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i4oba · 1 month

Text

nct dream as… / times of a day 𓈒✳︎🚃

[— might be a little suggestive here and there!]

✰ 6:45 am .. jaemin

helios, through the half lidded eyes of yours was there to greet both of you at the same time—you could feel its hands coming near your bare body, the rays of the sun hugging your shape perfectly, casting such beautiful silhouettes behind, you and jaemin blending all together in your hazy state. you could feel the weight of his arms on your waist, hugging you so tight, sweet nothings leaving his lips, barely above a breath, hoarse voice laced with sleep. his scent, the sweet fragrance is dizzying, the warmth of him engulfing you just as much as helios’ breath of the morning; the sky is rosy, as if it was blushing while taking its time to fully wake up, faint shades of orange and yellow dancing through it endlessly. it’s such a beautiful way to start a day, with your lover all over you, deeply ingrained in your existence.

✰ 1:20 pm .. chenle

with the fierce determination of hermes, an arm slung around your waist; you were there—sun burning the uncovered skin of your shoulders, sweat making its way down on your temples as you took a look at the beautiful postcard in your hands, quickly snatched from a souvenir shop you passed barely twenty minutes ago. with such beautiful words and phrases, cursive letters and the scent of blooming flowers, you handed it over to your lover, hands aching to intertwine. he takes it, honest smile on his face, mumbling something along the line of “i’m the luckiest guy around”, wanting nothing but strolling around the foreign city for the rest of the day, stopping just for a minute in front of a pastry shop. there are freshly baked croissants!

✰ 3:25 pm .. jisung

was it all just a coincidence or did he know about all of it, you cannot be quite sure of but you, in fact enjoyed the way he pulled you straight into the sudden dancing flashmob. the sun was shining, birds singing endlessly along with the folk music played by a kind-looking band of teenagers, flute and harp harmonising together with the occasional sound of the guitar; you did not know how to dance or what kind of dance you should think of, but your lover pulled you closer to himself and took the lead, precise moves following one another as you felt yourself become a gracious nymph all of a sudden, trapped in a human’s fragile body. “honey, you’re doing so great,” jisung beamed happily, hands travelling lower on your skin, smile so wide and heartwarming. “i love you, so much,” he mumbled into your ears, voice losing the battle against the beautiful music.

✰ 7:05 pm .. jeno

with dionysus musing in your ears, you take a sip of the rich, sweet red wine your lover poured a few seconds before. the important event you two should have gone to long forgotten, with absolutely lust filled intentions you touch jeno’s rosy lips, tugging at his messily made tie, thighs rubbing against each other as you pulled him closer to yourself. the voice of dionysus slowly fading, you could feel the inviting hands of eros, guiding every movement of yours with extra care, fully planned with a hint of sinful acts. you sighs against your boyfriend’s mouth, not caring about consequences, reputation nor anything else, as you put his hands on either side of your hips. you wanted him—you needed him at that exact moment, the taste of his lips intoxicating, almost too permanent.

✰ 8:50 pm .. renjun

with lips slightly parted, tongue darting out to wet them quickly, renjun focused on the way your bare body looked behind the canvas. he couldn’t keep his eyes off of your curves, the way your hands did such a bad job at hiding yourself, timid reflection making it all too complicated to even think about anything but you. he felt drunk, as he watched your neck, the beautiful thighs of yours, wanting nothing more than to look deeply into your eyes and touch you, touch you everywhere he can and everywhere you’d let him to do so; you were everything and even more, compared to helen of troy, magical and enchanting, alluring. “can you please finish that painting, my junnie…” you mumbled quietly, shaking your head slightly. “i need you.”

✰ 10:45 pm .. haechan

“you should never come back to this studio, man, taeyong will kick your ass,” you laughed so hard, tears were about to fall out of your eyes, replaying the freshly made song of your boyfriend. he was a self proclaimed master producer but the thing is—it was rather funny than good. of course you appreciated his effort in making a lovesong for you, to confess for the hundreth time and once more. you were his muse supposedly and even if it was unlistenable, you loved it. at least more than taeyong, who would be furious if he knew you two were there, late into the night, making out on the couch of his studio until your lips were swollen, out of breath and with only one thing in your mind: love, love and love. you would never do anything else, even if it meant taking the risk of battling twelve times like heracles.

✰ 11:35 pm .. mark

being faced with the rolling credits after god know’s how many movies being watched, you slowly rested your head on mark’s shoulder. you reached out for his hand so you could take it in yours, not caring about silly actors�� and actresses’ love affairs or the world ending in front of you. all that mattered was the two of you, the adoration you felt for him, how he needed to have you close to him. his hair falling into his eyes, you tried to brush it away from there cautiously, caressing his cheek ever so lightly. you’ve never wanted to kiss him more than you did at that moment, every rational thought vanishing from your brain at the beautiful sight of him, as if he was the long lost son of the oh so wonderful aphrodite. “do it, love. kiss me and i’m yours,” was all he said quietly.

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heliads · 11 months

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ok so… i’m totally obsessing over Newt from TMR rn but i’m not sure if u still write for him🤧 but if u do i was thinking maybe something like during bonfire night the reader has had too many special drinks from Gally, accidentally confesses to Newt and lists everything she loves about him and then Newt gets all flustered and stuff (he’s so cute omg) but the reader is too drunk to go back to their own hammock so then Newt carries reader to their hammock but ends up sharing a hammock and then the reader doesn’t remember anything the next morning and then i’ll let u decide the rest😭

gally's special brew as a plot device >> it will always be famous to me

masterlist

In roughly thirty seconds, you’re going to reach a milestone you never thought possible. You’ve been waiting for this for a while now, counting down the days and hours and minutes like you were going to find yourself anywhere other than right here when your self-imposed timer went off. All you’ve got to remember the date is a memory, but given the fact that you only recall so many of those, it was easier to place than one would expect.

An alarm goes off across the Glade, ear-piercing klaxons rattling off of the high stone walls surrounding you. The rest of the boys around you start to amble towards the source of the noise, the Box newly arrived from who knows where, but you stay put for the time being, just breathing in the moment.

One blond boy next to you, your closest friend and favorite person here, nudges you in the leg with his foot. You’re both sitting in the unruly grass, ignoring the press of the green strands against your arms and calves. You have a habit of always wanting to keep him within reach.

“Why aren’t you racing towards the Box?” He asks.

