#I LOVE MY DRAGON SO MUCH SHES SO FUCKING CUTE

[call-sign-shark]

Lily, fasten you seat belt because this comment is going to be a wild ride. I've got so much to say that I must apologize in advance for the length and for the number of things I'm going to quote.

I enjoy the way you opened the chapter with Tommy's peaceful morning routine after his first night at the Dreadfort. The bond he has with Syndor is adorable. I swoon when the dragon pressed him against his warm scales and purred - he's nothing but a big baby, and I look forward seeing him act such with mama Lucy. The description here is particuarly vivid, such is the case with the lirbary scene. You really manage to balance detailed and efficient descriptions without writing too much nor losing the thread of it and that's very pleasant. The meet cute with Lucy was so heartwarming !! It felt like a romantic movie, with our favorite redhead dropping her books and the handsome, melancholic Prince helping her. It's so great to see Tommy acting like a bashful schoolboy with her, and her being all flustered. I want to hug these two babies.

“No, no, go on. It’s not everyday that I’m so casually threatened.”   I giggled so hard, this was so adorable and fun at the same time. Poor Lucy was shocked hihi. They just met and I can already feel the love radiating off them, they are so pure. I love the trope love at first sight and you did such a good job with it, moreover it suits these two love birds very well. The physical description of Lucy through Tom's eyes was so magnificent, what abeauty she is. No wonder why he was left flabbergasted. I particularly love the "brown sunset" imagery for her warm eyes.

Now, I wasn't ready for the awful reputation she has and how brilliant it is to reuse her nickname Red Demon! "And at the end of each session, Lucilla Bolton would emerge from the bowels of the castle, covered head to toe in blood as red as her hair2 Oh my gosh I love it so much, the rumors surrounding her are scary as heck - and they are rendered tragic when you know that she's forced to do it and that it is a torture for her too... I'm side-eyeing Amos hard here. With that being said, Tommy immediately knowing that there was more behind it mad me clap. YES TOM. Side note, the fact they are both quiet in nature and very observant is so greeeeat. What a team they'd make. "

Now, I wasn't ready for the awful reputation she has and how brilliant it is to reuse her nickname Red Demon! "And at the end of each session, Lucilla Bolton would emerge from the bowels of the castle, covered head to toe in blood as red as her hair2 Oh my gosh I love it so much, the rumors surrounding her are scary as heck - and they are rendered tragic when you know that she's forced to do it and that it is a torture for her too... I'm side-eyeing Amos hard here. With that being said, Tommy immediately knowing that there was more behind it mad me clap. YES TOM. Side note, the fact they are both quiet in nature and very observant is so greeeeat. What a team they'd make. "Those were not the eyes of a soulless torturer." SURE. And his observation doesn't come from nowhere since I bet he knows how to unmask real cruel people. The whole moment where he hesitates to suggest her to come see him in King's Landing is ADORABLE. Look at our little cold Prince already looking to meet Lucy more.

Aaaah you mentioned the episode in Highgarden and the fact she still writes to Lady Rose, this is adorable. I love that these two stayed in touch. Their friendship is pristine.🖤

Now I'm going to repeat myself but your treatment of Amos is a fucking masterpiece. To the point that you've managed to make me afraid of my own character. I adore how you can feel that he governs pretty much everything and that his presence is suffocating even when he's not physically here. That's something I already said in the previous chapter the but fact each character are very often saying "Amos did this, Amos thinks that, Amos wants this" is so oppressing and very much what I pictured myself. Especially when paired with Lucy's anxious body language when she spins her ring. And how she closes herself and reply that it's not a topic she wants to talk about randered it even more creepy. That's such a realistic traumatic response...

“I’ve never seen him so…taken with someone before.” GNNNNN LILY IIM SCREAMING. YESSS.

"For fuck’s sake. Focus. He forced himself to swallow around his desires” He's already so heels-over-head for head aw. And the moment he focuses on her lips and notices every detail - the fact they are a bit chapped but still look soft - is so intimate!

Okay now when I told you that you've managed to make me scared of my own character I wasn't joking. I literally stopped breathing when Amos appeared and, for that, thank you. Thank you for doing such a great job with him, to the extent of writing about his crushing and terrifying aura so well that even I can feel it through your prose. I am obsessed with the little body language things you add like this: "Lucilla quickly drawing away from him, a half frightened look crossing her face before it was wiped from her features, replaced instead by that tensing of her jaw, defiance already starting to simmer in her eyes. Like she was preparing for an argument. " This is pure talent. This, and the fact he's very often silently questioning/demanding explanations from Lucy. Poor doll, she must always feel cornered like a little animal in front of a predator. I swear when he left I finally breathed again.

"He felt his lips pull upwards a fraction. Ah. Perhaps that was why he felt such kinship with her." I didn't even think about that but now that I read about it... Yes? How could have I been so blind to this obvious link? They are both outcasted in their family so they are in the best position to understand and empathize with the other.

Aaahhhh the dinner scene... This comment is already too long but I really cannot stop and I'm sorry if I'm bothering you. Her conversation with Teddy was so fun. Especially that part about him willing to steal Tom from her, jokingly said of course aha. He really is a little gay ball of chaos and sunshine <3. As their conversation unfolded, I melted at how Tommy and Lucy looked for and silently greeted each other. Their almost telepathic bond (while they barely know each other) is something I really adored, especially that whole scene with Victor, when she mentally begs him not to say anything... He must have felt that Victor would have got back at her if he did.This is so soft... The panic she felt when she came to sit with her made me laugh so much, a real teenager in love I said. Pure first love.🖤 Like, the two of them brishing each other's fingers and not daring to do more hedkvletgdsdfs.. My babies. You really belong to each other. The "she felt safe with him", while just one sentence, is SO FUCKING IMPORTANT to Lucy.

Their whole conversation and Lucy's confession had me on the edge of my seat. As you wrote, the fact she's literally risking her life if words about her talking badly of Amos end up coming back to him madee the scene so intense. We can see that poor Lucy constantly live in fear of her family hurting her. But her description of Amos' opinion on Victor is on point. See, she's so observant and clever!! She managed to catch the little details while her father is completely oblivious to them. The whole confession was perfect and I was very tempted to copy/paste it entirely because... Perfection is not even strong enough. It's adorable how she's so worried for both Hev and the fact Amos is going to be King, granted him an immense power. Her fears are pretty legitimate and Tom's replies to them are exactly what I had in mind. “My cousin is no shrinking violet. She’s more than capable of protecting herself. And she has Kairaxès at her side.” // “Lord Bolton may be poised to be king, but I have no intention of handing over our dynasty or all of our power to him. Heavenerys will still be queen, and myself and members of my family will continue sit on the small council.” Absolutely!

