runningfrom2am

[runningfrom2am]

kit this is so adorable i love

“i didn’t know you were keeping count” with billy could go so many ways

OOOOOOO THANK YOU FRANCI

city-bound modern!william bonney x reader not edited!

The raucous noise of laughter lifts Billy's spirits by a smidge. It's still uncanny living out here in the city, versus his home out in rolling fields and among more animals than humans at times. But the night is alive, and he finds his eyes flitting from person to person, pocketing them in his memory for a mere second before they drift off to the unknown part of his head.

He promised his mother a long time ago that he would travel for her. Opening up her journal after her death felt like an act of sin, but all that filled the pages were photos taped and glued to the thick paper. Sometimes, his mother would write a small explanation for the photos, other times Billy was left to wonder how she may word things.

What stuck out most wasn't the childhood photos of himself and his late brother, that was to be expected, but it was the pictures of the New York City skyline, cut out from magazines or postcards or anything his mother could get her hands on. He knew for a fact she had never been, and she never mentioned going, but he remembers a conversation they had late one night years again when Billy told her he rejected a college offer further out west.

"I understand, but you need to take advantage of...going places."

He had huffed, said something about money, about not wanting to leave her alone on the ranch but his mother merely waved her hand on him and sighed in reluctance, "You're too stubborn, Billy boy. I would jump at the chance to travel away from home if I was you."

In the end, it wasn't so hard to plan the trip. He was here for only two weeks, saved money up for food, originally denied an old friend's invitation to stay at their apartment, but he gave in after seeing the prices for hotels. Billy knew his mother would never have planned what to do on a trip such as this, she would go with the flow. The wind would tell her to stop by a candy store, or travel to Coney Island and get on the most egregious rollercoaster she could.

So for her honor, Billy let everything around him guide him. The first day he stuck to the Brooklyn neighborhood his friend lived in, had some of the best pizza of his life and sat out on the fire escape, sipping cheap whiskey. The second day, he found himself in Times Square. He wanted to roll his eyes over how touristy it was of him, but he couldn't help but imagine his mother staring up at all the lights until she fixated on where they would lead her. For Billy, none of the stores pulled at him. Instead he walked, glimpsed in windows, sidestepped slow-walkers and found his way back to the subway to return to the apartment.

And now, it's only his third night, so of course he should still feel a stranger to the city. But it's pressing against his breastbone, a weird pressure he hasn't felt since the night his mother passed. He's found his way back to Manhattan, strolling a well-packed street in Greenwich Village. Most of the people passing by appear to be college students, and he wonders what that must feel like; to be so young and thrust in a city such as this one seems way too overwhelming for him to even begin to comprehend. Yet there is an easy way in which they chatter, and he tries to hold onto it as best he could to alleviate that pressure in his chest.

He stops walking in front of a bookstore. It's still lit up inside, with only a few people trailing the aisles of shelves within. The sign out front reads, 'Catbooks,' and depicts a cat drinking from a teal coffee mug. On the nose. Billy finds himself chuckling at it.

For no clear reason, he strides forward and opens the door, a small chiming hearing above his head. It's air-conditioned inside, chilling the warmth of his skin that he did not realize was sweating so much.

He would not call himself a person who reads very often, there is little time for it when he has much work to do on the ranch, but when he can indulge in a book, he can read it through in one day. Given this, he has little idea where he'd like to look. It's a small shop, lined with only a few white shelves, labeled by genre. The decor, decidedly, is all cat-themed, he almost expected every book in the place to also be cat themed.

He lingers on one of the front tables that holds engraved leather journals, much like the one his mother had but not quite. He runs his finger along the image of a daisy flower on the brown leather cover, then pushes on to peruse the mystery book section.

Billy should have realized it would be calming to enter a bookstore. The smell of the paper, hushed talking from the few occupants who also thought going to a bookstore on a Friday night was more interesting than anything else, and the dim, but not too dark glow of the lighting.

Every time he leaves an aisle, he finds himself going back to the front table to run his fingers over another one of the leather journals. Each of them have a different flower, though he is not sure of the name of them all. Fantasy. Rose. Romance. Hydrangea. Nonfiction. Lily. And so forth.

When he's come back round to trail his fingers on a flower he doesn't know, someone clears their throat.

His head lifts up, eyes meeting yours.

A name-tag sits on the t-shirt you're wearing, with a design that matches the sign out front, and you give him an amused smile, "Can I help you? You've come back to this table seven times already."

"I didn't know you were keeping count," he replies, with no thought or hesitation, so much so, that he feels his face flush at how smug that sounded.

To his delight, you only raise your brow and bite back some sort of smile. He decides he likes your smile. It lights up your face in a way that he feels he would never get tired of. Billy's forgotten what it's felt like to speak to someone so beautiful, but he pushes it aside. He's not here in this city to find something as elusive as that is to him.

"It's kinda hard not to notice the very tall man in cowboy books walking back and forth in the store."

"Ah." That makes sense. But you still noticed him. And had he really gone back seven times? The journals just really do look like his mother's. And he always loved the feeling of tracing engravings. Billy glances to his boots then pushes his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

"Do you need any help?" You ask him again, and suddenly he feels even more silly than he had been before.

He doesn't think he needs help at all, but you're watching him so earnestly. He takes that moment to really study you. Somehow, you do not look tired, but almost more alive than you should be. And questions punch into skull. Do you like working here? Do you like reading, is that why you seem so happy about your job? How long have you lived in the city? Did you have recommendations over what he should do, where he should go?

"What uh, is this flower?"