You tilt your head to the side, staring up at the sky. Robin’s egg blue dappled with clouds, it’s the only pocket of space outside the Walls that you’ll likely ever know. “Today marks one year since I showed up here for the first time.”

Newt whistles through his teeth. “Shoot, already? Feels like time has flown. I swore you came up just last month.”

“No, I’ve been keeping count. Twelve months and I’m still here.”

Newt winces. He made a promise to you at the very start that he would get you out in six months, then, when that deadline came and went, he lengthened it to a year. The oath was only sworn because you were nervous about this place when you were still a Greenie and unused to the idea of living and dying here in endless repetition. You’re no happier about that fact now, but you are more used to it, at least.

“Well,” he starts off, “maybe you’re still here, yeah, but Minho and the other Runners are getting closer to finding a way out, I swear. Minho says they’re this close to having mapped the whole thing, then we’ll have an escape route for certain. Just give it another year. You won’t even notice the time passing, I promise.”

It’s kind of Newt to try to distract you again, even though you both know by this point that it’s useless. Minho is getting closer to traveling every pathway of the Maze, yes, but what Newt isn’t mentioning is how little the Keeper of the Runners actually is to finding something useful. Whenever you ask Minho what he’s learned about how to get out of here, he only ever comes up with a blank slate.

Still, harping on that doesn’t exactly make for a good time, so you’ll let yourself play along with Newt’s idea of your inevitable escape from this place for now. He’s losing hope even faster than you, even if he doesn’t tell anyone. It would be good to keep up the pretense.

You eye his leg, the one with the limp, and nod. “Yeah, next year for sure.”

Newt sits in silence for a moment or two longer, then stands up carefully, offering a hand to you. “Come on, then. We’ve got a Greenie to stare at and stuff to unpack from the Box, no time for musing. Besides, we’ve all got to get ready for the bonfire later tonight.”

You accept his offer of help, and when you’re on your feet once more, your smile is back. “I forgot about the bonfire! Oh, that’ll make everything better. Always does.”

Newt grins. “You’re just saying that because it’s the one time a month Alby will let all of us get proper wasted and skip work for the afternoon.”

“Of course I am,” you laugh, “I want to have fun! Is that such a terrible thing?”

Newt slings an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to his side as the two of you walk lopsidedly over to the Box opening. The other Gladers have already crowded around the opening, but there’s enough space for the two of you to peer in at the befuddled newcomer inside if you squeeze past a few Track-Hoes.

“No,” he murmurs later, once you’ve almost forgotten what you were talking about, “I don’t think it is.”

Damn right. You’ve looked forward to each Bonfire Night of your full year here with just as much excitement as everyone else. The soaring flames, the delighted shrieks and shouts of your friends, plus Gally’s special brew, everything about the celebration is a joy to behold. You can watch Gally kick the asses of people who should have known better to challenge him, or observe the Greenie as he tries to figure out his name.

Or, better yet, you can sit in a circle of your friends and tell jokes that get progressively worse as the lot of you get progressively more tipsy and tired. The night wears on, the stars burn themselves out above you just trying to catch a glimpse of your magnificently roaring fire, and all is well, as much as it can be around here.

At some point, you look up and you’re sitting alone with Newt towards the outskirts of the gathering. You don’t remember quite when that happened, but you’ve refilled your glass enough times that the memory loss sort of makes sense. Does anything here, though? No, not at all. Not ever.

Newt’s grinning over at you, saying something that you have to focus extra hard to hear. “Are you lucid again?”

“Not entirely,” you beam up at him, “Have I had a lot to drink tonight?”

Newt grimaces. “Probably more than you should have. You’ll be regretting it tomorrow, I can promise you that. Sorry for not cutting you off earlier.”

You shake your head a little too wildly and have to pause for a moment to blink the stars out of your eyes before continuing. “No, that’s not your fault. You don’t have to watch out for me all the time.”

Something almost like hurt plays upon Newt’s features, mixing with the warm glow of the firelight, and it makes you rush to say something so he stops looking so unhappy. “Only if you don’t want to watch out for me, that is. I like having you around. Makes me feel better.”

“Really?” Newt asks, amused.

“Really,” you confirm happily. “You’re my favorite person here by far. Minho teases me about that a lot, actually. He says I should soldier up and just tell you that, but he can’t bully me anymore, because I’m talking about it right now, aren’t I? He’s right, though, I do like you. Oh– I was thinking, Newt, and– and I think I’m okay, staying in the Glade forever, if I’ve got you here with me. You’re the best thing about this place.”

You hadn’t meant to ramble on like that, but the words came easily enough from your throat, and Newt seemed like he really wanted to hear what you were saying, so you went ahead and let him.

Newt sits for a few minutes in stunned silence before clearing his throat a little too loudly. “Um. Well, I think you should get to bed. Like, now. I think you’re drunk.”

“No,” you protest, “well, I am drunk, yeah, but I’m not just saying that because I’m drunk. I mean it, Newt. I really do.”

Newt’s expression softens. “I know you did, sweetheart. Let’s go to bed anyway, though. I think some rest would be good for you.”

“Alright,” you decide.

Newt stands up. You try to start walking back with him, but your feet refuse to cooperate on the uneven ground and you end up tripping more than you should. Eventually, Newt laughs quietly and picks you up, easily carrying you back to your hammock. He tries to set you down but you’re seized by the overwhelming panic that he’ll leave you here alone and you complain vehemently.

He’s still in a good temper, though (is it not wonderful to be needed?) and instead shifts so he’s lying down in his hammock instead, you on his stomach. You whisper goodnight to him and he says goodnight back, then a beat and a half later, did you really mean what you said? About me, that is? About how you–

You can’t really pick up what he’s saying, though. He was right about you needing rest, because the gentle swaying of the hammock and the soft beat of his heart under your head is just enough to send you off to sleep. Darkness pulls you under in an instant, and you’re rocked away to the tune of the crickets chirping somewhere in the distance and Newt still mumbling questions against the top of your head.

You can sense your hangover looming like dark clouds on the horizon, signaling a true storm of a day about to wreck you for good, but for now it’s just in the distance, not quite yours, not yet. The terrible feeling is warded off by an odd sense of calm and quiet. It’s warm now, warm and comfortable in your hammock, which is strange. Usually, you wake up cold on mornings in the Glade, but not today. It makes you want to snuggle down further, push off consciousness just a little longer.

