#He's inspecting it because he's HUNGRY LEAVE HIM ALONE | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

melondecarabia · 2 months ago

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hey there 👋 may i suggest a smut one with alan as a follow up of your hc? we are DEPRIVED here ;) dom reader x unexperienced-touchstarved if possible. go wild with it for the rest, whatever you feel

˙⟡ like a prayer

alan x dominant fem reader

smut, comfort

mdni!

authors note: and i did go wild. this is what listening to madonna in the morning does to you. also, this is my first full length smut fic.

tw: insecure and touchstarved alan, passing out, heresy? SMUT! crying

This is a cycle he started himself, so why is he nervous?

He's the one who insisted on fixing the door of the dorm.

He's the one who insisted it wouldn't be trouble.

Even after only a few days of speaking to each other, it was clear that you'd be the type of person to pay things back, even with insistence that it wasn't necessary. And that could've been a simple, one time exchange. But, overhearing that your couch was unstable, only one passing memory of sharing fresh, homebaked bread was enough to start the cycle.

"Hi Alan! You hungry yet? Let me tell you, I got a good deal on those soup ingredients-" It's too sudden to give a reaction. The friendly smile distracts, the excited voice makes a staggering blow, and the guiding touch is a knockout. But he doesn't make any attempt to shake it off, even if the warmth feels like a thousand needles. Because it feels like fitting punishment.

Words or actions aren't needed here. In fact, you specifically tell him to relax on the chair you've pulled out, leaving his shoulder to sting like a bleeding cut in the absence of warmth. It's both frustrating and calming to watch you wipe down the kitchen counter, with nothing to do but stare at the action.

That plain white t-shirt makes you look like one of the angels depicted downstairs. "Alan? Do you want croutons with your soup?" He's never been religious, but something about that question is connected with communion bread in the moment. Wait, there's a question being asked. "Yeah. Yes, sure." And that's all that the leaden tongue he's got can do right now. Ah. This table needs a new coat of lacquer.

˙⟡

Alan acts like a skittish stray whenever you two are alone, but keeps coming back. At least the plates set in front of him always get thoroughly cleaned, and there's yet to be any complaints. Would he keep silent about his dislikes or uncomfortability? Hopefully, the answer is no. The sleeves of the slightly crumpled shirt on him are rolled down, even with the warm weather.

˙⟡

Alan hadn't even noticed the figure slightly crouching closeby. He feels the need to sever eye contact to avoid any disrespect. It's much easier to look at how the white cotton falls on- oh. No bra? Uh- "The desk. One of the legs- it's loose, right? Yeah." Please have mercy. In an effort to not choke on a deafening heartbeat, he gets to fetching the toolbox set atop a wooden wardrobe. It'd be better for the both of you if you'd just… let him fix everything in the dorm while you're away. And never say anything about it. Ever.

˙⟡

The reaching motion reveals the skin between cuff and glove, blooming with shades between violent purple and nauseating green. "What happened?" It's an obvious reason to express concern, but Alan flinches like a little bird. People call the tall man dangerous, yet he acts scared to be eaten alive by you. Well, that's sort of reasonable, what with some desires yet to be said out loud. His mouth moves without sound, but freezes with a light touch to inspect the bruises.

˙⟡

The only thing being processed between pierced ears at the moment is the thumb lightly resting on the pulse point of his thick wrist, and the sound of the deep sea that only Alan could hear right now. A sudden need for water becomes clear.

˙⟡

His face has changed color from pale and sickly to strawberry red concerningly quickly. That, combined with the unresponsiveness to questions about the origin of your concerns, gives reason to call for some help. "Hello? You look like you're about to pass out. Sit down for now, okay?" At least he won't fall over and hit his head now. With that out of the way, the phone is left back in-

"Alan?" A gentle grasp motions for you to stay. Well, it could hardly be described as a grasp, as the delicate touch barely even registered at first. "Don't." Not a command, but a soft plead. The vacant look changes with the brush of three digits against heated cheekbone, to something resembling more the face of a man seeking salvation.

˙⟡

He already felt selfish the first time you'd said his name. He's a greedy monster, for even considering to reach out a hand to stop you. But all that this body can do at the moment, is lean in to get as much contact as possible. A bolt of lightning strikes at the gentleness of a palm on his cheek, and the electric shivers shut down any protesting thoughts. Only the warmth of your presence matters here. For the first time ever, the world is quiet.

˙⟡

He seems satisfied with kneeling on the floor, and is no longer changing into concerning colors, as far as his face goes. The forearms, on the other hand… "Sweetheart? Could you tell me where you got those bruises, please?" A brief furrow of brows gets schooled back into neutrality within a second. You flick away a newly forming droplet as apology for breaking the silence, which gains a pleased hum. "Was sparring. Nothing much…" A reluctant mumble. The only person he regularly spars with is Sho, and even if the blond had managed to land a surprise kick or punch, they don't bruise like this. Time to play bad cop for a bit. "Sweetheart. These don't look like they came from a fight. What really happened?"

˙⟡

Every lie, no matter how few he's told you, always get caught. Angels really are all-seeing. Or was that just god? "Car jack gave out. Nothing's broken." He had sighed the confession, and at the moment, he hoped you wouldn't say anything. He hoped you'd never see him again, and he hoped that you'd look at him forever. He hoped that you'd leave right now, and he hoped that you'd stay in place together. The slightest glimpse of a worried face had his eyes screwing shut. He prayed you would forgive him for thinking about you.

Another hand joins to grasp his jawline. Both brows are caressed with feather light touches, and Alan fears he might go blind if he looks at you again. Pity would stab, and disappointment would kill. But this needs to be resolved, and your face as the last image his eyes see was already something desired late at night. The heaviest boulder in existence knocks the breath out of his lungs, and settles at the pit of his stomach with the vision of a smile. It's grounding, even with the helium replacing oxygen at the moment. "Alan." A fond voice. "You're important to me. Please, if you won't do it, let me take care of you. I want to."

What expression can a person make when witnessing a miracle? Disbelief? Wonder? What takes over is the clarity of acceptance.

All of the monstrous strength that came with an infernal encounter is stripped away. It's scary, but you're here. "Okay." And weakness takes over, all power spent to lean on clothed thighs. He can't bring himself to stain you with touch, but those thoughts melt away when his hair is blessed by soft caressing. "You're so beautiful. I want to look at you for the rest of time."

˙⟡

A sound of confusion for your statement. His dark eyelashes glitter with dewdrops, and you can't stop speaking now.

"Soft lips," Your thumb swipes at the slightly cracked, yet plush lower lip. A swipe of tongue wets it just after being released.

"Pretty eyes," It continues to travel just below the lashline. Fluttery movement gives a kiss of thanks.

"Handsome nose," Eyes cross when his gaze follows the movement trailing the bridge of it. His heartbeat follows the rhythm of the words being spoken.

"Cute ears," A new, softer blush settles all over as the piercings move lightly when you fiddle with his lobes. This may cause a problem.

"A lovely neck," The problem is rising faster than expected, especially as your hands trail to his clavicle.

˙⟡

"Wait." A last attempt to stay sane. There's already a strongly contrasting hardness to the softness you're offering, and he can't let it break whatever image you have, even if it's false. Now, to choose. How does he hide it? Shuffling his knees was clearly the wrong answer, as your keen eyes already stare down. Damn it. "Sweetheart?" Eye contact is out of the question right now, so a nod will have to do as acknowledgement. "Would you let me admire you more? Hah? You clearly saw the, well, his excitement? But your expression hasn't soured, like it should've. "If you want to continue, just nod. I'll take care of you. If you don't, just shake your head. We can do something else. We could have dinner or watch a movie."

Alan's not that smart, but this question would be difficult to answer, even with all the wisdom in the world. You seem to notice the hesitancy to choose. "I would like to sleep with you, Alan. I want to do everything nice, unpleasant and boring with you, for the rest of my life. You deserve everything good." Static fills the room. "I love you." And there's only certainty and affection in your eyes. Your face. Your whole being. So, he'll believe in you.

With little movement, he accepts. Alan is glad he did, as the smile on your lips widened, and met the one on his. Soft lips… and a flavor of peach. A marathon is easy work, but the kiss has him gasping for air after 10 seconds. "Don't wanna hurt you." That would shatter him. "I know you won't. If you're scared, just grasp your hands together like this. Okay?" Your hands bring his own together to something like a prayer. Fingers lapping over the others. It's fitting, in this building and position, in front of you.

˙⟡

A wordless instruction makes the man move, to face your place on the bed. He's tall, even like this, and the head of dark hair almost reaches to chest height. All attention is concentrated on the movement of hands trailing from knees to tied waistband. A hitch of breath can be heard when the knot is pulled open. Cute. "Come a bit closer, okay?" Even with the wonders of the anomalous world, you've never seen his eyes shine quite like this, as the clothing moves to uncover your intimacy.

˙⟡

Alan's mouth is both dry and filled with drool at the same time, and is swallowed down slowly. This is like a familiar dream, but a tightening of the left hand assures it's real. A motion of recently bared leg makes him jump, then sigh with relief as it settles between his own, and a gentle hand guides him to rest on the top of your thighs. Even if clouds can't be touched, the silkiness is what he's always imagined the texture to be like anyway. The sudden rocking motion of your calf against his erection pulls a deep gasp, but gets suffocated by hiding his face in the valley formed below.

˙⟡

A groan forms when you keep repeating the motion, and he finally lifts his head to seek mercy. Even through the thick uniform slacks, his size is clearly significant. So, in order to prepare, your left leg remains in place for his hips to keep grinding against, and the right is lifted up on the bed. "Wanna eat me out?" There's already a faraway look present, but it's broken with the question. An eager nod gives the sign for needed instructions, and you move his head to look where the white of the t-shirt ends. Just as you're about to explain, a broad tongue interrupts by settling on the opening and dragging upwards. It takes a moment to gather your words back from where they left with the sigh caused by that. "Just like that. Focus on that spot, yeah?" Index, middle and ring fingers help point to the gathering of nerves. "It's really sensitive, and makes me feel good. Get me to cum once, and we'll move on. Okay, sweetheart?" There's a growing want to squish his cheeks, and that's what you do, before clutching the sheets to stay grounded.

˙⟡

The taste is salty, but not like sweat, or even tears. It's really good. Tough to keep going though, as when his tongue digs deeper to get more, the distracting movement below starts again. Hah… really concentrating all focus on continuing his mission, Alan squeezes his hands together for some clarity. Trailing back up to the point that had been highlighted, your leg moves a bit stronger against the drenched fabric. It felt good… but he needs more of everything. So, wrapping his lips where his tongue stopped, a harsh sucks triggers a moan of satisfaction. You liked that… so the action is repeated, again, and again, with the feeling of pressure building up on both sides. Every nerve is on fire, all senses are stimulated. Scent, taste, touch, hearing, and even sight as he catches your pleased expression even through blurring eyes.

˙⟡

He's making so much noise down there… A pleasant jolt strikes that thought down as the wet muscle starts lapping up slick before it can drip down. Rewarding Alan with a different angle to rut against, the slightly coarse appendage goes even deeper, with the bridge of his nose hitting a sensitive spot. Both of your hips are stuttering as an oncoming sign of being close to the finish line. There might not be experience on his part, but determination is clearly enough- he gives a loud groan as response to being squished between your thighs.

˙⟡

Just a bit more. Hands squeeze together even tighter. Just a bit longer until… The pressure is increasing in the pit of his stomach, just above where he can't stop his hips from rolling. Needs more of this… And another harsh suck coats his tongue with more of your flavor, and a last movement against each other sparks a flash of light that knocks him out for a few minutes.

˙⟡

Just barely awake, the man is drooling in your lap with heaving shoulders. His focus is starting to come back, after a few minutes of getting to play with his surprisingly soft hair. There's still a twitching motion against your calf. "Good job, honey. Thank you." What an adorable smile he gives after a few kisses against his forehead. You'd give him a thousand more, every day. "What-uh, what's next?" This shade of pink fits him so well. "Sit on the bed, okay?" After a moment to process the request, he settles against the sturdy headboard. You take the opportunity to shed the last piece of clothing to some dark corner of the room. Now, to uncover him…

˙⟡

Alan was already satisfied once, but the sight of your bare chest somehow gets him even harder. He's managed to keep his hands together all this time, and not even a hint of bruise red can be seen on you… It worked. Good. "May I undress you?" You're glowing. It's easy to picture snow colored wings to frame this image- right, all his clothes are still on. With a nod, one by one the buttons of his shirt are opened. The cool air sends shivers all over, but static takes over with your fingers trailing the path down to the waistband, which is completely drenched by now. "Haaaahhhhh…" The warmth of a palm sends out a shockwave, a complete opposite against the cold fabric. He leans back, and sets focus on the ceiling. A button opens, followed by the zipper. Now, the last thing covering him is a pair of dark gray boxers. "Lift your hips a little, please?" Immediate action is rewarded with freedom, as the clothing is pulled down. A sigh of relief… broken by a low moan from himself, as a soft hand wraps around his dick.

˙⟡

Huh. The flushed tip nearly slapped his own belly button, and the shaft itself struggles to stay up under it's own weight. Alan's nearly crying… He should cry a bit more, in your opinion. Not from sadness, though. From pleasure. With only the unbuttoned uniform shirt and vest remaining, they've shifted aside to reveal muscle cushioned by smooth flesh. The skin under your index finger shivers, and then jumps as when it reaches a pebbled nipple. Satisfying. Crossed hands rest just below his heaving ribcage. "Alan? Lay down, so your head is on the pillows, okay?" Did you just hear a whimper?

˙⟡

You're settled just above his dick, which has started to twitch to the tune of a thundering heartbeat. So much is happening, and already has happened, yet it feels peaceful. The hands that brush against his chest feel more intense than a thousand beatings, and he's comforted by it. Hah- you're grabbing his dick. Okay-

All coherent thought leaves Alan's head immediately. All he can do to stay on the mortal plane right now, is to clasp his hands together even tighter. His abdomen caves as tears well up. He might die right now. Just a glance down- you're not even halfway down, but the pressure is at 80% already. Haahh.

˙⟡

He's shaking like an autumn leaf right now, and there's a few teardrops rolling down already. Almost there… The burn of the stretch is noticeable, but not impossible to handle. Certainly worth it for this view as well. Huh? A look back up confirms it. Soundless cries are accompanied by tears and a heaving chest for each movement you make. The two of you are almost completely connected, so… you drop down the rest of the way. A warm feeling gathers inside you, and it's not just the emotion of love.

˙⟡

Can't see anything but stars… Ah. Is that ceiling…? Was it a dream? Where- Still here. A white ring has formed where you stretch around him. Focus. Focus on your hands. Okay- so unfair. Both of your hands are playing with his chest, squeezing, rolling, and pinching. Alan realizes he might, and most likely will, pass out very soon. Working out hasn't helped in the slightest with this situation. The room is a bit dim, with the only sources of light coming from the kitchen and faded sunlight through the window, but they illuminate your silhouette. The unshed tears left make everything a bit hard to see, but the halo crowning you is clearer than anything could ever be. "Alan." A distant voice echoes.

˙⟡

He's silent, but reacts with a smile. Not the usual, subdued one. This one shows off sharp canines, and his brows aren't furrowed, but instead relaxed, despite the flowing tears. There's no prettier smile in existence, you realize. Or sight. Or sound, which is the low groan he makes in harmony with the first roll of your hips. Love and lust may be clouding the air here, but it's the truth to you. Flushed cheeks, comparable with rosy afternoon clouds, and tears, to rival stars in the cold night. Alan's chest heaves with stutters at the feeling of velvet dragging him to heaven. Pressure builds back up with each up-and-down, and as much as you'd like to keep staring at him for days on end, there's no stopping now.

˙⟡

Alan's not a masochist, but the pain that increases with each moment closer to another orgasm feels really damn good. He lifts his head in hopes that you'd give another kiss. Was it said out loud, or did you hear his prayer? Not sure, but the sweet kiss you set on his lips is so fulfilling, his eyes roll back, and he manages to reach ecstacy yet again.

˙⟡

You can feel his body shudder and relax with a final groan. And with a couple movements, you join him in the bright light that only appears behind closed eyes.

˙⟡

It takes a good ten minutes of breathing to even consider moving. The silence gives a good moment to admire his sleeping form. Alan really looks like an angel. But, instead of wings, dark eyelashes flutter with each light touch to his jawline.

Unfortunately, the need to drink water keeps growing. The motion to get off of his hips is stopped by a large hand on your thigh.

…those pleading eyes are lethal.

#tkdb #tokyo debunker #tokyo debunker x reader #alan mido #alan mido x reader

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blastoqueen · 10 months ago

Text

Sunrise.

Chapter 1

Rating: Teen and Up

Relationships: Noa x Mae (Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes)

Content warnings: None

Comments: English is not my first language. Sorry if something is wrong.

Mae arrived at the village only two months after leaving Noa unsatisfied with her answer.

“Can apes and humans live together?” he had asked.

“I don’t know”

Even so, Noa accepted her in his clan and respected her silence. He knew that trying to get information out of the girl would be useless. She didn’t tell the ape why she was there; she just came one day looking sad, defeated and really thin. It would have been almost impossible for Noa to recognize Mae from afar only by seeing the state she was in.

The human walked to the village tumbling and being skin and bones. The ape had always been shocked at how skinny Echoes were, but even he knew that Mae´s body was not normal. He could see how bony her knees were and it was honestly scary. Maybe that’s why he let her stay without even thinking about what the elders would say.

As soon as Mae stepped into their territory, the apes came running with spears incase she represented a thread. By their surprise, the human only said one word before hitting the ground. “Noa”.

The leader approached as fast as he could, making his way through the crowd. When he saw her, he signed the other apes to carry her.

“To the tower”

------

Mae was resting in a litter inside the main tower, when Noa approached her, holding a bowl with different fruits in it.

“You are hungry” the ape said. It wasn’t a question, so the girl didn’t answer.

Noa gave her a peach and the human took it with weakness in her hands, she took a careful bite before almost devouring the entire fruit. The male sat beside her, watching her eat. When Mae reached out for another, he passed her an apple this time.

“You look bad” Noa said.

She just huffed.

“I need meat” the Echo said when she finished the apple.

“Meat?” Noa asked “We have fish”

“Yes, fish, please”

Noa looked at her for a few seconds before leaving the tower. When he came back, he carried in his hands a cloth with a cooked fish in it.

“I didn’t know Echoes ate meat” Noa murmured.

“I didn’t know apes cooked their meat”

The male growled in response. When the girl finished the whole fish, Noa tried to ask her what had happened. Why was she in this state? Why would she come for help? Was she staying? “Please stay” he thought for a moment.

“What?” Mae asked. She could see the doubt in his face.

“What… happened?”

