that folks are able to find an existing fanfiction that speaks to them! Consider these a small masterlist filled with recommendations from the community itself. Below you'll find every fanfiction recommended attached to the author who created it, added in the order they were submitted! Fics were also categorized to their best of our ability. Check them out below!

[Please check all tags before engaging!]

You Look Like Bad News by @the-lonelybarricade

I gotta have you, I gotta have you - Elain hated living next to Lucien Vanserra. Almost as much as she hated the girl he was fucking.

When You Move, I'm Moved by @ataraxiasflame

When Elain Archeron flees Nesta and Cassian's Mating Ceremony for a moment alone after an emotional experience, her mate follows her out of concern for what he feels through their bond, resulting in an evening neither had planned, but both had been wanting for ages.

I've been lost to you, sunlight (flew like a moth to you, sunlight) by @whatishowedyouinthedark

In all of her dreams, there is sunlight. That is the one constant in every single one Elain remembers after waking. And if there is no sunlight, she can still feel it beating against her skin in time with the heartbeat that has become a steady, comforting song in her mind. Sometimes it feels as if, when she dreams, she has woken from the sadness that is her reality into what should be her life.

-

or, the elucien breeding kink one :)

What We Wanted by @valamerys

Lucien’s first Fire Night as High Lord of the Spring Court puts he and Elain’s fledgling relationship in an awkward position.

The Fires Of Eventide by @animezinglife

A quiet evening. A secluded cottage in Spring.

Beasts Inside Us by @crazy-ache

“If you so much as spill a drop of her blood, I will gladly show you just what kind of beast I am. And you will find, once I’ve ripped your throat out with my bare hands, and burnt this manor and everyone inside to ash and bone, that I am something far, far worse than just a beast.”

While staying in the mortal lands with the Band of Exiles, Elain Archeron stumbles across a familiar face from her past. Only Graysen wants revenge. Her only hope is that her mate, Lucien Vanserra, can save her—in more ways than one.

About Damn Time by @strawbrerian-writes

Elain planned to have a quiet, cool day off. The universe took one look at her plans and said "bet."

They Say I Did Something Bad by @separatist-apologist

Then why's it feel so good?

Elain Archeron's fiance is a total stranger to her, though his family's reputation for cruelty and avarice is not. Dreading a lifetime with a cruel, cold man, Elain decides to have one last night of freedom. Attending an infamous masquerade ball, Elain meets a stranger who offers to show her pleasure beyond her wildest dreams. It's just one night of debauchery. What could possibly go wrong?

Oh, Lord Save Me by @separatist-apologist

“How come I never see you at confession?” he pressed. Elain almost screamed.

Lucien never saw her at confession because the phrase "forgive me father, for I have sinned," was the start of every filthy fantasy she’d ever had about him.

I'm Going Out Tonight by @separatist-apologist

He rolled his neck and Elain paused, drinking him in. Even with his red hair plastered to his face, sweat soaking through his thin band t-shirt, Lucien Vanserra was the hottest man she’d ever seen.

And bass players were so her type.

“What did you say?”

He grinned, resting a broad hand over his muscular chest. “I asked if you had a man.”

Her mind flashed an image of Graysen. Too busy with work and the woman he was sleeping with on the side. She was there to pretend she didn’t know about that, wasn’t she? Did Graysen ever answer that question honestly, besides?

Holding up her drink, Elain ran her tongue suggestively over the straw. Lucien’s smile sharpened, those russet eyes darkening with obvious want.

“I don’t remember.”

Sharp as Glass and Twice as Bright by @valamerys

When he speaks again, it’s a low rumble in his chest. “If you keep doing that, dove, neither of us is going to get any sleep.”

Heat coils in Elain’s stomach. “I’m not tired.”

[Elucien + classic THERE IS ONLY ONE BED WHAT DO.] [yes i just did one for each of my ships dont look at me im a monster]

End Game by @separatist-apologist

Lucien Vanserra has been in love with Elain Archeron for as long as he's known her. With time ticking down before her inevitable engagement to Graysen, Lucien only has one goal: convince her to be his

But Only If You Dare by @kingofsummer93

It all started innocently enough. A silly game, a drunken dare.

Except now Elain can't sleep.

And it's all because of him.

I'm Damned If I Do by @separatist-apologist

“Get it off your chest,” he told her dismissively, returning to his work.

Let her scream and yell. It would change nothing given Rhysand and Feyre were doing this purposefully to push them together. Had Elain guessed that, too? Had she decided he was the safer person to vent her rage into?

She strode into his office and, like a petulant brat, swept everything off his desk. Lucien glared, irritated with the mess she’d made—she’d inadvertently shattered a rather nice crystal vase he’d gotten from Dawn, wrecking the little blue plant within in her recklessness.