Then your hand connects with something that isn’t one of your few allotted threadbare blankets or the knots of your hammock, something soft, like skin. A hand, one that isn’t yours. Your eyes fly open and– well, you don’t remember this, but you’re not exactly going to complain.

Newt is lying next to you, still asleep. You are curled up beside him, must have fallen asleep with your head on his chest. One of his hands is just touching yours, the other is cupping the back of your head to pull you closer to him.

Immediately your brain splits into two warring factions. One half wants to run away quickly, figure out what happened and why you’re here. This isn’t what you’re supposed to be doing, you know. Shuck, Alby would have a fit if he saw the two of you like this. Probably enough to throw you in the Slammer for a couple of hours.

The other part of yourself wants to stay here forever, to close your eyes and make Newt wake up first and handle it. You haven’t felt peace like this in a while. It’s just the two of you, soft and sweet and mostly folded over in sleep. Why should you disturb this? Disturb him? He’ll just be unhappy if you wake him and force him to realize that you’re here. Probably. Unless he’s the one who let you sleep in his hammock, which is more likely and far more terrifying.

Your issue is solved when Newt shifts slightly, rocking the hammock, and wakes up at last. You quickly shut your eyes and feign sleep, but judging by the movement of his chest as he laughs, you were caught in the act.

“I know you’re awake, Y/N.” He says.

You reluctantly open your eyes. “Maybe. By any chance, do you know why I’m here and not in my own hammock?”

You might just be kidding yourself, but you swear something almost like disappointment crosses Newt’s face. “You were pretty drunk last night,” he says at last, “I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

It’s a decent explanation, but that doesn’t explain why he’s looking at you like he really, really wants you to remember something about the events of the most recent Bonfire Night. “What did I do last night?” You ask slowly.

Newt shakes his head. “You didn’t do anything, trust me.”

“Then what did I say? You’re looking at me like you’re going crazy.”

Newt furrows his brows in a moment of indignation. “What? I’m not– I’m not looking at you like that. Anyway, you might have said a thing or two. Maybe.”

You stare at him in disbelief. “Newt, if you keep withholding information from me, I’m going to rock the hammock so much you fall on the ground. What happened?”

He has the audacity to laugh at your threat, as if you weren’t completely serious about it. “Alright, alright. You might have told me that you liked me.”

Your sense of terror, which had faded briefly after Newt woke up, is back in full force. “I did what?”

“You told me you liked me,” Newt repeats, “and I thought– well, you were drunk, so I thought you didn’t mean it, but–”

“I did mean it,” you whisper.

Newt’s eyes are wide when you dare to risk a glance back up at him. “Oh.”

That’s a bad oh. Has to be. You move to get up and try to run away before he can look at you like that anymore, but Newt tightens his grip around your waist, forcing you to lie back down. “Wait, wait. Don’t go. I like you too.”

Now it’s your turn to be surprised. “You do?”

“Yeah,” he says, smiling, “Have for a while. Minho teases me about that too, by the way. No wonder he seems so frustrated about it, he has to listen to both of us moping around even though we both like each other.”

You laugh. “That would be annoying, yes. He has to be happy now, though, we finally told each other about it.”

“That we did,” Newt says, and you can feel the upturned crescent of his lips as he presses a kiss to your forehead.

Maybe you spent a whole year in the Glade without ever seeing rescue. Maybe another year will pass without anything, or maybe five, or ten. Maybe you’ll never leave at all. Still, you’ve got your reasons to be happy after all. They start with him.

maze runner tag list: @rogueanschel, @ellobruv, @retvenkos, @neewtmas, @mayfieldss, @hiya-itsamber, @gods-fools-heroes, @hope92100, @w1shes43, @23victoria, @ilovexavierthrope, @fadedver

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cambion-companion · 1 year

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aemond falling in love with a musically gifted woman and every time they’re getting ready to sleep he asks her to sing to him 🥺 this thought JUST popped up in my head. like imagine he hears her before he sees her. like she’s singing for some event or something but aemond gets there too late and only sees the back of her head. it could be a whole thing where he’s trying to find her because her voice intrigued him that much.

Beneath the Mistletoe

This fic took ME on a ride

I have been waiting to do this one for too long and I made it Yule-themed as well...reader introduces Aemond to some winter traditions hehe

Aemond x fem!reader | Aemond reluctant to take part in festivities | harpist!reader | cheeky banter | mistletoe kiss

You fingers plucked the strings of your harp, constructed of the finest walnut wood, filling the dining hall with lovely music as you accompanied the other musicians. Your keen eyes swept the dance floor, taking note of all the noble lords and ladies swirling about, strung to the music you were creating.

All were dancing and making merry, save one obvious exception.

Aemond Targaryen. The silver-haired enigma. The young man who had all the ladies gossiping and giggling as they whispered behind hands, surreptitiously glancing at the rigid form of the prince.

As if he felt your gaze upon him, while he sat at the long table, his eye flicked to meet yours. Neither of you broke eye contact, you watched as he studied you and the instrument you played. A pleasant shiver prickled the back of your neck, he seemed interested in you. A small smile tugged at his lovely lips, curved and plush as they were. You longed to run your fingers along the shape of them.

Your fingers stumbled, you lost the beat of the music and faltered.

"Come on now, Y/N." The fiddler beside you chided. "Keep up! Don't let pretty princes distract you."

You mumbled a curse at him, steadying your fingers upon the harp strings once again and reentering the melody. You shot a quick glance back at the table, Aemond was grinning slyly at you now.

Your face burned, and you had to look away before you messed up the song again.

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

She was quite a lovely sight, seated before the wooden harp, fingers so dexterous as she conjured music as though it was magic.

Aemond was loathe to admit it, but he was entranced at the sight. The harp perched between your legs, a rather intimate instrument he mused.

With long fingers grasping his pewter goblet, Aemond raised his cup to his lips, pretending to drink the wine therein, still observing you over the rim.

"See something interesting, brother?" Aegon prodded his shoulder, rousing Aemond unpleasantly from his contemplation of your form.

"Is there no one else for you to bother?" He cast an annoyed look at the elder prince, appraising his unkempt state. "Did mother not instruct you to wash before the Yuletide feast?"

"I'm presentable enough." Aegon defended, tucking a greasy strand of silver hair behind his ear.