The Echo stayed silent for a moment. Couldn’t bring herself to tell him the truth, to show herself vulnerable in front of an ape, their enemy.

“A lot” she whispered.

Noa nodded.

“I will let you sleep”

The male started to leave when the voice of the human stopped him.

“Wait, Noa” she said, he could hear something different, was she scared? “You are not going to leave me alone with the other apes, right?”

Noa turned around to see her in the eyes, he was annoyed. She hasn’t changed.

“We are not savages, Mae”

He left the tower.

-------

Three days had passed since Mae returned to the village and Noa had only seen her once. The other apes were responsible for bringing her food and water while she rested and slept for most of the days. One afternoon, Soona enter the tower. Carefully, she handed the human a bowl with berries. Mae looked at the female for a few seconds, then took the food with a smile.

“Thank you”

Soona stayed still, watching the girl. She inspected her thin arms and legs, noticing an almost invisible coat of fur covering her skin. Mae took a handful of berries trying to ignore the intense look of Noa´s friend.

“Do you know were Noa is?” the human asked.

“He has been sleeping with me” Soona said “Because you are in his tower”

The girl nodded in understanding and continued eating.

“You make him… anxious” said the ape.

“Anxious?” Mae asked. How did they know that word?

“He does not know what to do… with you”

“Oh…” Mae looked down to her lap “I´ll leave tomorrow. I don’t want to cause him any problems”

“He does not want you to leave” Soona murmured.

The human thought about her answer carefully, not knowing what to say.

“You said I make him anxious”

“He is anxious because… he wants you to stay. But he knows apes do not want that”

Without waiting for an answer, Soona left.

Anxious, anxious, anxious... Was there even a time when Mae wasn’t feeling anxiety? Thinking about the whole situation made her nervous. She remembered her times at the bunker, before turning eight years old life was boring, monotonous, but safe. The moment she started to really understand why her life was the way it was it felt like she was trapped underground, unable to breathe. Growing up, she went to school, took classes with other kids and learned the basics of life. She learned math, English, history and geography. Those last two were kind of strange for her, all she knew was the bunker, was there really a different world out there? She read about countries, wars, nature, technology and cultures from hundred of years before. Mae only saw pictures but couldn’t even grasp the concept of a blue sky. She tried to ask her parents, were they outside when they were kids? The answer of course was no. “We know about the outside world as much as you do”. Since the moment she learned to speak, all the adults in her life made sure to let her know that the apes were the enemy. By twelve, she and the other two kids her age knew all the story of why things were like that. The laboratory, the virus, the wars, how the ALZ-113 made apes smart and took away the intelligence of humans. She started to feel something in her chest and her heart was beating very fast. Was she going to die? She was only a kid.

By thirteen, they started to teach her basic human skills to survive in the wild, technology, engineering, agriculture and so. Her mother wanted her to become part of the medical team when she turned seventeen, just like she did, but Mae said she needed to help in other ways, she wanted to get her hands dirty.

When the girl turned twenty-two, she became part of a mission to get a key from one of the safest bunkers in what used to be U.S.A, it was said that only politicians and important people got in that bunker hundreds of years ago, and that place held the most important technology and weapons to free humans from the dominium of apes. That night, after agreeing to the plan, Mae felt her chest tight and tears rolling down her cheeks. She couldn’t breathe. Her mom found her in her room, having a panic attack. “It´s called anxiety”

--------

Mae woke up in the middle of the night, she opened her eyes and felt a tear rolling down her cheek. The girl didn’t remember exactly what she was dreaming, but she knew it was related to the events of the last weeks. Slowly, she sat in the litter and a movement caught her eye; under the faint light of a torch, she could see Noa resting in the ground, chin on his knees, thinking.

“I haven’t seen you in a couple of days” Mae said. She wasn’t sure if the ape was mad at her or if Soona was right and the male was just anxious.

The girl asked herself if the ape had been a accompanying her all these nights, but that though vanish almost immediately when she remembered what Soona said about Noa sleeping with her.

“Needed to come up with a plan” the ape said without even looking in her direction.

“You don’t need to” Mae whispered “I´m leaving in the morning”

Noa stayed in silence and looked at her blue eyes for a moment. Why was she so difficult?

“Why?” he asked “Here you have food and protection”

“I can protect myself”

Noa scoffed.

“What? You think I am weak?” now she was getting angry. She survived a lot, she was not some princess who needed to be saved, much less by an ape.

“I think you need to recover” he said.

“I just needed food”

“There is plenty of food out there… Mae. You are not capable of getting food”

“What the fuck did you just say?”

Noa could see the anger in her eyes. He then knew he shouldn’t have said that, but he was getting kind of desperate to make her stay so he was just saying stupid things, which happened to do the opposite of what he intended. Even so, the apes ego made it difficult to apologize.

He didn’t even know what “fuck” meant.

“Look at you” Noa said “Even the wild Echoes look better... than you”

“They are humans!”

“Whatever!”

The leader knew they had to be quiet, or they would wake up the village. Noa didn’t want any more problems, he just wished for the girl to make sense and stay with his clan.

“Your people don’t want me here” Mae said in a whisper. He could see in her eyes a little bit of sadness.

So, it was about the other apes? The Echo wanted to run away again, because his people may not accept her in the village? Noa got a little hope, all this time he thought that Mae hated the idea to stay because she refuses to live near other apes.

“I am the leader”

“So what? You don’t think they could turn their backs at you for helping me? They could take away your title or whatever and kill you!”

The girl started to silently cry. Was she sad because she imagined Noa dying? No, but it was nice thinking she was.

“Why would they… kill me? We are not like humans. In the clan we do not kill each other”.

Mae stayed quiet.

“There is a lake not far from here” Noa started to walk to the exit “Tomorrow you shower. You stink”.

#noa x mae #planet of the apes #mae #kingdom of the planet of the apes #noa and mae #soona #fanfic #kotpota #apes together strong #noa x soona

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drunknillawafer · 9 months ago

Text

right down the line: zuko x firebender!reader

You grew up close to the Royal Family due to your father's position as a General, but you ran away from home after the agni kai against your best friend. Now, you're just trying to do your part in ending the 100-year war.

hellooo so this is my first official published fic that i will keep up! hopefully you guys like it, let me know! this is set in book 1 ep 10 in the Jet episode! i do not own Avatar or these characters! okayy enjoyyy >.<

Part 2

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

All I can see for miles is shades of crimson and orange. We’re so close to home, it almost feels like I’ve returned.

I’m standing in the trees near Jet and The Duke, peering down at twenty Fire Nation soldiers and their camp, waiting for the right moment to attack. The plan was to keep an eye out and alert Jet if anything could be of use to us. I hold onto my swords in anticipation.

“We’ve been here all morning, what if we don’t get a shot?” The Duke asked.

“Relax, we will.” Jet replied in his infamous cool manner. He was so sure we would score big this time and have one of the greatest victories thus far. I didn’t see the point, it seemed like your average solider platoon. But maybe he was right. He hasn’t let me down yet.

I met Jet when I was 13 and freshly ran away from home. I had left everything that could resemble Fire Nation in my room and took only my closest valuables. With one bag over my shoulder and a week of struggling to find food, the cool leader crossed my path in a forest not too far from where we’re standing now.

“Are you lost?” Jet questioned me.

“No, I’m hungry.” It was true. I hadn’t eaten for so long because I didn’t know how to find food. My family’s position in society meant I usually had servants dressing me, brushing my hair, and finding my food for me. It’s not something that crossed my mind when I left in a rageful fury.

“What’s your name?” He replied.

“Y/N.”

“You’re a kid. Don’t you have parents to feed you?”

“Don’t you?”

And that was that. I had passed Jet’s mysterious test and he invited me into his little world of lost children who were strong, brave, and alone. I was lucky to have found them when I did.

Three years later, the same cool leader has me standing in the trees like a predator waiting to catch its prey. That’s when I hear it. The voice of a teenage boy.

I crouch down to focus on the noise and see the rustling in the bushes near the Fire Nation camp we’re getting ready to bust. A boy in blue appears, looking backwards to his friends in an annoyed tone. Just as I spot him, he spots the soldiers in black and red.

“This is it.” I tell Jet. He nods and whistles his command to the Freedom Fighters, sending us off to our mission.

I come down from the trees and land on my feet, quickly inspecting my environment. Taking out two of my swords, I spot the boy in blue preparing an attack for a Fire Nation soldier who will surely beat him. His stance is all wrong, I can’t believe he’s actually attempting this.

I use both of my swords and dig them into the ground, launching my feet forward and off the dirt floor, kicking the soldier in the abdomen and out of balance. He falls over with the wind knocked out of him.

“Hey! He was mine!” The boy in blue exasperated.

“No, he wasn’t.” I snarked at him. This is the fun part of being with the Freedom Fighters, winning.

After a few minutes, the soldiers scurry off like rats when the lights turn on. They go in every direction, disappearing into the autumn-colored forest.

“We did it!” I celebrate. For a moment, I catch my breath and put my swords back into their sheaths.

The trio of strangers gather together and start walking toward us.

“Who are you guys?” The youngest with a blue arrow on his head spoke first.

“I’m Jet, and these are my Freedom Fighters.” The leader introduces the members one by one, leaving me for last. “And this is Y/N. She’s my right-hand.” He graces.

I wave at the trio, taking them in as they process the new information they’ve just been handed. It’s a Water Tribe pair with another boy in orange. His clothes were strange, when was the last time someone wore Air Nomad clothes like his? I wondered. I had briefly seen the girl bend water, but it was impossible for the boy to be an air bender. The Fire Nation made sure of that.

“Let’s loot!” Jet interrupts my thoughts, and the rebels cheer in agreement. Looting time.

I focus on a tent to begin raiding the soldiers' bags and belongings. If we’re lucky, the group can score something to help us in our efforts—a map, a plan, a supply shipment—anything to take the empire down.

As I go through my first bag, the boy in blue enters the tent. I look up at his glare and stare him right in the eye.

He crosses his arms and gloats, “Just so you know, I could have handled that. But thanks for your help.”

“Didn’t look like that from where I was standing.” I shrugged and shifted my focus back onto the bag. I flip it upside down so the contents come spilling out.

“And where were you standing by the way? You guys came out of nowhere!” Clearly, he wasn’t going to let my swoop-in go.

“We were in the trees, been staking out all morning.” Nothing of importance in the first bag so I move onto the next one, opening the top and letting the soldier’s belongings fall on the floor for me to inspect. “Until you,” I point at his chest, “came along and made the perfect distraction. It should be me thanking you.”

A balled-up messenger hawk message comes out of the bag. I can tell from its design that it comes from the Admiral, lucky me. Ignoring the boy in front of me, I open the letter and read the writing.

The Avatar has returned. From now on, any information must be reported to Admiral Zhao. The Banished Prince is to be ignored.

The Banished Prince. My finger grazes the ink.

“One day she’s going to try and overthrow me, I swear.” Zuko confesses as he lunges forward with his sword. I dodge his attempt at an offense and strike back.

“Even if she does, you and I can take her.” I reply. My mind is focused on the sparring round, but Zuko seems to be somewhere else. He’s not taking any of my bait to back him into a corner.

“You’d help me fight?” His demeaner softens and I know this is the moment I can use to win. I use the gymnastics I was forced to learn to my advantage and gain the higher ground on a bench near the turtle duck pond. His sword falls out of his hand as I send my blade toward him, making sure to not seriously hurt him. Zuko holds his hands up in defeat. I win this round.

“Duh, it’s kind of my throne now too. I’ve grown fond of it.” I hold one hand to my heart, feigning admiration for the title.

The Prince and I grew up together. Learning fire-bending at the same academy, attending snobby important society gatherings, and now practicing sword-fighting at the Royal Palace’s turtle duck pond. We became halves of one whole. If the cosmic forces upon us gave me the mind, it gave Zuko the heart. And together, we felt complete.

“One day I’ll have to be Fire Lord.” He solemnly said.

“One day. But for now, just focus on beating me! Round 4?”

I take a deep breath in and push the memory away. Time makes it easy. The boy in blue waiting for my response to the messenger hawk letter makes it even easier.

“It’s nothing, just old information.” I crumble the paper into a ball once again and throw it with the rest of the useless items I’ve gone through so far. “Do you want to come to the hideout?” I change the subject.

“You guys have a hideout?” His eyes widen in amusement.

“Yes, but maybe I should know your name before I let you go up there.”

“It’s Sokka.” He answers. “And you?”

“Y/N.” I hold my hand out so he can shake it, and he does. When his hand touches mine, a pit forms in my gut. I got the feeling I’d be knowing him for a long time. “Well, Sokka, follow me.”

#atla #avatar #aang #atla zuko #avatar the last airbender #prince zuko #fire lord zuko #atla fanart #zuko #prince zuko x reader #prince zuko x y/n #prince zuko x you #prince zuko x oc #sokka #sokka avatar the last airbender #atla sokka #atla fanfic #atla fic

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buckgasms · 2 years ago

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Soooo what do you think Daddy!Bucky would do if Princess was misbehaving out in public…. what about maybe in front of their friends?? I need your FILTHY THOTS!!!

Misbehaving????? In Public???? Princess???

👆this is the reaction

It's tricky because Princess is quite shy in public, and doesn't like lots of people around, but there's always opportunities to be naughty when you put your mind to it. Let's say you're at a party, some of Bucky's close friends are there, lots of other people you don't know too.

I think first would come a warning. A whisper in the ear, a squeeze of your wrist or waist. "Careful Princess, you're pushing it now..."

Then a glare. You might be dragged away and told to stand in the corner. It's subtle but the tinges of humiliation come up and make you giddy.

But maybe you get distracted (or Daddy does) and you wander off, only to be found nibbling on a canapé instead of your assigned corner.

"Coulda sworn I left you over there?" He grabs your wrist as you try to flee back. "Oh no no princess, don't even try it." He pulls you away from the buffet and you squeak out an apology which falls on deaf ears.

"Panties. Now" he states, loud enough for the little group nearby to hear. You feel dizzy with the heat emanating from your face but when you see he isn't playing around you shimmy them off and hand them to him as quick as possible. You watch as he inspects them, a damp patch betraying your arousal.

"You getting off on being a brat hmm? Turn you on to get punished and told off?" He says, pinching your chin and kissing you in possessive pecks. You only stutter and mumble as he kisses you more.

He gives a little wave to someone's and suddenly you are surrounded by Bucky, Steve, Natasha and Sam who tower over you. You're totally blocked from anyone else's view, but you're not alone by any means.

"What's going on? Something wrong with our pretty Printessa?" Natasha says sternly as she glares around the party, daring anyone to fuck with you. Bucky chuckles and holds up your underwear. "Yeah actually, misbehaving and horny..."

Steve chuckles and rolls his eyes at Bucky. "Oh poor you, what a tragedy this must be!" You giggle, immediately regretting it from the look Daddy gives you. "Despite her behaviour today, Princess has rules. Being a little horny slut, teasing her daddy ain't one of them."

The three of them hummed in agreement, and you bow your head in shame. No one ever took your side when you misbehaved. It was so unfair. "Well what needs to happen to make it right then? Cos princess is too pretty to be in trouble tonight Buck..." Sam said whilst squeezing your arm, and you smiled at him.

Daddy turned you around and held you against his chest so you were now face to face with his top circle. "If Princess wants to show off and make an exhibition of herself..." As he spoke he lifted the skirt of your dress and exposed you to them, "then that's what she'll be..."

They two men took the skirt from Bucky's hands and the cool air hit your pussy, a soft whine leaving your lips. Natasha hummed in approval and moved her hand over, rubbing at your pussy, squeezing and spreading you open. "So soft" she muttered before guiding your own hand down to carry on.

"Daddyyyy" you whimper but he tuts, in fact they all do and he squeezes at your breasts. "Babygirl, we're at a party. And people are going to wanna talk to me. And if they come up to me before you come, I will let them stay for the show. So the sooner you start, the less chance you got of being spotted."

You whine but lean your head back as you start to slowly circle your fingers, swirling gathering wetness over yourself. Natasha curses something in Russian as Steve and Sam adjust there view and make similar noises of approval.

"You putting on a pretty show for them babygirl? Showing what a pretty little slut you are hmm?" You nod and moan as quiet as you can, slipping a finger into your aching hole, finding hungry eyes wherever you look. Bucky slips a finger in your mouth and you suck greedily, happy to have something to muffle your noises.

"This is a punishment?" Natasha asks incredulously, her fingers unable to resist your soft, sensitive folds. You moan again, louder around his fingers as she teases you. "I'd have her red raw and begging for forgiveness, not coming around her fingers.."

Bucky chuckled at her. "I know, I'm too soft on my Princess, but her ass will be glowing by the morning and she won't be doing this again will you baby?" You whine around his fingers and choke as he sinks them deeper down your throat, walls clenching around your fingers as you teeter on the edge of bliss. Your legs shut with the pressure but Steve and Sam are on you, hooking their hand around each thigh and opening you up to Natasha's hands.

"Come baby, come for us. Show us what a dirty girl you are..."

It's enough to send your head back into Bucky's shoulder, gripping his arms as he holds your still. Your release is rubbed over your pussy and thighs, and you shiver a little until they let you go and release you back into Bucky's embrace.

"Good girl" he praises, pressing a kiss to your face, smiling as you moan for more. Natasha takes your hair and strokes it, pulling it into a ponytail and pulling gently as she leans her head on your shoulder and pressed a little kiss behind your ear.

"Why don't you show us how you thank your daddy for being so kind to you?"

You giggle and sink to your knees, feeling like the naughtiest, luckiest princess in the world...

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #daddy!bucky #princess!reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky imagine #bucky smut #bucky barnes smut #darling nonnie

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p0orbaby · 2 years ago

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I love the entire squishverse (plus it's a great name), I don't know if your requests are still open. If they aren't please feel free to ignore this but if they are I had a thought.

I like picturing that Natasha and Wanda always had a connection even if they didn't realize this, so how about a prompt where baby squish is sick (so protective mama bear wanda) plus (the dad is still around but barely like right before he left) and he's around the house and wanda get's so stressed, then he leaves and Nat arrives and the moment she does Wanda visibly relaxes because nat makes her feel so much safer and wanda actually trusts Nat with squish especially since she's sick

A Helping Hand

warnings: crying, teething, dad being useless as per

a/n: there’s a couple cute moments I promise

word count: 636

“She’s not going down. Can you like, I don’t know, sort it?”

It was late. Wanda was tired and the throbbing headache she had behind her eyes wasn’t helping.

“She’s teething” she sighed, exasperated by her partner's lack of critical thinking. “There’s teethers in the freezer, try one of those”

“But what if she’s hungry?”

