#wc starling

[residents-of-the-darkforest]

What a sweet family :) I'm sure nothing bad had ever happened to them :)

@starfalcon555

----

Bases:

F2U Kitten Lineart! by storielle on DeviantArt

F2U Longhaired Cat Base by Turukhan on DeviantArt

[rookflower]

[blimbo-buddy]

anywho I think the wording of the new changing skies blurb is interesting in how StarlingPaw himself believes that he is the one who can stop this split faced cat but I just know already his arc is going to be boring as fuck and not about a war-raised child trying to find a sense of accomplishment in his life due to values of “deserving/being worthy of living” being drilled into his brain by the Clans which culminates in his own illusions of having a true destiny and purpose to live; no matter if he has become worthy of praise from Skyclan and the others for defeating the “two faced cat”, or he has become worthy of death due to killing another Clan cat, he will be satiated in a state of pure, horrible and beautiful happiness as his name is remembered by the clans

[mydearzero]

After Hours | Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x fem!Reader

Summary: Clean shaven. That was how you knew Bob. But while you were away on a mission, he'd decided to change up his look. Who knew just a little facial hair was enough to shine a new light on the man and drive you absolutely insane?

Contents: SMUT, porn with some plot, fem!reader, No Y/N, thunderbolts!reader, Bob is taller than reader, reader has hair long enough to get in your face, matchmakers Ava and Yelena, shower sex, Oral (f receiving), Penetrative sex (p in v), slight overstimulation, unsafe sex (wrap it before you tap it!!), creampie. If I missed any warnings please let me know!

WC: 4.4K

18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Masterlist

A/N: As I've made very clear and made it everybody's problem, I'm currently going fucking insane over Lewis Pullman. Watched The Starling Girl, was not okay afterwards, wrote this. Bon Appétit.

Clean shaven, undetectable facial hair. That was how you knew Bob. You weren’t even sure he was able to grow any facial hair, until you’d spotted him in the bathroom one morning. Shaving was part of his morning routine. For a long time, he’d just preferred the look and feel.

Until last week. 

You’d been overseas for a mission, nothing unusual. You returned, debriefed and made your way back to the tower, just like you’d done many times before. Not everybody was at the tower, but then again, it was once in a blue moon everybody was there at the same time. It was just Ava, Yelena, Bob and you for today, it seemed. 

You took off your shoes, placing them on the rack next to the elevator. The sound of your heavy bag dropping to the floor caught the attention of the room’s occupants. Such dangerous people, yet they hadn’t heard the elevator? You met each of their eyes, giving them a tired but warm smile. Your smile faltered ever so slightly, eyebrows raising, at the sight of Bob. He looked different. 

He was wearing a black t-shirt. Short sleeves, you noted. Not something he wore often. He preferred to wear longer sleeves to cover some of the scarring on the inside of his elbows, understandably so. That was in the past. The shirt looked good on him. Very good. 

It was not the main attraction, though. He had stubble. More than a five o’clock shadow, but not a full beard. Probably a few days of growth, at most. But dear lord did it change his whole look. Bob noticed the extra attention you were paying him, insecurely rubbing his hand over the stubble and turning his attention back to the TV, away from you. 

“Hey guys…” you finally spoke. You tore your eyes off the back of Bob’s head, meeting Yelena’s amused gaze. “What’s going on?” 

“We were just watching a movie, you’re welcome to join, if you want,” Ava invited. 

“I’m just gonna go put my stuff in my room and change and then I’ll join you,” you agreed. Bob casually put his arm on the back of the couch, leaning back, and your eyes snapped to the exposed skin of his biceps. You knew he had some muscle on him, so why did you feel like a sinner seeing a woman’s ankles in the 1800’s? 

You grabbed your bag off the floor and hastily made your way to your room. God, what had gotten into you? Sure, Bob was very sweet. Why had your mouth gone dry at the sight of him, today of all days? 

You unpacked your bag, throwing the dirty clothes in the laundry hamper. You grabbed a change of comfy clothes and changed into them, finally being able to unwind after a week away. You already felt more relaxed just by being back in the tower. It had really become your home over these last few months on this new team. 

You walked into the kitchen to grab some snacks and a drink. Damn it. The one thing Walker and you had in common was your favourite brand of chips. Did he really have to put them on the tippy toppest of shelves? You were convinced he only put them there so you wouldn’t be able to reach them. Bastard. 

“Need a hand?” Startled, you whipped around. Bob was closer than his voice had sounded. He was already reaching over you for the chips. You were now faced with his chest and the new stubble on his chin. He put a hand on your waist to steady you. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” he chuckled. He put the chips on the counter, grabbing a bag of M&M’s for himself. You took a deep breath to steady yourself as he moved away to the fridge. You followed his movements, frozen against the counter. 

“Thirsty?” He asked, holding up a bottle of soda. 

“Huh?” You blinked. You are a grown woman. Why are you getting distracted by him like this? 

“You want a drink?” He had grabbed a glass for himself, offering one to you, too. 

“Oh, yes, please. Thanks.” He poured two glasses to the brim. 

“How was the mission?” He asked. You grabbed the snacks and the both of you walked back into the living room, putting your stuff on the coffee table. 

“It was good. Quite uneventful, really. No wonder they sent me to go alone,” you shrugged. Surveillance for a full week without any real action. Boring. 

“Well, at least you didn’t get hurt,” Bob smiled. You returned it and sat down next to him on the couch, on the free spot between him and Yelena. If anybody were to hold you at gunpoint and ask what movie they’d been watching that night, they might as well shoot you. Your eyes were on the TV, but your mind and peripheral were preoccupied with the man to your right. 

You knew Yelena noticed. Ava too, probably. At this point, you didn’t care. You were enthralled. He looked so different. It had only been a week. Had someone dosed you with an aphrodisiac on the plane back or something? Because it sure felt like it. 

He absentmindedly ran a hand through his hair and pushed it out of his face, and just like that, you were done for. The nonchalant action was so hot, it wasn’t fair. You were starting to get angry with yourself, but also with him. Stupid Bob. Stupid beard. Stupid heart that won’t stop beating at a thousand BPM. 

“What did that bag of crisps ever do to you?” Ava asked, interrupting the silence. You looked down at your hands. You were grabbing the bag as if it had killed your family and owed you money. You had eaten one, maybe two hands of the stuff before your cravings had dwindled. Or shifted, more like. You were definitely craving something– someone else now. 

“Sorry,” you chuckled, releasing the bag and deciding to just put it on the table. “Probably still a bit tense from the mission.” 

“Hmmmm, right. I thought you said it was uneventful?” Yelena questioned. 

“Uhu,” your voice went up an octave, betraying your lie. Bob gave you a curious look. You refused to return it, scared what you might do if you made direct eye contact right now. 

Before you knew it, the credits rolled over the screen. Ava cleared the table and took everything to the kitchen, leaving you alone with Yelena and Bob. Yelena turned to you. 

“So, what do you think of Bob’s new look? Quite dashing, no?” She proposed. Smug little– You were so going to get her back for this one day. You slowly turned your eyes to Bob, who was patiently, though anxiously, awaiting your answer. 

“It uh– Looks good. Different,” you replied, scared to give yourself away. 

“Different? Is that a good thing? Or…” Bob’s face had fallen, though only a little. He was masking the insecurity, but you saw it either way. 

“No, no��� I mean– Yes, it’s a good thing. Good different. Looks good,” you choked before he could feel any worse about it. 

“I’m not too sure about it, yet. Think I might shave it tonight.” 

“NO. I mean. Why don’t you give it a little longer? It’s only been what, a week? Just test it out for a while,” you laughed awkwardly. 

“Hmmm, I don’t know…” Bob pushed a hand through his hair again. It was getting long. You closed your eyes and turned back to Yelena. Anything to spare yourself this torture. Yelena was barely containing her laughter. If Bob had any clue as to what was happening, which was unlikely– the man was as dense as lead– he didn’t show it. 

“Well, I think it looks great. Makes him look a little more rugged. Don’t you agree?” You were going to kill Yelena Belova. It would be difficult. You would make it slow, torturous. 

“Yup! Definitely more rugged. Hey, where has Ava walked off to?” You changed the subject. Speaking of the devil, she walked back in with a cup of steaming tea. 

“I’m gonna go shower. I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but please don’t kill each other while I’m gone,” Bob joked. So he had noticed Yelena was pestering you. He got up off the couch and walked down the hallway towards the bedrooms. 

The second Bob turned the corner out of sight, you jumped Yelena, reaching for her throat. “I’m gonna fucking kill you,” you threatened. She wrangled your arms away from her throat and laughed loudly. 

“I think you have more important matters to concern yourself with,” Ava interjected. You stopped wrestling Yelena into the couch, though you kept your grip on her wrists tight. 

“Like what?” You asked Ava. Yelena took that opportunity to flip you around. You groaned as your back hit the couch.

“Well, first of all, I think we all know you’re underneath the wrong person right now,” Ava laughed. Yelena laughed too, having finally rendered you powerless. Damn Russian spies. 

“But I’m pretty sure a shower means a shave, too. There might still be time to stop him, if you hurry,” she shrugged, sipping her tea. 

“God, was I really that obvious?” You gave up. Yelena released your wrists, and you got up, brushing your hair out of your face. 

“I think if it had been any more obvious we’d have to call a plumber over to investigate a leak,” Yelena said, catching her breath. Your jaw dropped at her words. 

“What? It’s true. I mean we knew you were into Bob, but the heart eyes you gave him when you walked in? Astronomical.” 

“What do you mean ‘we knew you were into Bob’?” You put quotation marks around it. The thought had hardly even crossed your mind before tonight. Both women laughed as if you’d made the funniest joke imaginable. 

“What do you mean ‘What do you mean’? You’ve been drooling over him ever since–” Ava was going to spill, but Yelena held her hand up, stopped her. 

“You’re saying you weren’t into Bob before tonight?” 

“I mean, he’s cute. But… I don’t know. I hadn’t really thought about it, I guess.” 

“But we’ve been trying to–” Ava was once again cut off by Yelena. 

“The beard is all it took? That was all he had to do?” Her voice held a tone of disbelief. 

“The t-shirt helps, too…” you admitted sheepishly. It was only then that it registered what Ava had said. “FUCK, you’re right. He can’t go shave now!” Your eyes shot towards the hallway he’d disappeared into, before meeting Ava’s. 

“Well what are you waiting for? By all means, go stop him.” she gestured towards the hallway. 

“Go stop him?? I can’t just waltz into the bathroom and say ‘Hey, don’t shave because then I can’t imagine what your stubble will feel like between my thighs while you’re eating me out.’ I have no–” The amused shock on their faces spoke for them. You closed your eyes and turned around, where Bob stood with his jaw slack. 

“We’re out of towels…” was all he said. He quickly walked into the laundry room, grabbed towels and hurried back to the bathroom. You turned to Ava and Yelena, unsure of what to do. 

“Well he knows, now. What’s stopping you? Go climb him like a tree! Show him some of those wrestling moves you showed me just now, while you’re at it,” Yelena shoved you off the couch. 

“You guys are horrible and I hate you very much,” you grumbled, getting off the floor. 

“Yeah, yeah. You can thank us later,” Yelena got up and used all her weight to push you towards the hallway. You stumbled over your feet and dragged them to Bob’s door. You hesitated before knocking lightly. You held your breath as you heard him shuffling around before opening the door. 

Bob Reynolds stood before you with only a towel hanging dangerously low on his hips. In all the months you’d lived at the tower, you had yet to see him without a shirt. That in combination with the new facial hair? Murderous. Lethal. 

He was about to speak but was cut off as you decided to throw everything to all hell and just push into his room, place your hands on his face and pull him in for a kiss. He quickly recovered, putting an arm around you and using the other to quickly slam and lock the door behind you. The tenacity with which he kissed you was addicting. 

He finally pulled away to breathe. “If I’d known you liked it that much–” he started, interrupting himself with a soft moan as you kissed up his jawline. “I’d have grown it out months ago.” 

“Shut up,” you said breathlessly. You ran your fingers through his hair and pulled him against your lips once more. You gripped his locks tightly. His stubble felt rough against your face. He toyed with the hem of your shirt, unsure whether to take it off. You helped him take it off, making quick work of throwing it in a random corner. Your sweatpants followed, leaving you only in your bra and underwear. 

“I should–” Bob spoke between kisses. “–at least go turn the shower off.” It had been on all this time, steaming up the bathroom and in turn his bedroom. 

“We can shower together, if you want,” you suggested, fingering the edge of the towel still tightly wrapped around him. 

“Yeah– Yeah I pick that option,” he smiled, leading you into the bathroom and shutting the door. You took off your bra and shimmied your panties down your legs, kicking them into the corner. The towel around his waist was gone. You put a hand on his abdomen, softly passing over his abs down to his hard cock. 

“All for me?” You whispered. 

“Yeah, you painted quite the picture back there. Something something, me eating you out?” He cradled the back of your head and brought you in for a soft, sensual kiss. You lazily stroked him, getting a feel for his length. You didn’t know what you’d expected. He was big. 

He pushed you into the shower, soaking you with water. He brushed your hair away from your face, slicking it back so it wouldn’t get in the way as it got wet. His own hair fell in front of his eyes. He slicked it back once more before trailing kisses down to your chin. Your hands came up to his chest, steadying yourself. You leaned against the cold, wet tile of the shower when he kissed your neck hungrily. 