Billy feels like a downright idiot. He gestured to the notebooks, but has to point more directly after his words flew from his mouth without his permission. The pressure in his chest ramps up, then melts as you give him a bigger smile.

"Oh, that one? It's a violet. Hence the purple-dyed leather. These are a hit, though," you tell him, and he feels himself come back to his senses. You're just being nice. You're trying to sell something to him. He's thinking too much.

"I'm sure they are. They're very nice," Billy says, and the mutters under his breath, "excuse me."

His hands leaves his pockets, and his legs are taking him out of the store before he can go back on his words. What the fuck happened? His mind is swirling as he pushes the door open, the chime feels like it's mocking him. Mocking him for being weird to the woman working when she was kind, mocking him for clamming up and for listening to aptly to what his mother would do. Letting your instincts lead you to places was not fun, he decides, and already starts to think about how he'll plan out the rest of this trip so there's nothing else of a surprise and-

"Hey! Mister!"

He turns on his feet and sees you, standing right outside the store, waving your hand. In it, is a small white piece of paper.

"Shit, sorry," he says, as he comes jogging the small way back. You hold out the paper for him and he takes it, stuffing it back in his pocket.

"It's no problem, you dropped it." You pause after your words, then let out an awkward laugh, "well, obviously you dropped it, that's why I had it, but I figured you would want it since it wasn't a receipt and-"

"I got it. Thank you," he says, putting his hand against his chest to rub out the knot building there.

You're grinning again, and he can't help but reciprocate it in his own small way, and suddenly the purple journal is being held up to him.

"You may have this. On the house."

Billy stills and his fingers slowly encase around the bottom edge of the journal. His eyes wide on you, "I would feel awful, at least-"

"It's no burden on me. On us," you gesture with almost your whole body to the store and it makes Billy laugh.

"Just answer me this," you raise, waiting for him to nod. He does.

"What do you plan to write in it?"

He considers the question. He wonders if this was an overstep by you, too personal, but this entire interaction has been weird to him, so to hell with it. "About my...travels. What I see while I am away from home." Billy's eyes sweep up into yours, and he tries to think about how he would describe the color with words. "And who I meet."

[runningfrom2am]

OHHH EVERY WORD OF THIS WAS SO SWEET MILLIEEEE

౨ৎ꣑ৎyou and billy drunk together౨ৎ꣑ৎ

fem reader x billy the kid

“Baby?” His voice sounded desperate and you looked up with heightened eyebrows, whipping around as he barrelled into the room, scooping you up off your feet. You wrapped your arms around his neck, snuggling your face into his bare chest.

“What happened?”

“Couldn’t find you,” he mumbled into your neck, and you could feel his pout buried there.

“You just saw me two seconds ago,” you pointed out, and he slumped.

“Oh, yeah.” His words were slurred and you giggled. Billy lazily dragged a kiss or two down your neck. “Why’d y’ leave the bed ‘gain?”

“Cause we’re hungry.” The alcohol was making the world fuzzy and your mind was smooth and warm and flowing like a river, no boulders or sticks dredging it up. Hazily, you could remember the things he’d done to you in your room with much enthusiasm for someone with more drink than blood in them.

“Right.” Billy reached over to the cabinet, retrieving one of the loaves of bread you’d baked yesterday. He carried you in one arm and the bread in his other hand all the way back to the bedroom, depositing you atop the mattress.

You looked up at him and started giggling all over again. “You’re naked.”

“You were too a second ago,” he pointed out, sitting on the bed beside you and holding up the bread, tearing off a hunk with his teeth right out of the heel. When he offered it, you opened your mouth wide, taking a big bite. With his mouth full, he said, “I like it when you’re naked.”

“I like yours.” You reached behind him to squeeze his bottom and he hummed, using one arm to yank you on his lap. Billy tilted the bread toward you and you took some more, chewing delicately and leaning your head on his shoulder. “Billy where’re the cats?” Suddenly the idea of them being gone was terrifying, the worst thing that could ever happen. “Billy…”

“‘S okay, ‘s okay,” he panicked a little, squeezing you tight around the waist and looking around the room. “Willow?”

You yelled along with him. “Fish!”

There was a little preow behind Billy and you checked over his shoulder, gasping in delight. “Billy look!” He turned his head, seeing as you did the two cats sitting on the other side of the bed.

His eyes practically melted as he caught sight of your sweet calico purring as usual next to Fish. “C’mere, pretty.” Stretching out his fingers, he smiled broadly when Willow stood up and rubbed her cheek against them.

“Sweetie?” you mumbled, drawing a heart on his chest.

“Mhm?”

“What’re we gonna do?”

“Sleep prob’ly.”

“No.” You shifted on his lap, looking into his eyes. He fidgeted with the material of his shirt at your waist as you asked, “What are we gonna do forever?”

“Hm.” He took a minute to think about it, drumming his fingers at your side. “Well I wanna marry you.” His eyes grew round and melty like love drops. “Build you a great big house. Make babies and watch ‘em grow inside you.”

Sighing, you cuddled into his chest. “Babies.”

“You’d look real pretty with a baby, darlin’,” Billy remarked, moving you off his lap suddenly and snatching the pillow from your side of the bed. He stuffed it under the shirt of his you were wearing, leaning back on his hands and squinting. “Your belly’ll be prettier ‘n that.” Billy bent down to kiss your pillow tummy. “You’re real cute though.”

Mind still buzzing with alcohol, you yanked Billy down beside you, the pillow still half hanging out of your shirt. “I wanna get married.”

“We can get married right now,” he mumbled, nosing at your neck.