"You look like an urchin."

"You have the look of a man who sees a woman he likes." Aegon wiggled his eyebrows at Aemond, his cheeks ruddy from all the wine he'd consumed. "Go talk to her."

"She's busy at the moment." Aemond actually took a sip of wine this time, almost choking as Aegon clapped him hard upon the back.

"I'll be right back, don't go anywhere."

"What are you-?" Aemond's eye narrowed as he watched Aegon cross the dance floor, almost getting clotheslined by a waltzing couple as he did. "Oh no." He murmured, rising to stand, bemusement and bewilderment furrowing his brow.

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

"Excuse me. Harp lady. Stop playing a moment." You looked around, your hands stilling upon the vibrating strings. The last person you expected to be speaking to you was Aegon Targaryen, the eldest son of Viserys and Alicent. Yet here he was, his cheeks red from the influence of wine as he grinned down at where you sat. "My brother would like a word."

"I'm sorry my prince." You bowed your head. "I have been commissioned to play for the royal feast."

Aegon was having none of it. You made a disgruntled noise as he took you by your elbow, guiding you ungently to your feet. You steadied your instrument as it teetered, jostled by the abruptness of your movements as Aegon practically steered you away.

You looked guiltily over your shoulder at your fellow musicians, giving them a little wave of apology as you were dragged toward the long dining table.

Aemond stood as Aegon approached, his hand still gripping your arm.

"Let her go, Aegon." Aemond's voice was terse but still held a quality that made your skin tingle pleasantly.

"Talk about a first-class delivery." Aegon chortled, smacking you between your shoulder blades, making you stumble slightly forward.

You noted how Aemond raised his hands as if prepared to catch you should you need assistance. Luckily for you, Aegon wasn't that rough.

"I'm not a Yuletide package." You grumbled, straightening your skirts and giving Aegon a displeased glare before curtsying to Aemond.

"Indeed not!" Aegon agreed, crossing to pour himself another generous glass of wine. "Aemond here is the one with the package for you."

"That is quite enough." Aemond hissed, his jaw clenching as his lilac eye cut from you to his brother. "My lady." He gave you a curt bow and held out his arm for you to take. "Allow me to escort you elsewhere, the better to escape my inebriated brother."

"You can thank me later, Aemond!" Aegon called after the two of you as Aemond guided you away.

You had to remind yourself how to breath properly, the feel of Aemond's leather jerkin smooth beneath your fingertips as you entwined your arm with his. He smelled lovely, a combination of smoke, leather and spiced wine.

"I do apologize." Aemond intoned, inclining his head toward you as he spoke softly. "I do not even know your name."

"Y/N." You answered, your voice almost catching in your tightened throat.

"Y/N." He repeated, your name sounding sinfully good on his lips. "My brother gets certain...ideas in his head and will not be dissuaded once his course is set."

"What idea inspired him to lead me to you?" You asked, a mischievous spark lighting in your chest. "My prince." You remembered your manners at the last second.

"Please, call me Aemond." The two of you stepped together out onto a moonlit terrace, complete with rosebushes and archways covered in vines.

The night air was brisk, you subconsciously pulled Aemond's warm body closer to your own. You noted how he had not answered your question. "Aemond, then. I noticed you didn't seem a fan of the festivities."

"I enjoy feasts well enough."

"But not dancing?"

"No, not dancing."

You stood at the railing now, under a mossy archway, overlooking the red roofs of King's Landing, now bathed in silver light under the night sky. The waves of the sea far away sparkled merrily, catching your eyes momentarily before you turned to face the silver prince.

"What do you like, then?"

Aemond clasped his hands behind his back, his profile sharply illuminated by the moonlight. His eye flicked to your face, he was very close to you, closer than you had ever imagined you would be to a prince let alone a Targaryen.

"I enjoy reading. Swordplay..." He hesitated, turning away from the urban vista to give you his full attention.

You arched an eyebrow, a small smile playing along your lips. "And?"

"Hmm." He tilted his head at you, shining silken hair falling over his shoulder. "I enjoyed watching you play your harp." His eye widened slightly, as he straightened, catching himself leaning closer to your enticing smile. "That is to say, I enjoyed the music you were making."

"I'm surprised you heard it." You leaned an arm on the balcony railing afraid your knees were about to give out. "Harps are notoriously hard to hear in a setting such as a feast."

"I heard you." Aemond was still studying your face, seeming to like the little changes in expression he saw as your lips quirked up, your eyes crinkling at the corners, the scrunch of your nose. "You are quite skilled. Perhaps you would play for me sometime?"

"So long as Aegon isn't there."

Aemond chuckled at that. You wanted him to laugh again, it was a sound that sent shockwaves straight to your center.

"You're biting your lip, Y/N." Aemond's eye had found your mouth, lingering upon your lips as you wet them with your tongue.

"I just noticed something." You pointed to the space above your heads, a strand of foliage hung from the apex of the archway, white berries nestled amongst sprigs of green.

"What is that?" Aemond asked, looking up to where you pointed.

"You don't know what mistletoe is?" You looked aghast, pressing a dramatic hand to your heart. "It's a Yuletide tradition."

"I believe we've established I don't give much credence to festive traditions, Y/N." He seemed to like saying your name, waiting for you to explain what it was.

"When two people stand under a bundle of mistletoe they have to..." You trailed off, your boldness turning to sudden shyness as you realized what you were about to say and who you were speaking to.

"They...what?" Aemond prompted, looking again at the plant, sudden wariness upon his features.

"Kiss."

Aemond looked at you in surprise. "I'm sorry?" He chuckled. "That's a tradition? You're having me on."

"I promise you I'm not!" You blushed furiously.

Aemond seemed to be enjoying making you squirm. "You're making this up."

"I am not!"

"A clever scheme."

"I will bet you money that it's true." You felt lightheaded from the embarrassment. "Ask anyone inside."

"Kiss me then."

"I am not lying-what?" You must have misheard, you had to fight not to gawk up at the prince as he looked imperiously down at you.

"Since you're so adamant this mistroe forces two people to kiss..."

"Mistletoe." You corrected quickly.

"Then make good on your claim." He leaned into your space; you felt his breath upon your face. "Or else I suppose we will be stuck here for eternity, held captive by this plant."

"Aemond, we don't have to..." Your words caught in your suddenly dry mouth as Aemond hooked a slender finger beneath your chin, pulling you gently forward.