He mouthed at your body, quickly sinking to his knees. The water hit him so beautifully. He gently rubbed his chin against your thighs, teasing you. The stubble tickled, sending goosebumps up your spine. He moved on to the other thigh, holding both of them in his hands. He peppered kisses all the way up your legs, making sure to leave a trail of tingles behind wherever his beard had made contact with your skin. 

You were growing impatient, but he took his time. Your breathing was rapid, and he hadn’t even done anything yet. He tenderly pulled at your legs. “Open them for me, baby,” he sounded as breathless as you felt. You obliged, making room for him to nestle himself fully between your thighs. The higher he worked with his mouth, the more sensitive you became. He leaned his cheek against your thigh and gazed up. It was a hungry, depraved look. You ran your fingers through his hair again, silently begging him closer to where you needed him most. 

“Gorgeous,” he whispered, and placed a soft peck on your inner thigh. He was so close, yet he kept kissing around where you wanted him. He didn’t break eye contact when he finally placed the smallest of kisses on your pussy. You’d never seen him so confident as in that very moment, on his knees between your legs. He brought his face closer and started sucking your clit. Your knees felt weak at the sensation. The added coarseness of his beard was the perfect combination of soft and rough. 

Your head hit the wall harshly as you threw it back, a loud moan echoing from your lips. He made out with your cunt as if he was a man starving. Your grip on his hair tightened when he experimentally added a finger into the mix, circling your entrance. 

“Fuck, Bob,” you moaned, wishing he’d just put it inside. You bucked against his face, seeking more friction. His beard was going to leave a rash if you kept this up. Somehow, you didn’t care. 

A deep moan rumbled from his mouth against your clit. The sensation was so good, your other hand reached down to tug him closer against it. He chuckled, another sound that had no right feeling that good when being made against your skin. 

He pushed the finger inside, slowly working you open. Not that you needed it, at that point. You were soaked, and not just from the shower. The things this man did to you. Within no time he added a second finger, scissoring you open. 

Heat built in your core as you quickly got closer and closer to the edge. You no longer had any control of the soft noises escaping your lips or your fingers tightening in his hair. Your toes curled and you squeezed your eyes shut. He added another finger, then. 

You peeled your eyes open, enthralled by just him. He was humping the air absentmindedly at the same rhythm his fingers were working inside of you, desperate to be touched. He couldn’t touch himself though, one hand preoccupied holding you up, the other curling its fingers inside of you. He was dedicated to getting you to come in his mouth, and he was succeeding fast. 

He circled his tongue around your clit just right. A high pitched keen left you as he curled his fingers against your G-spot repeatedly. You could feel your legs starting to tremble. His grip on your thigh tightened, determined to keep you standing. You ground against his tongue, breathing erratically. 

“Shit, Bob. I’m gonna come,” you warned. He kept going, sucking and licking until you snapped. 

“Come for me,” he groaned. “Come on my mouth.” 

Your vision went blind for a second as you came, riding out your high on his fingers. 

“Fuck!” You moaned, uncaring of who’d overhear. 

Bob kept sucking, kept thrusting his fingers against that perfect spot. You hissed and tugged at his hair, trying to get him to get up. He didn’t relent. 

“Taste so good,” he groaned. “So wet.” 

He took his fingers out, leaving you feeling empty. You were glad for the break, but his lips worked overtime. A newfound passion arose inside him to get you to come again now that he had a hand wrapped around his cock. He stroked idly, more focussed on your pleasure than his own. 

“I– I can’t. Fuck,” you whined. Your body was on fire, the hot water pouring down on you not helping your case. How the man hadn’t drowned yet, whether from your pussy or the shower, was beyond you. 

“Yes you can,” he grumbled. “For me?” It sounded so innocent. His pupils were blown wide as he sought eye contact, pleading you to come again. It was building up quickly. You hadn’t even caught your breath from your previous orgasm. Just as you were about to tip over the edge again, he stopped abruptly, standing up. 

A frustrated sob escaped your lips, but it was cut off by a desperate kiss. You could taste yourself on his tongue. 

“Want you to come on my cock,” he mumbled. You nodded quickly, taking him in your hand and stroking him. He put his hands around your waist and lifted you up like you were a feather. God, that super strength was a turn-on. He pushed you against the wall of the shower and lined himself up. He didn’t waste any time, pushing himself to the hilt. 

He moaned loudly in your ear as he bottomed out. It was the sexiest sound you’d ever heard. 

“F-fuck. So tight– God,” he couldn’t complete a sentence as he began rhythmically pounding inside. You held onto him for dear life. You were still so, so close. He kissed you hard, like this was his only chance. You leaned your head against the wall, lips sputtering as the water hit your face. 

“Bob,” you moaned. He sucked harshly at the bottom of your jaw. His hips snapped harshly, the sound of skin against skin vulgarly echoing through the bathroom. You tightened your legs around his waist, trying to get him to go deeper. 

“Waited so long for this,” he gushed. “Wanted you so bad.” 

“Yeah?” you replied breathlessly. He was mesmerized by the way your tits bounced with every thrust. 

“Mmhmm. Didn’t think you wanted me,” he admitted, peppering more desperate kisses on your neck. 

“I do. Shit,” you whined. “So much.” 

“Fuck, baby. Come on my cock. Come for me, please,” he pleaded, hips speeding up. 

Your nails scratched at his back, no doubt leaving red trails behind. You dug into his shoulders, gripping them tightly. The muscles underneath your fingers were sturdy. 

You came again with a loud wail of his name. You put your hands on his face, tugging him against your mouth and kissing him deeply. You couldn’t stop kissing him. Couldn’t stop feeling that delicious stubble against your chin. It scratched your palms as you caressed his face. 

His hips stuttered against yours. You could only hope the sound of the shower drowned out the sound of his balls slapping against your cunt with every harsh thrust. 

“Cum inside me,” you begged. “Please, need it.” 

“Fuck, are you sure?” Bob asked, ever the gentleman. 

“Please, Bob.” That sent him over the edge, shooting his spend inside of you. 

“Shit,” he whimpered. His palm made contact with the tiles beside your head, cracking on impact. Neither of you seemed to care at that moment. Your eyes sought his, and you found them glowing. He held you tight as he rode out his orgasm, lazily pumping inside of you as the water washed away your sweat. 

He held you against him, still holding you up against the wall. He let his head fall against your shoulder as he caught his breath. Both of you gasped lightly when he finally pulled out, cum dripping to the floor of the shower, immediately washing down the drain. 

He gently put you back down, careful to not let you slip. Your legs felt weak. You wrapped your arms around his neck to keep yourself up. You tugged him down, craning your neck so you could steal another kiss. 

You kissed softly for a while, before deciding you’d wasted enough water. He took his 2-in-1 shampoo and squirted some on his hands. He put some in your hair, softly massaging your scalp. You held your arms around his waist as he worked the shampoo through your hair. 

“We’re going out tomorrow and buying you some actual proper products. Who still uses 2-in-1 shampoo?” You scoffed. He laughed and agreed. 

“Okay, boss.” You smiled up at him as you let the water wash away the suds. You took some of the shampoo and returned the favour, washing his hair. He had a dumb smile on his lips the entire time, looking down at you lovingly. 

The same process repeated with his body wash. It wasn’t anything special, but you loved the scent. It smelled like him. He roamed your body with his hands, massaging your shoulders as he went. He spent some extra time fondling your chest. You still hadn’t fully recovered from the heated session just now, yet you could feel the fire starting again. 

“Hmmm,” you moaned. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.” You washed down his abdomen, and already found him hard again. 

“Superhuman stamina, remember?” Bob grinned. 

“Amazing,” you sighed. You gave him a few experimental tugs, and he hissed, gently slapping your hand away. 

“Doesn’t mean I’m not sensitive.” 

You finished up in the shower and realized there was only the one towel to dry the both of you. You made do and walked into Bob’s room. 

He lent you a pair of boxers and a t-shirt. “I didn’t know you owned several short sleeved t-shirts,” you joked. 

“I don’t wear them very often,” he laughed, putting on some sweatpants and a sweater. He looked like his cozy self again, if you didn’t count the stubble. The very very sexy stubble. 

“Well, I like you in them. You should wear them more often. Really highlights your biceps.” You flexed yours as a joke. He rolled up the sleeves of his sweater and mirrored your pose. 

“God, if you do that we’re never going to make our way out of your bedroom,” you groaned. 

“Good. Then I’ll never have to shave again.” Bob wrapped an arm around your waist and placed a kiss on the top of your head. 

“Please never shave again. It’s so hot. Like. So hot.” 

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.” 

“Asshole,” you slapped his chest. 

You walked out to the living room together, ready to face the music. Ava and Yelena were still where you’d left them, on the couch. At the sight of you, both grinned. 

“About time, loverboy,” Ava commented. 

“Remind me to never buy a razor again,” Bob said as he plopped down on the couch. 

“I’m gonna personally shave your face in your sleep if this is gonna be a recurring thing. My poor, poor ears.” Yelena groaned. You threw a pillow at her face, which she caught, of course. 

“I’ll kill you for real if you do, Belova,” you threatened. 

“I’d love to see you try.” 

You were about to jump her again, but Bob pulled you against his side. You melted into his hold. You could get used to this. 

[wynn-43]

lee minho ~ so tight i'd bruise you

lee minho x gn! reader song: Wild Blue Yonder wc: 4.6k (sorry) warnings: very suggestive at one point (highlighted by °˖✧✿✧˖°), numerous sex jokes (like so many), non-idol AU, they're so in love, strangers to lovers, swearing, reader gets miagranes, mentions of not great friends, they get engaged, scary films, this is so cheesy and silly a/n: red hair lino... the things i'd do for you... anyways! next installment of my The Amazing Devil series!

31st of May, 2019

The lights were so bright, each vibrant flash of RBG dizzying you further. Your head hurt, the pain throbbing in beat with the obnoxiously loud music. You tried to find an exit, some way out of this swirling mass of people, who were sticking together with sweat and spilt drinks.

You stumble around, eyes unfocused as you somehow spot the red-brick of the wall behind the bar. You make your way towards it, narrowly avoiding multiple drunk girls running towards the bathrooms.

You manage to find a seat at the bar, leaning your elbows against the bartop and closing your eyes, trying to block out the light.

“You okay?” You vaguely hear a voice quietly ask.

You blink your eyes open and once your eyes adjust, you’re met with the face of a beautiful man. His dark cherry hair complimented his glowing skin and his deep brown eyes were cat-like– sharp, slightly slanted and full of curiosity. A slight smirk rested on his rosy lips and despite his confident aura, you could see a soft pink blush dusting his neck and ears as you stared at him.

“Hello?” He asked, starling you out of your staring.

“Uh yeah.” You're interrupted by a jolt of pain in your head. “No. No I am not.” You squeeze your eyes shut.

“Oh” He says, obviously surprised by your honesty. “Do you need to go outside?”

“Mhm.” You hum, eyes still squeezed shut.

“Do you need help?” He asks, an odd softness in his voice for someone he just met.

“Uh yes please.” You said, opening your eyes again, wincing at the sudden light change.

“Okay, I will be right there, one second.” He says before rushing off.

All of a sudden he’s at your side, gently taking your elbow and guiding you towards an exit.

The rush of cold air combined with the quieting of the music and the absence of obscenely loud music immediately make you feel better- with the pain quieting down to a gentle thrum every so often.

“So are you okay? You looked really pale back there.” The boy softly asked, eyes focused on you with a mix of concern and inquisitiveness.

“Uh yeah. Migraine. Sorry. Thank you for helping, you can uh, go back if you need.” You fumble, looking to the ground to avoid his beautiful face.

“I took five so it’s all good. Plus, my boss would kill me if anything happened to a customer.” He laughs nervously. “But seriously, are you sure you’re okay?”

You shuffle, barely looking up to meet his gaze before averting your eyes again. “Uh yeah. I think so. It’s my fault, any sort of loud and flashy parties always trigger my migraines.”

“And yet your friends threw you one anyway…” He says???

“Yeah. Uh- wait, how did you know that?” You ask, making eye contact, ignoring the butterflies in your stomach.

He chuckles, “It’s a small bar, there’s only so many birthdays happening at once.”

“Oh” You laugh.” “Yeah, that makes sense.”

You, you told me I was younger (without you, I'm stronger, I'm no longer) That I was filled with wonder How wrong you were For you, I would have gone so much blonder (my lungs were pulled asunder by)

“Happy 25th Birthday by the way. You’re lucky you're still young and filled with wonder.” He says casually, leaning against the wall.

You laugh. “There’s no way you’re that much older than me.”

“Come on, you’re, what, 30? 35?” you tease, laughing at his look of mock offense.

“I’ll have you know I am 27!” he said indignantly.

“HAH! You’re less than a year older than me! Going on about how and filled with wonder, how wrong you were!” You dramatically taunt, making him laugh.

“Fine, fine you got me there.” Glancing down at his watch, his eyes widened.

“Shoot I have to go back.” he says, pushing himself off the wall. “How are you getting home?” he asks.

“Oh, I was just going to walk,” you pause, noticing his astonished look.

“Absolutely not.” He checks his watch again. “I’m off in 15 minutes. Can you wait that long? Then I’ll drive you home.” You once again notice his neck and ears growing pink, brighter this time.

You smirk, “Oh you wanna take me home?” You tease, mentally noticing how his neck and ears turn a vibrant red.

“I-” he stutters. “I just want you to get home safe or whatever.”