“Can’t ’member all the vows.” Settling into his side, you took his face in both your hands and turned it towards you. He the sunflower, gazing at you like you were the sun “Mr. William L. Bonney.”

“It ain’t an L,” he said dreamily. “Dunno what it is but-“

“I take you to be my wedded husband forever ‘n ever,” you cut in, and he nodded eagerly, arms shooting out to grasp you tight.

“I take you to be my wedded wife forever ‘n ever,” he started, and you could see him searching for the next right words. “And…and…when the worms try to eat us I’ll lay on top ‘f you so they leave you alone.”

You smiled and stroked your thumbs up and down his cheeks. The world was blurry and nothing existed outside these walls. It was as if everything had burned down save for the two of you here in this bed. In the back of your mind you knew you’d wake up with a headache and you knew tomorrow would be a lazy day of recovery but realistically all you knew now was that you loved him. And based on the bright stars shining in his eyes there was nothing but utter devotion in him.

“I love you,” you whispered, bringing your inside to life.

“I love you,” he repeated, leaning in to brush his lips with yours. You melted into the kiss, reaching up to tangle your fingers in his soft hair and tug gently. Billy pulled the pillow from your shirt and tossed it away, cuddling you closer to him and cocooning you in his arms. Snuggled into his bare body, you knew warmth and love and happiness all over again. He was yours forever, drunk and sober.

“‘M a married man now, honey,” he mumbled sleepily, stroking up and down your back. “Dunno if I have enough energy t’ given new wife a good wedding night though.”

Giggling, you kissed his chest. “It’s okay, handsome. You just make it up to me in the morning.”

“My baby,” Billy muttered, kissing your hair and clasping you close. “My wife.”

[runningfrom2am]

the implications sotr has for part 3 of in this life or the next… yeah i’ll be revisiting that draft rn

[runningfrom2am]

this is how it feels to wait for new photos of tom blyth wearing a cowboy hat

[runningfrom2am]

screaming from the rooftops…

CORIOLANUS ISNT A PSYCHOPATH/SOCIOPATH

CORIOLANUS REALLY DID LOVE LUCY GRAY

[runningfrom2am]

OHHHH THIS IS THE SWEETEST THING 🥹🥺

literally what happened to this kind of yearning, huh?? WHAT HAPPENED TO MEN MAKING A FOOL OF THEMSELVES FOR ATTENTION IN THE MOST PRECIOUS WAY?!

i adored this darling i love how your brain works and thank you for bringing this masterpiece to the universe ♥️

My Sweetheart Gives Me Love in Doses

billy the kid x nurse! reader

nurse! reader is in denial of her feelings for Billy, until he finally asks her on their first date

Your eyes peer towards the bouquet of flowers placed on the counter, one of the many that Billy had gifted you.

“That one sure is relentless isn’t he?”, asks Margie, the owner of the town’s local bakery. She had suffered from a minor burn as a result of taking her muffins out of the oven without mittens.

You look towards the flowers that Billy has gifted you just the day before. Red roses that he had hand picked himself. You remember that day, he came in insisting he needed the attention of a nurse (yours of course) because of the splinter he had got from one of the rose thorns pricking his finger.

“Yeah well Billy’s in here a lot, always getting himself banged up that one. I’m sure he sent those roses as some sort of thank you gift”.

“Mhmm.. sure”, Margie hums. “I don’t think he meant is as just a thank you gift, maybe more like a please finally notice me gift ”. Or perhaps a please go out with me gift”.

“Margie!”, you scold her forwardness. “As if I would ever go out with such a.. reckless fool!”

“Yeah but he’s your reckless fool”.

“He is not!! He just comes here to get his injuries tended to”. Your fingers fumbled around with the healing ointment for Margie’s burn. Thinking about Billy usually has that effect on you, actions that were usually precise and clean became wrinkled and sloppy. Oh he just had to go and mess up everything didn’t he?!

“Honey he’s here at least every other day, and I’m pretty sure he’s capable of taking care of a paper cut or a scratch on his own”, Margie teases, “Oh you’re in looooveee”.

“I am not!!!!”, you huff rubbing the ointment on her burn a little too aggressively. “How could I be in love with him? He's such an ass! Always wastin’ my time with these made up injuries.”

Margie smiles at your defiance. “He just wants your attention. Give the boy a break, hes clearly not the creative type”.

“The burn mark is lookin’ better. Just put this ointment on it for the next few days”. Your hands were shaking as you handed Margie the small bottle, thoughts of Billy and his foolish nature making a home in your mind. Okay so maybe you did like him, and maybe you did find his desperate excuses of “injuries” he would make up just to see you charming.

———————————————————————

The next morning, you were slow in opening the nurse’s office. It seemed like it would be an easy day, the townsfolk didn’t seem too rowdy today which meant less injuries to tend to. Of course you spoke too soon.

“Don’t tell me I’m the first patient of the day?”, Billy asks following the chime of the door closing. “Well lucky for you I don’t got anything too severe, just some sort of sickness”.

“Sickness? What are your symptoms?” You sit him down on the clinic’s bed.

“Symptoms? Oh just a racing of the heart and butterflies in my stomach. One could say that I’m.. lovesick”.

You scoff immediately pulling him back on his feet. “Oh you’re fine! Dramatic as always…”

“No no I’m bein’ serious!!”, Billy chuckles using himself as an obstacle as he stood in front you. You always huffed and walked away whenever he got on your nerves, Billy thought it was adorable.

Deep down you loved his overly-pathetic attempts to court you. “Well if it’s so “serious” then what do you think the cure is hm?”

Billy smiles, slowly bringing you closer. “I think I would be cured if a pretty gal agreed to go on a date with me. Oh look.. here’s one right now. Think you can help me darlin’?”