“By all means, get it off my desk as well,” he told her dryly. Her chest heaved in the pretty silver dress she wore, pressing her breasts up against the neckline. Lucien had to look at his hands to stop looking at her body, though she was closer than she'd ever been

Our Hearts Still Beat The Same by @zenkindoflove

"She stood on the bridge for a few minutes, hoping that the rain might wash away the seething anger and bottomless anguish that crackled under her skin. More, more, more, repeated again and again to a steady beat. His heart beat."

Elucien, Two-shot, Post-ACOSF. Part One is Cozy Tension. Part Two is all smut.

Can read this fic independent of the series. They are separate stories but connected by song inspirations.

Both Forever and Rather Die by @foundress0fnothing

Elain runs a sex cult. She’s looking for something new. Lucien is new.

save the date by @thelovelymadone

Elain Archeron has had a perfect life.

Prettiest girl in her grade, first sibling to be engaged and living thousands of miles away from home. But then, her then fiancé cheats on her at their engagement party after she cajoled her entire family to come thousand of miles for her engagement.

Now, after four years, she’s going to be brave. She’s going to go to her eldest sister’s wedding as the maid of honor and bring … a paid actor to be her boyfriend.

Despite the lingering trauma of her ex-boyfriend posting her phone number on Internet forums and refusal to share how her childhood crush broke her confidence at her engagement party—what could possibly go wrong?

Call Me Selfish, Call Me Wrecked by @crazy-ache

Like countless times before, they’re dangling Elain in front of him without a mention of her name. And for once, Lucien decides to selfishly take it. “I’ll marry her,” he pretends to investigate his nails, even if his heart is about to burst from his chest. “But only if she agrees to it as well. That’s my only condition.”

Elain agrees. Lucien learns the consequences of not shutting up.

A Dance In Winter by @animezinglife

While visiting the Winter Court leading up to Solstice, Elain and Lucien find some time alone.

talk refined by @temperedink

Newly mated Elain has pretty much adjusted to being fae after all this time. What she’s still hung up on? Being able to express things in the bedroom. Luckily, Lucien is totally willing to let her try that out on him.

[streets-in-paradise]

From the Deepness of the Sea - Hector x Siren!Reader

Requested by @alysinwonderland-at-tea

" Excellent, so here's the idea, Hector x mermaid reader, she's captured in a fishing net and several sailors are poking at her and arguing about killing her, Hector saves her, cleans her wounds, bonus if she's like Serena from PotC and has legs out of water. Maybe some smut too, just Hector being so gentle with her. "

Warnings: Mixed lore for the mythical creatures to fit the specifications on the request. Since I don't remember mermaids existing in greek mythology, i'm calling them sirens to make it feel more accurate with the time period. I know those were actually bird women, but here they will look like mermaids. For the romance plot to work, i kept only the esense of the siren lore.

Summary: Greek legends land on trojan shore and the dangerous omen they bring forces the need for an exploration. Prince Hector gets on board with a crew of warriors and sailors in order to investigate, followed by his younger brother inspired by mythical curiosity.

When the tales turn out to be true, the battle for suvival ends with the reckless taking of a hostage. Refusing to engage in pointless vengeances, the trojan leader opts for a peacefull resolution taking the dangerous creature under his protection. Despite he believes to be discovering a human resembling side on the siren, his own humanity ends up fascinating her.

Note: The intro scene is inspired in POTC, as the request suggested, and in this painting . I know there was more plot specified in the request, but since this one got too long I will do the rest on a continuation.

Heroic expeditions weren't a typical point of encounter for the Princes of Troy, but each one found partícular reasons to participate together in one. Rumours among sailors and fishermen warned about the possibly for a very dangerous plague to start infesting trojan sea. Normally, that sort of investigation would be delegated to a tripulation of trustfull warriors on board in one of the king's ships. Still, Hector insisted on leading it because he wanted to show he was as willing to risk his life for his men as they would do for him. In contrast, his younger brother expressed an unusual enthusiasm on joining adventures due to the particular characteristics that one presented.

The men were speaking of sirens, matter that required confirmation before it could start becoming a serious threat claiming many lives. While his brother was approaching the topic from a serious perspective, Paris wanted to see the legends come to life.

" It's said they are beautifull beyond the wildest dreams of a mortal man. " He was repeating to him as he looked at the sea with a dreamy expression. " And some believe it's possible to reason with them, so I'll be seeking to become the first prince in history to win the affections of a siren. "

Hector stiffled a chuckle and looked at him with justified skepticism.

" You will be the first prince being devoured by a half fish lady. There are límits for your charm, brother, and this is one you shouldn't cross. I allowed you on board only to not dissapoint our father, but I won't encourage your recklessness. "

He grabbed him softly by the shoulder, seeking his attention to provide a wise advice.