“Well, I appreciate it Mr. Wait what’s your name? You ask.

He smiles, “Minho.”

“Well, thank you Mr. Minho, that would be very much appreciated.” You try to hide your growing smile.

“Okay great, you wait here, I’ll see you in 15.” He says as the door swings open, the sudden assault of flashing lights and loud music makes you flinch as the pain spikes up again.

You press yourself against the wall, gasping for air as it feels like your lungs are being pulled apart. After the door closes, you take a few steadying breaths as the pain subsides. You relish in the feeling of the cold night-air enveloping your skin, the pain dissipating with each gentle breeze.

By the time Minho comes back out the pain is virtually gone, replaced with a slight buzz from the cider you’d drank earlier that evening.

“Thanks for waiting.” Minho smiles upon noticing you standing there, almost as if he was surprised you actually waited.

“Why are you thanking me, you're the one driving me home.” You laugh.

He laughs as he leads you towards his car. You gingerly sit in the passenger seat, trying to be cautious with how nice of a car it was.

“So what’s the address?” he asks as he rests his hand on the back of your seat, looking back to make his way out of the parking space.

You feel your throat dry as butterflies swarm in your stomach and you manage to stutter out your address. Whilst your eyes are fixated on your hands resting in your lap, you’re sure that you can see him smirking in the corner of your eye.

“What’s your name by the way? You never told me.” He inquires after putting your address into the car's GPS.

After you introduce yourself the two of you fall into quiet small talk before he arrives out the front of your small apartment.

“Is this it?” He asks, parking once you nod.

“Thank you so much for driving me here.” You say, before the two of you fall into an awkward silence.

“Uh, do you want to come in?” You ask, blushing furiously once you realise what you said.

If it wasn’t for the dark, you would’ve seen him blush furiously, but despite his flusteredness, he remains calm, smirking. “Sure.”

Seen that wild blue yonder and said, "Let's end this, too" So one last time, love, come and rip my clothes off Grip the bathroom rug my skin's grown so soft (Get a grip, we're grown-ups)

°˖✧✿✧˖°

Next thing you know, you’re pressed against the interior of your front door, his mouth hot and urgent against yours. As his lips trail down your neck, you grab at the blue leather jacket on his shoulders, pulling it off and letting it fall to the floor.

“Just so you know” you gasp as he kisses at your neck “I never do this.”

“Same” he murmurs, momentarily pulling back to breathe.

“No like never” You resist a whine as he pulls back.

“You’re a virgin?” he asks, eyes wide with surprise.

“Oh my god, no!” you exclaim, cheeks burning. “I just mean, I’ve never had a hookup before. I’m not… I just haven’t.”

“Oh,” he smirks, his voice dropping to a teasing whisper. “Then I’m honored to be your first.” He leans in, reclaiming your lips with a smile.

°˖✧✿✧˖°

1st of June, 2019

The next morning you wake up early, shocked at how well you slept. Still groggy, you move to get up, before noticing the weight of an arm draped over you and your memories from last night come flooding back.

You stand up, gently removing Minho’s arm and moving a pillow under it, careful not to wake him. You tiptoe towards the bathroom, quickly getting into the shower, sighing as the hot water hits your skin.

The shower was the one place you felt you could relax and unwind- you always used it as a way to collect your thoughts, the gentle rhythm of the water providing a backing music for your racing thoughts.

You step out of the shower, drying yourself off and reveling in the softness of your skin. You decide to make breakfast, assuming pancakes are a good bet, even if you knew absolutely nothing about the man now laying in your bed.

You’re standing there humming to yourself as you flip the final pancake, mentally preparing yourself for going to wake up and confront the man when you turn, suddenly finding yourself looking at said man.

His hair was fluffy and slightly messy from sleep and the neck of his shirt was sliding down on one side exposing his shoulder. He looked confused and you noticed the pile of his belongings in his hands.

“Oh! Good morning, I was just about to wake you.” You place the pancake down before looking back at him, his expression confused. “Are you leaving already? I thought you might want pancakes.” You try to remain casual with your words.

“I assumed you’d want me gone. I mean I wake up and you’re not there…” Minho trails off, laughing. “But pancakes sound lovely, thank you!”

“Oh no I was just hungry,” you laugh along, trying to relieve some of the awkward tensions between you two. “And I always wake up early,” you add.

“How’d you know I like pancakes?” He enquires some time later, that curious glint returning to his eyes.

“Oh, I just figured it was a safe bet.” You giggle.

“So.” Minho starts, making your heart rate spike with anxiety. “We should probably talk about, uh, this.” He gestures between the two of you.

“Oh right. Yeah, uh, sorry.” You stumble over your words, unsure as to where this was going.

“No! No, don’t apologise.” He says, squeezing your knee under the table. “I just uh- wanted to make things clear y’know.” You nod slowly.

“Um, I don’t, y’know, usually do hookups. But there’s something about you.” You look up, noticing the flush of red on his neck and ears.

“I don’t know. I just feel…” he pauses, making eye contact with you, “drawn to you.”

You feel your face heating up and you clear your throat, “Yeah, no me too.” You swallow hard.

“Like, I know we just met, but, there's something about you…” You look back into his eyes, blushing furiously at the soft look in them.

He laughs at your fluster, “I’m glad it’s not just me!”

There’s a pause for a minute or so.

“So, uh, what now?” You ask, still unsure.

“Well um, are you busy today?” Minho asks, that sly smirk back on his lips.

Let's wander 'til the fuckers demand an encore Flirting (wasn't flirting) at the back of a bookshop Come and rip off my socks like you're blasting the locks off of a bank vault (halt) This time we're done for

The two of you end up spending the day together. You walk around your local shops, grabbing a coffee together and talking about yourselves.

You find out he works as a bartender at night so that he can teach dance and volunteer at the local cat shelter during the day. He has three cats that live with his parents, but he visits them weekly and he really enjoys cooking.

In turn, you tell him about your life, what you do for work and how you ended up here. You tell him about your interests, about your friends and you find out you have a shared love for camping and reading.

The two of you visit a bookshop, one of the cute ones with a coffee shop attached. The two of you walk along the rows and rows of books, pointing out the ones you’ve read and the ones you want to.

You notice him giggling as he holds a book. “What are you doing?” You ask suspiciously as you approach him.

His giggles intensify as he tries to talk. “Ar-are you Brenna Yovanoff? Because I want to get rid of The Space Between Us.” He holds out the book in his hands, showing you a copy of The Space Between, laughing even harder at your dumbfounded expression.

“What- What the fuck” you stumble out, at a loss for words, your reaction making him double over in laughter which then led to you follow him.

You look up, immediately noticing the perfect book in front of you.

You pick it up, careful to hide the title and poke him.

“Hey, hey Minho. Are you The Giver?” You ask, flipping the book around. “Because you sure were last night…” He erupts into another fit of laughter, but you definitely notice a red tinge to his neck and ears.

“Excuse me.” A shop worker came up to the two of you. “Could you please keep it down?” She quietly asked.

“Yes. Sorry miss.” You apologise, quickly putting the books back and elbowing the still-laughing Minho before ushering him out of the shop.

“Okay that one was really good.” Minho says once the two of you have calmed down outside.

“Thank you, thank you. I know. Comedic genius right here.” You fake bow before looking into his eyes, blushing at the fondness in them.

“What are you doing tonight?” He suddenly asks.

“Um,” you pause to think, “nothing I think.”

“Do you want to get dinner together?” Minho asks, the soft pink returning to his ears as he averts his eyes from your gaze. “We could get takeout or I can cook for you?”

“I would love that.” You smile, gasping as you get an idea. “On one condition.”

Let's hide under the covers We don't know what's out there Could be wolves

“I really did not think that your ‘one condition’ would be a pillow fort.” Minho chuckles to you from his place at the stove.

“Well.” You start, pausing to run and grab more pillows. “My original idea was a movie but,” you again pause to move a chair over to create a wall. “I know you only like scary movies, and the only way I would watch a scary movie.” You pause as you struggle to pin the sheets up. “Is in a pillow fort.” You turn to the man, smiling at your successful pillow adventure.

However, you didn’t expect to find the man right in behind you, once you turned he immediately cupped your face, his hold so gentle as if he was holding the world in his hands, before kissing you softly and with so much tenderness.

After he pulled back you were almost dizzy, grabbing onto his arms to stop yourself from falling, making him smirk.

“What was that for?” You ask, confused.

“You were just really cute.” He mumbles. “So, dinner?” He pulls away, that signature smirk on his lips.

So hold me, lover, like you used to So tight I'd bruise you I'd bruise you, I'd bruise you too Every stone you threw I stood on to better see the view

23rd of November, 2024

“What did we even watch anyways?” you ask, tilting your head to look up at him, your cheek pressed against the rise and fall of his chest.

“Uhh…” He paused, his fingers pausing in your hair. “Oh! The Conjuring.”

You shiver, your body stiffening at the memory “God I forgot about that one.” You shuffle so that you’re laying on top of him now. “That one was terrifying.”

Minho laughed at the look of horror in your eyes, his hand resting gently on the side of your face. “It wasn’t that bad…” His teasing words are counteracted by his soft stroking of your cheek.

“Yes, yes it was.” You glare at him, resting your chin on his chest. “It was worth it though.”

Minho smirked teasingly, “Oh? And why was it worth it?”

You smiled, “Because it let me get closer to you.” You poke his chest.

He laughs before going back to staring at you in his typical cat-like way.

I've got something in my eye (I surrender what was) Don't you ever wonder what could have been? All those wonders sit in wait for us, we tried Try, please, try for me

“I love you so much.” He says, catching you off guard with the soft look in his eyes.

“I love you too baby.” You reach up to press a gentle kiss to his lips.

“So.” You press a soft kiss to his cheek.

“So,” you repeat, planting another on his forehead.

“So.” Your lips brush his other cheek.

“So.” This time, you kiss the tip of his nose, your tone turning lighter, teasing.

“Sooo,” you draw out, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw.

“Much.” Finally, you capture his lips in a gentle kiss, lingering just long enough to feel the warmth of his smile against yours.

Upon leaning back you’re shocked to find tears in his eyes.

“Are you okay, love?” You ask, concerned.

He quickly dries his eyes, “Yes, just uh, got something in my eye.”

“Liar.” You say lightheartedly, making him chuckle. “What’s wrong?”

“I just love you so much. I’m gonna marry you one day.” Minho murmurs before kissing you, with much more intensity this time.

You pull back, “I can’t wait.” You say before leaning back in.

Come rest for the winter, wear my jumper all night long Those songs we sung, those words we flung For fear of sound All those books that we both drowned And the candle we lit Well, we'll use it to burn this whole place to the ground I'm lost, I'm found in you

The next few weeks are a blur and the two of you spend many nights curled up together, wearing each other's jumpers and reading books together.

One night, you walk into the living room where your boyfriend was setting up for your shared reading session.

“You’re wearing my hoodie!” Minho exclaims, pointing at you as he drops a pillow.

“Yeah! Well you’re wearing mine!” You laugh.

“Only because I couldn’t find mine!” He walks up to you, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Because you stole it.” He smirked teasingly.

“Oh hush.” You mutter, your hands rested upon his chest. “You love it.”

“I do.” He says before kissing you with a heartstopping intensity. “I really do.”

“Hey” Minho asks later, as you two are curled up reading your books. “Are you Gandalf? Because I’d blindly follow you to Mordor.”

You crack up, “Oh that was horrible!”

“Hey!” He exclaims. “I tried my best! I’d like to see you do better.”

You turn to him, suddenly serious. “I have waited my whole life for this.” He looks shocked and wary at your sudden seriousness.

“Are you Mount Doom? Because you’re hot and I’d walk across Mordor just to give you a ring.” Minho looks stunned.

“Okay that actually wasn’t b-” You cut him off.

“I’m not done.” You give him a mischievous smirk.

“Are you tall and blonde, with pointy ears?” You ask, barely holding back your laughter. “Because after I’m done with you, you’re gonna feel Legolas.” Your composure almost breaks as he giggles.

Minho's eyes light up, “Wait! I’ve got one.” He pauses to compose himself. “Was that a Middle-Earthquake? Or did you just rock my world…”

You press a hand over your mouth, trying not to laugh.

“Are you the Silmarillion? Because you’re long, hard, and impossible to read.” He says, and it takes every cell in your body not to laugh.

“Are you an orc? Because my Sting lights up whenever you’re around.” The two of you pause for a moment before you burst into hysterical laughter.

“Okay” He manages to get out between laughing fits. “That one wins.”

Hide under the covers We don't know what's out there Can't you hear that scratching? Hold me, lover, like you used to So tight I'd bruise you I'd bruise you, I'd bruise you too

1st of June, 2019

“AH!” You shriek, shocking the poor man next to you. “Something touched my foot.” You say, freezing in fear.

“Yeah my foot, dumbass.” Minho laughed at your embarrassed expression.

You pressed your face into a pillow, exasperated at your own dumbassery.

“If you’re that scared we can stop.” Minho offered, his voice soft.

You look up. “No. No. I’m fine. Just.” You paused. “Just hold me?”

You giggle internally at the soft pink blush that decorates his neck and ears.

“I- yeah. Of course.” He mumbles and the two of you shuffle around to a more comfortable cuddling position.

Later on, when you jump and bury your face in his chest in fear, he won’t tell you about how tightly you squeeze him, how his muscles ache under the pressure.