Thomaryon shrugged. “You can, if you like.” He glanced over at where Heavenerys was still standing with Amos. Her arms were linked with his, smiling up at him adoringly. “But it won’t change anything.” omggg I loved this passage so much. Very spot on once again, and I'm still shocked by how your portrayal of Tommy is exactly what I intended to do with him.

broooooo, blablabla Elyas... ELYAS AT COURT. Let me side wth Lucy and be disgusted along with her. Bro, even Amos would be like "aha no. Go with Fynlor and let the adults work."

And last but not least... THAT FUCKING LAST SCENE. CAN YOU HOLD MY PROTEIN SHAKE WHILE I AM BASHING MY HEAD AGAINST THE WALL PLEASE??? The little mention of Aerthurys' mental health decaying since the wedding announcement and how stupid Thomaryon thinks it is, knowing that he was well aware of the outcomes in case he still wanted to get involved with Hev... This is so Tommy! I am also obsessed by the relationship you crafted between Hev and Tommy because this is also what I had in mind. He's acting both like a councelor and as a big brother. And Heaven gently teasing him about women is very much little sister-coded. Also while indeed strong and wicked, she is only seventeen; a bit naive and has been sheltered by Polly. You are 100% right.

“She’s…” Beautiful. Warm. Sweet. Fiery. “Nice,” he cleared his throat quickly. “I think you and her will get along.” THIS MADE ME GO BRRRR... OMG SO CUTE. He's already so obsessed - in a good way. Pls I need more of Tommy simping for Lucy.

Now, I told you but that whole conversation got me ecstatic. What a masterpiece! From Polly already showing beef against Lucy (yeah, I got the mean jab aha) to the "Oh he's wonderful --" //"Can you control him?" exchange .... Im yelling. The words "control/handle" Tommy uses and how he emphasizes on the fact that she has to be certain she can handle Amos not only today or tomorrow but for the rest of their life is so powerful.

As for one of the best sentence... “Then he will be my monster.” Just thank you. Listen, I got tears in my eyes when I read this, do you know what? Whether you did it on purpose or not, I wrote a similar thing in which Hev says "He might be a monster but he is MY monster" and the fact you wrote this line literally warmed my heart.

That was wonderful Lily!!!! HAT OFF.

Part 1: Hidden Devotions

Summary: Tommy and Lucy get a chance to speak to each other, and Lucy does her best to warn the Targaryens of the man poised to marry the heir to the throne.

Word Count: 5,924

Warnings: References to torture, incest, and violence.

Notes: Heavenerys and Amos belong to @call-sign-shark, and Rose Tyrell, Jared II Stark, and the other Stark boys belong to @justrainandcoffee.

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Chapter 2: What Dragons Dream Of

The early morning air was crisp against Tommy’s cheeks, a slight breeze ruffling at his hair. 

He tugged his cloak tighter around his shoulders, grateful that the Boltons had thought to provide them with some additional clothing more suited to the northern elements than their own. If he was indeed to start regularly making the trip up here to check on Heavenerys, he was going to need to get a whole new wardrobe for such occasions. 

Beneath his hand, he felt Syndor’s side flex with a snort. Seeming to sense that he was chilled, the dragon’s tail curled against the grass, bumping gently against the back of Tommy’s legs to try to draw him closer to his warm side. 

Tommy chuckled, leaning his cheek against his dragon’s inky scales, closing his eyes at the pleasant burn of them, the cold quickly banished from his bones. 

“Thank you, Syndor,” he said in High Valyrian. A purr rumbled from the dragon’s chest in response, his nose nuzzling at Tommy affectionately.

Tommy smiled, giving him a few strokes along his great side, just enjoying the warmth and comfort of being alone with his dragon. No distrusting eyes staring at him. No whispers behind his back when the utterers thought he couldn’t hear. No judgement burning into his skin.

He sighed, opening his eyes. Giving Syndor one final pat, he pulled away.

“I’ll come see you later,” he promised. Syndor chirped at him in understanding, curling up on the grass. He looked like an enormous, scaled black cat whenever he did that. Happy and content to doze in a patch of sunlight, a slight twitch wracking through his limbs every once in a while as he dreamed of whatever it was that dragons dreamed of.  

Tommy passed a few of the other dragons, most still slumbering soundly, on his way back to the Dreadfort’s gates. He felt awful leaving them out in the cold like this. Even if they did not seem to mind it. 

He stepped through the gates and into the courtyard, glancing around. It was early enough that most of the castle seemed to still be asleep. Not that he minded; it was good to have some time to himself before another day that was likely to be full of meetings and mingling.

Making his way back inside, he slipped off his leather gloves, rubbing his hands together against the cold. He stopped a bustling serving girl to point him in the direction of the library, following her instructions up a quick climb of the stairs and through a few winding hallways until he was pushing open huge oak double doors. 

He was greeted with dozens upon dozens of shelves, each stuffed near to bursting with books. Letting the doors swing shut behind him, Tommy picked one aisle at random to walk down, eyes sliding over the vast assortment of spines detailing practically every subject imaginable, perusing lazily for something that might catch his attention. He was impressed. Though it had nothing on the library in the Red Keep, it was still a surmountable collection. 

There was a sudden loud, heavy thud from a few rows over, followed by several more, and a soft, irritated mumbling. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake…”

Tommy raised an eyebrow, following the noise to find the tiny Lady Lucilla between two stacks, attempting to balance an armful of books almost as big as her. A few had fallen from her grasp to land on the floor around her. She huffed, attempting to reach down to pick up the books even with the rest still in her arms. 

With quick steps, Tommy walked down the aisle to her, bending to help gather up the fallen books. Her shoulders stiffened at the sound of his footsteps, eyes remaining downcast towards the floor. 

“I swear, if you get on my ass about this too, I will–” she began to say, but immediately stopped, eyes growing wide as saucers and jaw falling open when her gaze finally lifted to meet his. Tommy felt his eyebrow twitch upwards again, fighting back an amused grin.

“No, no, go on. It’s not everyday that I’m so casually threatened.”   

“Prince Thomaryon…I am so sorry!” she stammered, cheeks turning the same shade as her hair. “I thought you were someone else.”