“Hm.. I suppose I could. What sort of nurse would I be if I didn’t do everything I could for your recovery?” If you were less resilient , you wouldn’t have moved away when he tried to kiss you. “Save that for the date”, you say cheekily.

“ ‘F course”, he slurs. Billy was pathetically enamored by you, and now that you were this close to him he was sure he felt himself being faint.

“Just so you know, don’t expect me to bandage any of your wounds on this date of ours”.

“Aw sweetheart the only wound that’ll need mendin’ will be my heart if you break it”, Billy teases.

“As if I would do such a thing!”, you scoff playfully. *You weren’t going to let this man feel the touch of another woman ever again, well unless she was you of course.

[runningfrom2am]

protective billy from season one will always be my favorite

[runningfrom2am]

franci couldn’t have said it better THIS IS THE ONLY FIC EVER!!

౨ৎ꣑ৎdrunk billy౨ৎ꣑ৎ fem reader x billy the kid

Earlier tonight, he’d told you the party would last until late. That you shouldn’t wait up because he had to be there to keep up appearances for work. You’d asked if he wanted you to come with but he said it was okay, that he didn’t want any you to have to stand around while he talked work with his high and mighty superiors. You suspected the real reason was because he didn’t trust some of the people who’d be at the party.

Even though he’d left you with a kiss and told you to go to bed, that you’d come back to him right beside you in the morning, you couldn’t help your want to see him after the party. You knew he didn’t like to go to these sorts of things and you hoped to be able to comfort him if he needed it.

When his boots clomped up the porch steps (you had porch steps now! It was a thrill that never ended) you perked up and set your mending to the side, checking the lifespan of the candle burning faithfully on the little table to your left. The door clicked open and you saw your lover stagger through the frame, his face splitting into a wide smile that glowed in the dark.

“There’s my girl,” he slurred, stumbling forward as you stood up to greet him, yelping when he lifted you around your waist off your feet to hold you tightly. “Wanted t’ hold you all night. Don’ wanna let go everever again.”

His breath smelled like beer but you let him kiss you anyways, pulling back and cupping his cheeks. “How many drinks, my dearest?”

“Lot.” Billy set you back on your feet and dropped his face to your shoulder. You lowered your arms to wrap around his waist, fingers inching under his suspenders to rub his back. “Me ‘n the boys left the party ‘n went to the bar. Missed you bad.”

“Hmm.” You righted him straight and he let you guide him back into the bedroom you shared, stopping to take your candle with you. It was a blessing to have such a nice house with more than two rooms and a floor made of wood instead of dirt. He’d sworn to you when you started seeing each other that he’d buy you a nice big house with a place to plant your daisies. He had worked himself to the bone to be able to get here and it was a testament to you how much he loved you. Being able to have a real bed frame and a mattress where he slept beside you every night was proof of his devotion. You could never take it for granted.

“Sweet’eart?” Billy drawled where he was flopped sideways across the bed while you knelt at his feet.

“Yes, darling?” You worked one boot off, pushing his foot away when it threatened to dangle near your face.

“Wanna hold you.”

“Give me a minute, handsome.” You started to pull his other boot, grunting when it refused to budge. “You’ve got big feet.”

“Got lots ‘f big things.”

You tossed his second boot beside the first and climbed onto the bed, sitting on his hips. Billy grinned, his hands resting at your waist. You’d figured you’d give him something to play with while you undressed him for bed. Working off the handkerchief around his neck, you started to unfasten his buttons. “How’d you get home?”

“Horse.” You didn’t know how on earth he’d managed to get on the saddle in his state but figured you’d thank the higher powers he’d made it home at all.

“I see.” Billy let his arms flop to the side while you tugged off his shirt. “Can you sit up for me?”

He obediently lifted himself up, blue eyes sleepy and melty. You smiled softly, thumbing his cheek and pressing a soft kiss to his nose. “There’s my Billy.”

“‘M your Billy,” he repeated quietly. He clasped you close to him, fisting the material of your dress. When you shifted on his lap he groaned, nosing into your neck. “My baby.”

“I’m your baby?”

Billy’s forehead touched yours and his lips traveled to your mouth. You let him do it idly for a bit, relishing the prickle of his stubble at your cheeks, his warm hands on your waist. “Yeah. My baby.”

His hair was messy, hat tossed on the hook seconds after coming inside. You surveyed his lengthy arms, broad shoulders covered by a shirt unbuttoned all the way, his suspenders still balancing by his collar. Billy’s mouth was rough in theory but soft in reality, and his lips were parted slightly. He was right- he was big. You would feel a little silly sitting on top of him like this, babying him like he was something little and fluffy, but he loved it so much. You reached up now to sink your fingers into his hair, the tips of your nails grazing over his skin and making him groan all over again. “My baby.”

“I think right now you’re my baby,” you corrected with a breathy laugh woven into your words.

He frowned and it made you laugh harder. “No.” Billy pulled you close again, lying all the way back down, you bending with him. “M’ face is on wanted posters. Ain’t no baby.”

“Alright, alright,” you giggled, and he hummed in a pleased sort of way, leaning his head back with heavy eyes.

“Time for bed,” you whispered, brushing his hair back from his face. “You’ve gotta sleep all that drink off.”

“Wanna sleep with you.”

“I’ll be right here.” You dragged one sleeve off his arm after pushing his suspenders away. Working at the other sleeve, you said, “I’ll need your help with your pants, sweetheart.”

“I like when you take my pants off.” The ends of Billy’s words were blurry and it made you smile.