Even when he wakes up the next morning and sees the soft purple bruise painting his arm, he doesn’t regret it. Because holding you like this was worth every second.

Every brick you hurled I'll use to build this world This world, this world, this world Let's hide under the covers We don't know what's out there Could be all our demons, darling

14th of December, 2024

“What are we watching this time?” You ask, curling up in Minho’s arms within your makeshift pillow fort- something that had become a weekly tradition.

“I was thinking of The Conjuring.” He teases, laughing as you smack his arm.

“Absolutely not.” You pout.

“Hmm. Fine. How about…” he hums, “Smile.”

You turn to glare at him, huffing. “Never. In a million years. Ever.”

“Okay, okay.” He laughs, “How about you go get snacks and I’ll choose something less scary.”

You look at him suspiciously, “You promise it won’t be scary?”

“I promise.” He says, pressing a soft kiss to your lips before ushering you out of the pillow fort.

A few minutes later you re-enter the pillow fort, shooting your boyfriend a cautious glance as you walk in on your knees.

“So, what’d you choose?” You ask, gently placing the snacks down.

“I was thinking we would watch The Proposal.” Minho says, a mischievous smirk on his face.

You turn your head towards him suddenly in surprise. “What? Why? You hate rom-coms.”

Minho giggles, “Because…” he manages to shuffle so that he’s on one knee in front of you, reaching to grab something from his back pocket.

“No fucking way.” You murmur, tears springing to your eyes as he laughs.

He pulls out a black box, the velvet glinting in the dim light as he opens it to reveal an intricate gold ring. It has two golden lines that gracefully twirl around the exterior before stopping at symmetrical filigree swirls. These filigree swirls surround the centre of the ring, which showcases a deep purple gem, surrounded by 4 dark-blue gems, which combined with the swirling filigree are placed to make it look like a 4 four-pointed star.

“Oh baby… It’s beautiful.” You say, trying your hardest to not let your tears slip out.

“My love. The light of my life. I love you so, so much. You are my world. You saved me, when I felt that I was lost and I feel like I’m found in you. You make me laugh, you’re so funny and you’re so extremely kind and loving, even when we fight. You’re so thoughtful, and always know just what to do to help. You are perfect in every way and there is no one else I’d ever even think of wanting to spend my life with.” He paused to blink the tears out of his eyes as you tried to stop the tears rolling down your face. “I love you more than life itself, without you I am nothing more than all my demons. Will you do the honour of marrying me?” He smiles at you gently as a tear rolls down his face.

“Yes. Yes! Yes. Absolutely yes.” You exclaim, pressing soft kisses on his lips that are now wet with both of your tears. He wraps his arms around your waist, careful with the ring and brings you close to him, kissing you with such dizzying intensity that it makes your heart shatter and the piece itself back together.

“I love you.” You pause, pressing another kiss to his lips as you hold his face in your hands. “So much.” You press a dozen more kisses to his lips before you finally break apart for long enough for him to place the ring on your finger.

“It’s so pretty…” You sniffle. “Thank you jagiya.” He smiles, before kissing you again.

“I love you, nae sarang.” He presses a soft kiss to your forehead as he holds you close.

Hold me, lover, like you used to So tight I'd bruise you I'd bruise you, I'd bruise you

Later, the two of you are cuddled up in your pillow fort, peacefully basking in each other's love, warmth and comfort. He laid behind you, chin resting on your shoulder with his arms and legs wrapped around you, gently running his fingers over the ring now adoring your enclosed hands.

“Sometimes, I just get the overwhelming urge to squish you. You’re just so cute.” You murmur to him, leaning back so you can see his face.

His eyes widen as he sees your hand slowly inching towards his face. “What are you doing…?”

“Nothing…” You say, mesmerized by his cuteness, gently reaching out and squeezing his cheeks together.

“What the fuck?” He asked, so genuinely confused.

“Cutie.” You whisper before remembering the ring on your finger and giggling. “My cutie.”

So hide under the covers We don't know what's out there Could be ghosts or monsters or a robot-vampire, I don't know Hold me, lover, like you sued to So tight I'd bruise you I'd bruise you, I'd bruise you I'd bruise you, I'd bruise you

1 week later

The two of you are at Minho’s parents house for Christmas. Despite this change in routine you still manage to create a pillow fort on the floor of his childhood room, the two of you watching another scary movie on his laptop.

You notice a strange rustling from just outside the fort.

“What the fuck was that?” You whisper, terrified as you turn towards Minho.

“It’s definitely the cat.” He says.

“Or ghosts. Or monsters.” You whisper back, terrified.

“Or a robot vampire?” He teases, his eyebrow raising in his signature way as you slap his arm.

Suddenly a grey striped paw reaches into your pillow fort.

“Dori!” You exclaim, beckoning the soft grey cat over.

“Told you so.” He mutters, leaning his head on your shoulder.

Dori promptly struts into the pillow fort, quickly laying down in your lap in a purring, fluffy pile.

“She likes you.” Minho smiles, and if it was any brighter in your little stow-away, you’d notice him looking at you as though you created the stars themselves and hung them for his cats to play with. He looks at you with so much genuine love and admiration that if you had seen it, you would’ve melted into a pile alongside Dori.

Rather than try and express this love to you with words, Minho simply wraps his arms around you, careful to not disturb Dori, and pulls you close to him. He hopes to someday get close enough to you that you can feel his adoration seep from his body to yours.

Until then, he’ll settle for holding you tight—so tight that you worry there will be soft purple bruises on your skin by morning. But you don’t mind, because little does he know, you feel his love every time he touches you.

This is a work of fiction, based entirely on my personal perception of him, and does not reflect his actual character or actions.

[theonottsbxtch]

WHEN THE WORLD GOES QUIET PT 1 | LN4

an: i was listening to an orchestra version of young and beautiful by lana del rey when this idea came into my mind. i am so ahh feral over this version of lando i've written. i hope you enjoy him as much as i enjoyed writing him and as much as @iimplicitt loved reading about him.

wc: 5.8k

THE CITY WAS BURNING AGAIN.

Smoke curled into the night, thick and suffocating, folding itself around the bones of London like a funeral shroud. Somewhere beyond the rubble, the sirens had stopped, but their echoes lingered, rattling against her ribs.

She walked through the dark with her hands buried in the pockets of her coat, head bowed against the cold. She should have gone home—should have counted her rations, mended her stockings, whispered a prayer for the city’s dead. Instead, she turned down a narrow street where the lamps had long been extinguished, following the sound of muffled jazz bleeding from behind a half-broken door.

The Starling Club still stood, stubborn and smoke-filled, its windows blacked out, its basement packed with men and women who refused to die quietly.

Inside, the air was thick with sweat, whisky, and the ghost of some lost summer, the scent of gardenias clinging to the collar of her coat. Someone had patched the ceiling where shrapnel had torn through last winter. A pianist played slow, heavy notes from a corner stage, and in the candlelight, she almost forgot the world was ending.

She reached the bar, slipping into the last empty seat, her fingers tightening around the edge of the counter.

And then—him.

A man sat beside her, sleeves rolled to his elbows, uniform jacket slung over the back of his chair. RAF, she thought. The kind of man who lived in the sky, who counted time in take-offs and landings, who made promises he had no business making. Curly brown hair and eyes light like they lit up a barrack.

She could feel him looking at her before she turned her head.

"Whisky?" he asked, his voice edged with smoke and something rougher, something worn.

She exhaled slowly, meeting his gaze. His face was all sharp angles and tired eyes, chocolate brown hair curling at his temples. He looked too young to be carrying ghosts, but they lingered in the hollows of his face, just the same.

She hesitated. "I don’t take drinks from strangers."

He smirked. "Good thing I’m not a stranger, then."

She raised an eyebrow. "Aren’t you?"

He leaned in just slightly, amusement flickering in his gaze.

"Lando," he murmured. "Now we’re acquainted."

The pianist started a new song, something slow and aching. A woman laughed too loudly in the corner. Somewhere above them, the city still smouldered.

She could have walked away. She should have.

Instead, she lifted the whisky glass he had placed in front of her, let the burn settle in her throat, and stayed.

The whisky burned the way the night did—slow at first, then all at once. She wasn’t sure why she stayed. Maybe it was the way he leaned against the bar like he belonged there, like he had nowhere else to be. Maybe it was the way his gaze never quite left hers, watching without expectation, without urgency, just quiet curiosity.

"You're not military," he said after a moment, tipping his glass towards her. A statement, not a question.

She swallowed, setting her drink down. "No."

"Thought all the good girls were off knitting socks for the war effort."

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. "Thought all the good boys were supposed to be fighting it."

Lando smirked, tilting his head slightly. "Oh, I fight." He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. "I just haven’t lost yet."

Yet. The word sat between them, heavy and inevitable.

She glanced down at his uniform, the creases still sharp despite the scent of cigarettes and whisky clinging to him. The wings on his sleeve glinted under the dim light. "RAF," she murmured.

He nodded. "And you?"

She hesitated. She could tell him anything, and it would make no difference. In a city like this, names meant little, and the future meant even less.

"I sing," she said finally.

His eyes flickered with something unreadable. "Of course you do."

She frowned. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

Lando shrugged. "You’ve got the look."

She scoffed. "And what look is that?"

He studied her—really looked this time. She felt his gaze trace over the curls pinned at the nape of her neck, the smudge of ash on the cuff of her coat, the way her red dress peeked through when the fabric shifted.

"Like you’ve got something to run from," he said finally. "And nowhere to run to."

Her breath caught, sharp and sudden, like he had pulled something from inside her and placed it on the bar between them.

She reached for her glass again, more for something to hold than for the whisky itself. Outside, the world was burning. Somewhere in the East End, families would wake to nothing but dust and open sky. And yet, here they sat, drinking, waiting, listening to the low hum of jazz and the quiet certainty of things that could never last.

"Tell me something, Lando," she said, tilting her head. "Do you say things like that to all the girls?"

He smiled, slow and lopsided. "Only the ones worth saying them to."

She huffed, shaking her head, but she didn’t look away.

Because for all the places she could have been that night—for all the choices she could have made—she had ended up here. And maybe that meant something.

Or maybe it didn’t mean anything at all.

Either way, she stayed.

Lando watched her over the rim of his glass, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. She wondered if he was studying her the way she was studying him—if he was collecting details, trying to decide what sort of woman she was.

She already knew what sort of man he was.

Not just a soldier. A pilot. The kind who played cards with death every time he took to the sky, betting his life against gravity and steel. The kind who laughed too easily, drank too much, and lived like he knew he wouldn’t be doing it for long.

"How often do you fly?" she asked, swirling the whisky in her glass.

Lando smirked, as if he knew what she really meant. How much time do you have?

"Every time they ask me to."

"And when you're not in the air?"

"I do this," he said, gesturing vaguely to the bar, the smoke, the dim candlelight. "Drink. Try to forget I'm going back up."

She studied him for a moment. "Do you like it?"

His smirk faltered, just a little. "Flying?"

She nodded.

He exhaled, rolling his shoulders as if he could shake the question off. "I used to."

"And now?"

Lando tapped his fingers against the bar. "Now I just do it because it’s the only thing I know how to do."

Something in her chest pulled, just slightly.

She had heard men talk like this before. Men who came into the club wearing uniforms like second skins, who drank until their hands stopped shaking, who kissed girls they didn’t love just to feel something real before the world took them away.

She could have asked more. Could have pushed. But what would have been the point?

Instead, she finished her whisky, let the warmth settle in her throat, and slid from her seat.

Lando raised an eyebrow. "Leaving?"

She shook her head. "I’m sure you wanted a song, didn’t you?"

For the first time since she sat down, he looked surprised. Then, his lips curled into something almost like satisfaction.

"I did," he murmured.

She smirked, stepping away from the bar. "Then pay attention."

She didn’t look back as she moved towards the stage. Didn’t need to. She could feel him watching her.

The pianist glanced up as she approached, recognising her instantly. He dipped his head, fingers moving effortlessly over the keys, shifting into something slow, something aching.

She stepped into the light, gripping the microphone with steady hands.

The first note left her lips like smoke curling into the night.

The room quieted, the low hum of conversation fading into stillness. The band followed her lead, the bass murmuring beneath her voice, the piano rising and falling like waves.

She had never been a religious woman, not really. But music was the closest thing to prayer she knew.

She closed her eyes. Let the words settle on her tongue. Let herself disappear into the song.

For a moment, there was nothing but melody. Nothing but the way the room held its breath, the way the war didn’t exist here, not in this single, fleeting moment.

And then, too soon, it was over.

Applause rippled through the club as she stepped down from the stage, but she barely heard it. She made her way back to the bar, slipping into her seat, heartbeat still thrumming in her ears.

Lando was watching her, the remnants of a cigarette burning between his fingers. But it wasn’t the same gaze from before. This was something else. Something deeper.

His eyes flickered down, just briefly.

She followed his gaze—to the delicate gold cross resting against her collarbone, catching in the candlelight.

Lando exhaled slowly, tipping his glass towards her.

"You a woman of God?"

She glanced at him, then at the whisky in her hand, then back again.

A slow smile pulled at her lips.

"Depends on who’s asking."

Lando huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he stubbed out his cigarette. "Well, it isn’t me," he said, voice edged with amusement. "God and I aren’t exactly on speaking terms."

She raised an eyebrow, swirling the last of her whisky in her glass. "That so?"