" Paris, if the rumours are true … This creatures feed on the hope in your desire, call yourself luckly of surviving a close encounter and don't expect to brag for anything else. "

Nothing seemed to break his spirits, not even the most bassic common sense. However, Paris had a deeper reason to expose himself like that and he decided to share it only with his brother.

" I'll chaze the posibility. I'm not a great warrior, I will never be a mighty king, but i trust in my beauty and charm. The kiss of the siren is my only chance to do a feat poets would sing about in years to come. "

Hector smiled, softened by the relatively honorable motivation, yet incapable of not scolding him for it.

" Only fools face death for glory, we are here to protect our country. "

For hours they awaited, as if they were mere fishermen on their boat hoping for the bait to work, but nothing seemed to happen. Frustration started to expand among the ship crew and Paris started singing out of boredoom.

He sang of love, expressing his hopefull desire. In his voice there was the sweet seduction he would have for a lover in his bed. It was apparently a vain attempt of calling the mythical beauties, so when his song ended with no evident result most of his companions started laughing.

It didn't last long, Hector had to warn them of an outside presence smiling at them from afar. A beautifull woman had emerged from the deepness of the sea and she was looking at them with curiosity.

Fear took over the men, paired thightly with an irresistible fascination. Only Paris managed to confidently smirk back, then hesitantly approached to the edge of the ship's deck rigth in between the rowing benches and the eye.

" So the legends are true. " He spoke to himself, indirectly adressing her in his smoothest tone. " I've been told that your kind is capable of understandment. May you indulge me with a proper conversation, fair maid? "

She giggled lightly to his flamboyant speech, splashing sounds of her moving tail making her seem invested on his praising manners.

The rowers lost their positions observing her jumping towards him, easy task given the relatively flat dimmension of the ship conceived for speed.

Supporting herself on the wood of its edge, she kept charming the prince.

" Are you the one who sings? That was beautifull. "

Her human half, a splendid woman of naked torso, was fully exposed to all of them and many others were one with Paris's amazement.

" Not as much as you, my divine friend. " He sweetly replied. " I feel striken by Eros while simply looking at you. "

Visually feasting on her beauty, none of his companions dared to interrupt untill Hector called everybody out.

" WHAT ARE YOU DOING, YOU FOOLS? YOU ARE MEN OF TROY, BEHAVE AS SUCH!! "

Most of the men managed to react, shamed by his words, but Paris had to be dragged away.

" Let me have this, Hector! " He started complaining. " I'M NOT LIKE YOU, HER KISS COULD BE THE ONLY GLORY I WILL EVER REACH!! "

His brother responded holding him tighter.

" Paris, you will get yourself killed. "

" How is it ANY DIFFERENT from what you do in war? " The young man defended his point with unusual wisdown. " When you leave for battle, you could also get killed and I have never restrained you from that danger against your will."

His little brother had never spoke to him like that, so it was most likely for him that siren had poisoned his mind already.

" There is no honor in dying like this!!! "

His protest became more agressive.

" I HAVE TO TRY, LET ME GO!!!! "

The bewitching sea lady wasn't importunated by the pittyfull scene interrupting her.

" … Paris. Is that your name? Sounds as beautifull as you, the most handsome man I have ever seen. "

She began to sing, affecting everyone else's will of resistance. Hector himself became entranced and the strenght of his arms began to fade, allowing Paris to escape him.

The young prince rushed towards her. When the closeness became enough, she started caressing the sides of his face. Guided down by her hands, he was dangerously close to jump from the ship near the end of her song.

As if the posible inminent death of his brother would have awakened a primal instinct in him, Hector regained self control for an instant brief enough to save his life by pulling him in the opposite direction.

Two of the warriors on board followed, rushing into battle against her. Suddenly, a small yet dangerous squad showed themselves at the surface to protect the hurted sister.

Trojans fought braverly for the control of their ship, but salvation wasn't enough. The men wanted revenge and as the creatures started to retreat some of them threw fishing nets hoping to catch one alive.

They got you among the last lines attempting to leave. Sounds of mockery and sharp blades were waiting you with frenetic excitement, but their leader stopped the carnage.

" THAT'S ENOUGH! I will not tolerate cruelty, our ríght call for arms ended when the enemy retreated … Are you blind to the clear evidence exposed to us? Greek sailors must have learned to avoid their island, so the sirens are adventuring away for their own survival. If we damage her, her angry sisters will find a new home near our shores and Troy will not survive that. Trade will colapse and our brothers will be devoured one by one. "

Still shocked by the near death experience, Paris had witnessed the episode as he tried to recover and only then began to overcome his self preservative absortion.

" The risk was greater for me, yet I'm not seeking any revenge. "

The men restraining you abandoned their positions and at the very same instant you stopped struggling, it was reveiled to them that you started looking like a regular girl.