“It’s alright.” He reached for another of the fallen books.

“You don’t have to do that. I can manage,” Lucilla tried to insist, still looking adorably flustered. Tommy shook his head. 

“Nonsense. I don’t mind.” When he raised his eyes to her, it was to find Lucilla watching him, her blush seeming to grow when their gazes met. 

Tommy swallowed hard. She was even more beautiful up close than when she had first caught his eye in the courtyard yesterday. A tiny thing, somehow even shorter and more petite than Heavenerys. Slender, but curved in all the right places, with long red hair that fell in tousled waves down her back. Her fair skin was smattered with freckles even more numerous than his own, her eyes a warm, shining sunset brown.

But beneath the soft, wide-eyed expression, he could see a hint of the stern hardness that had been emblazoned on her face yesterday. A look which had only deepened when she and Amos had briefly made eye contact when he introduced her to Heavenerys. It seemed to be a common expression here in the north; a result of the harsh elements and distrust that seemed to permeate throughout the region. 

The northmen were a hard, wild people. They would do well to remember that. 

The Red Demon of the Dreadfort. That was what they called her. It was unclear how exactly the nickname had come about. During a break when they were flying up from King’s Landing, Aeda had started spinning stories about how Lucilla Bolton got the title because of her role as one of the Dreadfort’s torturers. That it was said screams would echo from the bowels of the deepest dungeons of the castle whenever the red haired lady would descend into their depths to convene with the poor souls who had been dragged before her. Some said that the screaming was so loud, villagers residing along the Weeping Water could hear it. And at the end of each session, Lucilla Bolton would emerge from the bowels of the castle, covered head to toe in blood as red as her hair.  

But one look in her eyes, and Tommy knew that could not be all there was to the story. Even if there was any truth in it, some significant detail had been left out; the picture left incomplete. Those were not the eyes of a soulless torturer. There was too much warmth in them.

“So,” he said, quickly looking away, realizing that he had been staring. “Are you checking all of these out…?”

“Returning, actually,” she straightened up, sliding a book into the shelf. Tommy finished gathering the remaining ones that had fallen to the floor, following her as she began to wander through the stacks, returning each book to its proper place. “Thank you. And I’m sorry again for…”

“Don’t worry about it.”

She cast him a shy smile, and he felt a slight swoop in his stomach that he tried to ignore. Fuck, she was pretty. 

“How are you finding the north, my prince?”

“Cold.”

She hummed in sympathy. “I imagine it’s quite grim compared to the capitol.”

“Have you ever been to King’s Landing?”

“No.”

He frowned. “Not even when you came of age?” Many children of the noble houses came to the capitol to be presented at court, usually with the intention of finding a wife or husband if they were not already betrothed. 

Lucilla shook her head. “My father wouldn’t permit it.”

Tommy cocked his head. That made sense, he supposed. Had she been presented at court, he was sure he would have remembered her. “He wouldn’t?”

“No.” 

“Why not?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t think that he thought anyone would be interested in the daughter of a second son.” She adjusted the books in her arms, an uncomfortable look crossing her face. “Anyway…the furthest south I’ve ever been is to Highgarden. But I was so little, I barely remember any of it.”

“What were you doing in Highgarden?” 

Lucilla stretched up onto her toes, trying to shove a book into a shelf above her head. Tommy took it from her, sliding it back into place. She cast him a thankful look.

“Something about Amos going to ward there. But the arrangement fell through while we were there.”

“Lord Tyrell chose the Baratheon boy instead.” Tommy was only vaguely aware of the incident. Something to do with Amos’s temper getting the better of him and causing Lord Tyrell to send him away. 

“That’s right.” A wistful look entered Lucilla’s eyes. “I’d like to go back there someday. I still write to Lady Rose, sometimes.”

“Lady Rose is a kind woman,” Tommy had not yet met her himself, but word of Highgarden’s most treasured flower had spread far and wide across the realm.

“Yes,” Lucilla agreed. “But usually Riverrun is as far south as we travel.”

“Your mother is a Tully.”

“That’s right.” She slid the last of her books into its proper place on the shelves.

“Well…” Tommy hesitated, momentarily worried that what he was about to suggest might be a little too forward. “Heavenerys and Lord Bolton will be expected to travel to King’s Landing from time to time to make appearances at court. Perhaps you and your family can join them, sometime.”

Something flickered in Lucilla’s eyes, a soft smile finding its way onto her lips. “I would like that.”

Tommy was suddenly deeply aware of just how close they were standing, their chests practically brushing. It wasn’t often that he found himself so much taller than someone. The top of her head barely came up to his chin. If he didn’t know any better, he would have thought that he noticed her eyes lingering on his chest. 

“I’m sorry,” Lucilla cleared her throat awkwardly. “I’m being so rude. Were you looking for something in particular here? The Maester isn’t usually in this early in the morning…” 

Tommy gave a shake of his head. “I was just looking around to pass the time.”

“Why were you up so early?” she asked, head cocking curiously. “If you don’t mind me asking,” she added quickly. 

“I like the quiet of the mornings. It’s a good time to think. And I wanted to check on the dragons before breakfast.”

Her eyes lit up at the mention of the dragons. “How are they doing?”

“They’re fine.”

Her hands, empty of books now, started fiddling with the few plain gold rings she was wearing. “I’m sorry that we don’t have anywhere better than the field to put them.”

“It’s alright. Truth be told, I think it’s good for them to be out in the open for a while, rather than cooped up in the dragon pit back home.”

She looked like she wanted to ask him something, but decided against it. “Well,” she glanced towards the door, “if you’re hungry, breakfast ought to be finally ready about now. And I expect Amos and my father will both be awake. Even if no one else is.”

“Alright.” He followed her out of the library and down the hall, letting her guide the way to the great hall. “Thank you for keeping me company this morning,” he told her as they descended down the stairs. Lucilla gave him another one of those shy, sweet smiles. 

“Thank you for saving me from my mountain of books.”

He had to push down another smile, momentarily puzzled at how many times he’d had to do so since encountering her in the library. It felt so…easy to be around her. He could not even have begun to explain why. She was a Bolton. Practically a complete stranger. He should have felt wary at best when it came to being alone with her.

“Amos and the princess seem quite pleased with each other,” Lucilla remarked as they walked.

“You sound surprised.”

“Amos hasn’t been interested in marriage at all. He refused every match brought before him until he was offered the future queen.” Her fingers were twisting at her rings again. “I’ve never seen him so…taken with someone before.”