Folding his shirt, you quickly abandoned your task of putting it in the drawer when he tried to get up and follow you. “Uh uh, you lay down. Take off your gun belt if you want to stay busy.” He whined but flopped back down, clumsily working the leather material off itself.

Quickly, you pulled your dress off while you were up and returned to unbutton and slide his pants from his legs. Billy watched you with a lazy smile on his face, predictably reaching for you once he was done. He rotated sideways so he was lined up with the bed, and you drew the covers over him, laying down beside him and letting him drag you back into his arms.

Billy kissed you once, then again, shifting on top of you and holding himself up surprisingly well for someone so wasted. You frowned at him, half laughing. “What’re you doing?”

Now he looked confused. “Weren’t we…? Aren’t we…?” Gently, he nudged his hips against yours, causing you to laugh harder and throw your arms around his neck.

“You’re such a lover,” you said through your giggling. “My sweet Billy. You need to sleep. Just sleeping.”

He pouted. “Baby.” Catching himself, he tried a mildly seductive expression. “You’re so pretty…”

“Goodnight,” you said abruptly, pushing his head into your shoulder. He pressed a kiss to where you’d forced him to lay but didn’t argue any further. You could feel his body getting heavier, and he shifted to the side, keeping his head where it was.

Tomorrow you’d draw all the curtains and let him cuddle you until the pounding fist of a hangover ceased. You’d tell him about what he’d said and he wouldn’t deny it, instead try to justify it in the lens of sobriety, making you laugh in the process. Later you’d sit on the porch of this hard earned house and watch the sunset, marveling at the fact that you had a man who loved you so much that he came home drunk and missing you.

[runningfrom2am]

wdym “that picture on the wall you’re scared of looks just like you” coryo edits

WDYM “to love me is to suffer me” CORYO EDITS?!

everytime someone edits tbosas to ethel cain i go crazy

[runningfrom2am]

idk if i’ve said this on here but modern billy w/ his daughter of cain girl is rotting my brain and i actually don’t think i’ve uttered a single word of it anywhere but i do need to talk about that

soooo modern billy coded 💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛⛪️

[runningfrom2am]

Hi! I just wanted to say I finished your story Cold Nights and tell you how much I loved it!! I’ve been obsessing over young Coryo since I rewatched the film recently but since I am more in love with blonde Tom Blyth than with crazy evil Coriolanus himself, I really enjoyed reading a story where he isn’t as fucked up as his canon self but he is still _him_ enough to make the happy ending believable. I hope you are proud of your writing, I didn’t want to finish the series so quickly but you are so good I ended up at the epilogue without realizing lool but anyways I will be reading if you post more of that story even short one shots, if not its ok I just wanted to compliment your beautiful story <3

hey!! thank you so so so much for showing up in my inbox it made my week :)

also that was totally my goal! i’m glad you got the vision there. i feel like SO much of coriolanus’ impulsivity and (terrible horrible) choices in ballad came from a place of panic and (perceivably) dire situations- the whole “it’s us vs. them” narrative that Gaul (and honestly his grandmother) was pushing on him, among an ARRAY of other factors i won’t bore you with; rather than him just being an irredeemably “evil” person already at 18. (everyone is a little bit evil at 18, honestly?) so my idea for cold nights was to just put him in the same situation, but lessen the villain-making factors a tiny bit and give him someone who’s truly a positive influence and just see what happened. i had no plan for this series beyond r’s character. it kind of wrote itself.

ALL TO SAY,, thank you for going on that journey and thank you for enjoying it. seriously it means so much.

and, i would love to write more for them. i just don’t know what that would look like because their story just feels so complete. so if you have any ideas or even questions, i am absolutely all ears. i love them and miss them so much,

[runningfrom2am]

requiem // part nine

summary: according to coriolanus snow, his best friend had the most beautiful voice in all of panem. she had been training her whole life constantly to get where she was; being up for a residency at the most elite opera house in all of panem. singing was her passion. her true love; and when that got stripped from her in a second, his world became a whole lot quieter. he loathed every minute of it.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 2.6k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: opera singer!mentor!reader (blink and you'll miss it), she's kind of a prodigy!! p cool imo, mute!reader, bestfriend!coryo, friends to lovers trope ooo, mentions of graphic violence early on (particularly the prologue) but after that it's pretty safe, depictions of ptsd/trauma, mental illness and minor suicidal ideation but at least she's not entirely alone, descriptions of minor medical treatments and use of medication.

a/n: its been a while thats my bad i have no excuse

also, reminder to follow @runningfrom2am-library and turn on my notifications there to join my taglist for this series!!

and biggest of loving thank you's to @milliesfishes for prereading this for me :)

my asks are also open to talk about this series! (i do have emoji anons open now too!)

send me any and all of your thoughts! here!

series masterlist // playlist // pinterest board

Teaching yourself to play the guitar at eighteen was maybe a little bit harder than you had anticipated.

After two weeks, once you got the hang of all the chords and finger placements matched with how to properly strum the instrument, it started to kill you the same way the familiarity of your piano now did.

Every note, every chord, every pull of the strings with your fingers called for you to sing. It was a physical sensation, stemming from so deep in your chest you weren't sure you'd ever felt less real in your life. Your body was hardly a passive vessel used by you day in and day out to carry you from point A to point B. It was begging you to make a sound, to sing in a way that used to be second nature but was now forbade by your own anatomy. You wonder, if your body plead to create music so desperately, why had it even let you survive without functioning vocal cords? Why had you woken up from that trauma in the first place, if your body, separate of mind, needed the music so badly?