He nodded, leaning back against the bar, fingers drumming idly against the counter. "I used to believe. Proper altar boy, once upon a time. The whole lot—prayers, confessions, even Latin." He smirked, but there was no real humour in it. "Then I grew up. Went to war. And it got a bit harder to buy into the whole merciful God thing."

She understood what he was saying before he even finished. She had seen it in the eyes of so many soldiers—young men sent to the front with medals in their pockets and fear in their throats, coming home half-alive, empty-handed, faith left rotting in the trenches.

"Didn’t seem to be much mercy up there," Lando murmured, taking another sip of his drink.

She didn’t answer right away. Just traced her fingers over the edge of her cross absently, as if she wasn’t even aware she was doing it.

Lando noticed.

"You still believe, then?" he asked, watching her carefully.

She exhaled slowly. "I don’t know," she admitted. "I suppose it depends on the day."

He smirked. "That complicated, is it?"

"Everything is complicated," she said simply. "Faith. Love. War. You name it."

Lando tilted his head slightly, considering her. "But you still wear the cross."

She glanced down at the delicate gold chain resting against her skin. It had been her mother’s, passed down with whispered prayers and expectations, pressed into her palm with the weight of generations.

"It’s not that simple," she murmured.

Lando watched her, something unreadable flickering behind his tired eyes. "Sure it is," he said. "Either you believe, or you don’t."

She let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. "You make it sound so easy."

"Isn’t it?"

"No," she said softly, turning the chain between her fingers. "It’s never easy."

She could have told him everything then—about the Sundays spent kneeling in pews, reciting words she wasn’t sure she believed. About the rosary beads pressed into her hands as a child, the whispered warnings of sin and damnation, the way faith had been both a comfort and a noose around her throat.

She could have told him about the way she still prayed sometimes, even now, in the middle of air raids, when the sirens screamed and the ground shook and she wasn’t sure if she would see another sunrise.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she drained the rest of her whisky and met his gaze, steady and unflinching.

"Do you ever pray?" she asked, tilting her head.

Lando scoffed. "No."

"Not even up there?" She nodded towards the ceiling, though they both knew she meant the sky.

His smirk faltered, just a little.

He looked away, fingers tightening around his glass.

"Not even then," he said.

A silence stretched between them, heavy and unspoken. The music swelled again—something slow, something aching. Laughter rang from the other side of the club, distant and hollow.

She should have said something light. Should have teased him, steered the conversation back to safer ground.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she let the silence settle, let it stretch between them like the space between confession and absolution, between faith and doubt, between a war that had already taken too much and a city that refused to fall.

And Lando—he didn’t look away.

He exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw before glancing at her again. "So, tell me," he said, tilting his head. "How does a girl like you end up here, singing to a room full of half-drunk soldiers?"

She smiled, slow and knowing. "A girl like me?"

"You know what I mean."

She shrugged, fingers ghosting over the rim of her empty glass. "I come to offer one song. No more, no less."

His brows lifted slightly. "That a rule?"

"A promise."

Lando smirked. "To yourself?"

She didn’t answer right away, just let her gaze drift to the candlelight flickering against the bottles behind the bar. "Something like that."

Silence settled between them, thick and unspoken. The city outside still smouldered, and the weight of the war pressed against the walls of the club, but for a moment, none of it seemed to matter.

Then, she pushed back her chair.

Lando frowned. "Where you off to?"

She reached for her coat, draping it over her shoulders with an easy grace. "Home."

"That time already?"

"It is for me."

Lando leaned forward, arms folded on the bar as he watched her. "And you do this every night? Show up, sing your one song, then disappear into the night like some ghost?"

She smiled, but there was something unreadable in her expression. "Not every night."

"Right," he said, standing as well, reaching for his own jacket. "Come on, then."

She blinked. "Come on where?"

"I'll walk you home."

She let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. "I can make it home just fine."

Lando smirked. "Oh, I don't doubt that, sweetheart. But imagine how awful I'd feel if London swallowed you up and I never got to hear that one song again."

She exhaled through her nose, amused despite herself. "And you suppose I owe you that?"

"Not at all," he said easily. "But if I'm to keep a shred of my gentlemanly reputation, I think it's best I see you home safe."

She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue, stepping towards the door. He followed.

The air outside was crisp, heavy with the scent of smoke and damp stone. The city was quieter now, save for the distant hum of sirens that never truly stopped.

They walked in step, their strides easy, their conversation slipping into something softer. She asked him about flying—what it felt like to be in the air, to see the world from above. He asked her about singing—whether she’d always done it, whether it made her feel alive or only made her remember things she’d rather forget.

They stopped at a newspaper stand, the little wooden kiosk barely held together by nails and hope. A young boy sat on a stool behind it, his face smudged with ink, idly flipping through an old paper.

Lando rapped his knuckles against the counter. "Got a pen and paper, mate?"

The boy eyed him warily but rummaged under the counter and produced both. Lando took them, resting the paper against the kiosk’s edge as he scrawled something quickly.

He tore the sheet and turned to her, holding it out between two fingers.

"If you ever take pity on a man like me," he murmured.

She hesitated—just for a second—then reached for it, tucking it into the top of her dress with the faintest glint of mischief in her eyes.

Lando let out a low whistle, shaking his head. "My writing between God and your heart. Ain’t I a lucky fella?"

She smirked, stepping back. "Don’t get used to it."

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it," he said, but his eyes told a different story.

They stood there for a moment longer, the city stretching out around them, time slipping between their fingers like cigarette smoke.

Then, she turned, her silhouette vanishing into the dark.

And Lando—he stayed a moment longer, watching the place where she had been, wondering if she’d ever let him hear more than just one song.

For weeks on end, they developed a pattern. When he had two feet on the ground, when the sky had allowed him a minute to breathe, he'd be at her door by eight, sharp as a whistle. He always came in the same way—casual, like the weight of the world hadn’t been pressing on him for days. But it was there, in the quiet of her flat, in the heavy glint of his eyes when they met hers. He would always find a seat by the window, leaning back against the wall, a half smile tugging at his lips as he waited.

And she—well, she’d never turn him away. Not once. Even when she wanted to, even when she felt the heaviness of it all, the creeping doubt of having something real with a man who could disappear in the blink of an eye. She never did. Instead, she'd pour them both a drink, settle herself at the piano, and without fail, she'd give him that one song. The one he’d asked for the first night they'd met, and the one he’d heard a hundred times since.

But sometimes, just sometimes, there was another song.

On quiet nights, when the air outside had that bite to it, when the windows rattled with the passing of distant bombers and the streets lay still beneath the weight of silence, Lando would hear it in the corners of the room.

On her doorstep, late at night after the club had emptied, she’d stand and hum low and soft. It wasn’t a song anyone would know, not from a record or the radio. It was something new, something raw. Something that lived between her ribs and spilled out on the nights when the world was too loud, when the weight of it all felt too much. It was the song she didn’t want anyone to hear, except perhaps him. And even then, only in these quiet moments, in the narrow alleyways behind the club where their shadows tangled like ghosts.

One night, when he’d walked her home, they paused in Piccadilly Square, the old clock tower chiming softly in the distance, and the neon lights of the cinema flickering like tired fireflies. The street was mostly empty, save for the odd stray cat and the distant murmur of voices from the pubs.

Lando leaned against the lamppost, hands in his pockets, looking at her like he always did—like she was something just beyond his reach.

"Go on, then," he said, his voice low, almost an afterthought.

She tilted her head. "What?"

"Sing me that other one."

She didn’t hesitate. Just let the words roll off her tongue like they’d been waiting to escape for ages. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t rehearsed. But it was real.

For a moment, she was lost in the song—lost in the way it echoed off the stone buildings, in the way the night air seemed to hold its breath. It was soft, aching, and tender, and when it ended, she felt something shift inside her, something like a weight lifting, like she’d let go of a small piece of herself that she hadn’t known she was holding.

Lando didn’t speak at first. He just watched her, his gaze more intense than usual.

"Where’d that come from?" he asked, his voice rough, as though the song had caught him off guard.

She shrugged, offering him a small, almost sad smile. "Just a little something I’ve been keeping to myself."

He studied her for a long moment, his brow furrowing slightly, before he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small, crumpled piece of paper and a pen. He scribbled something on it, the pen moving quickly, but with care, like he was writing a letter he didn’t want to send.

When he was done, he folded it and tucked it into her hand. "Don’t forget me," he said, the words soft but weighted, as if he already knew that the world might pull them apart soon enough. This was the third time he’d changed base.

She tucked the paper into the top of her dress, the cold of the night settling into her bones as she met his eyes.

"Don’t you worry, Lan," she said, her voice quieter than usual. "I won’t."

And for a long moment, there was only the sound of their breathing, mingling with the hum of the city around them. The world may have been crumbling in places—may have been falling apart piece by piece—but in that small, fragile moment, it felt like nothing could touch them.

But everything always did, in the end.

His address had burned in her pillowcase, the ink from his note faint against the fabric, yet it never seemed to fade. She’d memorised it in the quiet, sleepless hours, tracing it with her fingers long after the paper had gone.

It had been a week since she’d seen him. Seven days. No letters, no word, nothing but the silence that spread across the empty spaces between them. Nothing could have happened, not really. He’s fine, he’s fine—she told herself that, but the gnawing doubt clawed at the back of her mind, relentless, like the distant hum of the war that never seemed to end.

She had convinced herself that it was nothing. That maybe he’d been busy, or maybe he just didn’t have the time. But deep down, she knew that wasn’t true. He’d always made time for her, even if it was only for a drink or a song or the comfort of her voice at the end of a long, war-torn day.

Next thing she knew, she was standing at the gates of RAF Bovingdon, the wind biting at her face, her fingers shaking slightly as she adjusted the ring on her left hand. It was a habit—one she hadn’t realised she had until now, until she felt herself slide it over to her ring finger, the gold cool against her skin. It wasn’t a lie. Not entirely.

She stood tall, tried to push away the flutter in her chest, the anxiety tightening its grip as she approached the entrance.

The soldier at the gate eyed her, a quick flicker of recognition in his eyes before he looked away, his tone indifferent.

"Can I help you, miss?"

She cleared her throat, forcing her voice to steady. "I’m looking for information on a pilot here. Lando Norris. He’s—" She hesitated, feeling a pang of guilt for the lie that slipped so easily off her tongue. "He’s my fiancé."

The soldier looked up at her, his brows knitting together for a moment. "Fiancé?"

She nodded, trying to mask the sudden tightness in her chest, though the lie tasted bitter on her tongue. She felt the words echo inside her head, a sharp contrast to the tenderness with which Lando had once looked at her. The guilt threatened to creep in again, but she shoved it away. She didn’t care. Not now.

"I didn’t know he had one of those," the soldier said flatly. "Can’t say anything, I’m afraid. Military protocol."

Her heart skipped a beat, but she didn’t let it show.

"Please," she said, stepping closer to the gate, voice low but insistent. "I need to know. He’s been gone for a week. I’ve tried reaching him. Can you at least tell me where he’s been?"

The soldier’s eyes softened just a fraction, a quick flash of pity or perhaps simple exhaustion crossing his features. He paused, glancing at her for a moment too long, and then sighed.

"He was sent out last week. They haven’t heard from him since."

Her breath caught in her throat, the world seeming to tilt just slightly. "Sent out? For what?"

"Operation," he answered, his voice clipped. "They’re all sent out. Every day. But once it’s been more than nine days and they haven’t returned… well, in two days, he’ll be presumed dead."

Her stomach twisted. It felt like the ground had fallen away beneath her feet, like all the air had been sucked out of the room, leaving her gasping for breath. "Presumed dead?"

The soldier nodded, expression unreadable. "That’s standard procedure."

For a moment, she couldn’t speak. Her head spun, her mind reeling with the weight of the words. Two days. She had two days to know whether the man she’d come to care for—this reckless, impossible man—was lost to the war forever.

And then, as though the words were a punch to the gut, he added, "We need your address. In case… well, in case we need to contact you."

Her fingers tightened around the edge of the gate, the skin of her palms cold, but she managed to push the words past the lump in her throat. "I��yes. Of course."

She gave him her address, her voice strained but firm, and when the soldier took it down, she felt as though something deep inside her cracked wide open.

It wasn’t supposed to feel like this. She hadn’t expected it to feel like this—the weight of a lie, the truth of a life that might never be.

When the soldier nodded curtly and moved away, she turned on her heel and walked, slow and deliberate, until she was far enough from the base to breathe again. But even as she took a step away, the words echoed in her head—presumed dead.

The wind cut through her coat, but it didn’t stop the chill from settling deep into her bones.

She moved on autopilot, the world around her a blur of grey and motion. She’d taken the train back to London—a rickety thing, crowded with people whose faces were tired, whose eyes held the same weariness that she felt inside herself. The journey felt endless, like it stretched on for years, and yet in the same breath, it seemed too short. She couldn’t remember how long she’d been on the train. She barely noticed the other passengers, their muffled conversations and quiet laughter blending into the clatter of wheels against tracks.

When the train screeched to a halt at Paddington, she stood without thinking, the motion too automatic to be deliberate. Her legs carried her across the station, through the bustle of London, though her mind never truly followed. The streets were chaotic, as they always were—people rushing to and fro, the distant hum of carriages and lorries, the clang of trams against the cobblestones—but it was all distant to her, like a dream she couldn’t quite wake from.