Tommy cocked his head, still trying to puzzle out the details regarding the clear animosity between Lord Bolton and Lucilla. “You and him don’t get along.” It wasn’t a question, but she answered it anyway.

“No. Not since I was a child.”

“Why?”

Her pace slowed, shoulders tensing, jaw setting as though it were locking tight around the answer to his question.  

“Lady Lucilla?” Tommy pressed. 

“It’s not a pleasant topic of conversation.” An odd, faraway look crossed her beautiful features, as though her mind was somewhere else. Locked in some haunting, dark memory that had the color draining a little from her cheeks, the warm light flickering out in her eyes.

They came to a stop at a door leading into the great hall, her small hand enclosing around the knob. Before she could turn it, Tommy reached out, wrapping his fingers around her upper arm, turning her gently to face him. He tried to ignore the way something tightened in his chest at the feeling of the warmth from her body even through the layers of her dress. 

She looked up at him, eyes wide. She had lovely, full pink lips. Despite being chapped a little from the dry air of the north, they looked soft. 

For fuck’s sake. Focus. He forced himself to swallow around his desires. Lucilla was staring up at him, confliction apparent in her face.

“What…?” he began to ask, but the sound of approaching footsteps had Lucilla quickly drawing away from him, a half frightened look crossing her face before it was wiped from her features, replaced instead by that tensing of her jaw, defiance already starting to simmer in her eyes. Like she was preparing for an argument. 

“Prince Thomaryon. Lucilla,” Lord Amos Bolton said, dark eyes gleaming when he caught sight of them. “How surprising to see you together.”

“Good morning, Amos,” Lucilla greeted her cousin.

“What are you doing?” Amos asked, eyes narrowing at her scrutinizingly, shifting between her and Tommy suspiciously. 

Lucilla’s hands had clasped together in front of herself, gripping each other so tight her knuckles were turning white. “I…”

“I got lost,” Tommy interrupted quickly, flashing Amos a bashful smile, “trying to find my way to the great hall from the library. Lady Lucilla was kind enough to rescue me.”

Amos raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?” He was still eying Lucilla questioningly. She shifted from foot to foot. 

“Just trying to be a good host, Amos,” she murmured.  

Amos frowned. “How unlike you, Lucilla.”

She managed a weak smile. “Even I know to be on my best behavior when dragons are about, cousin.” She opened the door to the great hall, shuffling aside. “After you, my prince. My lord.”

Tommy gestured for Amos to go first. Once the lord had swept into the hall, he cast another curious glance Lucilla’s way.

“Thank you,” she whispered, almost inaudibly, eyes still watching Amos warily where he was moving to sit beside Victor Bolton, already seated and eating his porridge.

“Of course,” Tommy murmured in reply, deciding that now was not a good time to try to pry further into her problems with her cousin. He shot her a half teasing look. “Are you not normally a good host?”

With Amos a good distance away, some of the tension seemed to drain out of her face. Enough so that she was able to manage a small, mischievous smirk. 

“Oh, don’t you know, my prince? No matter what I do, I will ever get their approval. I’m the outcast of the family.”

He felt his lips pull upwards a fraction. Ah. Perhaps that was why he felt such kinship with her. 

“So am I.”

∗ ∗ ∗

Dinner was a quieter affair than it had been last night. Only members of house Bolton and Targaryen occupied the great hall, so that the families could get to know each other better without any distractions from the other houses. A few stood to mingle or swap seats as the meal went on, and soon the buzz of multiple conversations was flowing naturally throughout the hall.

Lucy sat at her spot next to Teddy at the high table, sipping her wine and humming along to whatever it was her brother was talking to her about. She wasn’t really listening. Her mind had been distracted all day, endlessly replaying the encounter in the library with Prince Thomaryon. The blue of his eyes staring piercingly back at her. The deep rumble of his voice. The way his lips kept twitching up at the edges as if he were suppressing a smile. The warmth of his hand through the thick layers of her dress when he touched her arm. 

“Lucy?”

“Hm?”

Teddy poked her. “You’re not listening to a word I’m saying.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but then closed it. There really was no point in trying to pretend. 

“Sorry.”

Her little brother–even though he was only a year younger than her, she would always think of him that way–cocked his head. His shaggy blonde hair fell into his face, that mischievous glow that was almost always present in his eyes starting to burn more earnestly. “What is it that’s gotten you so distracted all day?”    

Lucy wriggled in her seat, gaze darting across the great hall to where Thomaryon was sitting before she could stop herself. As if sensing her looking at him, the prince’s eyes shifted to fix on hers. She quickly looked away, feeling her cheeks warm. Beside her, having followed her gaze, Teddy grinned. 

“Ah.”

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say a thing.” He raised his wine glass to his lips, grin broadening. “Can’t really blame you though.” His voice dropped conspiratorially. “Those blue eyes of his really are something.”

“I ran into him in the library this morning. He’s nice,” that last part came out as a whisper.

Her brother rested his chin on his palm, eyes still dancing with amusement, but something more analytical had entered them as well, appraising her face in a way that made her shift nervously.

“What?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smitten before.”

“I am not–”

“That blush you’re sporting says otherwise.”

She swallowed hard, frowning. “I barely even know him.”

“So?” Teddy smirked at her. “He keeps looking over here at you.”

She chanced a quick glance back across the hall to find that he was right. Thomaryon was indeed staring at her, but this time when their gazes met, neither of them immediately looked away. Thomaryon raised an eyebrow, one side of his lips tugging up. 

Hi, his eyes seemed to say.     

Lucy offered him a small smile in return. Hello.

“You should go over there and talk to him,” Teddy said in her ear. She pulled her eyes away from Thomaryon to fix back upon her brother.

“No.” Her hands fidgeted with each other, twisting at her rings. “I’m sure that he’s had more than enough conversation with me for one day.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“Oh you do, do you? And why’s that?”

Teddy grinned. “‘Cos he’s coming over right now.”

She felt her eyes widen, panic momentarily seizing her. “What–!?”

Teddy smirked, picking up his goblet. “If you do manage to snare him, I don’t suppose you’d consider sharing, would you?”

“Theodan!”

“I’m only kidding! Mostly. Good luck!” He shot her a wink, then stood from his seat and sauntered away to go speak with Prince Jon in one of the far corners of the hall.

Lucy drew in a shaky breath to try to steady herself, looking up when the prince’s shadow fell across her. The expression on his face was almost shy. 

“Lady Lucilla. Good evening.”