You have a vision of what you know the melody would go, should your mindless repetitive strumming be accompanied by lyrics. You can't even be granted the peace of being able to hum it to yourself.

What had you done to deserve this gentle torture?

You don't know when you'd started writing things down, scribbling on the nearest pad of paper you could reach for days between visits from Coryo or silent dinners with your parents.

That song was all you could think about until it was done, written and prophesied to never be heard in its entirety by anyone except your own mind.

By the time Dr. Gaul reaches out to you again, the song is perfect; scribbled and scratched and rewritten until it became what you were sure was your magnum opus- though you had never written your own music before. You had nearly succumbed to it being a work of tragedy, something you would never even get to hear yourself until Dr. Gaul gave you hope.

On September 3rd, the day before classes started and Coryo was meant to begin his apprenticeship under her, Dr. Gaul made a house call with a folder of extensive research done on the jabberjays in hand- she believed she could fix you.

In small doses, she believed it was possible to slowly tweak away at the remains of your vocal chords until they could be salvaged. Maybe. But you were more than happy to take a maybe, and so were your parents. What's the worst that could happen?

Coriolanus Snow had fallen in love with the beautiful voice of his best friend long before he ever realized he could feel similarly about the rest of her, too. If he were conscious of such a fact, it would have offered a much needed solution to his current predicament.

He could hear you in everything. In the whispers of the girls behind him in his lectures, in the crackling elevator music on the way to and from his penthouse- now that it was functional again, that is. In his own absentminded humming while he was too focussed on his reading to notice he was really doing it.

In the chirping of jabberjays in Dr. Gaul's lab.

Today, however, reviewing charts and signing off on the wellbeing of other creatures he couldn't really care less about, he has become convinced that the lack of sleep has finally caught up with him and he's actually lost his mind.

It is you. It is your voice he's hearing, like those records that lined a shelf in your room, though one he's never heard. Talking, instead of singing.

You were talking, and he clearly needed to ask Dr. Gaul for a prescription for some kind of sleeping med, because that was just plain impossible.

But he knew your voice as well as he knew the voice in his own head.

"Yes, please." Your voice says, echoing through a cracked door down the hall. "No, thank you."

His feet are carrying him through the corridor before he can weigh the merits of leaving his job, the section of the lab he was meant to be monitoring for the moment.

Dr. Gaul's office, separate from the extent of the broader laboratory she ran in the lower levels of the citadel, was somewhat of a mystery to him. It was her office that the sweet sound was coming from, but it was just more echoes of the same thing. "Yes, please." "No, thank you."

"Hello."

That one sounded off.

"Goodbye!"

That one sounded so cheery he almost jerks his head back like the word had struck him. When he knocks on the door, your voice abruptly stops and it's quiet for a moment before the door is opened.

"Did something bite you?" Dr. Gaul asks, raising an eyebrow as she looks at him in the doorway. She was clearly unimpressed that she was being interrupted.

"No, but-"

"Scratch you? Sting you?"

He shuts up then, shaking his head.

"Then I am busy. Please ask one of the other doctors to sign off on whatever you need me for and I'll look at it later."

He stops the door when she tries to close it in his face, his eyes searching hers. "I heard her, is she here?"

Dr. Gaul's lips press together at the question, her head tipping slightly. "Your chickadee? No. But I was just speaking with her mother on the phone, perhaps that is what you heard."

Immediately, Coryo is skeptical- his eyes flicking past her into the room. As if he wouldn't know your mother's voice from your own. It was you. He was positive.

"Why did her parents call? Is she okay?" He asks instead of calling her out on the obvious lie.

"As okay as a bird with clipped vocal cords could be, I assume." Dr. Gaul responds, and it's clear to him from the smile on her face that she somehow didn't mean any harm by saying something so horrible.

"If there is nothing else, then, please return to your duties." She adds when he doesn't say anything, and as she closes the door in his face, he can just make out the twitching wings of a bird pinned down to a metal sheet on her desk.

You hadn't intended to keep it from him. But something in your gut told you not to say a word, and you were grateful you couldn't. You were a lot of things, but not a good liar- and your muteness offered you a wall between you and your best friend that allowed you to guard secrets for once.

This was also made easier by the fact that you had less classes with him here at the university than you did at academy. Spare for a couple general studies courses you both needed for your differing degrees, you didn't see each other nearly as much. It was a curse and a blessing in equal measure.

Like a perfect routine, you slid his dedicated notebook back and forth across the desk between you while your English professor rambled on and on.

'Bellacora's after class?' He writes next to your previous doodle of a flower, sliding it back over to you quietly with a questioning expression.

You redip your pen a couple of times while you think about it. He had the day off, but thats why you had to see Dr. Gaul today. You couldn't accidentally cross paths with him while he was working between or after classes. But you did really want to go.

Being a little late to the lab wouldn't be the worst thing if it was only once, right?

'Sure. I'll meet you there after my last class :)' You scribble out and you can practically feel his smile as his hair brushes against your ear from where he was leaning close to watch you write.

Bellacora's is quieter than usual. The bustle of students in the shop set between the university and Academy campus's has dulled to a low murmur, the clink of spoons and the occasional hiss of the espresso machine filling in the space. Coryo's already found a booth by the window, one the two of you have always frequented since your parents allowed you to go out alone, and there are two mismatched mugs between you by the time you slide in across from him.

He doesn't smile right away. But he lifts your mug, blue with a spiderweb crack near the handle, and nudges it toward you with both hands. You mouth a silent thank you and take a sip.

It's perfect. Lemon tea with honey, no sugar- he remembered.

"I thought maybe you'd change your order," he says lightly, "new voice, new tastebuds, or something. But I decided to play it safe."