No fishtail, and in its place, a pair of beautifull legs of skin as smooth looking as the rest of your body.

In Hector's eyes, you appeared like a frightened naked girl surrounded of men seeking to harm her and whose only partially accomplished crime was trying to defend her sister.

He gave you a cloak to cover yourself. The concept of shame índuced by nudity was foreign to your kind, but you accepted to cover with it understanding it was a well intentioned gesture on his part.

You began to observe him with curiosity, but not of the predatory kind that your sister utilized against his brother a while before. It came from genuine amazement product of the first selfless act of kindness a human man had ever showed you. For any other, finding you in such weak state would have been a great temptation, an oportunity to prey on you. There was no glimpse of hidden lust in his actions, but pure will to help.

His eyes were dark, but his glance inspired an inviting warm that was tempting for you. When you clinged to him, you discovered that his body was able to provide an ever greater heat.

" Should I trust your embrace? " Hector asked you. " I'm not going to hurt you, so I hope you will return the courtesy. "

You looked at his face almost with the same awe an unlucky sailor would have shown for you.

" … You are different, … the song. It didn't take over you, not completely. No one ever … "

Hector understood and shared your confussion.

" The impulse of protecting my family must be stronger than we thought, I guess. My concience didn't last long, I only rushed to save my brother from your sister. He is a good lad, but your hunting methods enhace his weaknesses. "

You looked down, in evidence of your guilts.

" Foundation stories everywhere start with starving people moving away in search for food. " He recalled, referencing his theory. " … That doesn't mean I will let you roam my territory and freely slaughter my kind. "

The warning made you push the cloak a little tighter against your body, as if the coverage was a nervous call for self preservation.

"We have seen you command brave men, and we paid a great price for that discoverment. "

Hector cleared his throat and proceeded to speak as he would when doing a political bargain.

" I will look after you, but I must also make you aware you are free to leave whenever you consider it necesary. Yet, I need you to tell your sisters that our defensive response wasn't an act of war. "

He gazed deep into your eyes with honest seriousness, emphasizing his point.

" As long as you never again try to feed on a trojan, we will not chase you … Understood? "

You nodded in agreement and he showed you a polite smile. In that non verbal agreement he found encouragement to start proving you he was going to stick to his word.

The men that untill quite recently were up to harm you were then sent to improvise a confortable spot were Hector reclined you to start searching for wounds in need of tending. With caring touch he took care of you, focusing allways on your healing and not in perceiving your forms.

As his hands comforted your body, Hector also distracted you with his conversation. His cassual way to approach topics made you feel good with him, since it was clear he wasn't speaking to impress you. Normally, men would only speak to you as something they wanted for themselves and you would go along with it. When the trojan prince asked your name, you realized that you didn't remember any other before caring to know it.

He was treating you like if you were some normal girl, maybe a foreign princess visiting his country that he had to entertain.

Ríght as he was finishing to patch you up, he started rambling about the horses in his stables. Not as a royal bragging wealth, but as a humble man telling you of things he loved.

" Have you ever saw horses before? Forgive me, i forgot to ask. Since you appear capable of leaving water I assumed you may have mixed yourself in human populations and can understand what i'm saying. "

His sudden apology midway into it made you understand he actually cared for your perspective.

" I do, just never got too close to one. "

You flinched due to the burning ich after the last cut in your abdomen was cleaneased with wine to stop an infection.

Hector kept talking to you so you won't focus on the pain.

" Well, us trojans are the world's best horse breeders. People come from every corner to buy from us. Except for King Agamemnon of Mycenae, and i'm sure he is very upset because we are keeping him blocked for repeatedly attempting to conquer us. We are the last free kingdom stopping him from getting control of the sea. He wants our trade routes and our strategical position on land upsets greek ships. Troy is the gate to the heart of Asia and we keep it safe from them. "

He carefully caressed the wound with his fingertips, applying whatever calming drugs he could find in the emergency reserve on the ship.

Pure softness, respect and care that wouldn't stop amazing you.

" They are not like you. They take, is all they know. They don't protect, they don't care … They take, so we take from them. They have learn to avoid us, so we had to start searching for them."

In your criptic speech, you were trying to explain him that your usual prey were greek pirates seeking for gold and women, predators of the sea stumbling with your island on their way to other shores for looting.

Hector understood you were trying to flatter him as well, and attempted to avoid it.

" In all my life, I have never came across someone who has never rode a horse. "

He made you laugh.

" That should be the less strange fact about me."

You were probably ríght, but he had something else to say.

" I don't care about the rest, or at least I don't have to if you promise to never hurt my people ever again. "

Your left hand started caressing the back of his neck and your ríght one toyed with his chin, thumb tracing his bottom lip. His brown eyes followed the sudden, but soft movement.