Wanda took a deep breath, trying to remain calm despite her fatigue. “You watched me feed her. You literally ogled me when I was sat here half naked breastfeeding our child only ten minutes ago. She’s in pain. We have Advil drops in the kitchen”

But he just stood there, backlit from the lighting in the hallway. He looked as disheveled as she did. Hair stuck up and clothes askew. Even so, she found it hard to muster any sympathy. She was going through the same but his efforts for helping were half what hers were.

Before he could respond with whatever useless excuse he could muster up this time, there was a faint jingle of keys. A soft click of the door as it opened and closed. Wanda’s revelived sigh as Natasha entered the room.

Without missing a beat, Natasha approached Wanda’s tired form, placed a hand under her chin and maneuvered her face to inspect the damage of no sleep and a sick baby. “Hey sweetheart, I got your message”

“Romanoff” a gruff voice greeted her.

Natasha gave a curt nod in response to his greeting, her attention immediately going back to Wanda and the sounds of your cries in the other room.

In quick succession, aware that leaving the two alone too long under the circumstances was a bad idea, Natasha strode to collect you from your crib and then the teether from the freezer in one fell swoop.

“You can go now” Natasha said sternly to the lingering man in her peripheral. “I’ll take over baby duties for tonight”

She could practically see the tension in his shoulders release. His eyes lighting up at the prospect of not having to actually care for his own kid. Her own eyes slid to look at him practically vibrating where he stood. Then to Wanda’s scowl and dark circles. Then to you, to your red face puffy with tears as you sucked on the cold plastic.

“I’m gonna head over to Kyle’s, if you two are good here without me?”

It was ten in the evening.

“Yeah sure, just be quiet if you come home”

He nodded at Wanda, then walked over to her, grabbed the back of her neck and pulled her into a kiss. Natasha had to look away.

Wanda felt the kiss, brief and passionate, but it did little to ease her never ending frustrations with him. As he pulled away, she shot him a tired, unimpressed look. "Just go," she muttered, her voice laced with exhaustion.

He left the room without another word, and the tension in the air seemed to dissipate with his departure.

Wanda leaned against the back of the couch at the slam of the door, rubbing her temples as she watched Natasha work her magic with you. She finally mustered a small smile. "I don't know what I'd do without you”

“You’d be what you are now. Tired and in need of sleep” Natasha replied softly as she moved some wayward strands of hair from Wanda’s face. “Go, I’ve got her”

Wanda nodded, her gratitude evident in her tired eyes. She finally allowed herself to slip away from the demands of the night, trusting Natasha to take care of both her and her poorly baby. As she left the room, the weight of exhaustion bore down on her, but she knew she could rest easier now, knowing that Natasha was there to share the burden and provide the support you both needed.

#squishverse #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #mom!wanda #mom!natasha #wandanat x reader #child!reader #angst #fluff

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luvrrszn · 2 years ago

Text

and they were roommates

COLLEGE ROOMATE!MIGUEL O'HARA x FEM READER (18+)

summary miguel o'hara is your roommate, and then he's more than that

warnings [all sexual themes are at the bottom end of the post] explicit/18+ (smut), unprotected sex, dom!miguel, not proofread

a/n (gif posted originally by @/cantstoptheimagines, can't figure out tumblr's gif shit so i'm doing this instead, hope that's okay :)) guys i'm so bad at writing smut please go easy on me also if u have requests PLEASEEE send them in i'm so bored

masterlist

"oi! you left your panties on the countertop again, you goblin! take it back!" miguel yells at you from your shared bathroom.

"my bad." you mumble, a piece of toast in your mouth as you shuffle into the bathroom, in a hurry to grab your underwear off the marble countertop.

miguel watches, amused, as you scramble to get your things together before your 8am class. it's 7:48am, and it takes you at least 15 minutes to drive to campus, and that's if you make every green light on your way there.

you're lacing up your sneakers by the door as miguel pours himself a cup of coffee. he walks over to shut the door behind you after you leave. as you run down the hallway to the elevator, he calls out after you, "buy some juice on the way back, we're out of that."

you give him a thumbs-up before disappearing around the corner.

—

you're cooking your favourite homemade meal—pesto pasta. turning off the stove, you turn around to grab a bowl from the shelves. when you turn back around, you see miguel hunched over your pan of pasta, mouth stuffed with food. YOUR food.

you slap him away from the pan, as he feigns hurt, "ow, ow, that hurts. now you gotta give me pasta to make up for it."

"you ate two bowls of instant noodles already, how are you still hungry? get away, boy." you swat his fork away.

"c'mon, please?"

you roll your eyes and give in.

you were never truly going to say no to miguel o'hara. you had cooked enough for two because you knew this was going to happen, and you knew you weren't going to say no to miguel.

—

"miguel! stop using my shampoo! and my lotion! you know they're super expensive, get your own!" you yell at him from the bathroom, inspecting the fullness—or now, emptiness of your body care products.

"hey, mami, what can i say? those are the real deal." he replies, barely looking away from his laptop.

"yeah, and they cost a shit ton. stop using my stuff and go back to your nasty 30-in-1 soap or whatever." you huff, glaring at miguel angrily.

—

saturday evenings are spent at the dining table going over the grocery list, preparing for your weekly sunday grocery runs.

saturday nights are spent on the sofa in the living room, watching a movie.

sunday mornings are spent at the grocery store, wandering down the aisles even though you've been there every sunday for the past year and a half, ever since you moved in with miguel after a mutual friend introduced the two of you upon finding out you were both looking for a roommate.

sunday noons are spent unpacking the bags of groceries, which more often that not contain bags of junk food that miguel somehow managed to sneak into the cart.

sunday afternoons are spent doing laundry. miguel loads the washing machine while you handwash the delicate pieces that require extra care. afterwards, you toss what can be put into the dryer into the dryer while miguel hangs up the rest of the clothes to dry. then, the two of you settle into a comfortable routine of folding laundry.

that's just how it was. every week, without fail.

—

the moment you fell for miguel was when you caught a horrible cold and he took care of you.

despite you trying to shoo him away multiple times, he never gave up.

"come on, princesa. you're sick, let me help you."

"i look like a hot mess right now, miguel. just leave me alone, i'll be okay." barely finishing your sentence, you broke out in a fit of coughs and wheezes.

"no can do. you're sick, so get your ass back into bed. i'll bring you some chicken soup, so for now, just rest." miguel replied, placing a bottle of water and some cold medicine on your bedside table.

when he returned, he found you curled up in your bed, duvet tucked under your chin. he placed the bowl of soup on your bedside table, before placing the back of his hand on your forehead, only to realise that you were burning up.

"take your meds, princesa. you're running a fever."

with his help, you washed your fever medicine down with a gulp of water. then, you snuggled back under the duvet. when miguel turned to leave, your hand shot out from under the duvet, grabbing his wrist. you croaked out a "stay".

without a word, miguel got into bed next to you, slipping his arm under your head. you curled into his chest, falling asleep to the steady rhythm of his heart beating.

—

the moment miguel fell for you was when you left to visit family during summer break and he opened the refrigerator to find each shelf lined with containers of food.

you had left that morning, hand gripping your suitcase handle as you said to miguel, "try not to die, finding a new roommate with such short notice would be hard."

miguel grinned and flipped you the bird as you turned around and disappeared down the hallway to the elevator. closing the door behind him, miguel beelined for the refrigerator. maybe there was some yogurt he could have for a quick breakfast.

upon opening the refrigerator, he found that each shelf was packed containers of home-cooked meals, all prepared by you. well, that answered the question of why the apartment smelled so good when he got home last night.

there were containers of pasta, rice, chicken, salad, whatever you could think of, it was there. turning around, miguel spotted the sticky note you had left on the kitchen island. he picked up the light pink sticky note and read your note.

"seriously though, miggy. try not to die. i'd be a little sad if you did."

he couldn't help but let out a little chuckle.

—

you are the one who first confesses your feelings. on saturday night, after movie night, you gather all your courage and say, "miguel, look, i-i have to tell you something. and when i do, or even after i do, i need you to promise you won't hate me."

miguel's heart is racing. worries fill his head and his heart, and he can't help but wonder if you are going to tell him that you want to move out. he takes a deep breath, and replies steadily, "i could never hate you. go ahead, princesa."

you turn to look at miguel, and you say, "you're my best friend, and there's nothing i wouldn't do for you. you know that, right?" he nods.

taking in a shaky breath, you continue, "i like you. and it's okay if you don't feel the same way. i can't remember a time where i didn't know you, and i'm not sure i want to either. so if you don't feel the same way, can we at least still stay—"

"shut up," miguel cuts you off.

you're taken aback, stammering, "w-what?"

"just shut up," miguel repeats as he moves towards you, encasing your lips with his. you let out a slight gasp, and miguel takes that opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth.

the kiss is everything you've imagined and more. it's hungry and passionate, but also gentle and reassuring. words were no longer needed; words weren't enough for miguel to express how much he liked you back.

you let miguel take control. you surrender, savouring every moment of the kiss.

and it leaves you breathless.

—

from that night on, nothing much changes. but at the same time, everything changes.

your weekend routines remain the same, but throughout the week, there's sex. so. much. sex.

miguel's sex drive is crazy, and you can barely keep up. not that you're complaining.

"miguel," you let out a breathy moan. your left hand is tangled in his hair, your right hand littering his back with scratches. miguel fucks you relentlessly, pulling his hips back and slamming into you in one fluid motion.

his hands slide downwards towards your nipple, and he toys with them, tugging gently and rubbing them between the pad of his thumb and his index finger. one of his hands slides even further downwards, and traps your clit. he rubs slow circles on it, drawing a moan past your lips.

his coordination is crazy, and you're stimulated in all the right places.

miguel senses that you're near your climax, and he speeds up, slamming into you with such tenacity that you almost believe he's in such a rush because the world might be ending in two seconds.

miguel goes faster, rougher, deeper, helping you chase your finish. the knot in your stomach tightens, tightens, tightens—then it snaps. you scream miguel's name as you cum all over his cock and go limp, seeing stars from what you think might have been the best orgasm of your life.

still deep in you, miguel feels every contraction of your pussy around his cock. you tighten around him, and after two more strokes of his hips, you're milking his cock for every drop of his cum.

out of breath, you lay there on the bed while miguel cleans up the mess on the bedsheets.

—

that afternoon, as you take out the trash, you bump into your next door neighbour, mrs palma. she looks and you and chuckles, "glad the two of you finally got together, but keep it down, wouldya, sweetheart?"

you turn as red as a tomato.

#📓—lexwrites #miguel o’hara fic #miguel o'hara fluff #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #atsv miguel #atsv #miguel spiderverse #miguel ohara #across the spider-verse

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skyrim-forever · 5 months ago

Text

WIP Wednesday

Hey y'all it's another Wednesday <3 I'm scheduling this as I gotta be at the airport tomorrow morning. Probably won't be until the evening but I'm gonna carve out time to see the wips as I love seeing what everyone is doing <3 Thank you @firefly-factory for the tag this morning 🥰

Tagging: @theoneandonlysemla @dirty-bosmer @lucien-lachance @umbracirrus @changelingsandothernonsense

@bougainvillea-and-saltwater @pocket-vvardvark @hircines-hunter @captain-of-silvenar @ladytanithia

I'm currently writing a fic called I'm only happy when I'm with you because it has Theodora/Ondolemar confessing their feelings but was the second fic I wrote for them so, they deserve better! Setting is Windhelm just after the Civil War you ever be so down bad you go to Windhelm to tell a woman you love her Suggestive part so I'll stick it under the cut

It’s not lost on Ondolemar how bizarre it is to do this here. The business of mixing work and pleasure was becoming the norm for him but, confessing his feeling inside the Temple of Talos was a newer, more deranged level of odd. Though, Theodora had tried to convince him to have a liaison inside the shrine in Markarth, citing that “No one will be there, and if they are, you get to do your civic duty.” Her incredibly sound logic was not enough to sway him into leaving the comforts of the Keep, but perhaps now, she may get what she wanted. If he ignored the obvious massive statue, the lowlight of scones could be considered romantic. For now, there was nowhere else they could be alone. Praying that things go well, he can tell her somewhere better, multiple places far mor suitable of such words.

The woman who plagues his dreams walks around, inspecting the different parts of the. simple hall. Poking her head into what was the priest’s quarters, she makes a remark.

“Oh there’s even a bed here.” She gazes lowly at him. “How awfully convenient for us.” Walking closer, she pulls on his robes. The feeling distracts him yet again.

“Theodora, in a temple? In such a holy place? Have you no shame?”

“You” there’s an emphasis on the word “of all people, do not get to say that. Need I remind you of your position, Thalmor Justiciar Ondolemar?” It would be fun to give in now. His eyes floating between the hungry look in hers and her lips, imaging how good they would feel on his after months. It would be very fun to have their uniforms strewn across the temple floor, but he did not come all this way for merely fun. Regaining will, he speaks.

“As much as I desire you right now, I have something I need to tell you first.” The look in her eyes upsets him, face slightly falling and he is quick to reassure her. “Do not fret, nothing is wrong, quite the opposite rather.”

The Thalmor had done his groveling. Drunken guilt-ridden prayers and pleads going unanswered as he was forced to contend with the gravity of the situation; he did in fact love her and the acceptability of his feelings mattered not. Grand stories always positioned love on the winning side, the side of the virtuous, how could it be wrong when the act of doing so came so effortlessly? The choice to voluntarily come all the way to Windhelm was an easy one, despite the fact this mission did not demand someone of his rank and the weather was atrocious. She would be there, that had been enough to haul himself across the province. Once accepted in himself, it would not rest until spoken. She needed to know, how desperate he was to know if she felt the same and wondered if their last discussion had been indicative that she did. Had her pain surrounding love been the start of a confession? “You told me once you do not do love. The loss of your mother, and your father’s subsequent grief left you fearful of it. I understand that, you rightly feel afraid, I see why you don’t do love,” there are small droplets forming in the corner of her eyes. Wiping them away, he continues “but I do.” Her face softens as she grasps his hand. “I have made a myriad of excuses to convince myself I do not feel what I do. It is embarrassing the lengths I went to in an effort to convince myself I felt nothing for you, that your laughter did not brighten my day, that your thoughts were not compelling, that someone I was taught to hate could never be my greatest joy. Yet, there is only one rational.” The words are caught in his throat as he turns away, needing a moment to collect himself. The fear of finally verbalizing these thoughts is eclipsed by the worry that all of this is one side. He is alone in this insanity. Looking back at her, he finds the courage, wide-eyed and lips slightly curling up. “I love you, Theodora.”

“You do?”

“I do.” He sighs slightly, unable to meet her gaze in case of rejection.

Logically, it would be understandable. Opposing sides, duties to their respective nations, they were very much in opposition. She was their prophesied Dragonborn, now a war hero as much as she hadn’t yearned to be. All this in addition to being the most beautiful woman in all of Tamriel. She could do far better than him, far better than an invader of her homeland but he wanted her. Selfishly wanted her even if all he could promise was love.

“Are you certain you know what you are saying?”

“I’ve never been more so, I love you.” He reaches for her other hand, clutching them both tightly to warm them. “I know I have nothing to offer you. I cannot make you any promises about the future, I cannot be with you openly, I cannot change some of the things I have done” a small concession to remedy the things he doesn’t have the strength to speak about. In time, in time. “You deserve much better, I completely understand if you do not-” The sentence ends midway, cut off as she pulls his robes, bringing their lips together.

#wip wednesday #oc: theodora #omg he admitted it!!!#he said it out loud!!!#they gonna tell their kids about this <3 #saying ily for the first time in the temple in windhelm #lmaoooooooo they crazy

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castlevaniacentral · 2 years ago

Text

The sunrise may never be mine

Chapter three

You quickly finished up the rest of the porridge that was left in the bowl. The taste was sweet and seasoned to perfection. You could have sworn there was hints of cinnamon.

Lowering the bowl from your mouth, you moved over to set it on the night table quietly. Watching the male enter the room once more with a newer shirt similar to the one he was wearing. Walking closer he placed the item on the bed infront of you before picking up the bowl and tray from the side table.

“How do you feel now?” He said his light yellow orbs darting over to you. His expression remained blank but oh his eyes. They couldn’t hide how he was truly feeling. A melancholy gaze held him, it held him captive. And no amount of covering up could hide that gaze of his

You stared at him quietly for a moment before your expression yourself softened for him. “Pretty…but sad” you stated softly before you reached for the shirt.

“?!“ Alucard looked taken off guard for a moment shifting his posture. His blank tired expression seemed to lighten only slightly by surprise. No, he wouldn’t fall for your tricks like he did With taka and sumi. But the way you had said it so carelessly like it held no weight behind it. Surely you were a first thought immediately say type of person.

Remaining silent he reached down to assist you putting on the shirt you were clearly struggling with. “Ash?” You asked him looking at him hopeful. Alucard in turned furrowed his brows. What did you mean by that?

Were you referring to him as ash? “No. I am Alucard.” He vaguely said

You blinked owlishly at this, you weren’t asking for his name. You wanted to know about your horse. You slowly shook your head, “ash, the horse” you said in response. Alucard buttoning the top of the shirt for you, “he’s in the stable. He’s warm for the night. “

You glanced over at the window watching the rain pour and hit against it. Once he was done helping you fix the shirt you shuffle off of the bed. Alucard staring at you cautiously. Though afraid to admit but curious as well

“You should rest you’re wearing yourself out” he stated. But instead, you weakly stumble over to the window staring at the scenery in front of you. It was beautiful, who knew that the rain could be so beautiful?

“My bread.” You mumbled quietly before looking down at your hands. If you were to leave, how could you go now knowing that you have no food for the journey.

You turn your head towards him, before facing him fully. It was hard for you to rest without ash, you had gone through your cold and hungry nights with him. He was your comfort and now that it was raining and the thunder roared in the sky. You are basically alone

Alucard sighed before his head tilted in defeat. Not only were you ridiculously stubborn, but now you barely spoke too. It was like trying to tell a cat what to do. He stood before helping you back to the bed again

“The faster you get better the faster you can see him” Setting you back down on the bed he helped you position comfortably. “But I’m ok” “I think the horse would prefer your blood didn’t ruin its hair.”

A small frown graced your lips before you sighed shakily. “Yes.” Finally allowing yourself to lay down you closed your eyes. Alucard turning to leave you in the room up rest.

He felt bad.

The extra wound that was inflicted was because of him. But it was only because of the magic that leaked off you, you seemed dangerous but after closer inspection. Dangerous? you definitely weren’t. He had technically stabbed a poor innocent girl. You barely spoke.

He couldn’t let you leave so soon? That would be sending you out to your death. Sure he didn’t care nor did he want to try to get involved but this was simple principle. His mother taught him a lot about that

“Good night.”

You said just before Alucard left through the doors. Stopping for a second Alucards head turned a bit to glance at you. “Hm night”

Well at least you had manners

#alucard castlevania #alucard tepes x reader #adrian tepes x reader #castlevania x reader

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yourimagines · 2 years ago

Note

Sean Strickland

you and him stop talking because sean had a bad feeling about you're boyfriend...turns out he was right and a year later you show up covered in bruises with a baby.. You can write the rest..thank you!