She hadn’t been to church in ages. Not since before the war. Not since before Lando and the nights of whiskey and music and fleeting moments of comfort. The old rituals, the incense, the whispered prayers—they felt like someone else’s life. And yet, today, they called to her.

By the time she stood outside St. Paul’s, the weight of the world pressing down on her, she could already feel the faint pull. The faint thread of something sacred, something familiar, like a forgotten lullaby. She didn’t know why, but she stepped inside, the coolness of the stone welcoming her, the silence wrapping around her like a blanket. The interior was dim, the light soft and filtered through the stained-glass windows, casting long shadows that danced across the worn pews.

She walked, each step slower than the last, as though the space itself was holding her back, forcing her to confront the questions she hadn’t dared to ask. She had no words to speak, no requests to make, only a desperate, aching need to feel something—anything—that wasn’t this overwhelming emptiness.

Her feet led her to the altar, the cool marble beneath her knees as she sank down into a low kneeling position, the weight of her own body pulling her further into the cold, silent stone. For a moment, she just sat there, head bowed, eyes squeezed shut against the world. She hadn’t prayed in so long, not since she was a girl, not since her mother had whispered hymns beside her bed. But now, in the stillness of the church, it came to her like an old memory—familiar and sharp.

Please, she thought, the words slipping out like breath in the cold air. Please bring him back. Please let him come back to me.

Her hands gripped the edge of the altar, knuckles white, the cool stone biting into her palms. She closed her eyes tighter, her voice barely a whisper, barely a prayer. I don’t care what it takes. Just let him come back.

She stayed there, the minutes stretching out like hours, or maybe days. It was hard to tell. The only sound was the faint murmur of distant voices from the back of the church, the echo of footsteps on stone, and the soft rustling of her own breath. The war seemed so far away in this place, as though it couldn’t touch her here, couldn’t reach her in this cathedral of silence.

But even as she prayed, even as the words tumbled from her lips, she knew there was a part of her that didn’t believe. She knew that even as she asked, there was a quiet truth at the back of her mind—a truth she couldn’t escape—that in two days, Lando would be lost to her, like so many others. And all the prayers in the world wouldn’t bring him back.

But she prayed anyway, because it was all she had left. A hope she clung to like a thread in the dark.

She remained there, kneeling, for what felt like an eternity, until the coldness in her bones became too much to bear. With a sigh, she rose to her feet, brushing the dust from her knees as she straightened. The silence felt deafening now, the weight of it pressing down on her shoulders as she made her way back toward the door.

On the second day, she couldn’t get out of bed.

The world outside moved on as if nothing had happened—lorries rumbled down the streets, market traders called out their prices, and somewhere in the distance, a church bell rang, slow and steady, counting the hours. But she stayed where she was, curled beneath the thin blankets, staring at the ceiling as if she could hold back time just by refusing to face the day.

It was today.

Today was the day they would decide he was gone. The day his name would be written on some crumpled ledger in an office, another casualty, another life swallowed whole by the war.

She wanted to move. She wanted to get up, to do something—anything—but the weight in her chest held her down, heavy and suffocating. She had spent the last two nights staring at the door, hoping. Foolishly, desperately hoping that somehow, against all reason, he would come back. That he’d walk through the door with that easy grin of his, shake the rain from his coat, and say something maddeningly flippant about how she worried too much.

But the door stayed closed. The hours passed. And now, there was nothing left to do but wait.

She barely heard the knock at first. It was firm, clipped—too formal to be anyone she knew. Her heart clenched, her stomach twisting itself into knots. No. Not yet. Just one more hour.

But the knocking came again, sharper this time, and she knew.

Her limbs felt leaden as she forced herself to sit up. The room swayed slightly, but she ignored it. The cold wooden floor sent a shiver up her spine as she pulled on her dressing gown, tying it hastily at the waist.

By the time she reached the door, her hands were trembling.

She pulled it open, and there they were—two men in uniform, their expressions carefully neutral, their caps damp from the rain outside. They stood rigid, as though they had done this a thousand times before, as though this was just another task to complete before moving on to the next.

"Miss," the taller one said, his voice measured, almost detached. "We’re here about Flight Lieutenant Lando Norris."

Her throat felt like it was closing. She nodded, unable to speak.

The soldier hesitated, then continued. "His aircraft went down last week. No recovery. He hasn’t returned to base, and as of today—" He exhaled sharply, as if the words themselves weighed something. "As of today, he is presumed dead."

She had known it was coming. She had known from the moment she woke up, from the moment she saw the grey light filtering through her window, from the moment she heard the knock. And still, the words hit like a hammer, splitting something inside her clean in two.

She swallowed hard, but before she could force a word past the lump in her throat, the other soldier spoke.

"Since he has no family," he said, his voice softer, as if he didn’t want to say it at all.

She sucked in a breath, but it did nothing to steady her.

No family.

Her fingers curled into the fabric of her dressing gown, gripping it tightly as if it might keep her standing. She had known that too, hadn’t she? He never spoke of them. Not his mother, not his father, no brothers, no sisters—only half-formed stories, half-smoked confessions in the early hours of the morning when the war felt far away, and it was just the two of them and the sound of her voice.

But hearing it now, from the lips of a stranger, made it unbearable.

Lando had no one.

No mother to mourn him, no father to curse the sky for taking his son. No home to return to, no childhood bedroom left untouched, no one to light a candle in his name. Just her.

Just her.

She pressed a hand to her stomach, as if she could steady the storm brewing there, but it was no use. The ache was too deep, too wide.

The soldiers were still speaking, saying something about his belongings, about official documents, but she wasn’t listening. The words blurred together, distant and unimportant.

When they finally finished, she nodded—just enough to make them leave. Just enough to close the door and turn away before they could see the way her face had crumpled, the way her breath came too sharp, too ragged.

She pressed her back against the door and slid to the floor, pulling her knees up to her chest, fingers digging into the fabric of her sleeves.

Lando was gone.

And she was the only one who would remember.

part two

taglist: @alexisquinnlee-bc @carlossainzapologist @oikarma @obxstiles @verstappenf1lecccc @hzstry8 @dying-inside-but-its-classy @anamiad00msday @linnygirl09 @mastermindbaby @iamred-iamyellow @isaadore @driverlando

[kararisa]

darling, starling

— 27. through it all — ✦ (wc: 0.8k)

notes: this took longer than expected ^^ hope you guys enjoy the chapter!

To Yae Miko's credit, she cut straight to the chase. 

Not that Scaramouche would give her much credit in general, given that she had always treated him with such indifference over the years before he finally moved out. But he'd take his small blessings whenever he could.

It was a cut-and-dry deal: Yae Miko would interview Scaramouche regarding the recent scandal between his partner and one of the band members of Windborne. He would get the chance to clear the air with the help of one of the most influential news outlets in all of Inazuma, while Yae Miko would get an exclusive story people could only dream about.

It should have been over the moment they ended the interview. But here they are, making casual conversation. At least as casual as it gets between a son and his estranged mother-in-law.

Scaramouche has seen these tactics before. Whenever Yae Miko wanted information, she’d make casual conversation with the interviewee to get them to open up. And that’s when she strikes.

Ironically enough, it was also Yae Miko who taught him how to avoid this. She was the one who taught him when to give information and when to hold back; how to satiate people’s curiosity enough so they leave you alone. Basic media training — training he and Kaori knew by heart.

Yae Miko tilts her chin downwards, the way she does whenever she gets curious. “You’ve been back in Inazuma for a little over a year now. Is it nice living with them? I’m assuming so since no one’s spotted you packing your bags just yet.”

“I still live with them. But that’s none of your business.”

“Oh come now, you saw me turn off the recorder. Everything we’re saying right now is off the record.”

Against his better judgment, he yields, “It’s... nice. On the days when they actually wake up early, they help me cook. It’s become a routine of sorts.”

He knew that was exactly what she was looking for when he saw the hint of satisfaction in her eyes.

It’s a slippery slope, trusting a journalist. Some will risk their lives for the truth while others will stab you in the back while shaking your hand. But if it’s Yae Miko, he has no doubt she’ll only publish the truth, if only a little embellished. She has to sell stories, after all.

“You’re never usually this civil with me,” Scaramouche doesn’t attempt to mask his suspicion. “What do you hope to gain with a conversation that’s off the record?”

Yae Miko offered a cryptic smile, her eyes revealing a flicker of sincerity. “Am I not allowed to be curious? People are actively looking for you just for the chance at an interview and you reached out to me in the hopes of clearing the air about your relationship.”

He’d be loathe to admit that she was one of the few people he trusted to handle the story properly. But he still had to ask, “And now you’re just this so-called off-the-record conversation as some sort of blackmail?”

She sighs, “I’m getting an exclusive interview with the author who’s dating an Inazuman pop star. Would you blame me for asking a few questions? Besides, you’ll see none of this conversation mentioned in any articles.”

“How do I know you’re not just bullshitting me...”

“I can understand your apprehension, but words hold power, Scaramouche. Everyone in the industry knows this. And so do you.”

Scaramouche has never really seen eye-to-eye with Yae Miko on a multitude of things, but one of the few things they can agree on is that people shouldn’t just blindly believe what people say just because they have a large following. The Narukami Press has always strived to publish articles that are reflective of the truth. 

But bias is inevitable, whether you work in journalism or public relations.

“A large majority of people are always going to want to chase the latest drama without caring if it’s true or not,” she starts. “You’ll find no such motivation in me to keep fanning the flames. I want them to die down as much as you do.”

“People like us have a responsibility to be careful with what we say and how we say it,” she continues. “The drama with Zenith was blown out of proportion, that much is for sure. People were hungry to see their downfall given that they were on top for so long but they were just as eager to drag you down with them.”

“Setting the record straight by yourself will be nearly impossible,” she states matter-of-factly. “But your friends have been preparing their statements to defend your partner, yes?”

He isn’t even surprised that she knows about this, especially a PR move this big. Working with his friends will be the best way to get the rumors to die down to a manageable level.

“Your word and Xiao’s will be what people hang onto the most. Make it count.”

“And fight for them, Scaramouche. They need you now more than ever. If you decide to ignore all my advice, then that’s fine by me. But never stop fighting for them.”

“Like hell I’d ever stop. No matter what happens, I’ll be with my partner through it all.”

✧— previous — masterlist — next —✧

summary: being the world-famous singer-songwriter "zenith", the limelight has been on you ever since the start of your career. however, the media becomes relentless when leaks of music you never meant to release begin to circulate. your friend scaramouche, meanwhile, seems to have gotten stuck while writing his second book. with a deadline fast approaching, he comes to you with a deal: act as if you're dating him so he can gather reference material and, in turn, he'll help keep the press' eyes off of your leaks until you release your next album. a win-win in your book, so why not help a friend out?

author's notes:

i lied, this was my favorite chapter to write by far

happy new year everyone!! updates will probably slow down from here but i hope you enjoyed the chapter ^^

taglist — currently CLOSED:

@aestherin @your-kuya-pogi @yourstrulykore @krnzysh @vxnuslogy @yumiaur @featuredtofu @kodzusmiles @meigalaxy @nymphxie @motherscrustytoenailclippings @samyayaya @hiimera @beriiov @e0nssadrift @dazaisboner @nillajhayne @chluuvr @deffenferofjustice @romyoia @xiaomainlmao @hotgirlshit5 @potabletable @letthewindlead @esuz @toriiee @kclremin @angelkazusstuff @phoenix-eclipses @sakiimeo @mayuumine @lilybythevalley @one-and-only-tay @keiiqq @what-just-happened-huh @haunts-gh0st @layla240 @miaakai @duckyyyx @cinnaniyoom @kgogoma @xtobefreex @mechanicalbeat1 @feiherp @venturinea @nnasv @retiredmommylover @onmywaytoteyvat @tiredslepz @saccharine-sucks

[the-flaneur]

baby, you're my t-rex (dino)

pairing: college student!dino x college student!reader

summary: you and dino attend his frat brother's massive halloween bash, dressed in matching dinosaur costumes. however, when a girl wearing your exact costume goes up to dino, you can't help but need to stake your claim on your man.

warnings: alcohol, suggestive content (making out, suggestions of sex), lowkey sub!dino (just a tiny smidge)

wc: 1572

roughly pushing open the door to the svt frat house, the pounding music and flashing strobe lights are a familiar and ironically comforting sight. attempting to shove yourself through the growing crowd, you beeline for the haphazardly set up bar, consisting of a couple of water barrels filled to the brim with “mystery punch”, as dokyeom would usually put it as, as well as a table lined with red soda cups. 

speaking of the prankster, dokyeom, as well as fellow frat brother, hoshi, had seen you making your way towards the bar, before weaving their way through the mass of people to reach you.

“hello y/n,” the two troublemakers grin. they’re easy to spot, doning matching halloween costumes for tonight. their bright red hair and striped suits pay homage to dokyeom’s favourite characters, the weasley twins. a very fitting outfit, you muse, watching them grab a filled cup from behind you, before pouring in another bottled mystery liquid (probably more alcohol) into the punch.