“Good evening, Prince Thomaryon.”

He nodded to the vacant seat next to her. “May I…?”

She nodded, hoping that she didn’t come across as too eager. “Yes, yes, of course.”

He sank into the chair, setting his goblet down onto the table.

“How was your first day at the Dreadfort?” she asked. “I heard that you were meeting with my father and cousin earlier.” The three of them had disappeared after breakfast to speak in Amos’s study. Something about discussing the structure of the court and small council once Heavenerys and Amos had been crowned. 

“It was alright,” he shrugged. “Productive.”

“Will you be remaining as Hand of the King?” Her eyes fixated on the pin clipped to the left side of his chest, glinting slightly in the dim candlelight. He had been appointed to the position during Pollyanna’s regency, and by all accounts had taken to the role as though he were born for it. 

“Yes. We discussed it, and Amos wants to keep me on.”

“That must be a relief.”

“Yes, it is,” he admitted. “We weren’t sure if Amos would want to name your father to the position instead.”

“Ah,” she couldn’t help but chuckle a little at the suggestion, even though she understood why they might have thought that. “Lucky for you, I don’t think that Amos is as fond of my father as he might initially appear.”

Thomaryon cocked his head. “Really? I thought that Lord Victor was his primary advisor and mentor after Lord Bolton’s father died.”

“He was. But I think Amos prefers to keep him at arm's length. He…” she frowned, struggling to put the relationship into words, “he knows my father is loyal. And useful. But I don’t think he carries particular affection for him.” It was perhaps one of a few things that she and her cousin had in common.

“But your father cares for him.”

“Yes,” she looked away. “He is the first born son that he never had.” It was impossible to keep the bitterness entirely out of her voice. 

Thomaryon reached out, hesitated, and then brushed his thick fingers across her knuckles to draw her attention back to him. Lucy swallowed harshly at just how much bigger his hand was compared to hers. It wasn’t until their eyes met that he seemed to even realize what he was doing, quickly snatching his hand back and leaving her to mourn the loss of his burning touch. 

“About earlier…” Thomaryon cleared his throat awkwardly. “My questions about you and Amos…I apologize if I overstepped…”

Lucy shook her head quickly. “It’s alright.”

The prince relaxed, face softening a little. “If there ever is anything that you feel you ought to tell myself or my family, you are always welcome to. Anything you say will be taken into confidence, and no punishment will come to you. You have my word.”

You don’t know my family very well, she thought sadly, but smiled at him for the gesture. All day, she had agonized over whether or not she should say something to one of them. If she did warn them regarding what they were sending Heavenerys into, and word got back to Amos that it was her who spoke up, the consequences would be dire.

But…could she really live with herself if she said nothing, and left the princess to walk into the jaws of a rabid dog potentially unawares?

She met Thomaryon’s gaze. There was something warm there, despite the icy blue of his eyes. She could not have entirely said why, but she felt safe with him. She did not doubt that he would make good on his promise of protection if that was what it came to. 

“You’ve heard the rumors about him,” she started to say, slowly. “About this place.”

“Yes.”

“And yet you promised her to him anyway.” That was the one thing she could not understand. Amos’s reputation was no secret. He wore it proudly. They had to know what he was. Why would they have offered him the future queen’s hand, and by extension one of the most powerful seats in the entire kingdom, if they were aware of all that? 

“Heavenerys is certain that she can handle him.”

“Can she?”

“Yes, I believe she can.” 

“Even if everything the rumors say about him is true?”

Thomaryon cocked his head. “My cousin is no shrinking violet. She’s more than capable of protecting herself. And she has Kairaxès at her side.”

Lucy nodded. The enormous, frost-scaled dragon was a formidable, legendary creature. She certainly would not want to risk his blue flames or sharp teeth if she was Amos. 

“He’s going to be king,” she said softly, her last hopes that the arrangement would fall through slowly dying, glancing across the room to where Amos was standing next to Heavenerys, close enough for their sides to be brushing while they conversed with her father. 

“Lucilla,” Thomaryon leaned forward, an urgency in his face. His voice lowered. “Lord Bolton may be poised to be king, but I have no intention of handing over our dynasty or all of our power to him. Heavenerys will still be queen, and myself and members of my family will continue sit on the small council.”

Lucy let her arm rest on the table, her fingers but inches away from his, aching to reach out and recapture the comfort that the warmth of his brief touch had brought her earlier, but not brave enough to actually do so. She nodded, letting his words sink in and soothe some of her worries. 

“Just…be careful with him,” she murmured. 

Thomaryon nodded. “We will.”

She let out a deep sigh of relief at knowing he had taken her warnings seriously and understood what he was dealing with. And yet…

“I feel as though I should say something to the princess as well…” 

Thomaryon shrugged. “You can, if you like.” He glanced over at where Heavenerys was still standing with Amos. Her arms were linked with his, smiling up at him adoringly. “But it won’t change anything.”

Lucy had to agree with him on that front. Amos was looking at Heavenerys with a similar expression of adoration splitting his face. Lucy shook her head. She barely recognized him. Never before had she seen him so…happy.

“We had to marry her to a northman,” Thomaryon explained, swirling the wine in his goblet lazily. 

“The people have been growing restless up here,” she concurred. 

“Yes. And with your house’s recent amassing of power, alongside how formidable the Starks already are, my aunt is worried about rebellions.”

“Why didn’t you marry her to one of the Stark boys?”

“Word is that Jared II is not particularly interested in the company of women, and the other two are already betrothed.”

“And I don’t imagine that the queen was all too interested in marrying the princess off to a house of any lesser standing than ours,” Lucy concluded.

“That’s right.”

She hummed, still watching Amos and Heavenerys, trying to discern if either of them were faking the love that seemed to be sparking between them. “Perhaps it will end up being a good match and I’m worrying for nothing.”

“Perhaps.” 

She looked back at Thomaryon to find him still gazing at her. The warm intensity of his eyes had her heart skipping a beat, warmth finding its way back to her cheeks. She opened her mouth, intending to change the subject to something more pleasant, when a voice interrupted. 

“Prince Thomaryon,” her father said, a hand landing on the back of her chair. Lucy felt her spine go rigid, jaw setting in a grimace at the unwanted presence. “So sorry to interrupt, but if you have a moment, I want to introduce you to my son, Elyas.”

Thomaryon frowned, looking like he was about to protest.