"I want to." He breathed, waiting for you to close the final distance separating you.

Your eyes roved across his angular features, his lilac eye turned silver in the moonlight, the leather eyepatch covering his other eye, a vertical scar running up his forehead and down his cheek. Your gaze fell to his lips, the very lips you had been daydreaming about not an hour earlier.

Your eyelashes fluttered, a sudden rushing sound filling your heated ears as you leaned forward, Aemond's finger on your chin moving trace your cheek as his lips parted.

As if guided by an invisible force your lips brushed against his, a wanton moan escaping your mouth that he captured as he pressed harder against you, pulling you by your waist flush against him.

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

You tasted like starlight and mulled wine. Your body warm against his. Aemond could feel the soft well of your bosom flush to his chest, the enticing scent of you filling his lungs as he breathed you in.

Thank the gods for mistlewhatever, his mind was too full of you within his arms for him to think clearly. Aemond drank down your sighs of pleasure as he greedily moved his lips with yours, only pulling away slightly when the both of you needed to catch your breath.

"Did we satisfy the tradition?" He asked, his eye crinkling as he smiled at your eager expression.

Your hair was a little mussed from the intensity of your embrace, Aemond smoothed an unruly tress and tucked it behind your ear.

"I'm tempted to say 'no'." You quipped, finding your voice at last.

"I would like for you to play your harp for me later this evening, before I retire." Aemond kept his hands upon your waist, loathe to let you go. "Perhaps we can revisit this," he reached up, plucking the sprig of mistletoe from where it hung. "later." He pocketed the plant, relishing the way your cheeks flushed pink as your lovely intelligent eyes followed his movements.

"Where should I find you, my prin-Aemond?"

Aemond let his hands fall away from you at last, only to clasp your hand formally and press a warm kiss to your knuckles. He lingered there, enjoying the feel of your soft skin on his lips. He had to suppress the urge to flick his tongue out to taste you.

"The sitting room adjacent to the library. I will find you there after the festivities adjourn."

His gaze lingered on your upturned face, softly taking in your lovely expression.

"You're not going to ask me to dance?" You gave a mock pout, drawing his attention back to your enticing lips.

"Oh no, my lady." Aemond chuckled dryly. "Enchanting as you are, I do not indulge in dancing."

"Maybe I can change your mind one of these days."

He gave a pause, feeling the bundle of mistletoe inside his jacket. "I wouldn't rule that out as a possibility." He extended his arm to you. "May I escort you back to the feast?"

You shook your head. "Thank you, no. I need a moment...that is, I would like to enjoy the view a little longer."

Aemond watched as you turned back to the scenic vista of the sprawling city below. He allowed himself a moment of weakness, his eye trailing down along your body, taking in the way your skirt shifted in the light breeze, accentuating the curve of your hips and your full...he needed to depart.

With a final shallow bow Aemond turned briskly upon his booted heel and strode back toward the Yuletide festivities, silently wishing he could get away with remaining at your side for the rest of the evening and perhaps even longer. He had been gone from your presence for mere seconds and already craved you.

Aemond would never admit it out loud, but Aegon had been correct.

Aemond desired you.

And what he desired, he claimed.

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yourdarlingness · 7 months

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✦　Classical Musical ~ themed　NPT

╰　DAY 2 of @rumblepumm ' s event !

NAMES ︙　adagio . adriane . adria . adrian . aria . ariane . ariette . ari . sonata . sonia . sonnet / sonette . crescenne . crescenette . cresciene . dolce . dolciene . dolc(i)ette . ensemblette / enslette . chordelle . chordiene . chordette . cadence . cade . melody . melodie . meliene . melodiette . harmony . harmonie . harmonette . symphonia . symponiette . orchestraine . orchestrae(tte) . cadentia . lyric . note . notesy . notesie . doremi . viola . violette . violiene . harp . songbird

PRNS ︙　mu / music . la / lala . mu / muse . soe / song . pia / piano . tu / tune . noe / note . soe / sonnet . doe / dor / doremi . sol / sola . ke / key . vi / vio / violin . har / harp . 🎹 . 🎧 . 🎵 . 🎶 . 🎼 . 🎻

TITLES ︙　the conductor of music . the orchestrator . the lover of music . prn who appreciates the classics . the classical beauty . the mastermind behind the lyrics . prn who orchestrated masterpieces . the greatest musician . prns timeless pieces/music . the maestro of the orchestra . the songbird . the song of the [x] . the [x]'s melody . prns beautiful symphony . the maiden of melody/harmony/symphony . the composer of masterpieces . prn who sings lullabies . the [x]'s sweet songs

dolce — Italian musical term ; to play softly or with a light touch

[x] can be replaced with any nouns or terms you prefer

The angel's melody

The song of the zombie

The vampire's sweet songs

#🦑　sea floor　┈　♡#yes classical music is one of my favorites #no wonder why its longer than some of my posts #i just like classical music :3 #rumblebdayevent #names #name list #name suggestions #classical music names #noun names #pronoun suggestions #pronoun list #pronouns #neopronouns #classical music pronouns #title list #title suggestions #classical music titles

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fioreofthemarch · 2 months

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for you, anytime

Fandom: The Legend of Zelda Ocarina of Time Pairing: Link/Sheik Words: 1610 This oneshot was written for @zelinkcommunity's Loftwing Letters 2024 and is a gift for midnightbunnyy on AO3. Please enjoy!

Looking back, the first hint that something was amiss should have been how easy Link found it to trust Sheik.

His secretive new ally kept his face entirely covered, save for a bright red eye that was almost smiling, if not the gravity of the words he spoke. When evil rules all, an awakening voice from the Sacred Realm will call…

Sheik’s voice, stern yet calm, gave Link the feeling that not only was saving Hyrule possible, it was their destiny. So it did not bother him that this stranger seemed to know exactly how to defeat the evil Ganondorf and find Princess Zelda, nor did it bother him that Sheik’s idea of goodbye was throwing down a deku nut and disappearing in the haze left behind. The first time it happened Link could only smile at the spectacle.

How like him, he thought.

Beyond providing Link with some philosophical musings, Sheik was a man of few words. Still, he was welcome company. The Hyrule to which Link had awoken had changed almost beyond recognition; crushed under the heel of its new King, the land was scoured and the people were scarce. The times that Sheik appeared to teach Link a new song on his ocarina were the only chance he actually had to speak to anyone.