“what’s wrong y/n?” they smirk at your raised eyebrow, before cheering your cup and downing their own drinks. you roll your eyes, before giving them both a tight hug, having missed your pranksters over the exam period. albeit it is a bit difficult, considering the massive inflatable dinosaur head and arms which seem to whack anyone in their path. you’re thankful you can breathe through in the costume though, having seen someone wearing a scream mask and reaper outfit (which although very attractive, had resulted in them bumping into numerous attendants).

the three of you begin talking about the events which have transpired over the past few weeks since you’ve been missing at the frat house including, seungcheol’s newest fwb (she’s a apparently a bit of a b*tch, even if he says she’s not), jun’s sister being hit on by half the frat house again (much to his annoyance) as well as the broken glass door, courtesy of seungkwan angrily hurtling a volleyball at dokyeom’s head (which was most definitely not at all not his fault by provoking seungkwan).

after almost an hour, they slink off, aiming to find mingyu and minghao and roping them into a prank at an unsuspecting party goer. this leaves you sitting languidly in one of their plush couches, sometimes jostled from your spot by people moving in and out of the house.

dino still hadn’t responded to your texts yet, despite his messages earlier that day about meeting you by the makeshift countertop bar at 11pm. sighing, you started walking outside, the suffocating plastic around your neck making you claw at it and pulling your head out. however, your annoyance is quickly replaced by a glance at another girl.

normally, you wouldn’t bat an eye at her outfit, it was the same as yours (as was the same as like three other people in the house) and a typical sight for halloween.

however, this little lizard had her bloodied manicure dug straight into the arms of your man.

and he looked very uncomfortable. you knew dino would be too polite to say anything, but you could tell by his shifty looks across the room, his scrunched eyebrows and awkward lip bite that he did not want to be there.

you couldn’t hear what she was saying, but by her overly fluttering lashes, attempts to wink at him and close proximity, it didn’t take a genius to see that she was trying to get him into bed

“hey y/n, going to save your man now?” a voice whispered from behind you, starling you slightly. the cheshire grin of jeonghan grew at your reaction, before turning into a laugh at your annoyed demeanour.

“shut the fuck up jeonghan, just go drink with seungcheol,” you snapped, watching the girl attempt to press her tits into dino’s hand, who immediately stepped back like he was stung and wiped his hand on the plastic of his dinosaur costume. good boy, you smirked for a second, before jeonghan quipped again…

“well i will be having some liquid in my mouth from a certain someone tonight, you would too if you actually went over there,” he winked, before sauntering over to his boyfriend, who gave you a little wave, before wrapping his arms around jeonghan’s shoulders. 

squaring up, you stomped over to where dino and this girl were standing, her hands now wrapped around his elbow trying to drag him away from the bar.

“hi baby, who’s this lizard here?” you smiled at her, tilting your head to the side as you mustered up the b*tchiest tone you could and placed a possessive hand on dino’s shoulder.

“well i don’t know who you’re calling baby, considering this man over here told me he was single,” she says pointing a thumb at dino, who rapidly shook his head at you, before attempting to step behind your costume

“did he? mmmm dino baby, did you tell her you were single?” you raise a single eyebrow, before dino’s words come out like a flood.

“no, no, no y/nnie…i tried to tell her i was dating someone, but she said i was lying,” dino tries to glare at the girl who at least has the decency to look ashamed when you turn back to her.

“well you heard what he said, now run your ancient little dinosaur tail back to the bar,” you smirked, taking dino’s arm and heading towards his bedroom (like the two of you had planned).

“well i wouldn’t say that i’m ancient cause i wonder what museum they dragged your makeup from considering it looks dusty as fuck,” the other girl snapped back, and that’s when you lost it. 

raising your palm, you immediately went for her cheek, wanting to make it hurt. 

and hurt her badly you did. 

her head immediately whipped to the side, and there was a large red scratch where your nails had caught her cheek. smirking, you raised your hand, but before you could deal another humiliating blow, dino’s arm caught your wrist, pinning it to your side.

“y/n…not here please,” dino begged, trying to tug you away from the girl who was now really getting on your nerves with the way she was sneering at the two of you.

“run away with your little boy toy…he was pathetic anyways,” she laughed, turning to push past from the now growing crowd of party attendants who were sloppy drunk and desperate for a fight before the night was over.

“OK THAT’S IT YOU FUCKING B*TCH!” you said jumping onto the girl’s back, ripping through the plastic of her dinosaur costume, before you wrapped your fingers around her hair, yanking backwards.

the crowd egged you on with drunken cheers as the other girl attempted to head butt you, knocking slightly into your nose, which made you wince. dropping her hair, you clutched your throbbing nose and tried to kick her legs out from underneath, as you fell off her back. she slipped on her heels, and suddenly the two of you were wrestling on the ground, attempting to claw at anything, lost in your drunken stupor. 

you vaguely remembered that your boyfriend’s pride was at stake, but as you lay pinning her on the ground, all rational thought went out of your head. suddenly, a booming voice, cut through the cheers and wedged his way into the rowdy circle around the two of you.

“y/n…that’s enough!” seungcheol yelled at the two of you, roughly grabbing your ripped plastic dinosaur head (courtesy of the other girl), and pulling you to your feet and pushing you into the arms of your extremely worried boyfriend.

“i don’t want to see either of you at another seventeen party for the next month, and there will be no playing favourites y/n,” seungcheol growled at your glare, instructing mingyu and wonwoo to drive the other girl back to her sorority and telling dino to take you upstairs to “sleep of the violent tendencies your reckless girlfriend had”.

slowly making your way up the stairs, you leant against your boyfriend’s body as he took you to the frat’s main bathroom. “are you mad at me?” you asked tentatively, swinging your legs from atop the sink countertop as dino gently wiped at the bruises on your knuckles. your costumes laid deflated on the floor, and you watched as dino’s eyebrows frowned.

“no…i’m not mad at you, but i’m mad that i put you in a position where you had to defend me like that. i should’ve stepped away the minute she took it too far. i’m sorry baby,” dino sighed, wrapping his arms around your legs before taking you to his bedroom.

“i’m sorry i made such a fuss…i just didn’t like seeing you so uncomfortable. i just wanted to protect you as well….also is cheol actually going to ban me from parties for the next month, i don’t wanna miss our thanksgiving dinner party?” you frowned, as dino laid next to you on his bed

“i’m sure he won’t. he loves us to much. and secretly, i’m sure he was glad you put her in his place cause baby, you’re still my violent little t-rex,” you smiled as dino sighed, pulling you into his side and wrapping an arm around your waist

“and you're my naughty little dinosaur as well,” he mumbled, pressing a kiss to your head, before closing his eyes.

permanent seventeen taglist (comment or msg me to join)

© the-flanuer || do not copy, rewrite or translate any of my work on any platform.

[lichenes]

Looking for sdv x reader ideas?

I'll do you one, how comes despite their most obvious contrast, there are absolutely zero Shane x Reader x Elliott fics out there? I'll do it myself one day, but for now this tragedy must be shared, and perhaps serve as a spark of inspiration.

Hi anon! You've come at the right time cuz I've been obsessing over them both for a moment... which could mean nothing. And absolutely go write it!! I can't wait to read more of them!!<2 This one took a lot a long while to write but I hope I manage to as the younglings say, eat. CW: hopefully not too ooc. autor fucks around with word formation and fails miserably, brief swearing, pursuing two men at a time, shane being shane :( SFW wc: 1529 .  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚ .  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚

You were acclimatising as The Farmer(™) quite alright. You were well liked by the dwellers of Pelican Town and were generally just doing okay for yourself. You weren't swimming in profit quite yet but you were hoping to get there soon. Working at Joja wasn’t the dream but it did pay the bills so you were hoping you didn’t have to go back to it, because you’ve grown fond of this town and its residents.

Especially two of them. Elliott - the local writer and an absolute heart-throb, a stark contrast to the other, less charming but equally as enthralling - Shane. At first they were both keeping their distance from you, occasionally accepting gifts from you with a better or… worse reaction depending on what you decided to bestow upon them. 

As weeks passed they both started warming up to you, Elliott more so than Shane as he still was not ready to open his heart to someone. Elliott as the hopeless romantic was more so open to your courting, Shane on the other hand went through all five stages of grief when Marnie informed him he was actually being pursued.

Shane wasn’t sure what you saw in him. In his mind he was purely - a slob - an unwanted, shrivelled up shell of a human being who with or without his family could well lay down in his coffin and wait for the sweet release of death.

“What do you want from me?” He said praying to Yoba you’d leave him alone this time. The day was long and hard and he just wanted to drink in peace and not ruin a relationship he held so dear with a rage fueled comment. Relentlessness was what you were known for though so despite the slight hurt you felt you pulled out a bunch of chillies out of your basket and handed it to Shane. 

“Just wanted to give you this. They’re in season and…” You trailed off, your hand still extended towards him. “...how’d you know this is my favourite?” He stared at them with a hidden warmth in his eyes. You just smiled and mentioned a little birdy. He had a long stern talk with Jas after that. 

A few days later you received a pizza in the mail and you knew… you knew he was smitten.

During the winter there wasn’t much to do besides fuck around in the mines and fish. At the end of one of the short, winter days you entered Elliott’s house cold and tired after a good few hours of fishing. “Ah! And what are you doing here?” You were basically vibrating with excitement (and possibly shaking from the cold). “I know Pierre doesn’t sell this so…” You presented him with a bottle of squid ink. 

“I brought a bottle in case I caught a squid and wouldn’t you know!!” His eyes slowly rose up from his work and he stood up from the chair, starling you in the process. “My yoobness you are truly wonderful.” Your face got a little hotter at his comment as he strode towards you taking the bottle gently out of your hands. He placed it onto the nearest surface and turned back towards you. 

“Now.” His form was towering over you. Your breathing deepened as he leaned down to your level, his hair cascading down the sides of his face. A certain tenderness washed over you. You tucked a few strands of hair behind his ear and let your hand rest on his cheek. You caressed it and leaned impossibly close, your noses almost touching.

You suddenly pulled away and gave him an excuse to leave, your face hot and your hands trembling with anticipation. You exited the humble abode and went on walk slightly faster to your farmhouse than you usually would.

“You… temptress.” He mumbled under his breath as he stood there… confused. 

You could imagine that Elliott and Shane, except for the festivals, didn’t interact much. Shane spent all his days at work or in his room and Elliott at the beach. By the grace of Yoba they both, at 5pm. would head for the Saloon and keep themselves occupied, with conversation or mindless drinking. 

Once, when Elliott was severely inebriated he, suddenly emboldened by the alcohol coursing through his veins, sat down next to Shane and began conversing. “So Shane… wha’s your problem?” Shane just ignored him, looking down at the usually well kept man. His hair a mess and and a stain from the wine he was drinking on his dress shirt. “What’s yours?” Elliott rolled his eyes. “Why are you hitting on Farmer? I’ve heard you sent a pizza… must be serious…”

Shane’s cheeks suddenly went a deeper shade of red. “It’s none of your business.” Elliott smiled lopsidedly. “Yanno… we almost kissed a few days back.” Shane’s head darted towards Elliott. He continued. “Yeah… I think we’re in a pickle, man.” Shane grabbed Elliott by the collar and pulled him up as the drunk man began laughing. “Elliott, I swear to Yoba if this is true.” He nodded. “Totally true. I even got a gift.” Shane let go of Elliott and felt a cold breeze flow through him, locking him back in his shell. 

“You need to go home.” Said Shane looking at Elliott with an indescribable sadness in his eyes. “But I’m havin’ such a nice conversation with you…” Proclaimed Eliott, sarcastically. “I will carry you home if it means I don’t have to listen to you talk.” 

And so they ended up here. Elliott on top of Shane snoring softly and Shane terrified to move as to not wake him up and possibly cause a scene. Embarrassingly so, when Shane looked toward Elliott he felt a pang of shame. Elliott, the graceful, beautiful and kind-hearted person he showed himself to be was a way better a partner than Shane ever could be. 

The night after, Elliott woke up next to Shane. Elliott felt horrified that he did something without Shane’s consent as he remembered they were both pretty drunk last night. When Shane opened his eyes he was startled at first. “Did we…?” Said Shane surprising Elliott in the process. He turned to the older man with a slight smile. “Did you want us to?” 

“Not in the mood for stupid jokes. I might hate you for what you’ve done with Farmer since yesterday.” Elliott’s smile dropped. “Look, you’ve invited yourself into my house, slept in my bed and now are-” Shane stopped him. “I get it.” Silence fell between them. 

“At the end of the day It’s the Farmers choice. We can’t do anything about it.” Shane nodded void of any emotion.

You entered the Stardrop Saloon, the air heavy with suspense. A few days ago you asked them via mail to meet up here, at 9pm when most guests would leave, for privacy.  Elliott and Shane were sitting in silence, neither of them drinking, Gus was also absent, for some reason. “Hi.” You said meekly. 

“Hello.” Elliott said back as Shane only looked at you. “I’ve got a lot of explaining to do.” 

“I know you feel betrayed, both of you and I wish I could take it all away from you but…” You stopped and then looked at them pleadingly. “I hope you understand that it’s difficult to choose and I won’t be making that decision at all.” They both looked at you questioning your statement. “My point is… I want to be with you both. I want to get to know and live a long fulfilling life with you… both.” 

They couldn’t utter a single word afraid that in the heat of the moment they would say something utterly stupid. “Say something…” You pleaded. “I think Elliott would be a much better partner than me.” Spoke up Shane. “I can’t take care of myself, much less of others and…” Elliott turned abruptly to jim. “That’s nonsense! I’ve seen you take care of Jas and Marnie time and time again. Sam constantly raves about your job ethic! You never miss a day and are always on time. You constantly put yourself down despite all the positive things people say about you. See, for once, you have a chance at love, true unbridled love and you want to give it up because YOU think you’re not good enough?!” Elliott was breathing heavily after his rant and you were all stunned at the sudden explosion of emotions. 