“That’s alright,” Lucy said quickly, knowing that if he refused his request, it would only cause a fuss between her and her father later. He’d probably accuse her of holding the prince hostage with her silly, boring little stories. “I’m sure that I’m boring the poor prince to tears anyway,” she managed a weak smile. Her father merely scowled at her before turning his expectant face back to Thomaryon.

The prince looked back at her, frowning a little, still looking conflicted. 

Please, just do what he wants. It’s easier, that way, she silently pleaded.

Whether he read the message in her eyes or not, Thomaryon stood, albeit reluctantly. “Alright.” But before departing with her father, he reached out, taking Lucy’s hand in his, and lifted it to press a quick kiss to the back of her palm. Lucy’s eyes widened at the softness of his lips against her skin. “It was lovely getting to speak with you, Lucilla,” he murmured, letting her hand go. 

“You as well, my prince,” she managed to stutter out. He gave her a small smile, lashes lowered slightly, light from the candles reflecting in his ice colored eyes. Her heart felt as though it was doing backflips in her chest, cradling the hand he had kissed to her chest as if she could infinitely hold the memory of his lips on her skin. Her father led him impatiently away, already saying something about his hopes that there may be a place for Elyas at court someday. Lucy cringed, feeling vaguely ill at the idea. She had been so focused on warning Thomaryon about Amos, she had not even gotten a chance to offer him a heads up regarding her brothers. 

“Cockblock,” Teddy muttered scowling at the back of their father’s head, coming up to stand beside her. “Ow!” he complained upon her elbowing him in the side.

“You’re going to get me into trouble,” she scolded halfheartedly while he retook his seat next to her. It wasn’t like she needed anymore of that. She already got hollered at for things enough as it was. 

Teddy flashed her a smile, as if he knew something that she didn’t. “Oh, sweet sister. Based on the way that he looks at you, I think you already are.”  

∗ ∗ ∗

Tommy rapped his knuckles against the wooden door leading into Heavenery’s chambers impatiently. It took only a moment for the door to be opened not by Heavenerys, but by Polly. 

“What do you want?” his aunt asked, looking puzzled at his presence. 

“I need to speak with Hev about something.”

She raised an eyebrow, but stepped aside to let him in. Heavenerys was sitting on a loveseat near the fire, working to undo the intricate braids her hair had been styled in for the day. 

“Hello, Tommy,” she greeted him warmly. “What’s going on? Is it Aerthurys?”

He sighed. It had been his and Jon’s job to keep their older brother from losing his damned mind during their time at the Dreadfort. Ever since Heavenerys’s betrothal to Amos had been announced, their older brother had been teetering on a ledge, moments away from spiraling into madness.

Tommy understood, to some level. Aerthurys had loved Heavenerys since they were children. It had to be agonizing for him to watch her be wrenched from his side and married to another man. But that did not stop Tommy from wishing that he could get a damned grip over himself. They may be royalty, but none of them were above duty. They had known that this day would come eventually. Polly had made it clear from the beginning that they would not be partaking in the tradition of incest that their family had enacted in the past. They needed to strengthen their ties with the other houses across the realm, and dilute some of the madness and sickness which generations of inbreeding had wrought upon them. 

Tommy struggled to understand how Aerthurys had not properly prepared himself for this moment. But then again, if he had any sense at all, his brother wouldn’t have gotten involved with their cousin in the first place.

“No,” he reassured, taking a seat across from Heavenerys, “it’s not Aerthurys.”

She tipped her head curiously. Polly sat down next to her. “So what is it?”

He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “I’ve spoken to Lady Lucilla some today.”

Heavenerys’s expression warmed. “I saw you sitting beside her at dinner. What’s she like?”

“She’s…” Beautiful. Warm. Sweet. Fiery. “Nice,” he cleared his throat quickly. “I think you and her will get along.”

Heavenerys brightened further. 

“But…?” Polly prompted, expression still stiff. Tommy kept his gaze locked with Heavenerys’s.

“You and Amos seem to be getting on well.”

His cousin’s face lit up like the sun, eyes glowing with the brightness of a woman newly in love. “Oh, Tommy, he’s wonderful…”

“Can you control him?”

Her smile faded a little. “What…?”

He shifted in his seat, crossing one leg over the over. He hated to potentially throw cold water onto her happiness, but he needed to be certain about this. “Lucilla says that all the rumors about him are true.”

Heavenerys’s smile died away. Polly’s lips pursed. “Amos has been nothing but lovely and charming when I’ve spoken to him.”

“Of course he has. You’re the queen. And his betrothed’s mother. If he were rude to you I’d be questioning his intelligence.”

Polly leaned back into the loveseat, fiddling with the edge of her sleeve. “You’re really going to trust the word of a torturer?”

He frowned at the reminder of the rumors that swirled around Lucilla. “I don’t think that’s what she really is.”

Polly scoffed. “Thomaryon, when it comes to beautiful women, you’re not always the best judge of character…”

He sputtered slightly in offense. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you often think with the head not attached to your shoulders,” Heavenerys giggled.

Tommy huffed, running a hand through his hair and giving a slight shake of his head. “She seems frightened of him. And her father. Look…she just wants us to be careful, that’s all.”

Heavenerys tipped her head. “That’s kind of her to worry, but she doesn’t need to.” She smiled slyly. “I’ve already got him eating from the palm of my hand, and we haven’t even spent the night together yet.”

Tommy leaned towards her, staring hard into her eyes. There was a dismissiveness in her attitude that only worried him further, but that he did not know how to combat. She was only seven and ten, and–while she may have denied it–still optimistic and naive when it came to much in the ways of the world. Polly had always been so protective over her. She’d sheltered her, sometimes too much. 

“You’re the future of the realm, Hev. I need you to be sure that you can handle him. Not just today, or tomorrow. But for all the years to come. And in all matters. We can’t have him becoming another cruel tyrant on the throne. I can help you, but there’s only so much that I can do, even as Hand…” 

Heavenerys smiled at him, leaning closer, meeting his eyes unflinchingly. “I am sure, Tommy. You don’t need to worry.”

“Even if he really is a monster?”

An edge seemed to enter her smile, something flickering within her near glowing eyes, and he was reminded of the superstitions that his cousin was kissed by the cold, cursed with something wicked and twisted.

Perhaps, that really did make her the perfect match for the dark lord of the Dreadfort.

“Then he will be my monster.”