“Are you feeling better today?” he asked after they had met in the raging underbelly of Death Mountain to play a bolero of fire.

“Pardon?”

“A few days ago at the Forest Temple, when you taught me the minuet. You had a cold.”

“No I didn’t.”

“You were sneezing.”

“Sneezing? I…” Sheik paused, as understanding crossed what little of his face Link could see. “I remember now. Yes, I am better. Thank you Link.”

“Well, that’s good to hear—“

Snap! Down came the deku nut and Sheik was gone.

It wasn’t exactly a conversation, but it was a start. Link next found Sheik deep in the icy caverns of Zora’s Domain — frozen thanks to Ganondorf’s meddling — but his hopes of further discussion were quickly dashed.

Sheik’s usual poise was gone. He sat on a large block of ice, slumped and clutching his golden harp to his chest. He explained that Zora’s Domain was lost, except for its princess who had gone in search of the Water Temple to destroy the monster within. He drew his harp forth, preparing with some melancholy to teach Link another song.

“Time passes, people move,” he sighed. “Like a river’s flow, it never ends, does it? A childish mind will turn to noble ambition. Y-young—“

“Young love will become deep affection,” Link murmured. “The clear water reflects growth.”

“How did you know what I was going to say?” Sheik’s red eye met his, cold as the ice of the caverns.

“I just did. I…” Link searched for the right words. “We know each other, don’t we? I mean other than meeting like this.”

Sheik withdrew, reaching yet again for a deku nut to flee with. Link surged forward, grabbing his shoulder. “Wait, answer me!”

“No. Not now. Find the Princess, Link,” Sheik instructed, pulling away. “I need time to think.”

Reluctantly, Link agreed, and allowed Sheik to teach him the song; a serenade so sweet it made him want to cry. This time, Sheik departed not with a flash but a bow.

“I’ll see you again,” he said.

To Link, it seemed like an apology.

---

Once the beast within the Water Temple was vanquished, and yet another friend had ascended as a Sage, Sheik met Link on the shores of Lake Hylia. The clear waters sparkled under the high sun as they sat together on the bank, eating a fish that Link had caught and roasted over a fire.

In order to eat, Sheik had dropped the cowl covering his face, unveiling it for the first time. He was younger than Link had imagined, with unblemished skin and a smattering of fine whiskers on his jaw. But most surprising was the way Sheik smiled when he talked.

“A fine carp, a good catch,” he said lightly.

“Compliments to the chef?” Link asked. At this Sheik just rolled his eyes.

“Anyway, I do not know why you feel we have met before,” he said as he picked over a few fish bones. “Perhaps in a past life, we fought a great evil together. That sort of thing leaves a mark on the soul. Trust me.”

“I do trust you."

Sheik looked at him for a long moment, and then laughed. The sound of it caught Link off-guard; it had a melodic lilt, like his harp.

“Don’t let your fiancé hear you say that,” Sheik said. I don’t have a fiancé Link was about to say, when Sheik leaned across and kissed his cheek, running a gentle hand through his hair at the same time.

“Thank you for this respite, Hero,” he whispered. Then, before Link could even think how to respond, Sheik was dousing the fire and the afternoon was over.

---

With no clear next destination, Link travelled in a daze from Lake Hylia to Kakariko Village, hoping to hire a room at the inn and stare at the ceiling until he understood his twin feelings of joy and confusion. Except he could do no such thing, because when he arrived the inn was on fire, along with the rest of the town.

In the midst of it all, as townsfolk scrambled for safety, Sheik stood tall and at the ready by the entrance to the town’s well.

“Get back,” he called to Link. At that moment the well cover blew clean off, and all hell (or something much worse) broke loose.

A terrible shadow swarmed overhead. It swooped, angling directly for Sheik and knocked him to the ground. Link’s legs had a mind of their own, positioning him between the shadow and Sheik. He raised his shield, but the force of its blow was so great it sucked the air from his lungs. Just as his consciousness faded he was… standing again. By the well.

“Get back, Link!” Sheik said. The well exploded. The shadow roared. This time it went straight for him, burrowing into his heart, and he felt himself fall and hit— the bricks, as the shadow slammed him into a nearby building. The shadow struck again, throwing Link backward and— into the well itself, falling and falling with no way to—

“Get back, Link, please!” Sheik cried.

What was happening? Why was he stuck at the well, at this one moment, being hit again and again and being told to—

“Get back!” Sheik shouted, angry now.

Again the shadow burst forth, knocking Link down harder than all times before. Pain welled in his chest. Then, above him, he saw Sheik take the ocarina from his bag and begin to play. In his last moments of awareness, Link realised he knew the melody: it was a lullaby, once beloved by the Princess of Hyrule.

---

Looking back, all that had come before now made sense, but Link needed time to be sure. He had braved the Shadow Temple and conquered the Spirit Temple before he was ready to confront Sheik.

They met once again in the Temple of Time, where it had all begun. Sheik explained to him the legends of the Triforce, saying that Ganondorf had caused it to split into three when he stole it from the Sacred Realm. All this only strengthened Link’s resolve.

“You hold the final piece,” Link said. “You are the seventh sage.”

“I—“ Sheik blinked at him. “Yes. How did you know?”

Link took a deep breath. “From the moment we met, you seemed familiar. Then I began to remember things you had forgotten, and finish your sentences.” He took the Ocarina of Time from his bag and held it between them. “Then you used this to save my life in Kakariko Village. You turned back time, more than once. There’s only one person in Hyrule who could do that.”

Sheik’s eyes welled with tears. He bowed his head.

“Zelda,” Link said, kind as he could. “I’m not angry. It is Zelda, right?”

Sheik had bowed, but it was the Princess who raised her head. “Yes, it is. You don’t know how happy it makes me to say that.”

Link handed the ocarina to her. “How many times did you use it?”

With a shrug, “I lost count after fifty.”

Fifty? “I died that many times?!”

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Zelda said, laughing. “You’re as brave as you are reckless.” Then her face fell. “This is the furthest we’ve ever made it. Each time you fall, I have to send us back to the moment you arrive in the future. At this point, I don’t even know if defeating Ganondorf is possible.”

She unravelled her long braid, shaking out her golden hair with a sigh. Her eyes seemed a little softer now, the red shade fading to green. This was who she had wanted to be all this time, Link thought.