I hope this is good and I’m sorry is a short one today

Bad feeling

* English is not my first language I apologise

* Gif is not mine

* Triggers: swearing, violence, angst, fluff

Y/N POV

There I was, standing at his door of the middle of the night. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t…’ I stepped a step back from his porch. ‘This is a bad idea, let’s leave.’ I walked quietly away from his front door. The lights outside jumped on. ‘Shit, he’s awake.’ “Who’s there?” I heard a voice behind me. “Me, Sean it’s me Y/N.” I slowly turned around. “Y/N? What are your doing here in the middle of the night” Sean stood in a pair of grey sweatpants and a black plain shirt, looking like he just woke up. “I’m sorry I woke you up, I wasn’t thinking properly but now I am, just I leave you alone. I’m really sorry.” He raised his eyebrows. “You don’t need to leave, I’m awake now.” He shook my head. “No it’s fine, I need to go.” I slowly backed up. “Are you alright?” I slowly shook my head. He walked up to me, looking good at my face what I was trying to hide away in my hoodie. “What happened to your face?” He carefully grabbed my chin, inspecting my face. My lips started to shiver. “Did he do this to you?” I nodded, afraid to make a sound. “Come, come inside so I can help you.” “No.” “Why not, darling you need help, your nose is probably broken,you’re covered in bruises and you look like you haven’t eaten in days.” “I need to get Liam.” “Liam?” I nodded. “He’s in the car.” He looked behind me, at the car I came with. “He’s in there?” I nodded. “I’ll get him, just go inside please.” I nodded and gave him the keys. I slowly went inside and waited for him in the kitchen.

“It’s not broken, but it’s very bruised.” Sean gave me an ice pack. “Hold this against your nose, it will relieve some pain.” I grabbed it and placed it carefully against my face. Sean sat down on a chair, watching your son Liam. “He kicked you guys out or?” “No, he got arrested and I left.” He slowly nods. “I always knew that guy was mental. I’m sorry but I always had a bad feeling about him.” “I know.” I said with a small voice. He looked at me, anger was displaying on his face. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you.” He stood up from his chair and rubs with his hands over his face. “Are you angry with me?” “No.” He looked at me, his hand dropping to the table. Leaning on it. “I’m just angry at myself and at that motherfucker.” He looked at Liam. “Sorry for swearing little one.” Normally I would have laughed but now I was in to much pain to even think about funny things. “Y/N this is not your fault, if I wasn’t just mad at you for choosing him over me it wouldn’t have happened.” “Don’t blame yourself Sean, we both did stupid things.” Sean softly rubbed Liam head. “Y/N my house is open for both of you. If you want you can stay here.” “Sean..” he kneeled down in front of me. “I know it might be scary, living with me an ufc Champion but I still care about you. I don’t care you have a son with him, I’ll take care both of you but please give me chance to prove it to you that I’m not like him.” He looked sincerely at me. “Okay.” I softly whispered at him. “I’m not going to hurt you or Liam.” His hands went to mine and started to trace the back of my hands. “I trust you Sean but I want to take things slow.” “I understand, I’m here when ever your ready.” I gave him a small smile. “Thank you.” “No, don’t thank me darling.” He brought my hands to his face and placed a few kisses on it.

Liam started to cry out. Sean got up and took him in his arms. “Why are you crying then. Are you hungry?” I smiled at them. “I think he pooped.” Sean stopped with the baby noises and looked at me. “How do you know?” “He made a pooping face when you took him out of his seat.” Sean carefully smelled at Liam. “Oh god he did.” He held Liam far away from him. “What do I do now?!” “You change his diaper.” He looked at me shocked. I giggled. “Let me help you.” I stood up and took Liam from him. “Okay I take care of everything except changing his poopy diapers.” I giggled as I walked to the bathroom. “I think he got that fart smell from you!” “Hey, my farts don’t smell that bad.” He laughed as I rolled my eyes. “What an idiot is Sean, isn’t he Liam.” Is said to my son in a high pitched voice. “I heard that!” Liam started to laugh. “He likes you, you’re funny.” I changed his diaper and took him to Sean. Liam was smiling like an idiot. “There he is.” Liam giggled as Sean picked him up. “He really likes me.” Liam placed his small hands on his face. “I like him too.” I smiled at them. ‘Maybe it was a good idea to come here.’

#ufc x reader #mma imagine #sean strickland x reader #Sean Strickland imagine #Sean x reader #x reader #imagines #imagine #x y/n #y/n x character #x you #sad imagines #character x you #reader x crush #reader x character #y/n imagines #y/n #angst imagine

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novelsnovelsnovels · 2 years ago

Text

Chapter 2

Boyhood Curse

A loud thump startled him awake.

Luric’s body reacted instinctively to the sound, curling up into a ball with both arms raised to shield his head from more blows. It took him a moment to realize he was still alone. No one had come to get him yet. A shaky sigh escaped his chapped lips, partly because of relief, partly because of anguish. He had barely woken up and already he was on the brink of tears again. But he was hurting all over, he was cold, he was hungry, and so, so scared.

They can’t do this, he thought pathetically.

There was some commotion coming from upstairs, people talking animatedly, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying. Though that might’ve been for the best. He didn’t want to hear what they planned on doing to him.

Luric sat up slowly, mindful of his broken ribs, and started to look around the room again. He had done so ever since they had locked him up down here, inspecting every nook and cranny of the cellar, turning over every object within his reach in hopes he could find something – anything - that could help him. If he didn’t come up with something soon-

I’m going to die.

It took every ounce of self-control to keep himself from dissolving into a wailing, trembling mess. He had to stay calm and make use of every second he had left until they came for him. He had to think of a plan. But nothing had changed since he had fallen asleep. Luric’s mind still drew a blank while his eyes searched the room from corner to corner.

There was nothing in here that he could use; just an old, rotten stand with shelves full of nothing but cracked and empty pottery, a bunch of moldy, wooden boards thrown haphazardly in one corner, and large wine casks that he couldn’t open and were too heavy to lift.

The only remotely useful thing he had found was a rusty hammer, but his enthusiasm swiftly dropped when it became clear that he had no way of holding it. They hadn’t been content with only shackles around his wrists, so they stuffed his hands inside a thick leather bag filled with linen bathed in holy water. To keep him from sprouting claws, they said. He didn’t even know how to do that. Same with his teeth. Priest Santr had taken another piece of cloth, drenched it in holy water, and shoved it so far down his throat he was afraid he was going to throw up and then suffocate. To keep his fangs from growing back, they said. He didn’t know how to do that either.

Then they had tied his mouth to keep the cloth there and thrown him in the prayhouse's cellar. But not before giving him another beating. The priest had been against it, but only because he was afraid the men - his assailants - could catch something by touching him. Apparently, he was also contagious, and could leave them cursed. Luric wished he knew how to do that.

There was one more item down here with him, but he didn’t even consider going near it. Couldn’t even bring himself to look at it properly. He didn’t want to see the stern, condemning eyes stare back at him. The painting was obviously very old, with the colors having faded away for the most part, but the figures depicted there would still be immediately recognizable to any Alcsenian. Sitting on his throne and judging silently was Protector Baar, with the young Suin on his right, and wise old Meherth on his left. He knew this image better than the back of his hand; it was found in almost every book at school, on icons in every household in Runrick, on all four walls of their prayhouse. This image used to be so commonplace, a constant presence as familiar as it was frequent. All his life, grown-ups had told him that when in need, to look towards Protector Baar for guidance, towards Suin for courage, and Meherth for wisdom. Now they told him that he had no right to do so; no right to ask for protection because he was something the Three Great Men protected real people from. Lord Baar wasn’t his protector, not anymore. He was his executioner.

The voices were clearer now, closer, accompanied by the sound of heavy, stomping footsteps growing louder and louder. They were coming for him.

Panicking, Luric looked once more around the room and made a decision. He quickly approached the stand, found the largest, heaviest vase, held it between his forearms, lifted it up, and smashed it against the floor. He then examined the broken pieces of ceramic and chose the sharpest fragment he could find. He maneuvered it with his feet, holding it up with the blunter side pointing towards him, and pushed it against the thick leather bag tied around his hands. He pushed lightly, trying not to have the piece break apart even more, until he could feel the intrusion through the thick materials, and had his fingers clamp around it as hard as he could to keep it steady. The sharp, pointy edge sticking outward.

The wave of relief he felt at this tiny accomplishment was abruptly cut short with the resounding clank of the cellar door being unlocked.

Luric’s first thought was to hide, but his only options were to either huddle behind the wooden stand or crouch between the casks. And he knew it would be pointless, because the entry was well above the basement floor, atop of a staircase, giving them a good view of the entire room. It would be foolish to think that they wouldn’t be able to spot him easily in a few seconds, and those extra seconds would serve no purpose other than to anger them even more. No, the only measly chance he had was to take them by surprise, which meant not retreating, as they probably expected him to, but attacking.

He ran up the stairs and went right to the door. He kneeled so he wouldn’t immediately be in their line of sight. Luric knew he wasn’t being fueled by courage, but by fear and desperation. And anger. He hadn’t paid attention to it before, - too much pain and grief stifling everything else - but it was there. With each shaky breath he took he became more and more aware of it, and the harder he focused on the jagged end of the shard sticking out of the leather bag, the hotter it burned inside his chest. He tightened his hands even more, making sure his hold was firm, so that he could deliver a proper thrust.

He briefly wondered who it was going to be. Was it Piltrim that was unlocking the door? He had been the one with the key last time. He had stood quietly by the side as the others beat him, before locking him up. He hoped it was Baliger. That hideous man had been the most eager with the thrashing, not even caring what the priest had said about potentially catching a curse. Luric had heard people say Baliger was not right in the head, and now Luric got to see – and feel – the depths of his depravity up close. Why was he not down here, tied up? The man had actually enjoyed beating the shit out of Luric when they caught him. Had even tried to convince everyone to hand Luric over to him, so that he’d gut him open, like he did with his pigs before winter. Yes, he hoped it was Baliger.

Whoever it ended up being, they would have to use both hands to push the heavy door open, which left the stomach an easy target. If he could manage to wound the first person enough so that they’d fall over and cause the others to jump back in fear at the sight of him, then he could try to make a run for it before they’d get their bearings. He was lucky they hadn’t thought to tie his legs as well. He’d always been a good runner; he was one of the faster kids in Runrick and even wounded, he doubted there were any adults that could keep up with him at full speed. He only had to reach the woods before they caught him; no one would follow him in there so close to nightfall. Not anymore.

They were taking their time, talking nervously among themselves. He could understand them now. Baliger was there; he was trying to convince them to let him have few minutes alone with Luric. Piltrim and Suisel were there too, arguing fervently against it. Were there only three this time? Suddenly all of them went silent. He heard light footsteps come to a halt. Someone else had joined them.

“Our apologies, Sir, we didn’t mean to take so long. We’ll get’im right out,” he heard Piltrim say with a trembling voice. But to whom? It couldn’t be the priest, because Piltrim didn’t call him ‘Sir’? Was it the Chief? No, Chief Slatrim wouldn’t have been so quiet.

There was a creak as the door finally began to move.

It was Piltrim pushing it.

His right arm came into view as the amber light from the torch behind him started spilling into the room and around Luric. He was sitting in Piltrim’s shadow, so he didn’t get spotted right away. He had to make his move before Piltrim’s eyes could adjust to the darkness, but just as he started to tense his legs, Piltrim got grabbed by an arm and shoved to the side.

Storming inside now was Baliger. He was the one holding the torch, so when he entered, the entire platform Luric was on lit up.

“Where are ya, ya little-”

And then Baliger saw him. In that split second Luric noticed Baliger’s expression change from fury to surprise, and he understood he had to act before it settled on comprehension. There was something else Luric noticed; one hand was busy with the torch, the other still pushing Piltrim behind him. His entire stomach wide open.

Perfect.

He lunged.

Luric forced every muscle in his lower body and propelled himself forward, arms stretched in front of him and pointed directly at Baliger’s big, fat belly. Despite everything, he closed his eyes as he heard Baliger’s grunt of shock turn into a scream. He didn’t feel the shard go in, but it must have, because Baliger stumbled backwards and fell to the ground holding his stomach. There was a brief flash of white as the torch got whipped around and then dropped to the floor, shadows twisting and convulsing along the walls of the hallway and then freezing still in long, dark strokes when it stopped rolling.

As he had hoped, Piltrim and Suisel glued their backs to the wall to get as far away from him as possible. With the poor lighting they probably thought that he had managed to get his restraints off and had attacked using his claws or something. He had to move before they realized he was completely defenseless now. The shard had shattered to pieces when he stabbed Baliger with it. He could only pray enough of it got lodged in Baliger’s flesh to keep him writhing on the floor.

There was a figure standing in the middle of the hall a little further away, the light not quite reaching them. The mystery person. And they didn’t seem at all shaken by what had just happened before them, giving no sign of whether they intended to withdraw or come at him. Which meant Luric would have to push past them to get out. It was risky, but he had no choice.

Luric sprinted, rushing straight towards the figure. If he could gain enough momentum he might be able to intimidate the person into moving out of his way, or he could trick them into thinking he was about to ram into them, and then, at the last second, plunge into the space between them and the wall. He’d decide when he got there.

Not even four steps into his run he felt something grab his ankle, making him lose his footing, and fall face-first to the hard floor. When he turned to look behind him he saw Baliger’s face grimace back at him.

Kick it! he immediately thought. Kick his fucking teeth in!

Luric drew his right knee up, prepared to punt the ugly bastard right in the nose, but Baliger raised his other arm and grabbed his right leg too. He tried to wrench himself free, only Baliger’s hold was firm and painful. Without letting go, Baliger got up on his knees, grunting and swearing, then dragged Luric’s body underneath him. There was no blood on his tunic. The stab had done no real damage.

I should’ve gone for his throat!

Baliger braced one large hand against Luric’s neck, not really tightening, but letting his entire weight push down on his windpipe. Luric looked up at him, trying desperately to hit Baliger’s face, his neck, his armpit, any soft, vulnerable place he could reach, but with the thick leather bag constricting his movement the only thing he could manage were weak, dull punches against his chest that resonated pathetically in the hall. The right side of Baliger’s face was glowing from the light of the discarded torch, blotches of red marring his cheeks and forehead. He was staring down at him like a mad man, eyes large with fury, the whites visible even in the darkness. He curled his lips back in a fierce snarl, revealing his crooked, broken teeth. Luric had seen drawings of demons before, and none had come close to what was before him now.

I’m supposed to be something worse than this?

“Ya think ya so smart, ya little shit!? Think ya got me, huh!?” Baliger growled.

Luric had been so focused on Baliger’s face that he hadn’t notice the fist looming above it until it hit and smashed his head against the floor. There was no pain at first; the punch hadn’t made him lose consciousness, but it must’ve have knocked his senses out of whack because for a few moments white was all he saw, heard, and felt. But the pain inevitably came, and the lack of air made him see everything through a thick haze he just couldn’t shake off. He was about to pass out.

Maybe it was better this way. If there was no longer a way for him to escape, then maybe he should at least not be awake when they killed him. He could just silently slip away into the darkness now, instead of kicking, screaming and crying at his captors. He wouldn’t have to see them drag him around the square, all of them mumbling, judging and rejoicing as they witnessed his death. People he’d grown up around. Who he’d known all his life. Who he had talked with, shared meals with, and had done chores for in order to get them to like him a little. They hadn’t been forgiving to his kind Mrs. Carshtin, so Luric should not expect any mercy for him. The townsfolk had always been mistrustful of him; the strange, sickly looking orphan that lived at school. And now they finally found their reason to get rid of him.

No, he wanted to be awake. Through all of it. To watch them as they watched him die. And if there really was something in him that could leave behind a curse, then he hoped with every fiber of his being that it was listening, because Luric wished them all the misery and heartache in the world. It was only fair.

He started struggling again, and put the last remnants of his strength and energy into thumping his fists against Baliger’s face. One black eye, that was all he was asking for. But his feeble flailing only pissed off Baliger even more, and his face somehow managed to distort further into grotesque fury. He raised his fist to strike Luric again, and this time Luric knew - knew from the way Baliger coiled his arm all the way back, to the way he balled up his hand so tightly that he could practically hear his skin creak, to the way he was shaking with anticipation - that he wasn’t going to survive this. Even if the force of this punch wasn’t going to splatter his brains all over the floor, Baliger was going to hit and hit until there would be nothing left of his head. He had seen what this man did with his pigs.

So much for cursing them to their faces. He wished he could do it from here, but right now he couldn’t even scrunch up enough malice to wish frog warts on them, because what he felt as he stared up at the large, fat fist that was about to end him was tired, defeated and sad.

He saw the fist twitch, and Luric closed his eyes.

Please, just let one be enough!

But the hit never came.

Luric felt Baliger’s body shake, and go suddenly still. He heard him give a disgruntled cry.

“Wha -?”

Luric opened his eyes. Above him he saw Baliger’s upper body twisted upwards, no longer facing him, head turned to look up at … a man. A man Luric didn’t recognize, but then again, he couldn’t get a good look at him from his position. He was standing right next to his head and towering over Baliger, who was blocking most of his view of the stranger. The figure from before?

Luric gazed up along the line of the long, black coat of the man, all the way up to his shoulders where his dark shape blended with the shadows on the ceiling. He followed it to the black-clad arm that had sprouted from his coat and was now gripping Baliger’s fist and keeping it in place.

A harsh, hoarse voice spoke.“What do you think you’re doing?”

Before Baliger could answer, another arm shot out, grabbed Baliger by the back of his tunic, hauled him up and tossed him out view so suddenly it took a moment for Luric to register the change in scenery. He barely had time to appreciate being able to breathe again, before the man turned and bend over him. He was now staring at an unfamiliar long, pale, hollow cheeked face scowling down at him.

The man gave him a brief one over as if to assess the damage and then spoke again, just as harshly. “You’ll live.”

He saw an open palm descend on him and Luric closed his eyes again, but all he felt was the stranger’s fingers close around the front of shirt, grabbing a handful, and then hoist him up on his feet. From the corner of his eyes he caught Baliger’s form crumbled on the ground, staring bewilderingly up at them.

“Can you walk?” the man asked.

Luric didn’t know; he couldn’t test the strength in his own legs because the stranger was still holding him up by the shirt, so high that his toes were barely touching the ground. Even slightly bent as he was now, the man still looked about twice Luric’s size, and Luric wasn’t short for his age. All he could do was stare at him, too afraid to move.