He was shocked, but the intensity of your glance distracted him enough for you to crash your lips against his. Although receptive, he didn't allow himself to be responsive ríght away.

The crew was observing and someone pressed a hand over Paris' mouth before any commentary could interrupt the kiss.

As soon as you released him, Hector turned to face them.

" We have closed a deal, no harm will reach Troy. "

[yearningaces]

Mr. Hallewell, can i please hug you? and maybe groom your hair? if you are in your beast form, way better! Let me see those fangs and claws of yours, so pretty... can i polish them? sharp them? i would like to have the honor to look them up close in their prime. A magestic griffin indeed, not some kind of copy and paste in a cheap photoshop program of an eagle and a lion (wait declan settles on medieval times right? damn i hope the joke reaches over there). I want to cuddle with a griffin, use the wings as blankets and yer chest a harm pillow, sure iknow its lacking the usual bpm but i can share it with ya

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa i luv declan muahmuahchuchuhugsandkisses

"THE HORNS I FORGOT THE HORNS, should give them some apreciation too

sorry but declan beast form is truly something coming from my wildest dreams, recording the anatomy, the biology, every detail and corner of his existence makes me wonder how such creatures go on without being at least documented at leat once!

(i must recall that if this rant sounds at least creepy please let me know but its just obsession with anatomy on mythical creatures....)"

I feel I can safely assume this was the same nonnie and listen, I live for the ramblings in my inbox

Declan will quite literally, roll over like a pup for you, so please please please give him attention. He would tear down mountains, he would rip stars from the sky, all for you to look at him with a moment of praise so please never hold anything back for worry of being too much he would just exist at a point of joy he'd never imagined possible before while melting around you as best as he could.

Yes he's in medieval times! I don't want to have the limitations of modern day stuff with my world building here, also because I like the idea of a Hallewell being a kingdoms dragon instead of an actual dragon it's amusing to me

And the answer for documentations is this! If he's not hunting someone they won't see him, not truly

There will be reports of larger and larger beasts that move closer to who he's hunting, and it becomes part of the Hallewell's legend. Listen for nature's approach through different footsteps sort of ordeal. If someone truly looked to see him in his shifted form. They wouldn't see him unless he wants them to. They might see a man, or a pack of wolves, or a bear, or maybe MAYBE a dragon. That's not to say Hallewell's aren't documented. But usually it's someone being hunted screaming about what they're seeing before they go missing(dying but yk) and humans pieces those together to form a general idea

Maybe someone sees one when they're not a target, but again that's rare and it would have to be the Hallewell's choice. Usually it's a warning. "Be better or next you see me you'll be the one bloodying my maw"

Back to Declan though, you're his heart. You want him to go beast mode? Of course! He holds the same sentience and logic regardless of form but he can't really speak without a human mouth. He'll growl, and purr, and roar, and make all sorts of sounds, and he'll understand you entirely, but he'll never be able to say words like that because the mouth isn't human so no human words

So yeah, do those things. Watch this horrifying creature melt like a kitten. If you fall asleep on him? He won't move, he will remain as still as stone and if any get close enough he'll bite them in two if they risk waking you

[riveatstoes]

Sanders Sides as Taylor Swift Songs

Because I want to merge my hyperfixation (SaSi) and my special interest (TS)

But first some clarifications:

Most of these are vibe-based, especially when it comes to Logan because I genuinely think that he is one of, if not THE, hardest characters to get right

If you have different opinions that’s fine, I like hearing what other people have to say! (as long as you remain respectful)

Yes 99% of Remus’s are ironic, get off my back abt it did you seriously expect anything else??? Yeah that’s what I thought

There is at least one album where I chose the same song for two characters but um. Mind your business

Yes I’m counting If This Was A Movie as a Fearless song. I’m going by what album’s cover it has on it tbh

For reference my favorite is Roman and I think that may be obvious. Idk

Taylor Swift (Debut)

Logan: The Outside

Roman: Stay Beautiful

Patton: Tied Together With A Smile

Virgil: A Place in This World

Janus: The Outside

Remus: Picture to Burn (Homophobic Version)

Fearless (Taylor’s Version)

Logan: Tell Me Why

Roman: Breathe (ft. Colbie Caillat)

Patton: If This Was A Movie

Virgil: You All Over Me (ft. Marren Morris)

Janus: Don’t You

Remus: Thug Story (ft. T-Pain)

Speak Now (Taylor’s Version)

Logan: Castles Crumbling (ft. Hayley Williams)

Roman: Back To December

Patton: Never Grow Up

Virgil: Haunted

Janus: Better Than Revenge / Innocent

Remus: BTR (Slut-Shaming Version)

Red (Taylor’s Version)

Logan: Nothing New (ft. Phoebe Bridgers)

