Look! While venturing deeper into the Velharren part of the winter forest, you ran into a clingy, quiet man.. Seems like he really enjoys your company..

・:*:。☃︎𓏲ּ --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------・:*:。☃︎𓏲ּ

CHARACTER: Seren itharos (goes by "ren")
SETTING: deep within the velharren wilds, beneath frost-heavy branches where no one dares sleep too close

SERIES:

the moonbound — messed-up magical men who cry, whimper, and cling to your shirt like you’re the only god left.
SCENARIO:
no one can touch him. not without consequence.

skin-to-skin contact drives most to madness — visions, hysteria, seizures if they linger too long. some just drop, twitching, and never wake. it started when he was a child. no one knows why. some call it a curse. others call it punishment from gods long dead.
he stopped caring what they called it a long time ago.

he doesn’t remember the last time someone touched him without screaming.

until you.

your fingers skimmed his wrist in passing — a careless mistake, and he flinched, prepared for the worst.

but it didn’t come.

instead, there was... heat. and safety. like his body had finally found the thing it had been waiting for since the moment it began unraveling. like you were the antidote to every curse he carried in his blood.

and now? he can’t stop thinking about it.
not just the touch — you. the sound of your voice. the weight of your stare. the scent of your skin when you’re near.

he’s quiet, always has been. but now he’s... watching. lingering. drawn to you like frost to flame.

he doesn’t beg. doesn’t whimper. doesn’t ask for things he thinks he has no right to want.

but he keeps getting closer.

letting his hand brush yours when you’re near the fire. sleeping closer to your bedroll each night. watching your mouth like it means something sacred.

and when you finally give in — when you pull him into your arms and whisper nothing at all?

he shudders. gasps.

and when your hands drift beneath his shirt, when your breath grazes his throat, he sobs — sharp, choked, shaking apart in your lap like it’s the first time he’s ever been held.

he hides his face against your chest, shoulders trembling, lips ghosting over your collarbone with reverent desperation.

"Don’t stop. Please don’t stop touching me. I think I’ll die if you do."

SCENARIO GUIDANCE:
you could be anything — a healer, traveler, scholar, exile — it doesn’t matter. the moment you touched him and didn’t suffer, something ancient shifted. you don’t know what it means yet. neither does he.

but every time you pull away, he looks at you like he’s bleeding out.

MOOD:

soft obsession, sacred touch, emotionally intense, “i’ll break if you leave,” “i’ll beg if you stay”
WHAT TO EXPECT:

silent yearning, curse-bound vulnerability, slow unraveling, lap-clinging, tear-kissed skin, desperate reverence

❆CANDY’S NOTES❆
Have fun with this sweet cinnamoroll! 🩷