The man’s frown deepened as he then lowered his head to have a better look at Luric’s face. He groaned at the sight of the gag, and with one fast, sudden movement ripped it off. But Luric still couldn’t talk; the cloth had been lodged so tightly and so far down his throat he wouldn’t be able to get it out without the use of his hands. The stranger looked at him again, sneered, and shoved his fingers in Luric’s mouth to take out the material. As he felt it slide out he heard Piltrim’s panicked words. “Sir! You sh-shouldn’t!”

“Shouldn’t what?” came the gruff response. The man held the cloth between his thumb and forefinger, and looked at it in disgust. “What is this?”

A second of confused silence and then Piltrim spoke again “Priest Santr said it was to keep‘im from turning.”

“And how in the fuck is a scrap of cloth supposed to do that?”

“It had holy water, Sir.”

The man shook his head and casually threw the piece of cloth at Piltrim, who recoiled as if burned.

“Backwater morons,” he heard the man grumble. And then all his attention was back on Luric. “Can you talk, boy?”

Luric had been coughing and massaging his sore jaw, not sure if he could still feel and move his tongue, so all he could manage at that moment for an answer was “Ah-uh…”

The stranger just shrugged. “Good enough.” And then grabbed him by the scruff roughlyand started pushing him.

Luric was so dizzy he couldn’t tell which direction they were heading. Did the man plan on throwing him back in the cellar? Everything was going by in a dark blur, and if it hadn’t been for the hold on his neck he probably would’ve tumbled over. Hurried steps along the hallway, up a short flight of stairs quickly, a shove, and then daylight hit him in the face.

After two days of darkness, even the gentle late afternoon sunlight illuminating the nave of the prayhouse was enough to hurt Luric’s eyes, and he needed a few seconds to clear his sight.

The first thing he noticed after he blinked the tears away was that the house was full of people, and everyone was staring at him. The second thing the noticed was that the crowd was very distinctly split into two groups. On the right side, standing almost in a huddle towards the center of the prayhouse and gaping horrified at him were the townsfolk. On the left, closer to the entrance, were several other strange men, all dressed with the same black cloak the man behind was wearing. The third thing he noticed was…..

Blue.

A brilliant, bright blue, such as he had never seen before in all his life. Not on the petals of field flowers, not on expensive paintings in the merchants’ houses. He was so taken aback by the intensity of the color that at first, he didn’t even realize what it was that he was looking at. Or who he was looking at.

The color belonged to a long mantle that was hanging off of the shoulders of a tall, slim figure. On top of those shoulders glimmered a crown of golden locks brought up in a fancy-looking bun like he’d seen in pictures of city ladies. Girls around here sometimes tried to imitate the style, but to him they always looked as if they were wearing nesting hens on their heads. Nothing like the neat, dignified twirl of clean, glistening tresses he was seeing now. The woman had her back to them, and she seemed to be studying the chipped-off murals on the wall in front of her.

The man behind him spoke. “I brought him, my lady.”

The woman - no, lady - finally turned. She wasn’t young - well past marrying age - but she was still the most beautiful person he had ever seen. Two long ringlets of hair were flowing down her temple and brushing against pale, defined cheekbones. Her features were sharp, but there was a delicateness to them that somehow made her seem both dainty as well as imposing. She had a long, straight nose, and her brow was decorated with thin, arched eyebrows. Her chin was pointy and slightly protruding forward, and her lips were a peach colored line that was barely visible on her otherwise ghostly white skin. But her eyes were large and round, soft with kindness and understanding when she looked at him.

That, most of all, shook Luric to the very core, and for some reason, felt the need to latch onto her like a lifeline. But he didn’t know her. He didn’t know any of these people. The only people he knew were the ones on the right side of the room, and they all wanted him dead. Who were they? What was going on?

The woman tooks a few steps towards him, but stopped when Chief Slatrim’s voice blared through the room.

“Careful, m’lady! We roughed’im up well, but he may still be dangerous.” He extracted himself from the group of cowering people reluctantly, but mindful not to get too close to either the lady or Luric.

Without taking her eyes of him, the lady answered the magistrate. “Yes, I can see you did quite a number on this poor boy.”

“This ain’t no poor boy, m’lady. It’s the demon child we told you about. Shulffa’s fuckin’ spawn, right here in our town. Pardon my language.”

She did turn to look at him at that. Not just at Chief Slatrim, but at all of them. And then she turned back to Luric for a brief second, before raising her eyes to address the man standing behind him in a stern, commanding voice. “Take off the shackles.”

Shocked murmurs broke out among the townsfolk, men, women and children shifting frantically and looking at each other in worry. Chief spoke again.

“I-is that wise, my lady?”

“Fear not. These gentlemen I have with me are the most experienced warriors when it comes to dealing with a Blighted.”

“Blighted?”

She turned back to the magistrate, and smiled at him. Coldly. Luric couldn’t help but feel that she was subtlety mocking him.

“It’s what people like him are called in our profession.”

“But - I don’t understand. He ain’t people. That’s a monster.”

The lady just stared at him quietly until Chief Slatrim started to look uncomfortable and averted his gaze, as if he was ashamed of something.

Slatrim had been town magistrate since long before Luric had been born. A single-minded and inflexible old man that held the entire town in his firm grip. He was unusually short and skinny for a north-born, with ashen skin that reminded Luric of dried up tree bark, thin grey-white hair, and small, beady eyes that were only really visible underneath those heavy wrinkled eyelids when they lit up in anger. To Luric, he had always looked ill and weak, but what he may have lacked in physical capability he more than made up for in fierceness and fortitude. Luric had seen hunters and wood men that could have picked him up with one hand cower before this stern gaze and admonition.

There weren’t many people in Runrick that would stand up to him, and only Priest Santr and the head-merchant Olvic had the power to sway his mind. Like when Slatrim wanted to close down their school because he saw no reason for Runrick's children to waste their time on being taught things they’d have no real use for, like reading and studying numbers, instead of helping their own parents around the household and learning the family trade. Mr. Carshtin had vehemently opposed him, but it had been Priest Santr’s argument that everyone should have the privilege to read Baar’s book whenever they wished, and Olvic’s reasoning that it would help with collecting taxes correctly, that ultimately settled the matter. But he had never forgiven the teacher for his public opposition, and the consequences of getting on the magistrate’s bad side had been dire. There was no doubt in his mind that Chief Slatrim had a hand in Mr. Carshtin’s death.

But the person Chief Slatrim was facing now wasn’t someone he could intimidate, and it was obvious he wasn’t used to dealing with people that were above his station and demanded humility from him. The lady was clearly a noble. Everything about her, from her fine clothes, to her poise, to her mannerism spoke of the power and wealth of the midland and southern provinces, possibly even the capital, and that alone was enough to make any small town lowborn bow their head. The group of armed men hovering protectively around her probably helped too.

It was obvious to everyone in the room that she was the one in charge here.

But Slatrim was nothing if not persistent, and he wouldn’t back down so easily.

“Forgive us, m ’lady. We have thrown away the key. We wanted to make sure there was no way for him to get out and he was supposed to remain with those until we were sure he was dead. For the safety of my people.”

Another long, uncomfortable pause.

“I see. How very cautious of you.” And then she turned back to Luric and her smile took on a hint of mischievousness. “Mr. Visloc? If you please.”

A surprised grunt came from behind him. “What? Now? Here?”

“If it’s not too much trouble.”

The way the hand on his nape tightened momentarily made Luric think that the lady’s words were merely a courtesy rather than an option for the man. The man - Mr. Visloc? - grumbled, and he could’ve sworn he heard the word “bitch” somewhere in there, before he stepped around and turned to face him. He was standing so close that the width of his chest filled up Luric’s entire view. He was hunching over slightly with his back to their audience, almost as if he wanted to shield Luric from their scrutiny with the size of his body alone. Luric stood completely immersed in the man’s shadow. He gathered his courage and raised his eyes to get his first good look at him.

The man looked even scarier in the light than it did when darkness had muddled his features. He was the tallest man he had ever seen, and Luric had lived all his life around tall and big-boned people. But it wasn’t his size that Luric found most unsettling. Everything about him seemed somehow elongated, including his face. It was long and drawn-out, with deep hollow cheeks and a prominent hook nose. There were deep wrinkles around his mouth, and the way his lips were drawn up in displeasure made it very clear that those weren’t laugh lines. Thin, greasy tendrils of mud-colored hair were hanging around his face and off his shoulders in a disarranged fashion. What struck Luric the most, however, were the man’s brows, or more precisely, his lack of eyebrows; what he had instead was a protruding brow ridge that seemed to be etched in a permanent scowl. He had never seen a person without eyebrows before, and it made the man’s already alien-looking visage even more frightening. Inhuman, was the word that came to mind, but he tried to will it, and what else it implied, away. Underneath the heavily furrowed brow were two large eyes, each dotted with strangely small irises; like little black pinpricks that fixed him in place with the intensity of their stare. Eyes like that would usually hint at an unstable mind, but despite everything, the man didn’t strike Luric as mad. Just really angry, and that was only marginally better.

“You better keep quiet, you hear,” the man growled and then hunched even more, raising his shoulders slightly and dipping his head further. Suddenly Luric got the impression that rather than trying to cover him, the man was trying to shrink and hide himself behind his own mantle.

And then he felt a rumble.

Where exactly it was coming from he couldn’t tell, but his body responded regardless. An unexpected agitation rose up inside of him and he started shaking violently, breath caught in his throat. He knew now what this was. Luric had yet to come to terms with it, and as much as he believed he didn’t deserve to die because of it, he at least accepted that there really was something wrong with him. Something wrong in him. It always started in the pit of his stomach and spread from there uncontrollably all over inside his chest, radiating outwards until he felt it in the tips of his fingers. Sometimes even further than that. The last time he had felt like this was right before they found him. He had been hiding behind a pile of logs when he sensed the townsfolk surrounding him, and the closer they came, the stronger the sensation got. Instincts he couldn’t quite understand or control were warning him then, and they were warning him now too.

He had to get away from this person at all cost, but before he could dart backwards two large hands clamped around the cuffs, and he froze. Large, as in larger than they had been before. And way whiter than they were supposed to be. They looked corpse pale, with bulging blue veins snaking towards and between large knuckles. The fingers were so long he could have sworn they had one too many joints now.

And that wasn’t the worst of it. He felt something shift above him, a movement his awareness deemed so unnatural it made his skin crawl. Without looking, he knew the man was still hunching over him, and had not moved a single muscle, and yet there he was, somehow rising further in height. He kept his eyes glued to the hands, too afraid to witness whatever it was that was happening over his head. With his vision pointed downwards, he caught sight of the edge of the man’s shadow moving, its girth growing in size. The man was turning. Into what, he didn’t know, and didn’t want to know. If this was how they decided to have him killed, he’d rather not have his last image in life be that of a grotesque monstrosity.

Unlike with Baliger, he didn’t even attempt to struggle against this, and closed his eyes for the second time in frightened resignation, waiting for whatever it was that was about to happen to be over.

“Oh, will you stop being so god-dammed dramatic.”

The voice still sounded the same. Still deep and hoarse and human. That was somewhat reassuring. But before he could start mulling over the meaning of the man’s words, a loud sound pierced the silence. A powerful crack, and then he felt cold pressure around his wrists. Maybe the man had broken his arms and the pain had yet to reach. But what followed wasn’t pain. Instead, he felt a gradual warmth replacing the clammy coldness, and a series of small metallic clings resonated as pieces of something were hitting the floor around his feet.

He opened his eyes.

The hands were back to normal. Still large, still dirty and calloused, but normal. The warmth was coming from the man’s palms that were now wrapped directly around his skin. Laying in pieces on the ground were his shackles. The man then gripped the sides of the leather bag tied around Luric’s hands, and in one try, ripped the material in half.

Luric stared at his bruised and swollen limbs in amazement.

The man – Mr. Visloc - straightened and turned around to reveal Luric’s form to the lady.

“Happy?” he grunted in annoyance.

She only smiled in return.

“Oh, mother’s love, why would they do that?” a woman wailed. Mrs. Lasre, the butcher’s wife?

The sight of him out and unbound had sent the townsfolk in a frenzy, some running to stand closer to Baar’s shrine, others making a start towards the exit, but stopping when they realized that the lady and her group of men were standing between them and the door. Luric would’ve been lying if he said that he didn’t get any satisfaction from watching them shake and whimper pathetically like that. His eyes didn’t linger on them for long, and instead were drawn back to the lady’s dazzling figure.

She was watching them too, her head slightly turned in their direction, glancing at them from the corner of her eyes. She seemed to take some delight in their discomfort as well. When her eyes glided back to look at him her smile widened; he felt like they were sharing a private joke.

It was Priest Santr’s turn now to disentangle himself from the gaggle of squirming people. He stepped forward boldly, back stiff and head held high, all the while throwing a steely glare in Luric’s direction.

“Please forgive us, my lady. We are a community of poor and simple mountain people. We are so often at the mercy of the forest and the darkness that dwells within it, and with only our faith and this house to serve as protection. The king’s well-meaning oversight seldom reaches us, and we are often left to fend for ourselves. I had heard from my brethren in Pelase about an official decree to inform the prelacy of any apparitions and cursed men, and I did send a letter a few days ago when the boy’s true nature revealed itself. We just didn’t expect to receive any help so soon and chose to take matters into our own hands so no more of our people could fall victim to him. This is …the only way we know how.”

“And just how many have fallen victim to him?”

The lady’s prompt and dispassionate reaction to his little hardship tale left the priest a little flustered, and he paused for a moment to consider her question. He licked his lips nervously and stuttered a reply.

“There was – well, that is - he hasn’t yet, uhm - oh, Carshtin! He-he killed the teacher. The man that raised him, accepted him as family, was eaten by this wretched creature.”

“LIAR!”

It felt like he had made the very walls shake with the force of his outburst, but he knew that it was just his own flesh that was trembling in uncontrolled rage. Something was rising in his chest again, but this was a familiar sensation that he recognized and understood well. And it was human. He had been living with muted anger lingering in the depths of his soul for years, occasionally lapping at the edges of his consciousness when things got bad, but he always tried to snuff it before it could consume his mind. Mr. Carshtin had always told him a clear and calm head was what separated them from the brutes that always picked on him, so he tried to live by his guardian’s rule. Also, when you’re small and weak you can’t afford to act up whenever you want. Stay quiet, stay alive. But staying alive was off the table now, so what use did he have now for impulse control?

It was just too much. The pain, the fear, the cruelty, the unapologetic unfairness wrought upon him by these people, and now hearing this out-right brazen lie accompanied by murmurs of agreement whispered behind the priest. Did they expect him to say nothing? To stand by quietly and docile, as they spouted their self-serving bullshit? Not this time. This time he’d let the flames run rampant through him, because Luric didn’t care anymore about how all of this would end for him. This entire miserable debacle had been an unending lineup of agony and despair, and every time anything that gave him hope presented itself, it was quickly followed by a blow that left him reeling in disillusionment. Like these strange people that took off his restraints and smiled kindly at him.

They were sent by the clergy, or some other high and important people, but apparently, they were executioners too. They just had nicer clothes. This meant that it didn’t matter what he said, how he said it, or if it was true or not. His fate was already decided. Luric couldn’t keep the bile raging inside from spilling out anymore, so he might as well have this one final moment of catharsis.

Every eye was on him now, and he met their frozen stares with fearless accusation.

“You fucking liars! How dare you!? You killed him! All of you! You beat him! An defenseless man! Then left him bedridden, and abandoned him to die alone and in pain.” With every blared word in their direction, he saw them draw back in terror more and more, as if being the target of his verbal barrage alone was dangerous. He enjoyed watching them squirm. It was the least they deserved. He couldn’t hurt them with his claws and fangs, but he would settled for seeing them piss themselves like this.

He then turned to the lady in blue, eyes wide with desperation. For some reason he wanted for her to know his side of the story, regardless of what she intended to do with him.

“All I did was scratch someone. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t know I could - that I had these… They were pushing me around and I got angry. But it was an accident, alright?! I didn’t know I could – change . But they didn’t care, so I ran into the woods to hide. They told Mr. Carshtin they would help him look for me, but they only wanted to lure him away from the town to beat him up. They told everyone I was the one that attacked him, and no one came to tend to his wounds because they all thought I had cursed him too. Chief Slatrim and Priest Santr! They killed him! They hated our teacher because he wasn’t as stupid as them, and people started to want to listen to him more than them.”

Luric was breathing hard now. He had poured every ounce of his anguish filled heart into his outburst, and the ferocity of his cry had rendered his abused throat raw with pain. He felt liquid build up in the back of it and wondered if he had somehow managed to rip something inside that was now bleeding. But he wasn’t done. He wanted to continue yelling at them, to have them cower before his fury. To make sure they would have nightmares about him for the rest of their lives.

That’s right, I need to place a curse on them!

He had no idea of how it worked, but he was pretty sure that they didn’t either. If he told them that he had placed a curse on them, they’d believe him, and he’d leave this world knowing that they’d fret and agonize over what great misfortune would befall on them because of him. And it would, regardless of whether he had these powers or not. It was only a matter of time until something terrible would happen, because life around these parts was harsh and bleak. Some sort of disease, a landslide, a long and devastating winter that would take many lives; he had lived through trying times himself in his twelve years and he had seen how people reacted. They would think it was Luric’s vengeance damning them. They would think they had make a mistake in killing him, that they should have left him alone instead, and they would blame Slatrim and Santr for bringing this upon them. That thought alone gave him some comfort.

He fixed them with the most hate-filled glare he could muster, and though it hurt to talk he drew in a deep breath and pushed the words forward.

“I hope you all will get to feel the same pain that you’ve caused me. No, I want you to experience it tenfold. To have everything taken from you, to be beaten down and spit on, and have no one to come help you. You idiotic, heartless bastards.” They were writhing and whimpering - he could even hear someone sobbing - and a desperate plea for someone to stop him from continuing. It only spurred him on. “May the rest of your pathetic, miserable lives to be filled with only agony and rotten luck. Oh yeah, and death too.” He finished with a bitter grin. “It’s only fair.”

He hadn’t felt so exhilarated in forever, the satisfying thrill washing over him and leaving his skin tingling. He didn’t want it to be over. He deserved more of this. It wasn’t just about what they’d done to him these past few days, they had treated him like crap all his life.

Orphans were outcasts, touched by misfortune from birth, and no one really wanted them around. Especially the unfriendly, pale little boy that fell ill so often. Years of pent up frustration couldn’t be compiled into a few spiteful words; he had opened the floodgates, and the discharge felt amazing. What else should he say? What was the worst thing he could tell them? Oh, yeah!