Roman: Red

Patton: Sad Beautiful Tragic

Virgil: I Almost Do

Janus: I Bet You Think About Me (ft. Chris Stapleton)

Remus: I Knew You Were Trouble (Screaming Goat Version)

1989 (Taylor’s Version)

Logan: Bad Blood (ft. Kendrick Lamar)

Roman: Wildest Dreams

Patton: Clean

Virgil: Out Of The Woods

Janus: Now That We Don’t Talk

Remus: Shake It Off

reputation

Logan: Look What You Made Me Do

Roman: Gorgeous

Patton: New Year’s Day

Virgil: Getaway Car

Janus: Don’t Blame Me

Remus: I Did Something Bad (Ratatatata)

Lover

Logan: I Forgot That You Existed

Roman: You Need To Calm Down / Afterglow

Patton: Cornelia Street

Virgil: The Archer

Janus: Death By A Thousand Cuts

Remus: ME! (ft. Brendon Urie of Panic! At The Disco)

folklore

Logan: this is me trying

Roman: mirrorball

Patton: cardigan

Virgil: peace

Janus: the lakes

Remus: exile (ft. bon iver)

evermore

Logan: closure

Roman: tolerate it

Patton: evermore (ft. bon iver)

Virgil: it’s time to go

Janus: cowboy like me

Remus: no body, no crime (ft. HAIM)

Midnights

Logan: Glitch

Roman: Maroon / Bejeweled

Patton: You’re On Your Own, Kid / Dear Reader

Virgil: Midnight Rain

Janus: Anti-Hero

Remus: Vigilante Shit (Live At The Eras Tour)

The Tortured Poets Department

Logan: I Look In People’s Windows

Roman: But Daddy I Love Him / Clara Bow

Patton: So Long, London / loml

Virgil: Who’s Afraid Of Little Old Me?

Janus: The Prophecy

Remus: Guilty As Sin? (But specifically that one video of Post Malone dancing to it)

[postdeathapocalypse]

[A whirring from the fax machine; a document freshly-printed. A page of text makes itself known, accompanied by the logo of a company you do not recognize - "MSMC".]

// Greetings, Headlock - this is callsign Angel of MSMC-796 "Heaven's Fury" (Mirrorsmoke Mercenary Company) speaking.

In light of your recent correspondences with CORSAIR Mercenary Company - one of our oldest allies and friends, though we do not condone their present actions and have taken preemptive efforts to distance ourselves - I wish to offer an explanation for their current behavior on their behalf, seeing as the company is currently in a state of absolute chaos and disarray.

CMC's commander and founder, callsign Commodore, has gone off the deep end. A personal memento of hers - a wedding photo; the last remnant of Sylvia, for whom the CMC home base Sylvia's Requiem was named - was destroyed by her enemies as part of a long-reaching revenge plot. In her grief, she has cut all communications with the outside world and is embarking on a scorched-earth campaign of terror against all who would oppose her.

CMC, as we have gathered from what little outside information has been released since our departure from the Requiem, has internally split into two factions - one which views Commodore's current actions as a step too far, wishing to see her incapacitated or otherwise removed from power; the other, a vicious cult of personality, loyal to Commodore to the very end. Morse belongs to the former, Deuces to the latter.

There also exists a third faction buried in their midst - a faction known only by the name Backtalker; which seeks to completely annihilate all which Commodore has built via CMC and otherwise destroy her life. I would argue that, in causing Commodore's mental break, they have succeeded beyond their wildest dreams.

I hope this serves as a suitable explanation; MSMC wishes you well, and urges you to stay well clear of the ensuing fallout of CMC's actions in these volatile times.

-- Angel

Post-Script: In case you're wondering how this message reached you - MSMC Legal is one of a few entities which still retains fax machines for regular use. I merely asked to borrow one to get this message through.

Well- . . . Fuck.

[rosewaterandivy]

—whatever's still to come [prologue]

summary: Blood like yours, a love like yours could be halved and still be whole.

pairing: steve harrington x f!reader

wc: 1.4k

warnings: character death, big sads, grief, “they were soulmates”

notes: dearly beloved, we're gathered here today to kick this thing off and flirt with disaster. (pls don't hate me too much 🫣) this has been burning a hole in my brain for a while and caters to some of my favorite tropes. my goal is for this to read like a snippets of time series, and will be updated when inspiration strikes. that being said, get ready for my usual brand of filth and yearning™

series masterlist | next

0: ignored the vastness between all that can be seen

He was never one to remember you first. Not in the eons since the pair of you began this song and dance, and it got harder and harder each time.

Taking a break, inviting some distance seemed like the best thing to do this time around. Close enough to keep and eye out or an ear to the ground, but far enough from his orbit so as not to invite any familiarity.