“I’m sorry I can’t remember it all,” Link said, realising unhappily that Zelda likely could. “When I face Ganondorf, I’ll make it count.”

Zelda placed a hand on his cheek and smiled a soft, sad smile. “I know you will.”

She knelt down to kiss his cheek, but Link turned his head and caught her lips with his own; a short, whisper of a kiss, one hopeful of more to follow once peace had returned.

“I’ll see you again?” Zelda asked.

“I’ll see you again,” Link affirmed.

This time around, whether or not this was the last time around, it was nothing short of a vow.

#tloz #oot #ocarina of time #link #sheik #link x sheik #what is the ship name for link x sheik #loftwing letters 2024 #time travel stories make my BRAIN HURT #happy valentines day #<3

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huntersrequiem-if · 3 months

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Humans are so interesting. Their lives – so short. Instead of despairing, they live their days to the fullest. And despite – or in spite of how dangerous the world is, they still enjoy it. They dance, they laugh, they sing. And how she loves watching them revel.

Such a shame, then, that the majority of mortals sleep at night. She can't witness the bustling days of those below her as they go about their lives.. Not like her husband, Sun.

No matter, surely she can find something to entrain herself with.

Her gaze sweeps over Sabine, watching the low lights in the streets – help guide people walking towards their homes. Couples strolling hand in hand, while drunkards go to and fro the taverns.

And perhaps, if she paid close attention to the dark alleyways – perhaps she would see a flash of cold steel, a drop of blood running along the edge. Wrinkling her nose, she wrecks her gaze away from the scene.

She is in no mood to see those unsavory types.

From her spot in the sky, she searches for something interesting. Something joyous! She pauses when her gaze sweeps over a bickering couple, curious. Chuckling at the insults the men threw at each other, she finds herself amused. What caused such strife? Lingering, it becomes clear it's over ...dishes?

Shaking her head with a faint smile over her lips, she moves on.

Her eyes land on one of her temples, pleased to see that the priestesses are rousing. They gather in the courtyard, singing and dancing. Some of them play instruments, the dulcet tone of a harp reaching her ears. Humming, she closes her eyes, savoring the sweet tune. Smiling, she recognizes the notes, often accompanying prayers toward her.

Yes, she shall offer them a closer look, tomorrow. If only for how beautiful they revel, dancing and singing the night away. A blessing shall do nicely. …should she remember it tomorrow…

Still pleased, she turns to the one constant source of amusement and entrainment. Past the stone walls and towers – towards the castle. Tonight, it seems to be a banquet.

The nobles dance - women in beautiful dresses, men in tailored suits. The orchestra plays a slow ballad as the nobles twirl in tune with the music. The royal family sits upon their thrones, silent spectators.

Not unlike her, she muses.

Still, she lingers on, watching the mortals dance. Watches and listens to the whispers in the shadows as they plot and scheme to their heart's content.

Mortals. So simple. So complicated. They seem to enjoy – and detest at the same time – a simple life. When it gets boring, they complicate it.

Her amusement gets the better of her as she continues to listen on, the moon shining bright – a backdrop for those mortals. She laughs at their jokes, and she gasps at the thinly veiled insults. She hums and sings when she recognizes a song.

She is filled with bliss, even as the mortals begin to leave - first one nobleman departs from the banquet hall, followed by another couple. Eventually, nearly all of them had taken their leave. The orchestra plays a final mournful song, the notes filled with melancholy.

Despite the darkness of the night, the moon still shines brightly, accompanied by her darling stars.

Even so, she had her fill of mortals. Her gaze wanders away from them, from their cities – towards the wildness. Seeking out her favorite hunter.

Wyldewood is a treacherous place, where the trees reach towards the sky with sharp, jagged edges, and ferocious beasts that lurk in the shadows. The thick tangles of thorns and vines move with a mind of their own, claiming many mortal lives, should the woods be hungry.

Still, she must persist. It would be a shame to end this lovely night without even glimpsing her dear hunter.

First, she looks at the Skytree, the easiest to see with its gentle glow. A sigh leaves her as she finds it empty. She resigns herself to a more detailed search. Her eyes sweep over the scarce meadows – all empty – towards the places she knows the hunter likes to visit.

Ah – there they are! – perched on a branch, nearly obscured by the foliage. Yet, the leaves don’t manage to hide them completely, as moonlight shines through them. Smiling, she admired the way their skin seemed to glow in the soft moonlight. How utterly at ease they seem in the dark forest.

The relaxed slope of their shoulders as they lean against the bark of the tree. The sinuous curve of their muscles as they rest their hands on their raised knee. The way their horns catch just the barest of light. The way their eyes shine in the dark like those of a predator.

Yet, they seem so soft as they gaze at the moon. Are they thinking of her? Are they talking with Astaroth?... are they content?

Are they troubled?

Perhaps – she shall ask on the next full moon. She won’t forget, not this.

How she wishes they would speak their problems into the night, she would always listen – no matter how occupied she would be. She would lend a listening ear, and on their next meeting, she could offer more.

She loses track of the time as she looks at them.

The moon is descending – completing its celestial journey. She barely notices – until she can see no more.

#hunter's requiem if #owl hooting #interactive fiction #hr: moon #snippet #or dabble? still not decided

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boybandposter · 2 months

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✶ Norah (Dislyte) Headcanons

This was a request ! Thank you anon for the recommendation, and I hope you like it ! ♥︎

warnings: WLW ♥︎ slightly suggestive for at least one point !

word count: 728

♡₊˚ 🌊・₊✧⋆⭒˚｡⋆

- Before getting into a romantic relationship with Norah, it took you ages to even be considered a friend. With her naturally shy and reserved personality, you had to work hard to get to know her.

- Norah always knew when you would come to find her, and even though she claimed she didn’t care, Norah would always discreetly check if you were anywhere in her line of sight.

- After Norah opened up to you about her past and her struggles, you two were nearly inseparable. You often found yourself with Norah on the Estero Harbor, helping her with her music and swimming for hours.

- Obviously, it was you who confessed your love to Norah first. Despite her change in personality in your presence, she was still painfully shy in certain situations, confessing definitely being one of them. But when you asked to be Norah’s girlfriend, she was nearly jumping for joy. In your years of knowing her, you don’t think you’ve ever gotten such a large reaction from her, and you two still laugh about how embarrassed she was after getting so excited.