You raise an eyebrow at him, amused, and he immediately flinches.

"Sorry. That was stupid."

You shake your head, then pull out your notebook.

'Not stupid. Funny.' You underline funny twice for emphasis. He was right to wonder that, though. That had been your favourite drink for years- moreso, the only drink you could have other than water because it was good for your throat and kept your voice perfectly smooth. As far as anyone was concerned, there was no reason for you to continue drinking three cups of the substance a day. Truthfully, though, it was both a habit you couldn't break and ideal for the soreness that was a fresh constant since you'd started seeing Dr. Gaul.

He lets out a short breath, it could almost be considered a laugh, and leans back into the booth. His gaze drifts toward the window, where autumn leaves skip past in small bursts of wind. "Feels weird not seeing you everyday anymore."

You nod slowly, holding onto the top of your high neck shirt and pulling it up under your chin, further covering your neck as you rest your chin in your palm and mindlessly stir your drink even though you're not adding anything.

"Do you miss it?" he asks.

You hesitate as you let go of the spoon, then write, 'Every day.'

There's a long silence as he reads it and nods once. "You've been... different lately."

You freeze.

"Not in a bad way," he says quickly. "Just... quieter. And I guess that's ironic, but... I don't know. You feel far away. Even when you're right here."

Your throat tightens. You scribble something and slide it over with a bit too much force.

'I'm trying.'

He reads it once, then again, like he's looking for something hidden beneath the ink.

"I know," he says. "I can tell."

You look down at your mug. Your reflection wobbles inside it.

'It's not you.'

"I didn't think it was." He mutters. "But I wish you'd let me help. You always used to let me help."

You tap your pen against the side of your notebook. 'Some things you can't fix.'

That gets him. His jaw tightens. But then he nods, slowly.

"I'm still here. Even if I can't fix it. I told you that."

You can't meet his eyes, so you trace the edge of the table with your thumb.

He reaches across and places his hand on top of yours. Just rests it there, warm and still.

You want to speak, to say something real, something that would let you fall apart safely in front of him, but the words are still locked inside you. Maybe not because of your voice. Maybe because after the show those months ago, things had gone back to normal even though you were certain it would be the beginning of change.

So instead, you stay like that, holding onto him.

The lab was nearly empty, the usual unending busyness reduced to a low mechanical hum beneath the thick veil of silence. Coryo lingered, pretending to review data logs, but his gaze kept drifting toward the far corner of the testing room. The small metal cabinet, usually overlooked and locked tight, seemed almost to pulse under the dim light as he went over log after log, checking and rechecking dates for what he felt was no real reason.

He checked the time on the wall. Everyone had left at least an hour ago, and the dim orange glow from the street lamps filtered faintly through the narrow windows- the kind of light that made every shadow stretch and flicker.

His fingers brushed against the small, cold master key tucked in his coat pocket, the one Dr. Gaul had trusted him with weeks ago for emergency access. She trusted him, and for the first time, he's considering that maybe she shouldn't.

The urge tangled in his mind, an electric mix of curiosity and dread. It was none of his business, he knew that. His tasks were limited to the list of busywork given to him every day when he signed in, but the voice in his head was louder than that. He thought of her, of you, and the fragile hope in your eyes when you'd sat in the hospital room in the short weeks following the assault. The widening of your pretty eyes when you'd ran into him at this lab on the day he was offered his apprenticeship, and how he'd never been given a straight answer on why you were here.

With a steady breath, he rose from his chair and crossed the room, careful not to disturb a delicate jar on the nearby shelf. The key slid into the lock, turning with a quiet click that echoed louder than it should have in the stillness.

Inside, rows of glass jars gleamed under the low light, each containing pinned jabberjays, labeled meticulously with dates and codes he was still learning to decipher. Coryo's breath caught as he reached for the one near the back, its label marked only days ago, hastily scrawled in Dr. Gaul's unmistakable handwriting.

He lifted the vial gently, eyes scanning the tiny glass filled with a strange, pale tissue sample suspended in liquid. Notes accompanied it — words like "vocal cord regeneration," "experimental dosage 04," and "patient confidentiality." His chest tightened.

A soft rustling sound made him freeze. Footsteps? His heart hammered, and he pushed the cabinet door shut, pocketing the vial. He slipped back to his desk, hiding behind a cluster of equipment just as a janitor's shadow passed beyond the doorway.

When the footsteps faded, Coryo sank into his chair, the weight of the glass heavy in his pocket. His fingers reached instinctively for the worn notebook you shared with him. Filled with song lyrics, doodles, programs from your past performances. The pages were stained and creased, but still sacred.

He traced a finger over a line he'd written to you, he remembered sitting in the grass in the academy's courtyard over the summer when he'd told you something dumb.

'I'd sell my soul to hear you sing like that again.'

And then, where you'd replied in print:

'Me too :('

At that time you'd laughed at the dramatics of his claim, but he'd meant it. Only now he was considering the possibility that you did too.

no taglist this time around!! my fics usually get over a hundred requests to be added to the taglist so instead i made a library! follow me over on @runningfrom2am-library and turn on notifs to get updates when i post new parts!!