In the hope that it would be different this time; that fate would be outsmarted and once, just once you’d have some sort of life together. 

But the universe had never been all that kind to you— all that was allotted were snatches of happiness throughout the years.

Several lifetimes for him, but one prolonged existence for you, casting centuries aside; so it goes.

It simply wasn’t meant to be.

Hawkins, Indiana was a sleepy, small town much like many others in the Midwest. Or, at least it was until a few years ago. Leave it to a government-funded lab to eradicate any sense of safety in suburban America. 

The thought that kept hounding at you ceaselessly through your shifts at the book or record store was this: he was only seventeen when it all fell apart.

He was only seventeen but he’d never been one to turn away from a fight, especially if he felt the need to to protect someone. The rest of the party, you’d come to learn, was either roughly his age or even younger which was abjectly horrifying.

But then he was eighteen and the hits kept on coming— heartbreak for the first time, new and raw, hastily patched up and distracted by a boy too-smart for his own good in need of a friend. Then, nineteen and effectively on his own, working at the mall and then video store across the street from you.

While you’d seen the best and worst of what humanity had to offer in your many wanderings, in your wildest dreams you never thought it’d come to this: lying in his arms under the starlight, eyes growing heavy.

“Steve?”

That’s what he’s called, this time around. It brought a smile to your face because you’d always liked that name, and it fit him like a glove. Nevermind, that he’d first been given a form of that name in France during Le Grand Siècle, Étienne. Steven came from the Greek Στέφανος (Stéphanos) meaning wreath or crown, and, by extension of its verb form, to encircle, to wreathe. 

Much like his arms were encircling you now.

“Mhmm?”

He doesn’t trust his voice not to shake if he were to speak.

“It’s c-cold,” You shiver in his grasp.

At that he draws you near, warmth from his skin pouring into yours. You can feel the gooseflesh of his bare arms against your neck and side, despite his jacket draped across you. 

It’s useless to pretend, but the two of you have managed to delude yourselves thus far. The sky above rembles a bruise, mottled purple that’s somehow lighter at the edges. It’s clear enough to see Ursa Major and Hydra littered amongst the stars. 

Your head tilts upward to find Steve staring down at you, eyes soft and honeyed. A tear escapes and cascades down his cheek, one landing wetly against your lips, another falling straight into your eye— what a lesson, what familiarity. If you were able, you wouldn’t hesitate to reach up and wipe them away.

“Oh my love,” you rasp instead, venturing a small smile though it causes the blood to surge from your split lip. “I don’t regret a single thing.”

“H-how can you say that?” His voice is a ravaged thing, words spilling out in a furtive whisper. “This is all my fault. If I’d just—”

You shush him. “There was nothing to be done,” You strain to prop yourself up, not minding Steve’s protestations. Sweat gathers at your brow with the effort as you eventually settle against his chest.

He lets his arms fall at your hips, chin tucking over your shoulder resigned, defeated. 

“I don’t want to lose you,” is what he says, soft as air against the nape of your neck, “Not when I’ve only just found you.”

Your hand finds his and slots your fingers in between with a reassuring squeeze. You take a breath, feeling the tears beading along your lashes, and resign yourself to fate.

“You listen to me Steve Harrington,” you choke out. “This is not the end.” A turn of your head to rest against neck and revel in the warmth. “It never is, not for us.” You swallow hard, but your throat closes up anyway. “I followed you to the sun,” you confess, “And now it’s up to you to wait for me as I go into the dark.”

He sniffles against the crown of your head, tears baptizing you anew.

“I’m not saying it’ll be easy, being the one who remembers— it’s kind of mortifying, actually.” 

Steve sputters a laugh in spite of himself.

“It’s awful, the waiting, but someone’s gotta do it. You’ll be mad, wrathful even, wanna tear the world apart for doing you so wrong.” Your words are coming slower now, breathing becoming stilted. “You’ll search for me in everyone you see, you won’t be able to help it— you’ll want see me in everyone, sometimes you will. And that’s okay.”

He’s quiet again, worrying his lip between his teeth. Knuckles turning white with how he’s holding onto you— you’re adrift when you realize you can’t feel him anymore.

“I’ll find my way to you,” you say, fighting the heaviness of your eyelids. “Whatever hell you’re in, hold on, just a little longer, just for me.” 

Numbness crawls up your body like frostbite, you sense his nod. Steeling yourself for the inevitable plunge, you will yourself to turn at the waist and plant your lips to his, blood be damned as it flows from your mouth into his. Blood like yours, a love like yours could be halved and still be whole.

Steve sobs into the kiss, thumb sinking into the dimple of your cheek and ghosting along your jawline. It’s tender and desperate, the way his lips slot against yours and his tongue hearkens to you. A broken sound wrenches from your throat. A shrill gasp. A guttural breath.