“Elliott I-” Said Shane, at a loss for words. “I wish you would recognise the beauty sitting within you Shane. Get out of your shell and let yourself be happy.” Finished Elliott. Shane’s stoic demeanour was slowly crumbling. “So I guess you’ll have double the expenses now…” You looked at Shane questioningly. “You know… two flower bouquets and all.” You beamed.

Each night after that Shane would swing by as Elliott made his way to your house and you’d spend the remainder of the day talking, gossiping and enjoying each other's presence. Soon enough Elliott would see you walking in the rain to the beach and he immediately told Shane the great news. 

“Till death do us part and beyond."

.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚ .  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚ BONUS: Them in this fic...

masterlist

[longandshortstories]

Two Truths and a Lie

@flashfictionfridayofficial

WC - 993

A/N: Please meet Marion - up and coming politician, Lex - inventor and artist, and Armel - firebrand ex stunt man. These three pop up a lot as my go to triad. I knew I would need to use them for today's prompt. (Also if the seem…strangely familiar to some other characters I write a lot, well. I draw from what I like and know. Shrugs)

"My turn!" Mai said and took a sip of her wine. She looked into a the fire as she thought. Lex's sketching became a pleasant background noise, the bottle of wine they had already finished off glowing dimly where it had rolled to edge of the rug. The snow was building outside and it was a perfect night for them to relax indoors, in the warmth. Armel had removed his prosthetic leg and was laid out akimbo while Lex was seated cross legged next to him. Mai had a pillow propped against the front of the couch to lean on. "Alright. I ran away from home at fifteen. I taught myself law by borrowing my best friend's text books. I raised rabbits as a child."

Armel raised his hand. "I'm calling you out, Mai. I know you must haven taken law studies in Dubridge. I thought that was where you met Doctor Sana."

Mai shrugged then with a smirk shook her head. "Clover really did lend me his books so I could study while I was working. I've technically never taken a professionally taught law class."

Armel's expression softened. "That's incredible, Mai."

Lex shifted on the rug, stretching out like a cat, feet pointed towards the fire. "You raised doves when you were a child. Not rabbits," he said. His tone was fond. "You told me last winter when we were waking through the park. It's why you disagree with the anti pigeon spikes on signs and buildings."

Mairon flushed and took another sip of wine. "You're right and I should remember that you'd never forget anything." Feeling daring, she laid closer to him, stretching out on her side so she could see his face in profile. "Your turn."

Lex sighed and tilted his face to look up at the ceiling. He closed his eyes in thought. "I've written a play and had it performed. I proposed the monument that's at the capital but Mualtino sniped it out from under me. I've never been sky diving."

Armel laughed. "Mai you first. I think I know!" Lex shushed him and Armel stuck his tongue out at him.

Mai rolled onto her back. The skylight above was gradually getting covered in snow fall, the light coming through soft and blue tinted. "I think the lie is the sky diving. You already know how to pilot a bi-plane, I feel like you must have jumped out of one at one point?"

Lex shook his head. "I want to go sky diving but I haven't ever had the time to get away from work to go."

"He's published plays but Starling and Toorue haven't done anything with them yet. I tell him he really needs to try shopping them around to more than one acting company," Armel said. Lex leaned over and kissed him fondly. Mai's stomach tightened in a sort of twist of desire and shyness.

"You always do tell me, smart ass. Just wait though, eventually they'll get tired of me bothering them or Starling will run out of steam on his own writing." Lex set aside his sketch book. "Alright, your turn."

Armel went quiet, staring into the fire. "This is hard," he complained. "I feel like the two of you already know everything about me."

"I'm sure you still have some secrets. According to Clover you are closed book," Mairon said.

Armel snorted. "Yeah he would think that. Okay. My first girlfriend is the one who pierced my ears. I prefer blue to red." He paused for a long moment and glanced at Lex. "I have a crush on someone who I'm not with currently."

Mairon froze. Lex laughed lowly. "I know the answer to this one, too," he said and looked at Mai. "So I guess you'll need to figure it out." She bit her lip and sat up so she could see both of them more clearly, trying to read it from the slight tilt of Armel's mouth and the way Lex's eyes had gone half lidded.

"I know you pierced your ears yourself. She was with you, but you held the needle," she said. Her heartbeat seemed loud in her ears. "And I know you like red more than blue. You always call my hair your favorite color."

"Yes. It is," Armel said. He was staring at her so intently it felt like Mairon was being speared on his gaze.

"So I guess the other truth is that you like someone other than Lex," she said. Armel nodded and she had to brace herself when he reached over and touched her cheek, gently cupping it in his hand. His warmth felt like a band on her cooler skin. Her gaze darted over to Lex, but the artist merely looked content, eyes soft and fond. His hand found hers and held it tightly.

"Me?"

"You, Mai. For a while."

"For the both of us," Lex added. Mairon felt the world spinning on it's axis, shifting into a whole new universe of possibilities. She leaned leaned in and found herself supported by both men. Their shoulder's braced against one another, their temples and foreheads pushing together. A stable shape emerged. Mairon breathed out. She felt Lex and Armel breath in.

"Last one," she said, quietly. "I prefer cats to dogs. I wanted to be a writer as a child. I've developed feelings for two people already in a relationship."

Armel choked. "I know the answer."

"Me too," said Lex.

Mai looked up, into Armel's amber eyes. "I've always preferred dogs," she whispered.

[validwarriorcatsnames]

name my beast?

she's about a year old, and is the most energetic bitey little monster ever. she enjoys belly rubs and climbing curtains, and is a great conversationalist. (aka she meows back when i talk to her)

her name is starling but i wanna know what her wc name would be :3

We love a chatty cat. How about Starlingflight? (Bird names make it easy sometimes. And she IS energetic!)

[residents-of-the-darkforest]

spEAKING OF THE KITS

--

Base: F2U Kitten Lineart! by storielle on DeviantArt

@starfalcon555

[rookflower]

changing skies 2 blurb dropped wowwww starlingpaw confirmed as a protagonist and his arc is about personal insecurity and a need to prove himself whooooo could have seen thiiiiis coming

[blimbo-buddy]

Convinced that Erin hunter looks at my tumblr blog and they stole my false fire au and my badger DoveWing au and made it worse

[starlingfawn]

very late intro post

hello !!!!!!! my name is starlingfawn / starling

long post ahead!

my native language is spanish but i am fluent in english which is the language i talk on the web! though i sometimes tend to not understand a lot of casual language stuff ^^" !! i am so so sorry if i misinterpret something you say! also i speak a little french :'] [learning!] if that counts as anything ahah

she / him

i am very open to chat n make friends! feel free to DM me! just don't be creepy,,

please keep interactions with me / my art sfw

mass-liking or reblogging / interacting with old posts / spam booping and things like that are totally welcome :]]]

also asks are always open !!!!!

!! please ask if you want to respost any of my art also credit is very much necessary !!

!! do not use my art for commercial purposes !!

my interests:

◇ music!! some of the bands / artists i like right now

bold= bands i am feral about

italics= warming up to but enjoy very much [i can listen to an artist for a year and still consider them to be something i'm slowly warming up to!! it takes me a while for an artists to fully click with me !!

squid* (current obsession)

radiohead / the smile / thom yorke

black midi / geordie greep

everything everything

king gizzard and the lizard wizard

black country, new road

model/actriz

car seat headrest

glass beach

asia menor

maruja

death grips

viagra boys

hesse kassel

weatherday

jeff rosenstock

magdalena bay

protomartyr

samlrc

talking heads

the microphones / mount eerie

shame

godspeed you! black emperor

swans

windmill scene / modern post-punk / crank wave is my main interest musically and i listen to may other bands from that genre not listed here!! also i am very fond of the current scene of math rock and art punk from chile!! i am currently getting into that scene so recs r appreciated <3

i keep track of everything that i've listened to for the first time this year here: https://rateyourmusic.com/list/Starlingpaw/first-listens-2025/1/

◇ warrior cats! my favorite cats are petal dotc, breezepelt, fireheart, shadowsight, hollyleaf, hawkfrost, leafpool, ivypool and jayfeather :']]]

◇ monster hunter! [i main hunting horn, greatsword and dual blades but i also like hammer occasionally] my fav monsters are astalos, lagiacrus and odogaron but i own a nargacuga plush irl which i cherish with every ounce of my being [holding it gently in my arms as of speaking] ohhh i also love versa / makili pietru from mhstories1 i love that game sm

◇ birds! i adore birds and will gladly mention every bird i see on the street!! favs include bearded vultures, ospreys, eurasian collared doves, rock doves, white wagtails and the kauaʻi ʻōʻō [look it up!! you definetely won't be sobbing at extinct birds!! :'3]

◇ ever oasis! really really underrated 3ds game that stuck w me so much for some reason. it's about building and maintaining an oasis the middle of the desert while fighting corrupted beasts and solving silly little puzzles... if that sounds fun check it out 100%. that game changed my life honestly

◇ the final outpost! obscure adoptable creature collector site mixed with a sci-fi twist. each pixel art sprite has many, many genetic variations which results in there being almost infinite numbers of possible creatures to collect in total. the creature designs are so neat and the genetics are so fun to play around, i can spend hours on the creature preview just messing around and i won't get bored

i love making crossovers arts of my interests!! why enjoy one piece of media when you can enjoy multiple at the same time? most of the arts i post here are wc + whatever band i like at the moment

sideblogs:

@starlingfawn-music: musicposting

@starlingfawn-wc: warriorcatsposting

@starlingfawn-mh: monhunposting

art will be posted on this acc and maybe reblogged onto one of my sideblogs if it is from that specific community

other places i'm in:

not gonna post every single account i own but here are my highlights! also there's some accounts that i share names with but am not associated with,, please dm me if you don't know if that is me or not!

◇ youtube: https://youtube.com/@starlingfawn?feature=shared [warrior cats pmvs with music i enjoy. kinda neat i think]

◇ artfight: https://artfight.net/~Starlingfawn [attack my ocs!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! wip i need to update designs and add new fellas]

◇ last.fm: https://www.last.fm/es/user/Feralbloom [pretty new account so i don't have many songs / artists scrobbled but hey you can see me listen to how to disappear completely at 3 am in real time!! that's so awesome]

that's all for the moment! thank you very much for taking the time to read all that!

btw my old username was starlingpaw!! i changed my name because ther's a new warrior cats protagonist with that same name

[yesterdaysnewts]

hits your mid naughties british police drama with my warrior-cats-ification beam

some extra notes and that under the cut

Naming

Fits a couple categories

1) Follows their initials (Annie - Asphodelcreep, Chris - Cressstrike)

2) already sounds like their name (Ray - Starlingclaw)

3) Name already works as a prefix (Gene - Huntstar)

4) was gonna follow the initials route but I couldn't find owt I liked so went with somet else (Sam - Sandmartinpelt)

Onto individual designs

Sam | Sandmartinpelt

Wanted to get the jacket into his design in some way, as well as his sideburns

his 06 design has a dorsal stripe of the second darkest colour for 73 with his tail then being solidly that colour too

the lines down from his eyes are, tbh, purely there as I felt his face were too bland without - I couldn't think what other design would go

Will probably make his face rounder in the future and his side burns shorter

The prefix 'Sandmartin' is because you can shorten it to 'San' which is close enough to Sam for me, as well as take 'Mar' from the middle, a nice little nod to why Sam Williams was originally under cover in LoM

backstory does actually translate over well into - was leader of the Clan, hit by a car, wakes up in the past not as the clans leader

Is demoted down further than just one step tho - is a warrior in 73 - explained in Hunt's bit

Gene | Huntstar

His surname can already translate over into a wc prefix - so Huntstar

Took me the longest to design, mainly just cos I kept making him too light and having to go mess around with the values

only one I have a specific breed in mind for - Maine Coon

The scar on his leg is from 'getting shot' in the finale (obviously tho in this case he wasn't shot, probably mauled by dogs or somet)

bobtailed just cos he has them vibes yknow

The stripes going horizontal from his eyes are meant to contrast to Sam's going down vertical

dark front paws = driving gloves

Was deputy to Woolf, becomes leader after what would be 2x02, makes Sam his deputy

Annie | Asphodelcreep

Was always gonna be a black and white cat, somet that has just not changed at all since I started designing them

one of the cats that is just all fluff yknow

former kittypet - her home was near the clans territory and was something like a daylight warrior, her becoming a DC in 2x01 is her becoming a warrior full time in this

collar was red like her dress in 1x08

arguably the design I am most happy with and probably wont change at all

Name chosen mainly cos her initials are A.C. and I wanted it to match

Chris | Cressstrike

The prefix 'cress' was chosen cos it sounds like Chris and that is it

Is either the Clan's youngest warrior at the time Sam arrives, or one of the older apprentices who is massively struggling with Sam then taking over being his mentor (taken from Chris referring to Sam as a mentor in A2A)

Had to redo his entire design cos I accidentally made it piss ugly

Ray | Starlingclaw

Carling - Starling, it was low hanging fruit

Gene's former apprentice, I think it fits their dynamic well, especially Gene saying 'these men think they're made in my image' (paraphrasing) in 1x07

Curly fur cos I'm obsessed with his fucking perm in A2A

Will make him stockier and a more similar stature to Gene in the future

I think the antagonistic, generic brown tabby thing wcs does fits him well, like yeahh thats him