- In the early stages of your relationship, it almost felt like she went back to being quiet and shy. Norah just didn’t want to mess anything up with you, so she often nodded her head and agreed with what you were saying.

- One thing that’s certain in your relationship is that you have to comfort her. Please make sure to be there for her, offer her small words of assurance and appreciation. Norah won’t ever admit how much she looks forward to your praises and compliments— although she doesn’t need to say anything. You can just tell.

- Due to Norah’s hearing disability, you’ll often find her without her hearing aid while she’s home alone. The first few times you noticed this, you would walk up from behind her and hug her waist to get her attention. This has earned you a few slaps across your face, and it always ended with Norah apologizing profusely and kissing your cheek softly, tears slowly forming in her eyes from the worry of upsetting you.

- You’re Norah’s one and only muse, and almost anything she writes circles back to her love for you. Once a month, Norah will take you to the harbor to show you her new song for you. The first few times she was going to perform for you, she ended up backing out and told you it wasn’t ready yet (she felt silly professing her love through song, since she’s never really done so before).

- If you know how to braid, Norah is the perfect person to practice and learn new styles with. Norah was against it at first, since she’s never really had it pulled away from her face. With some adamant convincing, Norah let you braid her hair whenever you wanted (she felt bad saying no in the first place). The first time you styled her hair, she was shocked at how well you did so and how much she actually liked it. And it was such a shame to let such beautiful hair remain so plain at times, but her favorite is when you do elvish braids due to their intricate weavings.

- After being together for a while, Norah worked up the courage to ask you to take a bath with her. Of course you said yes, especially since she never asked for things like this. It was almost scenic— candles flickering in the dimly lit room, soft music playing as you two undressed and got into the bath. You were fine the whole time, making small talk here and there while your arms were wrapped loosely around her waist. Meanwhile Norah thought she was going to pass out from how nervous she was. Even though you had seen her naked before, this felt completely different than other times and told herself she wouldn’t do this again (she was lying to herself and asks you frequently to bathe with her).

- I feel like she would definitely try to teach you how to play the harp. Even if you excell at it or not, she’s always there giving pointers as you pluck the strings messily. Even though you may not understand what she’s saying, Norah is as patient as they come.

♡₊˚ 🌊・₊✧⋆⭒˚｡⋆

author’s note: I might edit this to put more in, but I didn’t finish the full “Sea and Song” event—

#florence writes !#fanfic #writing #requests open #x reader #dislyte x reader #dislyte #norah #norah dislyte #norah headcanons #norah x y/n #norah x reader #norah x fem!reader #norah muse #headcanons #reqs open #norah muse dislyte #norah x fem!y/n

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sundaynie · 6 months

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𝐚𝐪𝐮𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 | 𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐫𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐜𝐡

pairing | st. shelter!lars x mc

genre | fluff

summary | mc mulls over her first day at harp island

author’s note | it’s been a week since i started playing lovebrush chronicles and i am obsessed y’all. here’s a short, fluffy drabble dedicated lars rorschach bc that man owns me now !! (work cross-posted from my ao3 account)

His eyes remind you of the Mediterranean Sea.

A delicate blend of pale blue and subtle green hues. It's a little warmer in tone, fittingly enough. His oddly benevolent gaze resembles pools of aqua, with streaks of turquoise in his irises emulating the soft ebbs and flows of water.

I could drown in them, you think.

Waves of azure blue intermingling with seafoam green to create the most stunning shade of aquamarine.

I would like to, you muse.

A yawn escapes your lips as you prepare for bed. It’s well into nighttime now, just approaching 11pm. You’ve changed into your pyjamas after finishing your usual evening routine— a scorching hot, full-body shower and your ever-so-elaborate skincare routine.

Eyes shifting to your suitcase by the door, you’re glad you didn’t need to unpack your belongings. Your stay at this dorm is a provisional one since you’ll be moving out in the morning and into the off-campus housing that your guardian, Cael, had arranged for you.

Tucked snugly into bed, the journey from your hometown to the small island occupies your thoughts. It had been an exhaustingly arduous overnight trip and with your seasickness rendering you bedridden for most of the time you were aboard the cruise ship, you were thankful for your mentor to have accompanied you.

You hadn’t anticipated your arrival at Harp Island to be an overwhelming one. Your first day for orientation, sure. But stepping foot on the official campus grounds of St. Shelter Academia and meeting so many people all at once was beyond what you had prepared for.

Their faces and names are all a Gaussian blur in your head. The fatigue of travelling and having to assimilate to your surroundings so soon finally catches up to you as you sink into the bed of your temporary accommodation.

It had been a long journey but you were glad to be here, at last.

You turn over, gently resting your cheek against your palm, vivid blue-green eyes flashing in your mind.

Lars Rorschach.

You ponder the possibility of encountering him again. Given his status as one of the academy's key investors, crossing paths with him seemed highly probable. You mull over the extent of his connections within St. Shelter and wonder how far-rooted his relations are with the academy. His familiarity with Cael suggests they were well acquainted, evident in the way they spoke to each other.

It would make sense if he was a former student.

You speculate on the academic path he might have pursued at the academy, envisioning a business-related course, given his role as the CEO of Feinz Group, a thriving multi-billion dollar enterprise. You picture him as someone who was a well-known figure on campus, he is charismatic enough, after all.

Not to mention devastatingly handsome.

With his towering stature and golden hair, sharp nose and chiselled jawline.

Amidst all his striking features, it was his eyes that captivated you the most.

You find yourself wondering if they change colour, refracting and reflecting under different lighting.

Were they blue most days? Or did they lean towards green?

The memory of his eyes sparkling as he openly praised In Passing, blissfully unaware of your identity as the author of the manga, replays in your mind.

"I really like this artist. I hope to get her autograph one day."

His remark was sincere, with all the enthusiasm of an easily excitable golden retriever.

A small smile unknowingly graces your lips as you slowly drift off to sleep, dreaming of aquamarine eyes.

—

end note | i already have like 917279645883624 lars fics + drabbles lined up so watch this space lol

#lovebrush chronicles #lars rorschach #lars x mc #lars x reader #lars x you #lovebrush chronicles fic #lars rorschach fic #st. shelter!lars #st. shelter lars x mc #st. shelter lars x reader #st. shelter lars x you #for all time #for all time otome

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