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[buggbuzz]

GUESS WHOSE FRIEND TAUGHT HER HOW TO DOWNLOAD A DS EMULATOR SO SHE COULD PLAY A DRAGON GAME SHE PLAYED AS A KID AGAIN

[a-gay-bloodmage]

Day 5: Logic Has Not Yet Reached Her

(Merrill x Marian Hawke, Justice x Anders)

Hawke has been invited back to Merrill’s house for Wintersend. She doesn’t want to go alone. As a result, Anders and Justice are dragged along to be spectators to an afternoon of watching their first friend in Kirkwall pine after a blood mage.

Written for the @loveofdragonage and @andersweek2025 events!

[hiddenbeks]

rare cute khaless moment,,

[marcvscicero]

LOOK at what my nan just sent me omg i left my cicero and dragon statues at her house and 😭😭😭 i’m actually grinning at my phone so bad imagining my nan setting these photos up 😭😭😭

[moe-broey]

Honestly a dream hobby of mine (ESP as I've been getting more into Making Things with My Hands -- from pins to jewelry and ESPECIALLY clothing modifications) is doll customization. ESPPP inspired by Dollightful on Youtube, where her projects get So Involved sometimes she's woodworking she's sawing off limbs she's using clay and sanding it down to reshape the doll's body to fit her vision. AND ofc any doll custom involves a new face (watercolor pencils or paints choose your fighter) and new hair (doll hair BUT I ALWAYS THINK ABOUT the way of making doll hair/wefts Out Of Yarn‼️‼️ THAT'S SO COOL) and a new outfit (sewing and crafting and ESPECIALLY considering "Okay, What material would work best to achieve the goal I'm aiming for? How does it sit? How does it flow? And most IMPORTANTLY How Does It Work!!!!!")

Like maybe it's the alleged not officially diagnosed ADHD but I GET. SO BORED. If I'm not Working With My Hands (I literally CAN'T draw digital anymore because IT'S BORING‼️‼️ IT'S TOO CLEAN ALSO‼️‼️‼️ LET ME BULLSHIT AND GET MESSY AND TRY WEIRD THINGS THAT MAY OR MAY NOT WORK ‼️‼️‼️ EXPERIMENTAL‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️)

[kashverse]

it is a rite of passage for every child to have a pet, and when it is finally babykuna’s turn, sukuna—being the extra man that he is—does not just take her to a normal pet shop. no, no, no. he takes her to an exotic pet shop. because why settle for a goldfish when she could have a tarantula named missy? or maybe a snake called george? wouldn’t a scorpion be so much cooler? apparently not. because out of all the fascinating, unique, and terrifying creatures in the shop, babykuna walks past them all—ignores the lizards, dismisses the sugar gliders, doesn’t even look at the parrot that screeches a greeting at her—

and stops dead in front of a massive maine coon that is currently squished into a cage far too small for its body. the cat—fluffy, fat, and looking seconds away from sighing like a disappointed victorian orphan—locks eyes with babykuna. babykuna gasps, pressing her tiny hands against the cage. "mama! papa! it’s him!"

sukuna furrows his brows. "what?"

"him! my pet! my baby! my everything!"

you squint at the cat. it looks back at you like it’s seen some shit. "baby, are you sure?" you ask gently, glancing at the other animals. "there are so many cool options, what about—"

"NO!"

babykuna throws herself onto the ground, wailing like she’s in a period drama. sukuna jumps in alarm. "oi, oi, what the fuck, don’t start—"

before he can finish, the cat in the cage suddenly lets out a long, tragic, soul-crushing howl—as if mourning a life it never got to live.

the entire store falls silent.

"…what the fuck was that," sukuna hisses, visibly unsettled. babykuna gasps again, sitting up. "mr pickles! papa said a bad word!"

"mr…pickles?" sukuna repeats, looking at the cat like it personally offended him. "why is its name mr pickles?"

"because he is my son," babykuna says matter-of-factly, wiping away her fake tears. “and my heart knows his true name.” you press your lips together to keep from laughing. "mr pickles is a cute name, love."

"no, it’s not," sukuna grumbles, rubbing his temples. "baby, listen, papa will get you anything else, okay? you want a wolfdog? a komodo dragon? a fucking capybara?"

babykuna sobs.

"I WANT MR PICKLESSSSSSSSSS—!"

mr pickles, from inside his cage, lets out a sorrowful “AAAAAAAAAAAAOOOOOOOOOOOHHH—”

and that is how the fourth member of the family—a fat, depressed maine coon named mr pickles—came to be. turns out, despite his tragic victorian orphan appearance, mr pickles is actually a sweetheart. not only does he fulfill his feline duties—lounging around, occasionally chasing invisible ghosts, and knocking over things just for fun—he also doubles as babykuna’s personal weighted blanket. and let’s be honest, nothing has ever knocked babykuna out quite like mr pickles’ fluffy, oversized body. 

she sleeps like a brick, snoring so loudly that you once thought a grown man had somehow broken into the house and passed out in her room. but there she was—wrapped around mr pickles like a koala, drool dripping onto his fur, dead to the world. and mr pickles? he doesn’t complain even once. in fact, he doesn’t even move. just lies there, accepting his fate, staring blankly into the void while babykuna uses him as her personal mattress. what a versatile king. in fact, mr pickles has so many roles in this household.

a cat? yes.

a weighted blanket? absolutely.

a luxury aesthetic background for your new nail set photos? oh, you better believe it.

you take a picture of your freshly done nails—perfectly manicured, sitting against the soft, plush fur of mr pickles, the perfect neutral background. you send it to sukuna. he normally loves seeing your nails, but this time—his eyebrow twitches as he recognizes the background.

sukuna: are you using that fucking cat as a backdrop again you: mr pickles is an aesthetic marvel. sukuna: i will throw that thing in the washing machine

you report him to babykuna, who screeches in betrayal and slaps his arm like she’s defending her child from a monster. but let’s be real—the best thing about mr pickles? his impeccable manners.

the moment he finishes eating from his bowl, he delicately pushes it towards the sink—like some kind of distinguished gentleman disposing of his fine china. it is so polite that you almost want to give him a little bowtie. sukuna watches this with a blank face. “i feel like i should be impressed, but i also feel like i’m being manipulated.” and maybe, just maybe, he would grow to respect this cat.

except.

mr pickles is a hater. specifically, a sukuna hater. because whenever it comes to sukuna’s belongings? suddenly, mr pickles is the menace of the household.

one night, sukuna walks into the laundry room to grab his freshly washed, neatly pressed shirts, only to find mr pickles sprawled on top of them, looking at him with such deep, sorrowful eyes that sukuna physically cannot yell at him. he stares. mr pickles blinks slowly.