“May Shulffa’s eyes be forever on you, her talons picking at your threads, your tears her nourishme- ”

Something hit him in the head, hard and loud, and he tumbled backwards landing on his behind. Bright pain flared sharply at the side of his temple where the object had struck, making his eyes tear up behind tightly shut lids. Had Mr. Visloc punched him to make him shut up? When he opened his eyes he saw the tall man look down at him in surprise and the whip his head in the direction of the townspeople. Next to his feet was a small rock, just barely larger than a pebble, round and dull, but it had been thrown with such a force that he thought it might have left a dent in his scalp. He sat there, a hand on his throbbing head, looking at the rock, stunned.

And just like that, all his momentum fizzled out and disappeared, leaving behind a state of utter bewilderment. He could already feel it slowly being replaced back with the dread of his impending doom that he had come to know so well these past few days, and it brought with it tears of shock and crippling fear. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry, not yet…. He couldn’t afford to look pathetic now, lest it take away from the impact he hoped his words had had on them.

It was out of sheer curiosity that he looked to see who had thrown the rock. A boy around his age had emerged from the huddle and was glaring at him.

He should have known. Who else could it have been, aside from Runrick's brave little champion?

True to his self-proclaimed righteousness, Buck stood imposingly between him and the people he had come forth to protect. His face was set in a grim and confident expression, slightly upturned to stare him down, but the wideness of his eyes betrayed the courage he was trying to exude with all of his body. Nevertheless, he had come far closer to him than either Chief Slatrim or Priest Santr had dared.

Whatever Luric thought about the boy's obnoxious sense of self-worth and his childish dreams of gallantry and heroism, Buck at least did all he could to live up to them. He was everything Luric was not. Spirited, hardy, overly passionate, but in a way that most found charming instead of annoying. His antics were tolerated, and even applauded, because he was an amusing and honest kid. And he was brave.

Last year, he had illicitly participated in Suin’s trial, a contest meant only for the young men of Runrick as a rite of passage into manhood. Buck had jumped in the ice-cold waters of the recently defrosted lake before anyone was able to stop him, but then had swum faster and surer than any of the older boys, and won. He was the one to retrieve the wooden sword and bring it back to Priest Santr. His face and behind got slapped thoroughly for his insolence, and he was made to stand there in the cold late winter air, wet and naked, while they tossed Suin’s sword in the lake again and until one of the young men brought it back. He hadn’t been as fast as Buck, though.

His parents, the priest, Chief Slatrim, and other grown-ups, all had severely chastised him, but Luric had also heard them praise him under their breath. A child had to be disciplined, be respectful of his elders, but boldness was an admirable trait if it was backed up by strength and skill. Luric had looked at Buck while he had been standing there, freezing and bruised, and noticed that the self-satisfied smile never left his lips, even as they were turning blue from the cold. He was cocky. Buck never backed down from a challenge and could hold his own in a schoolyard fight. He had all the makings of a fine northerner, and would grow up to be a great man. All the adults said so. Even his parents had given him a name that preordained how he would turn out: Buckcrown. It suited him well, even if it was a little old-fashioned and presumptuous.

In a way, Luric looked up to him as much as he resented him. He was funny and fun to be around, and everybody wanted to be his friend. Luric was no exception. But Buck and his friends barely knew he existed.

He would often look forlornly at their hassle and horseplay in the schoolyard, trying to convince himself that he didn’t want to be asked to join in. He’d pretend to read his book at the base of the large beech tree, but he’d glimpse at the other kids more often than not.

He and the other orphans didn’t fit in so well, even though the school was technically their home. Mr. Carshtin never differentiated between his wards and the other kids during learning hours; everyone was his student then. Being a little friendlier with the host would’ve been a nice courtesy, Luric often thought sourly. And unless a serious fight broke out, Mr. Carshtin never intervened in the children’s dealings. He gave advice, he encouraged you, but he wanted you to learn to deal with your peers on your own. That was his way. Which is why Luric also never went to Mr. Carshtin when someone was picking on him. Izver, usually.

There were plenty of kids that were mean to him, but Izver was his only real bully; a brash, impetuous brute that tried a lot to be like Buck, only he was completely unlikeable. If you didn’t look too closely, Buck and Izver might appear to be best friends, always together, with the same ideas and attitude, but Luric did look closer and therefore knew better. Izver was jealous of Buck. Under the guise of camaraderie, Izver would always challenge Buck to games that pitted one against the other. He rarely won. And every time he failed to match up to his rival, Izver looked for someone to take out his anger on.

Luric wasn’t his favorite target, but he went after him often enough. Luric would sometimes even provoke him, because Izver’s favorite target was Sivale. Sivale was an orphan like him; a meek and gentle boy that never did anything to deserve anyone’s ire. He might even consider Sivale his best friend of sorts, even though he knew they hung out together mostly because no one else would. Outcasts of a feather.

And Luric could run. When he was in good health, Luric was a fast runner. Faster than Izver in any case, maybe even faster than Buck. One of the few times Buck had talked to him was when he had literally run Izver ragged around town chasing after him; Luric had thrown a mud ball at his face to get him to back off of Sivale. Buck had complimented him for his speed and for sticking up for his friend. As much as he was ashamed to admit it, it was one of the best moments of his life. Buck noticing him and praising him. He went on to imagine getting closer to Buck, maybe even challenging him to a race. If he won, he might win Buck’s respect too. Or even his friendship. He might become friends with the other kids as well.

Luric fancied himself a cerebral loner, who didn’t need the companionship of rowdy brats, but one lousy compliment had turned him into a giddy, hopeful fool.

Come to think of it, this was how it all began. Trying to get Buck’s attention again. Weeks went by and nothing changed. Luric was still sitting alone at the base of the tree, Buck running around completely oblivious to his existence. It was painful, having all his hopes shattered like that. If he had only known how much worse things could be, he would’ve stayed put under that tree. But no one could’ve foreseen the turn of events, so he made the wrong decision. Luric put his book down, walked out of the shadows and into the center of the schoolyard.

He was feeling great that day. In fact, he had been unusually energetic for a while now. Maybe he was finally growing out of those strange bouts of weakness that struck him so often. He was heading for Buck, who had stopped running to look at him as he approached. Luric was finally going to issue the challenge, race him, and win. And then everything would change for the better. He was certain of it.

But before he could even raise his hand in greeting, a violent push from behind sent him flying.

Most were already giggling by the time he removed his face from the dirt. When he turned around he saw Izver. “What ya think ya doin’, ya little sheep shit?! Go back t’ya tree!” And that’s what he should’ve done. Kept his mouth shut, and left. What he did instead was shoot up to his feet, and push Izver back, hard.

Izver was a little shorter than him, but broader, sturdier. Imagine his surprise when he saw Izver actually stumble backwards until he fell just as gracelessly. This time they all gasped, including Izver. Then the giggling started, and Izver face turned red from rage.

“Ya gonna pay for that, Lulu!”

Gods, he hated that nickname. He was going to make Izver regret calling him that. He was going to make him regret everything he ever did to him. Luric was done running away, done with staying quiet and hidden because people were uncomfortable around him. What had he ever done besides get abandoned as a baby and then be sick all the time? None of that was his fault. Izver was mean and rude and stupid, yet he had more friends than him, had better clothes than him, had a real home and parents that loved him despite his ugly, bloated mug.

It’s not fair!

Izver got up to his feet and rushed him. He knocked into Luric and both went tumbling down. It occurred very late to Luric that he had no idea how to fight, and Izver was always in one skirmish or another. He was also heavier, so Luric couldn’t push him off. All he could do was bring up his forearms to shield himself from the onslaught of random punches Izver was blindly throwing at him. When he got tired of that, he grabbed Luric by the hair and started shaking.

Luric didn’t know what to do. Between the pain and the fear and the shame he had no time to think of a way to escape. If he tried to hit Izver back he’d leave his face wide open for his punches. What if he lost an eye? He wouldn’t be able to read anymore.

Izver started pulling even harder, dragged him by the hair until his upper back arched away from the ground. He was being held up by his hair alone, and it felt like the skin on his head was peeling off. It was too painful, and he instinctively lowered his left arm to brace his elbow on the ground in order to support his own weight and relieve some of the tension; his right hand clutched Izver by the arm that was pulling him. And then Izver slapped him. Not a punch, a slap.

It was strange; a slap didn’t have the strength and damage potential a punch did, yet there was something about the impact of an open palm against his cheek, and the sharp, burning, stinging imprint it left behind, that made Luric feel it more acutely than the dull, throbbing pain of a punch. He hated getting slapped. There was something inherently humiliating about a slap. He even found the sound of it vulgar and infuriating. No matter the circumstance or how well-deserved it was, a slap always made his stomach burn with indignation. And this time was no different.

Izver didn’t stop at one, though. He was no longer interested in inflicting physical pain. He wanted to taunt now. He slapped Luric again.

“What was that?”

Slap!

“Ya wanna say somethin’?”

Slap!

“Go on, whoreson, I’m listening.”

Slap!

“Though, for ya sake, it better be an apology.”

Slap! Slap! Slap!

Insult to injury, tears of frustration were starting to well up in Luric’s eyes, and he couldn’t stop it. Izver’s grin widened at the sight of them.

“Awww, what’s the matter? Thought ya were supposed to be brave now.”

Slap!

“Go on, say something!”

Luric wanted to call him a wretched pile of dung and then spit in his face, but he also wanted this to be over. If he laid there quietly, Izver would eventually get bored of him. But he was not going to apologize. Never. And Izver wasn’t letting up so easily.

“Say you’re sorry!”

SLAP!

“Say you’re sorry!”

SLAP!

“Say you’re sorry!”

SLAP!

The acid in his stomach burned and then spread to his chest. He felt a strange shiver come over him, yet oddly enough, his body wasn’t trembling. It was like a vibration underneath his skin.

The muscle in his shoulders and upper arm tightened, and he then felt that tension run up his neck and in his jaw. Luric clenched his teeth so tightly he was afraid he was going to shatter them. For some reason, they felt bigger than before, his tongue also not quite fitting inside the cave of his mouth as neatly as it should. It made him draw his lips back.

That’s when he heard Izver scream.

He jumped off of him, ripping his wrist from Luric’s hold. He scurried away, face pale and eyes large with panic. Luric blinked in confusion, but took his chance and got up to his feet before Izver could recover from whatever had spooked him. That’s when he noticed Izver cradling his arm protectively to his chest; the arm that Izver had been holding him with.

Thin rivulets of red were flowing down from four identical and evenly spaced puncture marks. Right where Luric had been clutching him.

There’s no way I could’ve done that, he had thought while raising his right arm to look at his fingers. He couldn’t have the strength to get his blunt fingernail -

They were sharp.

They were long.

As were the fingers.

And the span of his palm.

This wasn’t his hand.

But it seemed to be attached to his arm that was attached to his shoulder that belonged to his torso. He tried to get his fingers to move a little, and sure enough, the hand before him complied. But there was a disconnection between what he was seeing and what he was feeling. This isn’t mine. This isn’t me. He grabbed it with his left arm, almost as if this was a costume glove and he wanted to tear it off. The left hand wasn’t his either. Same sharp nails, same long fingers.

“M-Monster. MONSTER!” yelled Izver.

What? Where?, was Luric’s first thought, but Izver was looking only at him. He turned around. Someone had to help him. Someone had to go get Mr. Carshtin.

The kids that had gathered around all flew backwards in fright when Luric turned to them. Some screamed, some ran away, but most where just standing there, looking at him with the same terrified expression Izver had.

Wha- did something happen to my face too? When when he tried to speak his teeth got in the way, and what came out was a spit filled gurgle that scared even him.

He brought up those hands that weren’t his to his face to feel around his mouth and found there teeth that weren’t his. He had been right, they were bigger. And sharp. Fangs? WHAT HAPPENED TO ME?, was what he meant to yell, but an inhuman wail was what he heard.

And then.

“Auntie was right,” someone said breathlessly. Luric looked up to see Buck staring at him. He had come a little closer now, standing between him and the other sniffling, whimpering kids. His face showed the same kind of terror the others were wearing, but his eyes held a shine of fascination as they ran over his changed features. But it was his next words that broke Luric.

“Ya really are a cursed child of Shulffa. That’s why ya don’t have any parents.”

A cursed child. A bastard of Shulffa. That couldn’t be right. No! He wasn’t. But then how could he explain this? Was this really the reason he had been abandoned? Or did he even have real parents to begin with? Didn’t he read that monsters were spawned from darkness? Or were those the shadow critters he was thinking of? He couldn’t remember. He read so many books about legends and lore and mythical monsters, and his mind was reeling. But there was something he did remember clearly, and that was what people did when they came across someone like this.

When he heard one of the kids yell for help, he ran.

He ran, and ran, and ran.

Then he hid.

Then cried until he fell asleep.

The next day, he heard them come for him. Heard Mr. Carshtin call his name. By the time he reached them, Mr. Carshtin was already on the ground, unconscious and bloody. He watched them carry him away from behind bushes, too much of a coward to do anything else.

He creeped back to his school and into Mr. Carshtin’s bedroom where he was lying alone and unattended to. Nobody came to care for him. Luric sat there helplessly and watched the life of the only person he had ever loved expire.

He had cried again, loudly and bitterly. That’s when they heard him. He ran again, but not far this time. He stood close to town, because he needed food and he didn’t know how to hunt. He stole an egg here, a loaf of bread there. He managed to evade them for a while, but eventually, they caught him.

And just like he remembered correctly from his books, sentenced him to death.

——————————————————————————————————————————————————————————-

He had finished telling his tale between sobs and hiccups, no longer caring what anybody thought of him. No, that was lie. He was ashamed to look at Buck. And the lady. He stared at his legs splayed before him. He hadn’t bothered to get up. Probably didn’t have any strength left for it anyway.

When the room grew quiet, he heard a girl’s voice whisper desperately to her parents. “Mother! Father! Make him take it back. Make him take back the curse”, before she started crying again. Ogette. She was Olvic’s daughter, and the prettiest girl in Runrick. She and Buck were also sweet on each other. Ah, so that’s why, he thought bemusedly. The hero had jumped in to protect his fair maiden. Classic Buck.

But he would never take back his words. Never!

As if on cue, Olvic’s voice boomed through the room. “Ya know how to do this proper, right m’lady? How to kill the beast and cleanse us of his curse?”

No, no, no. He wasn’t going let them get away that easily. This was all he had left. At least let them live on in fear. He was owed that much. “I’m not taking it back,” he said weakly, but knew everyone heard it just the same.

“There is nothing to take back, I’m afraid.” Luric looked up, and stared at the lady. There was a lightly mirthful expression on her face. “There is no curse here. Your kind can’t do that.”

What?

“Do you mean that, m’lady,” Priest Santr asked in a hopeful tone.

“It’s a popular misconception among the common people, but I assure you, Blighted can’t curse or infect other humans.”

The sound of relief he heard coming from the townsfolk cut him to the very core. So, he wouldn’t be granted even this tiny bit of vengeance. He lowered his head dejectedly and tried to tune out the merriment that followed the lady’s words. Everyone quieted down instantly, though, at what she said next.

“They can rip them to shreds, though.”

Luric blinked, not quite comprehending what she meant. The townspeople seemed equally confused.

“M’lady?”

But she wasn’t talking to them anymore. Instead she addressed the strange man standing next to Luric.

“So, what do you think, Mr. Visloc?”

Mr. Visloc shrugged. “I’d have to get a good look at his arsenal, but from what I’ve heard, it seems to be the usual. Claws. Fangs. Maybe a tail.” He then looked at him and smirked. “The boy got one hell of a thrashing before my very eyes, and I didn’t feel him turn. That’s always a good sign. It’ll be easier for him to learn control if he doesn’t change skin at the slightest provocation. Yeah, I can work with him.”

The lady brightened at that. “That’s wonderful!”

Wait, work with him?

“I don’t understand, m’lady.” Chief Slatrim came forward again.

Her smiled dimmed a little. “Of course, you don’t.” And then she did the last thing Luric expected to see. She extended her arm and called Luric to her in a kind, reassuring voice. “Come here, my child.”

Apparently he didn’t react fast enough, because the man picked him up by the scruff again and shoved him unceremoniously towards the lady. He stumbled and staggered his way to her, but stopped before he was within arm’s length of her.

He didn’t know how honest her invitation was. Either way, people like him weren’t supposed to get too close to a person of high status, blighted or not. But then she closed the distance herself, and placed a gentle hand on his head.

He froze at first. The only time he came in physical contact with somebody else these days was through a punch or a kick. He had forgotten what a caress felt like. For some reason, he felt like crying again. When she gave him an understanding look, the feeling got even stronger. She then reached around to lightly grab his shoulder so she could turn them both towards the townspeople that were staring at them, dumfounded.

“Allow me to explain,” she started. “I am Duchess Berjeen Archvel, Blood of the King, and the founder and head of His Majesty’s Institute of Occult Science and Affairs. The decree you mention was issued by His Majesty on my behalf. Our objective is to find individuals of … his nature, and employ them.”

There was too much to process at once. Where to start? She wasn’t just a noble, she was a duchess. She called herself Blood of the King; only those who were directly related to him were allowed to do that. He was standing next to royalty. And she founded an Institute of….Occult something? For…for people like him. To employ?

Did this mean -

“Ya not gonna kill ‘im, ma’am?”

That was Chief Slatrim asking the one question that really mattered, but Luric was too busy looking at the lady – Lady Archvel. He wondered when she was going to disappear and reveal that it had all been just trick of his mind. Or a dream. Because this couldn’t be real. He had lived with fear for his life for so many days, had seen his demise in his head over and over again, that her next words nearly shattered him.

“No. As I said, we want him to join us.”

“The monster?!”

“The Blighted,” she corrected.

A harsh murmur tinged with shock and disbelief erupted among the gathering. This wasn’t what they expected. This wasn’t what they were here for. This wasn’t what was supposed to be done.

“But - we thought you were here for- but, they’re not supposed to be allowed to live. Protector Baar says so! ” Chief Slatrim again, Priest Santr joining in to agree with him.

“Yes, we are devout followers of Baar and his teachings. He clearlys tell us to -”

This time Lady Archvel’s voice turned a little severe, as if she was losing her patience with them.

“I assure you, we have received approval from your spiritual leaders as well, and they have given us their blessing for this endeavor. If you do not wish to take my word for it, I will gladly bring you to stand before both the First Disciple of Baar and Our Majesty himself. You can voice your complaints to them in person, my esteemed gentlemen.”

Luric had never seen so many faces pale so fast. Chief Slatrim and Priest Santr’s in particular seemed to take on a light shade of blue.

“No, my lady, my duche - your highness, uhm, we were just - ”

The lady’s graciousness waned and her tone was sharp when she cut him off. “You should consider yourself fortunate that we got here when we did. Judging from the preparations outside, you were just getting ready for the execution. A highly barbaric one, I might add. I believe the decree clearly stated that you were not to take any action against a person you deemed unnatural, simply report your findings and then wait for official aid. Had you killed him without our consent, you would’ve been charged with disobedience of a direct order from the king.”