Prying yourself away, his blood-stained lips rest against your forehead. Arms winding around your waist to keep you steady and upright. Your chest heaves with every breath you steal. 

“Stevie, philtatos, most beloved,” you whisper to him, so sweetly in a way that makes him ache all the way through his bones, all the way down to the meat of his heart. 

“I love you and I know you. Could recognize you through a history of touch alone.” 

Your eyes blow wide at the realization of what’s rushing up to meet you. Steve can tell he’s losing you, slipping through his fingers like water. He’s at the end of the line, kingdom carved. Your lips part in a ragged breath, he inclines his head toward you as you murmur one last word. 

A name.

With a final squeeze of your hand, your head lolls back falling against his palm as it cradles your skull. Eyes slip shut, taking the glorious cosmos with them. The cage of your ribs no longer expands with tedious breaths. And finally, your heart ceases to beat.

He leans down and presses his lips to yours for the last time.

“Come back to me, come back to me, come back to me,” he pleads.

It’s with a wretched howl that Steve breaks, a caterwaul, unlike any other sound he’d made before. Breaking beneath the weight of his loss, the callous loss of you— ripped from him like a limb when he’d only just begun to truly know you.

His head full of doubt has been replaced with a flood of memories, of lives lived with you— snatches of stolen time rushing through his senses ever since you’d given him his name. The first one you’d known him as; of course, it’s not enough to alleviate his grief, but he’ll take what he can get. 

And now that you’re gone, there’s a heart beating inside of him that isn’t his own. He takes a small comfort in that and turns toward the distant sun rising in the East, rays of gold dappling through the trees chasing away the lingering stardust and moonlight of your body. 

Steve didn’t have to guess at it any longer, images blooming in his mind’s eye, emotions vacillating between elation, heartbreak, and grief tugging at the ventricles beneath his ribs.

Philtátē. Philtátē. Philtátē. 

He was made for you.

[lemon69lol]

Ok. so.

Here’s my Jane Doe isn’t real theory<3

Apologies in advance because this is all over the place

First and foremost:

Karnak read the entire choir's hopes, thoughts, and dreams. The man knew everything about them down to their deepest secrets and you're saying that none of them even so much as had a passing thought about this “last-minute addition to the choir”?

You know Ocean's micromanaging ass would be all over that.

Plus Jane is nowhere to be seen in Fall Fair Suit, You’d think at the very least theird be a gap in the choreography where the 6th member of the choir should be but no.

So then how did “Jane Doe” come about?

I think there was a misprint in the newspaper. We already saw in the 2016 Chicago production that there was a misprint in the way that she was blotched out of the photo, so who’s to say it wasn’t supposed to originally just read “our 5 saints' “.

So now imagine you're in a small town that just went through a horrible tragedy and now the papers are telling you that it was actually 6 children who died. Not the 5 you knew. So who was this 6th kid? How did nobody know about them? And why are you only now hearing about them? Naturally, people are going to start to speculate and make up rumors

(Her story literary sounds like an urban legend your bother tells you to scare the shit out of you before you co to the fair)

Nobody was able to identify her because she was decapitated (how tf do you not find a whole ass head). No parents stepped forward to say their kid was missing or to claim the body. And the only person who would've known for certain, Father Markus, died of a heart attack 7 hr after the fact.

There are even inconsistencies in it. Karnak says himself “Some say she joined the choir at the last minute, others say she was never even in the choir at all”.

I think Karnak continued to read people's fortunes and learned about the rumor of a Jane Doe through them and just assumed they were true. Karnak probably assumed he just didn’t read this mystery 6th kid fortune and that's why he didn't know about her.

Flash forward to when Karnak's bringing the choir into temporary limbo. He gets the main 5s souls easily enough but the 6th? How do you bring back the soul of a girl that doesn't exist? You can’t, but you can unknowingly bring back some weird ass creature that’s been chilling around the carnival.

And so Karnak unknowingly created a Jane Doe, gave it a body in a stcassinas uniform, without a proper head that she had to substitute with a doll's head, Scripted her story and song based off of the little he knew, and bam. We got our Jane Doe, a girl with no clue what’s going on besides what Karnak scripted with a bunch of kids she doesn't know, and is left to figure out what’s going on right along with us.

Right off the bat the choir knows somethings wrong with their “mystery contestant” to the point that ocean straight up calls her a freaky monster and refers to her a a “thing”

She has the head of the doll( obviously), and she moves and walks like she’s never been in a body before. Her voice has an echo/ sounds almost disconnected from her body. And she flies around in her song and in the ESU production she even just straight up had a moment of telekinesis.

Meanwhile, The wildest thing about the choir is that Ricky can speak/ his disabilities are lessened

Tldr the choir accidentally chose some creature to be brought to life as some weird teenager named Penny lamb