[runningfrom2am]

this is so sweet i loved every word of it, you have a gift lovey 🥹 💐

In my head it ends when he finally gets the courage to ask her father for his blessing to take her out on a date (the gentleman he is)

Oh my god yes Phantom

ℬ𝒾𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝒶𝓈𝓀𝓈 𝓎ℴ𝓊𝓇 𝒻𝒶𝓉𝒽ℯ𝓇’𝓈 𝒷𝓁ℯ𝓈𝓈𝒾𝓃𝑔

His hands feel shaky. Are they shaky? They’re sweaty, that’s what— he wipes them on his pants hurriedly. His eyes dart like Mexican jumping beans, they land on a pack of Marlboros laying atop the coffee table on your porch. He wasn’t a big smoker, just on the account his pa was one. But hanging around your dad, he was getting damn close— it seemed like he couldn’t dawdle longer than two sneezes around his boss without a red being offered from the pack, and a cigarette inevitably hanging from his lips. Absently he thinks about lighting one up— he could sure use the calm. But he just wrings his hands and waits for your dad to come out from the screen door he had hollered Billy to wait by, and that he’d “be out inna minute!”

A minute that had 4 seasons and 365 days, Billy thought as he fell into the wicker chair by the coffee table. Same one you used to watch him work from, back when he was just the cute new hire to you. The thought brings a smile. He hadn’t told you he was gonna do this— he knew you’d have more than one or two doubts.

He stands when your dad steps out, he waves dismissively to get the young man back into his seat. He feels a little like a dancer while the older lug lowers into the second rocking chair. “So, Bonney. Y’needed somethin?”

“Yes, sir. I did.”

“Sure hope it ain’t money.”

Billy can’t hide a grin at that, ducking his face away and scratching at his chin. Naw, that’d be easier than this. He beats around the bush just a bit, throws a few compliments your way, watches the minute changes in your dad’s face before he just throws the whole thing at him. “I was wonderin’ if I might get your blessin’, sir, t’take her out.” Your dad stares out at the cattle at the very borders of his property. Billy wonders if he’s checking out a clock up in the Yukon, with that hundred mile stare. “I have good intentions, I mean t’treat her good. She deserves better than what I can give her, sure, but I’ll break my neck t’try.”

His boss stays silent, taking to rubbing his lips thoughtfully— or maybe absentmindedly. “She means a lot t’me,” Billy murmurs, hoping he can reel this conversation back into view.

“Don’t start there, Kid. She means more t’me.” Your dad grunts, his chestnut eyes flicking up and burning into Billy like lit cigarettes in the forearm. He can’t argue that, can he? He nods a little, his jaw ticking as his boss pushes hisself onto his feet, sending the rocking chair on a pendulum, his boots thumping on the deck. Billy picks out the words from a low grumble; “I’ll think ‘bout it.”

It was enough for him. He’d damn well take it smiling. You were his little girl after all— it’s stupid as hell, but he lets himself think about what he’d do in your father’s shoes, concerning a daughter with your eyes and your attitude. Clearly that last bit ran in the blood, by the looks of things.

Next time he sees you, you’ve got this look. You’re waiting in the gravel lot all the ranch hands park their cars in, arms crossed, back against the fence, a wide-brimmed hat on your summer-mussed hair. Your shaded eyes are wide, but not burning, thank the lord— you throw your arms around his neck the moment he slams his car door shut and makes his way to you.

So, a good look, he guesses he was met with, the day after your father grumbles that William (not Billy quite yet, but not the Kid, or worse, Bonney) was a good kid, and he supposes he can’t keep you under lock and key forever. He made sure to tack on that you ought to tell him your daddy’d “break his legs, come a need.”

“You’re so stupid,” you mumble against him, the material of his button up scratching your face. “You never told me you were gonna tell him. Crazy, crazy stupid boy.” Your words don’t have any teeth, he cant bite back the smile that spreads over his stubbled cheeks at how sweetly your attitude’s melted— rest assured it’s still present and kicking. But gooey as a warm s’more you smush your cheek to his shoulder blade.

Billy’s hand rubs up and down your back firmly, his eyes glancing quickly around the property. You’re alone, he’s grateful. Can’t be pushing his luck. “Your daddy—?“

“—told me, yeah.” Something about the easiness of your tone, the replacement of fire with sweet ember, it brings on the broadest, most boyish of smiles to crease his eyes. “And he’s—“

“—giving you a chance. Yeah.” You laugh breathlessly. What a man, your Billy. Stepping up to bat, even when he knew the risks of striking out. Willing to put himself out there, for you. You look up at him. He’s been looking down at you. Like you’re an angel down on earth.

“Ain’t I a smooth talker, then?” Billy can’t resist the joke, cockiness all over his face. It just feels too victorious, too absolutely free to not let laughter follow his words, and the same goes for the smile you can’t control. You roll your eyes, but oh, are you glad he really is a smooth talker.

[runningfrom2am]

pls put him in the grecian sun (but not for too long he's british)

supergoop sponsorship when hahahah

[runningfrom2am]

I WOULD DIE maybe he could be british in this? or at least keep the accent? I can see him being dominic cooper and amanda seyfried's son

YES LET OUR BOY KEEP THE ACCENT JUST ONCE PLEASEEEEE

also 100% could totally see it hellooooooo casting directors HEAR OUR LOGIC HEREEEE

ALSO i am so excited for sabrina and i’m quite confident she’ll take it bc she is a mamma mia fannnn like tom or not i can’t wait for this movie. but tom,,, guys hear us out he’s perfect

[runningfrom2am]

PUT TOM BLYTH IN MAMMA MIA 3

THATS WHAT IM SAYINGGGGGG

i don’t know what their plan is bc i know they do have one but i’m just SAYING that at the end of here we go again they referenced how bright and blue sophie’s baby boy’s eyes are. potiential here i thinks.

[runningfrom2am]

has the mamma mia 3 propaganda made it to tumblr yet? bc i would love to talk about it (i have extensive and specific thoughts on the matter that i believe the casting directors should hear)