Now they were sweating instead. Priest Santr tried to defend himself one more time; behind him he saw Olvic grab him by the robe and whisper urgently through clenched teeth “Be quite, ya fool!” The priest pushed him away.

“I did read it carefully, Duchess Archvel. It also clearly stated that we were allowed to defend ourselves from it, and that killing was permissible if our lives were in danger. They were. He already killed one.”

Luric opened his mouth to throw that accusation back in his face, again, when he felt the Duchess’s hand tighten briefly. He got the message and kept quiet.

“That’s not what happened, according to him.”

And that’s when Chief Slatrim momentarily forgot to be humble and scared. “You believe Shulffa’s bastard instead of us?”

“You really don’t seem to understand,” her smile was back in place, but it was cold. “His life is worth more to our king and country than this entire town put together.”

Luric wished he had been clearheaded enough to think of looking at the others as this was being said. He wished he had seen the exact moment the Duchess’s words sank in. As it were, he was having difficulties wrapping his head around what was happening himself. He was still struggling with one notion.

I’m going to live.

Luric did look at them after a while. These were the people he had grown up with. He had helped Mrs. Bilbad around the house when she had broken her leg; he had been there with the other kids to dig out old man Pipperic when the snow had buried his little house all the way up to the ridge of his roof; he had helped Mr. Carshtin care for Gulvan and his family when they all came down with a strange fever, when even the doctor didn’t want to come close to their house out of fear of catching it; he ran errands for Mr. Likik, the butcher and Mr. Erd, the pharmacist, for the egglers and pie makers, and sometimes, even for Chief Slatrim himself. He did all of that in the hope that they might start liking him a little more and he could become a proper part of the community when he was older. But none of that had mattered.

Yet he had never felt more cut off from them as he did now, with him over here and all of them standing together at the other side of the prayhouse. And for the first time in his life, he didn’t mind it. Better yet, he liked it. On this side was the Duchess, and Mr. Visloc, and her other guards. This side had important, powerful people, far more important than Chief Slatrim or Priest Santr or the head-merchant Olivic could ever hope to be, and they wanted him to be a part of it. He stood above them and could, Luric realized now, look down on them.

“Well then, guess we will take our leave now. We have a train to catch in Pelase. We would’ve stayed a little longer to rest, but I think you made it quite clear that you don’t want this little boy around anymore, so we will take him off your hands sooner rather than later. Luric?” He turned to her startled. “Is there something you’d like to say to them before we go?”

Yes, so much. Or rather, he felt so much, but he couldn’t find the appropriate words to express them. Should he accuse? Should he deride? Should he mock them? Should he ask the lady to sic her guards on the townsfolk for what they did to Mr. Carshtin or would he be overstepping his bounds? There was too much going on in his head and heart; aside from bitterness, there was also this new sensation of relief and elation that was coming over him, and the contrasting emotions were leaving him a bit dazed. Afraid he was going to end up saying something frivolous or stupid, he just shook his head.

“Alright then.” The duchess then put her hands on his shoulders and turned them around towards the exit without so much as offering a nod in parting to the magistrate and the priest. Luric just let her lead him wherever she pleased. Two of her guards rushed to open the doors for them. A carriage was waiting outside. It was pristine, gleaming, heavily decorated and clean, and looked severely out of place in the mud- and shit-caked town square stretching behind it. There were other townspeople gathered around it, and even more loitering around near the middle of the square. They all stopped to look at them when they walked out of the prayhouse. That’s when Luric saw it; a large pile of dried up branches with a long wooden pillar jutting out of it. Ah, so this is how they were going to do it.

He had wondered about this, about how they had been planning on killing him. Deep down he had truly believed he wasn’t going to survive, even when he was fighting for his life.

He looked at his pyre, at the people that had gathered around it. Everybody had come to watch the show. First in line were Izver’s parents. When they saw him, they started yelling. “Bring’im here! Let us light it. For our son, to cleanse him of his poison!” The crowd was cheering. They cheered, and they roared, and they hurled insults at him. Behind him, he could hear Chief Slatrim and Priest Santr trying to get them to stop, but they were still inside the prayhouse so no one else could hear them.

That was alright; Luric could bring the rest of the town up to speed.

“IF YOU WANT TO SEE SOMEONE BURN GO AHEAD AND LIGHT YOUR OWN ASSES ON FIRE BECAUSE I’M NOT DYING TODAY!”

He was going to have a sore throat for days probably, but the memory of the abrupt hush that came over the square was going to be his source of joy for far longer than that. The light chuckle from the duchess and the brash laughter from Mr. Viscol pleased him too. The other guards, the ones he had yet to properly look at, seemed amused as well. He was going to like being with them.

Then, a moment of inspiration. He turned around to look at Chief Slatrim and the others.

“I may not be able to place a curse on you all, but I still hope either Baar or Shulffa damn you in my place. I don’t care which.”

And with that, he turned around to walk down the steps towards the carriage and didn’t look back once. Once inside he started wishing he had, though. He wanted to see what Buck thought of all of this. Had his self-righteous confidence disappeared too? Was he afraid and ashamed of what he’d done? What did he think when he saw that Luric wasn’t the villain of his own little story of heroism? Luric would wonder about that for years to come.

The duchess climbed inside, sat on the bench opposite of him and signaled to the coachman to go. The other guards were mounting their horses. It was over.

He was safe and protected. He wanted to smile, he wanted to laugh, he wanted to thank the duchess for saving his life, but she was conversing with Mr. Visloc, who was riding next to her window, and he didn’t want to interrupt. Then, as they drove out of the square, they passed right next to the pyre and Luric got a good look at it. And though he knew he shouldn’t have – because he was safe, and protected, and leaving Runrick to never return – Luric still broke down and cried.

Back then he was certain he was never going to see this place and any of them ever again. Had he known he’d find himself standing in front of this prayhouse years later, only seconds away from coming face to face with the people that still haunted his nightmares every so often, he would have tried to come up with better parting words. As it were, he had to make due with referencing what he had said. He wondered if they would remember it. It had been over ten years after all.

He was a little angry at himself for being nervous; he was older, stronger, and richer than any of them. There was nothing they could do to him anymore. Moreover, they needed his help. This was their punishment. This was his vengeance. With that conviction, and a little annoyance at having forgotten to change his mud-splattered boots and pants, he barged into the building. The screech of wooden doors being pushed out of the way seemed deafening in the sepulchral room. Every head turned to look at him.

And there they were, the demons of his past.

“So, guess both Baar and Shulffa were listening that day.”

#The Shadows in Runrick #fantasy novel #writing #horror #horror novel #dark fantasy

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amalthea-fictions · 2 years ago

Note

Can you make a Charlie Weasley x Jacob's sibling where the reader can actually speak to dragons? Like Hiccup in httyd books or Harry with the snake-like beings

Oooh interesting concept! For purposes of the piece I'm not gonna worry about why or how the MC can speak to dragons and we're just gonna not ask questions~

---------------------------

"[Y/N!] Have you seen Charlie?"

You look up from your sandwich and shake your head, mouth still half-full.

"I haven't. Is he okay?"

Bill runs his hand through his hair, and you realize he's sweating. "I'm worried he's not. I haven't seen him all day, and we were supposed to meet for lunch. It's unlike him to be this late."

You hear a scoff from behind you. Merula lilts her head.

"The second filthy Weasley?" She snorts. "He probably heard Barnaby going on about the dragon he saw in the forest today. Apparently Kettleburn let it loose or something."

Bill blanches. "Oh bloody hell."

You and Bill sprint to the forest with such speed and determination that you're both heaving by the time you get there. Bill is frantic.

"Where--where did Barnaby say he saw it again?" He pants.

You point in the general direction as you try and catch your breath.

Bill springs forward, and you follow closely. Greenery whips against your face as you push through branches. Leaves crack under your boots as you race through. Bowtruckles scatter above. Until finally, you emerge into a clearing--

--and see Charlie, alone, holding a steak out in front of him.

Bill sighs.

"Bill?" Charlie looks up. "Oh, crap. Did I lose track of time?"

"Yes!" He marches forward to his younger brother and inspects him. "You had me worried sick! I thought you were dragon bait."

Charlie shakes his head. "No, unfortunately not."

Bill spits. "Unfortunately?!"

"Well-- you know, Barnaby said that Kettleburn's dragon escaped, and so I was hoping to see it-- I didn't mean to worry anybody--"

Charlie continues, and Bill begins lecturing him, but you notice the Bowtruckles and the Fairies have suddenly begun to hide.

"Um, boys?"

They don't hear you.

"Why would you go looking for a dragon ALONE?"

"Well, Barnaby said it's green, so it's probably only a Welsh Green. They're mostly harmless--"

The leaves on the trees begin to shake.

"Boys," you say a bit louder. "I think--"

ROAARR!!

A huge dragon booms into the clearing, the force of its wings knocking everyone over as it lands.

Bill and Charlie scramble back.

"Oh crap," Charlie mutters.

"Charlies? You said Welsh Greens are harmless, right?"

Charlie shakes his head. "This isn't a Green. It's a Norwegian Ridgeback. And she seems hungry."

The dragon swishes its tail and cuts through a row of trees like they're made of butter. They groan as they fall to the forest floor.

You hurry and scramble to your feet.

"Charlie!" Bill cries. "Throw it the bloody steak at it so we can get away!"

Charlie tosses the steak forward, but the dragon screeches, uninterested. It takes a step forward.

Bill tries to draw his wand.

You leap forward, between the dragon and the boys. You hold both palms open towards the dragon.

"[Y/N]?!" Bill shouts. "Move! You'll get killed!"

You ignore him and keep your eyes solely on the dragon.

"We mean you no harm," you say in draconic.

The dragon swishes its tail, agitated. It snorts, and steam furls out of its nostrils.

"Why are you upset?" You try again.

"[Y/N]?" Charlie asks. You hear the two boys moving to their feet behind you. "What's going on?"

Finally, the dragon lowers its head to you. A low growl rumbles from its throat.

You swallow. "She--she's upset," you explain, "because some First Year let her out of Care for Creatures. She misses Kettleburn."

You briefly look behind you and see that Bill's jaw has dropped, dumbfounded, and Charlie's eyes are twinkling.

"Are you a dovahkiin-tongue, [Y/N]?! Why did you never tell me this before?!"

Bill punches him on the arm.

You turn your attention back to the dragon, and inch forward, your palms still open. "We can take you back to Kettleburn. He will probably feed you there, too. We just need you to stay calm."

The dragon narrows its eyes at you, its nostrils flaring again. But then, it nods.

You all sigh with relief.

~~~~

Under your guidance, the Weasley boys manage to heard the Norwegian Ridgeback back into Care for Magical Creatures. Kettleburn asked Bill, as the senior student, to help him feed the beast. Bill obeyed, but promised to give Charlie a stern talking-to later.

You and Charlie watch as they disappear behind the treeline.

Finally, Charlie turns to you and grabs your hands.

"[Y/N]!" He exclaims. "That was brilliant! Why didn't you tell me you could speak to dragons!?"

Your face turns hot. You blink, your mind going blank.

Charlie's hands are warm around yours. He's beaming.

"Um," you try, "I. I guess I always thought it's weird, so I don't talk about--"

"Weird?!" He interrupts. "Are you joking?! What I'd give to be a dovahkiin-tongue! That's incredible! You're incredible!"

His smile brightens, and you feel the blood rush into your ears.

"C'mon," he says, and begins pulling you off. "We've got to talk more about this. I have SO many questions!"

~~~

For the rest of the day, Charlie would not stop asking you questions about your unique skill. Not that you minded the extra time with him, of course.

You're both sitting in the courtyard together, the clear night sky twinkling overhead.

"Fus," you try explaining again.

"Fus," he says, but his pronunciation is... horribly off.

Your bite your cheek. "How can I explain it... less 'oo' like a cow mooing."

He laughs, then perks up. "Hey! Maybe it would help if I actually feel the shape of your facial muscles when you do it. Would you mind that?"

The sparkle in his eyes is so enthusiastic, so sincere, it makes your brain freeze.

"U-uhm, sure," you start, but before you even finish, he's reached his hand out to cup your cheek.

You hope the starlight above isn't enough to illuminate how intensely your face is burning.

"Now, let's try again," Charlie beams.

You gulp and feel your heart restart from where it was frozen.

"Fus," you manage to stutter.

Charlie blinks, then smiles his brilliant smile.

"Interesting," he muses. "I think that helped. I felt that you actually suck your cheek in, like in a whistle, for the vowel."

His hand is still on your cheek, soft and warm. All you can do is nod.

He holds your gaze and doesn't move. He doesn't say anything for the next moment-- only stares at you, his lips curled into a soft smile.

"You know," he finally says, gently. "You have really soft skin, [Y/N.]"

Your heart backflips.

And --for a second, under the moonlight-- you swear you see his freckled cheeks dusted pink, too.

After what feels like an eternity, he lowers his hand and clears his throat. "Well, ah," he says, "it's getting late, isn't it? We should probably head back to the dorms before the professors yell at us."

You nod hastily, your heart still pounding. "Yes, you're right."

"But! We'll definitely pick up where we left off tomorrow!"

He bids you goodnight, and later that night, in bed, you can't help but inch your hand up to the cheek he had held so intently.

Pick up where we left off...

You smile as you drift to sleep.

#yes this kinda crossed over into skyrim #sorry lmao #but charlie is the best boi!#love some dragon boi #also featuring mother bill #charlie weasley x mc #charlie weasley x reader #charlie weasley x jacob's sibling #charlie weasley #hphm charlie #hogwarts mystery x you #bill weasley

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paperbag880 · 2 years ago

Text

Arthur Morgan x male reader

Hunted away

I love me some crusty, cowboys. Not only because I want to look like one, but just look at em.

I'm thinking of making this kind of like series type of thing

Summary: Hunting an elk is a one thing, but sheltering a coyote is another.

Genre: fluff?

Warnings: swearing

Series...how long? Idk. Pt 2 is in production = never a good thing to hear from me ✌😗

[1][2]

Hunter. That's what was your profession in the wild west filled with murder and beauty that's being forsaken. You must admit it's not the greatest job but it keeps your mouth full and the law away.

As a hunter, you came across shady people from time to time, after all, the forests are your second home, but this one seems normal. Normal but... unconscious... His stallion stood in front of him as a shield against you and your mare. "Back off." You said while sliding down your saddle and waving your hands around to shoo the horse away. With a few heads flicks the horse backed away but his ears were down dramatically. Your mare noticed this and went by your side, her own ears down. You've noticed the occasional warning air bites she gave him, you were very grateful for her.

The stranger seemed alright with only a big bump on the back of his head. Someone must have bonked him on the head which made him unconscious but you're not sure if he fell immediately after the blow or rather after he managed to get away. Nevertheless, you couldn't leave him there alone as wolfs are having pups this time around and they're starving.

"A'right, cowpoke let' get ya away from 'ere." You've managed to swing him on your shoulder and set him on your mare in hopes he won't fall off. The guy's station kept protesting and neighing aggressively. You grabbed his rains with slight difficulty but after giving him your apple he calmed down enough. "Come on boy." Whilst clicking your tongue you kicked your mare to move.

You were out there to hunt an animal not to bring an injured one home with you. You really hoped this guy has nothing to do with the law, even if he looks like an outlaw.

Arthur woke up, not in his tent but rather under a wooden roof. He tried to sit up but his spinning head brought him back down on a not-so-comfortable mattress. He could hear faint footsteps tapping around in the other room. His eyes roamed around the room for his belongings which lay right next to him. He sighed in relief as it seemed that everything was still there.

The footsteps got closer and Arthur tried to sit up again. There in front of him stood a man with a plate of food. "Oh...you up." The man said as he froze in his stride. He wasn't expecting him to get up so soon, it hasn't been even half a day and he's up. Gods know how long was he out before you came.

"You hungry?" You've asked him awkwardly. As much as you hated it you're not one for social interactions. Arthur hummed he was quite hungry and by his inspection, you didn't look like a dangerous fellow or one with venom laying around. You gave him the plate and sat down in front of him in an old wooden chair.

"Thanks." Arthur thanked you and dug into the food. His gruff voice put you off guard but not by long as you heard horses coming to your house. You've noticed how your host froze and listened to the sound as well. Your eyes locked with his. Your face held no malice just an unknown disappointment.

Before he could say anything you got up. "Stay 'ere and don't make a sound." Leaving the other man alone you stepped out of your house and as expected, there in front of you stood the sheriff and his two apprentices. The sheriff was about to walk on your porch. "Gentlemen." You've greeted them with a slight bow of your head.

"Ah, Mr. L/n! Sharp ears as always." The sheriff spoke he slowed his walk and eventually stopped in front of your porch's steps. He leaned on one of his legs whilst pressing his side on the closest wooden pillar next to him. His thumbs were stuffed into his belt idly. You haven't said anything but look at the man in his very familiar eyes. "You haven't, by any chance, ran into a scrawny-looking fella with a blue shirt, have you?" The sheriff tilted his head at you, whilst correcting his hat.

You scoffed in disgust. "With all due respect sheriff, I thought you knew I ain't messin' with the law in any way. Not even with the mutt cowpokes, you tryin' 't get." You walked passed the sheriff after you finished your sentence. "Now if you don't mind imma go and cut some logs." You grabbed an axe that was nearby.

"Pretty horse you got. Is it new?" The sheriff said while pushing himself off of the pillar. On the outside, you haven't been fazed by the question but on the inside, you knew what he was trying to make you confess.

"Yes, Mr. L/n, the horse is new. Got 'im a couple days back. What? You interested in 'im?" You turned your head with a questionable look placed on it. The sheriff laughed and looked at his horse who's been quietly standing by the other two horses of the party. He started to walk towards you in a goofy way.

Up on being close enough, he patted you on your shoulder as he kept his hand on it. "As tempting as that sounds Mr. L/n, I don't need another." The closeness of you two felt personal. "I ain't gonna always save you, M/n!" The sheriff whispered so only you and he can hear it.

"Who's the eldest, you or me?" You glared at the sheriff. His concerned face was genuine and held no malice, just like you towards your guest. The sheriff sighed and patted your shoulder again and pulled away.

"A gray stallion? Get rid of 'im as soon as possible. They don't bring fortune." The sheriff said out loud with a smile and tipped his hat at you. You knew he wasn't talking about the horse but rather your guest and the owner of said horse. "Have a nice day, brother." The sheriff, your brother, said as he mount his horse. His two 'little helpers' bid their goodbyes as well. "Come visit me sometime, Edeline would be ecstatic."

Edeline, your niece, sweet little devil. You laughed and tipped your own hat their way. "Till next time brother. Gentlemen." The sheriff smiled at you, and the men and started to gallop away from your home.

Not long till they were out of sight. You didn't wish to go inside, not unarmed at least, so you stayed true to your words and went to chop some logs. "Might as well." You mumbled and prepared your logs and axe. Your hands swung up and we're ready to fall.

"Thanks for not giving me away." You missed the log and almost hit your leg. Your guest's voice being the reason. You looked up at him frustrated, some of your outgrown hair falling to your face. "Oh, sorry partner. Wasn't ma intention."

Your guest had his head poking out of your window whilst leaning on it with his arms. "Wha's your name cowpoke?" You said irritated and collected your posture. You've stuck the axe into the tree stump, you chop your logs on, quite aggressively. You were just done with chopping. Your guest noticed your hostile mood and brought his hand up in defense.

"Arthur Morgan. 'M not a threat." He said in a higher pitch. You nodded at him and grabbed the fallen log to place it back. You've unstuck your axe. Arthur waited for your introduction but never got it. He laughed at your silence before he heard you speak.

"You should be off. Your head ain't hurtin' that much if you up and standin'." You said and finally hit the log from before, slitting it in two. "Before the law comes, 'ere again, you'll be gone!" Your eyes met his as you turned on your heel and went to the horses to feed them. Bored of your axe.

Not long after you picked a bale of hay you heard the door get shut. A little voice in your head nudged you to get your gun out but the other trusted that you are safe. Just in case you held the knife you opened your bale with close, not trusting either side of you.

"Uh... Thanks for not lettin' me die I guess." Arthur said standing in front of your makeshift stables. He watched you work and how delicate you have been with his horse.

"Yeah, you welcome. 'M not expectin' a payment." You said as you patted the beauty of a stallion before your mare got jealous and bit the horse. "H/N!" You exclaimed her name surprised as she bit very close to your hand.

Arthur laughed and leaned on the wood of your stables. "Seems like someone's jealous." Arthur patted your mare. "Easy girl. You have quite the pretty horse." He praised your mare and you felt proud of her. "I once had a mare myself."

This little piece of information caught your interest as you calmed the riled-up stallion and lead him a bit further away from your mare. "Wha's her name?" Arthur followed you and stood next to you.

"Her name was Boadicea. She... passed away, unfortunately." Arthur's voice was sad and you noticed it immediately. You kind of regretted asking.

"Sorry to hear that. Your stallion is quite catchy as well... Protected you from me." You tried to lighten to mood a bit. You could hear Arthur snicker and the gentle pats he gave his stallion. The man looks like a jerk but really now he seems like gentle man who babies his child. Quite endearing.

Arthur coughed to hush the awkward silence away. "So uh... Do you need any hel-" Before he finished his sentence you cut in sharply which made the man raise his hands up in defense.

"I said, 'm not expectin' any payment, cowpoke!"

"Easy there, I'm just tryin' to be nice." He hissed back. Taking offense yet he wouldn't hurt you as he didn't need to. "Look, the head still hurtin' and I can't go back just yet." He pointed a finger at you and frowned. "You're stuck with me so I might as well help ya a little."

You walked closer to him and stood so close that you could easily head-bump him, your eyes dangerously bearing into his. "Do not threaten me on my own land, cowboy!" You said lowly.

"I'm not threatenin' you, partner." Arthur spat the 'partner' out. His eyes never left yours. You must admit you respect the guy.

You leaned back. "Grab your gun." You walked away to the back of your hut as Arthur stood there confused. "We oughta hunt."

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x male reader #x male reader #rdr2 #rdr2 x male reader #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption 2 x male reader #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x y/n

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violet211221 · 3 years ago

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Your galaxy | Bang Chan

♡ pairing: bang chan x reader ♡ genre: angst, hurt/comfort, fluff ♡ word count: 3.7k ♡ tw: mentions of self-harm, low self-esteem ♡ short summary: you have a secret from Chan, but he is there to remind you that he will always be by your side ♡ a/n: if you hurt yourself, I just want to give you a big virtual hug. I know why you do it, I can't blame you. I just want to tell you that I am very proud of you, of the fact that you are a survivor and continue to fight every day. you are a fighter! love yourself and give yourself time. one day, you will shine brighter. I believe in your galaxy.

You are alone in your apartment, on an ordinary friday. It's already dark and you're tired after a long day at work, so you've decided to order some pizza and watch a basic american series. It's raining quietly outside, but it's warm inside the house, which means you've thrown on the most comfortable pair of shorts and a baggy, gray shirt. You don't plan on seeing anyone anyway. You have already seen 10 minutes of the episode when you hear the doorbell. You quickly pause the series and run to the door. You are surprised that the pizza came so quickly, since the app informed you that due to the rain and the crowd, the order might arrive more difficult than usual. You open the door with a little too much force, being so hungry that you feel like devouring the food in its entirety. Only, to your tummy's dismay, on your doorstep isn't the pizza boy, but your best friend, Chan. His eyes meet yours, him looking at you questioningly from behind the black mask. "You seem disappointed to see me." he tells you half seriously, half-jokingly. When he is around you, he always uses english because it reminds him of home, from when he was little and it was his main language. His australian accent tickles your ears and immediately makes you smile from ear to ear. You always found him adorable. "No... not really. I just didn't expect you to come." The truth is that you did not expect to see him. He and his band are preparing for a new comeback, and Chan locked himself in his studio working non-stop on the last details of the songs. Your friend is a born perfectionist, and you know it very well. So, you didn't want to interrupt him from what he was doing. And that's how you ended up not seeing him or writing to him for a few days. "Are you going to let me in or am I going to leave here crying and hurt?" His voice interrupts your thoughts, making you realize what a colossal mistake you are making. You let your friend sit in the hallway, in front of your apartment, risking that at any moment he will be seen by someone. Then Chan could be in the middle of a dating scandal, and it would all be because of you. In a panic, you grab the poor boy's sweatshirt and drag him into your apartment, closing the door behind you. Immediately after that, you put your ear to the cold and hard iron material, listening for any sound of footsteps or another closed door. Any sign that someone saw the two of you together. "Are you okay Y/n? Did something happen?" You turn to face Chan, giving him a look that begs for mercy. "I'm sorry Chris. I was listening for signs of movement in the hallway. I left you there and I'm afraid someone saw you." you explain to them. You reach your hands out to him, gently cupping them in your own small hands. You reached towards him a bit, placing a kiss on his cheek, right next to the dimple you loved so much. "Hold still, Y/n. There was no one there. Should I stay?" "What do you want to say?" Chan glances into your apartment as if inspecting it. "Is anyone here? Or are you expecting someone? You looked very shocked to see me."

You laugh at his assumption. The truth is that you have had a big crush on Chan for several years. You two are nothing more than friends and of course you had other relationships during these years. However, no boy besides him and your mutual friends ever came to your house. "I ordered some pizza. I thought it had arrived when I heard the doorbell." you assure him. "Make yourself comfortable. Are your clothes wet? I think it's raining pretty hard outside. Maybe I can find a shirt that fits you." You see him take off his sneakers, then take off his cap. He ruffles his curly and already messy hair even more. You always liked his natural hair. "It was raining quite hard, but I came by car." "With the company car?" you ask him confused. "Did you take an Uber or ask your driver to bring you here?" "Neither. I drove myself. I might even take you for a ride sometime. It would be nice if we could go see the stars, don't you think?" A sound of amazement escapes your lips when you remember that your friend recently got his license. "However, I might think about it again considering you're disappointed that it's pizza." he jokes, now following you barefoot into your living room. "Stop laughing at me. Nothing is better than you. And you know it." you try to defend yourself. "At least you ordered a large pizza. I'm starving." "Unfortunately, I only ordered a small one. You should have texted me before you came, I would have known I had to get a large one. But I can make some ramen or something." you scold him as you start opening the kitchen cabinets. "I wanted to surprise you. But yes, ramen sounds perfect. However, let's wait for the pizza first time." "Yes, but I could boil water and..." "Come on, Y/n. I've missed you so much and I just want to enjoy your attention for a bit. I'm happy if we just sit here and wait, looking at…" Chan pauses, looking confused at your paused TV screen. He is looking for help from you regarding the name of the series you are watching. "Supernatural." you let him know. "Would you like something to drink? I have some coke." "So I'm happy if we just sit here and wait, watching Supernatural while we wait for that damn pizza. Some water is perfect though." Chan closes his eyes and relaxes completely on your sofa, seeming to enjoy the quiet moments. It’s obvious that he is more than tired and that stress has left its mark on him. You put water in his glass, hoping that he will fall asleep until the food comes. However, you notice that Chan looks at you as soon as he hears you coming towards him with the glass in your hand. He keeps his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt, looking at your body. In fact, his gaze leaves your face to rest on your bare thighs, then returns to your face. His lips open as if he wants to say something, then close again. You realize you're wearing shorts and your scars are visible. You panic, not knowing exactly what to do. Chan seems to understand the situation, because he lightly taps the seat next to him on the sofa. You step unsteadily, placing the glass on the table in front of him, then sitting in the place indicated by him. Almost immediately you take one of the pillows and cover your legs. "Did you place the order on my name as I suggested?" Your friend insisted for a long time that you give any kind of order using his name. He is already worried about the fact that you moved alone, a little further from the dorms he shares with the boys and his company, so it takes him longer to reach you in case of need. Chan was always a friend who protected you without suffocating you with his presence, and this method seemed to him the best way to let people know that there is someone who cares about you. Besides that, Chan managed to accompany you on the street several times, especially after dark. He turned this into your little game: the two of you pretend to go on business around town, you being just a staff member accompanying your idol. In reality, Chan is the one who takes care of you, but in the curious eyes of the fans, you are just another innocent girl on his team doing her job. "Of course." You confirm without looking him in the eye. "I've been doing this since the first night I promised you this." "I'm proud that you finally decided to stop being stubborn, Y/n. And thank you for deciding to trust me." he answers you as he wraps his strong arm around your shoulders, hugging you gently and surrounding you with his pleasant warmth. Chan has such a kind heart and is so full of love that you melt. You two have fought many times because of the little games you play. You understand his need to protect the people he cares about, but you also feel the need to protect him. In your view, games like this are dangerous for him and for all his work. But Chan had the patience to calmly explain to you, several times even, that he has the situation under control. And in the end, exactly as he just said, you decided to trust him. In fact, he is the only person in the whole world in whom you have full confidence. But it scares you that he would risk everything just to keep you safe. That's how Chan is. He has around him a small group of people who are really close to him, and he wants to take care of each one of them. You know very well that this includes you. Chan wants to know you safe, happy and unharmed more than anything. Your mind wanders to the scars on your thighs. The fact that Chan saw the results of your weakness makes your heart ache. You did this a while ago, when he was just an trainee. Back then, Chan was careful to take care of each cut separately, bandaging you with a lot of love and attention, not just with pieces of material. Your friend chose to understand you, not to judge you. He used to say that heroes have scars from their battles with villains and that you are his secret hero. Chan always joked that he would always keep your superhero identity a secret as long as you continued to fight your villains. And for a while, you stopped hurting yourself, and he started saying that good defeated evil, you succeeding in bringing that good into the world. He really made a beautiful story about courage in your weakness and cowardice, continuing to tell it to others. He pretended that he was fine, that he was not hurt by the fact that his friend was hurting herself. The truth is that you could see the pain in his eyes. You could see how devastated he was when he talked about it, trying to save others, saying in pain: "I had friends who did this.". You understood that your suffering was his suffering. The fact that you were the one hurting you, and he couldn't do anything to protect you, really messed him up. So you stopped. You stopped because you loved Chan. Then you gave in and started again. You were too embarrassed to tell Chan, and he already had too many things to deal with right now. So you kept everything a secret from him. At this moment, feeling him so close to you, the guilt grows in your chest, forcing you to keep your head bowed before him. You feel guilty that you lied to him, that you kept something so important away from him, that maybe you made him not feel wanted in your life. And that hurts more than the fine cuts on your skin. Because Chan is everything you want in your life. Chan knows how you feel. He knows you well enough to easily read your thoughts in your eyes, even if you hide as much as you can from him. He is not stupid. He felt that something was wrong with you, that you run away from him for a reason. This is the reason why he decided to finish the work he had to do in the studio faster this night and come to you. Chan understands how you feel and decides to give you time and space, choosing not to approach you directly. "Let's make another order. I'll pay." Chan tells you as he starts to massage one of your shoulders to reduce your stress. "But we decided together that I'm going to cook for you. That's if instant noodles can be called 'cooking'." "You're kidding?” Chan's voice is happy and relaxed, looking at you with playful eyes and a sweet smile at the corner of his lips. "You're the best instant noodle chef. But..." Chan stops to take his phone out of his jeans pocket, searching for the food app. "I'm tired. I've had a very long few days." he pauses again, thinking. "And nights too. But more importantly, I'm sure you've had a busier time than I have. So I can't let you cook. I think it's our time to relax." He finishes his sentence with a pout, and you need all the will in the world not to pinch his cheeks. You can quietly swear with your hand on your heart that your friend is a huge guy. He is not the tallest, but the hours spent in the gym and his large shoulders make him look imposing despite his height. He is definitely an intimidating man for many. What few people know is that Chan has the soul and innocence of a child. And you fully enjoyed this side of him because he never shied away from showing it to you. "So, do you want anything else to eat?" Chan asks you, scrolling through the menu on the app. "No, I think I'm ok with pizza." "Oh, come on. You're only saying that because you're going to eat whatever I order. I know you too well. Ok, I'll have double portions." Chan tries to talk briskly and joke, since you know exactly what you're both thinking. Your volcanic temperament cannot let this pass. "I know you want to say something, Chris. Please, just say it, I can't take this tension anymore. Let's talk about whatever you want to talk about." "I actually want to ask you something." he begins. "Why did you suddenly disappear?" Chan finishes ordering and throws the phone on the coffee table in front of you, turning to face you. He keeps one leg under him, his head supported by his hand, looking at you with soft and warm eyes. It seems that Chan is determined to focus only on you. "You didn't come to me anymore. You didn't send a message like every day, you didn't call me at the end of the day to tell me about your day." continued your friend. "You completely disappeared for a few days, and when I tried to talk to you, it was as if you were running away from me. I was worried. So I came here." "You have enough things to take care of right now. You're constantly working and taking care of so many things that you barely have time to take care of yourself. I didn't want to be something that takes you away from your work." After hearing your words, Chan straightens up, looking at you closely. "Did you avoid me because you thought you were too much for me?" You see something in his eyes, something that hurts you. Something you can't bear, somewhere between pain, fear and worry. The thought that your beloved friend feels this way because of you devastates you. You feel you don't deserve Chan. You avoid his gaze, pretending to gather imaginary fluff from the pillow you hold in your arms. "Of course I don't believe that." lie to him. You hate to lie to him, but you seem to be doing it more and more lately. "I just wanted you to have more time for your work. And I'm so excited to see what you and your boys are up to. I really am. But I know how important work is to you and…” "Y/n." Chan interrupts you, then grabs your hand with which you started to pick up the invisible fluffs more and more aggressively. He intertwines his fingers with yours, leaning forward a little to meet your gaze. "I want you around me. I want you to be in my studio again, to give me your opinion on the songs I'm working on or just to work together quietly. Even if I'm busy, I need you and I want to hang out together." A tear slides down your cheek, causing Chan to place a finger under your chin, lifting your head. "Look at me, please." Chan asks you, in the softest voice possible, as he wipes the tears from your face with his thumb. "Don't run away from me. Even if I'm always stuck in my studio, the door is always open for you. You can always come to me, whenever you need. I'll always listen to you, even if you think I'm busy. I'm never too busy for you." Chan gently takes the pillow from your legs, pulling himself towards you and wrapping his arms around you. The perfume that you often laugh at because it is too strong envelops you, calming you down even if you are now crying a lot. The big hug he gives you is warm and familiar, and he just holds you, knowing you need to vent. "I'll never judge you. You know that, so please don't run away from me. My work is important, but you're more important. And I'll never leave you behind. After all, I'm just Chris, and you are Y/n. No one can come between us." Chan starts caressing your thighs, gently running his fingers over your old scars and being careful not to touch the new ones. You feel ashamed and want to stop him, but you still don't. His caress feels so healing, that you enjoy it with a special thirst. The truth is that Chan is the first person to see your scars. You were careful to keep them hidden, even from the guys you spent the night with. This is also the reason why the thighs were your favorite place to take revenge on yourself. You didn't want anyone to see how weak you really are. Only Chan managed to see this vulnerable side of you. "I'm not mad about it. I can't imagine the mental pain you had to endure alone to do this again. In my eyes, your scars make you even more beautiful. But please, don't hurt yourself anymore . Come to me whenever you feel the need to do so. I will do whatever it takes to protect you." Chan whispers to you. "I know you would do anything for me. But what do you mean my marks make me more beautiful?" you ask him in total confusion. "You know, stars are just a collection of gases held together by their own gravity. If we were to think about it objectively, we could say that they are ugly things, right? But people have been fascinated by them for centuries. We grouped them into constellations and gave them their own stories and meanings. Even the two of us are fascinated by these gatherings of ugly gas. We see them as beautiful and have spent whole nights watching them." Chan looks at your face full of love, tirelessly wiping the tears that flow down your cheeks while he speaks. He giggles when he sees your even more confused expression. "Stop laughing. I didn't understand your comparison." you growled at him while lightly slapping him on the shoulder. You realize that you are also laughing despite the sadness you feel, then you sulk like a small child. This is the effect Chan has on you. You simply laugh every time he is near you. He melts at the sight of your pursed lips, hugging you tighter. You almost suffocate in his bear hug, but you never want him to let you go. "What I mean is, these scars of yours are your constellations. Maybe you see them as ugly things, but to me they are beautiful because they tell stories. Each one is a fragment of your story, just like each star is a fragment of the story of its constellation." Chan explains. "With each of your constellations, your galaxy grows, thus becoming bigger, stronger and brighter. A galaxy that I’m most fascinated by and about which I most want to learn. This galaxy is you, and I I can't imagine my universe without this wonderful galaxy." You continue to cry into your friend's arms until your order arrives, closely followed by his. Now he is in your kitchen, preparing everything you need to eat. You are so happy to see him again. Everything seems so natural, he complements the landscape of your apartment so well, that your heart jumps again. This time for happiness. You realize that the real reason why you hid from him is shame. But Chan understands and accepts you as you are, offering you only love and security in return. Maybe you are not perfect, but he sees something beautiful in you. And that is enough for you to continue. And tomorrow, and the next day and every day. You can't help but run to the kitchen, the sound of your bare feet making him turn towards you just in time. You throw your arms around his neck, clinging to him. Clinging with your whole body to the only man who really matters to you. "I promise you that I will never run away from you again. I won't hide anything from you, Chistophor. I promise you that.” you whisper to him in a hoarse voice. Chan hugs you in turn. He doesn't say anything. He knows that it is not necessary to add more words to me. All you need now is for Chan to hold you.

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