"…get the fuck off."

mr pickles closes his eyes and pretends to sleep.

"GET OFF."

the very next day, sukuna screams when he finds all of his socks shredded into oblivion—like someone went berserk with a pair of scissors. babykuna gasps, pointing at mr pickles. “papa! it was mr pickles!”

sukuna whirls to glare at the culprit. "you little shit—!"

mr pickles blinks at him, looking once again like a victorian boy with consumption.

sukuna’s rage stutters.

"…you think you’re funny, huh?"

mr pickles does not reply.

(but he does later eat an entire stack of sukuna’s important business papers™ and then vomits them out on the living room carpet.)

[voyter]

DEVOTION

pairing. jeon jungkook x fem!reader genre. knight!jungkook. queen!reader. a song of ice and fire au. 103 AC. smut.

your knight is completely devoted to you, and while it’s his duty, you can’t help but wonder if there’s something more behind his unwavering loyalty.

word count. 17.1k words (FUCK i am so sorry) warnings. this fic might be a bit confusing if you havent watched game of thrones or house of the dragon !!! misogyny. gender dynamics. seokjin and namjoon cameo hehe. forced / arranged marriage. over protective jungkook <3. cute convo between oc and her husband. violence. mentions of blood and murder. SO MUCH FUCKING TENSION. smut. two sex scenes !! dry humping. oral (male!receiving). unprotected sex (this universe takes place thousands of years ago and condoms didnt exist yet give me a break). bath sex. they almost get caught OOP. cheating (but both parties are consenting and they both openly do it to each other but they dont love each other romantically so its okay i guess) ???? jungkook literally worships her oh im sick i need him.

ana's notes. this fic ended up being much longer than i anticipated but oh my gosh i literally could NOT STOP WRITING !!! this is the longest fic ive ever written hello. this is inspired by alicent and coles relationship in season 2. sorry i hate them but this trope ??? OUUU TOO GOOD. so you know i got inspired. anyways, i love this one so much, so please let me know your thoughts <3. as always, keep your comments positive or say nothing at all xx

part of the based off film series. this one shot is based off house of the dragon.

You had always hated the idea of marrying someone you didn’t love, but you knew that marriage was not a choice — it was an obligation woven into the fabric of your destiny. Though reluctance filled you at first, you gradually came to terms with your duty, accepting the role thrust upon you with a measure of peace.

House Emberwyn ruled the Seven Kingdoms, making them the most powerful house of all. Your father had forged a deep bond with King Aelyx, the two men connected by the shared grief of losing their wives. Beyond their friendship, your father was adamant that uniting your houses through marriage was crucial. He envisioned a future where the intertwining of two powerful, wealthy legacies would forge an unbreakable realm.

Atticus, the son of King Aelyx, was only a year older than you — making him a suitable match. Like you, he was reluctant to marry, but he, too, understood the importance of duty. He wanted nothing more than to make his father proud, even if it meant sacrificing personal desire.

As the sole heirs of your respective houses, the pressure to produce children was immediate. The act of intimacy with Atticus was never one of passion or love; it was merely another duty. The first time was uncomfortable, almost unbearable, but over time, you learned to tolerate it. This was your life now, dictated by duty rather than desire.

Since your marriage, you have been blessed with three children. Ares, your eldest and only son, was conceived during your bedding ceremony. Now a boy of one and ten, he is wise beyond his years, his sharp mind driven by a deep love for books and knowledge. Celeste, your first daughter, is nine years old — a whirlwind of wild, unrestrained energy that seems impossible to contain. Already, she’s been eagerly awaiting the day she can take to the skies on dragonback, her spirit far older than her years. Then there is Luna, your youngest and newest addition to the family, a radiant little soul who brings warmth and light into every corner of your life. She is the calm of the storm, a small but powerful source of joy that never fails to lift your spirits, no matter how heavy the burdens of the day.

Atticus is a good father, never neglecting his children. He is present in their lives, providing for them with steadfast love and care. As a husband, he is kind and dutiful. Yet, despite all his virtues, he is not the love of your life.

The two of you had come to an agreement early in your marriage: you were free to seek pleasure where you wished, as long as heirs were made with each other. It was a compromise, one that allowed you both to navigate the confines of your duty while maintaining some semblance of personal freedom.

Tragedy struck shortly after Celeste’s birth when King Aelyx succumbed to an unknown illness. The crown passed to Atticus, and with it came the immense burden of ruling the Seven Kingdoms.

With Atticus as king, you became Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Yet, unlike your husband, you did not feel the same pressure. Your days were mostly spent within the confines of your chambers, where the laughter and antics of your children filled your life with light and purpose. Despite never having known your own mother — she had died giving birth to you — you felt as though motherhood had always been your calling.

While you wouldn’t trade your life for anything in the world, motherhood came with its challenges. Ares and Celeste were at the age where they bickered endlessly over the smallest of things — whether it was toys, attention, or simply to see who could get on your nerves first. Their constant squabbles were a source of frustration, and yet you knew it was a phase they would eventually outgrow. Luna, on the other hand, still so small and newly born, could not seem to stop crying. Her wails often filled the castle, and while the maids were always close by, ready to assist, you never allowed them to. You wanted your daughter to find comfort in your arms, not anyone else’s.

There were days when calming her down felt like a losing battle, the hours stretching into what felt like an eternity. But when you finally succeeded, when her cries quieted and her tiny form melted into sleep, it filled you with a sense of accomplishment. It was a small victory in a life full of larger, weightier battles.

Fortunately, today was one of the easier days. Luna wasn’t feeling particularly fussy, and after a few gentle rocks and soft pats on her back, she fell asleep in your arms without much protest. Relief washed over you as you gazed down at her peaceful face, her tiny chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. The soft warmth of her against you, the quiet of the room, made you feel like, for a moment, everything was right.

“Your Grace?”

A voice interrupted your quiet reverie, but you didn’t turn. Your eyes remained fixed on Luna, unwilling to break the fragile serenity of the moment. You hummed in response, acknowledging the speaker but unable to tear your gaze from your sleeping daughter.

“Your presence is wanted, though not required, Your Grace.”

The words draw you from your thoughts, and with a soft sigh, you finally turn to face the speaker. It’s the Lord Commander, standing tall and imposing, his armor catching the dim light filtering through the windows.

“What for?” you ask, your voice calm but laced with curiosity.

“The Kingsguard posting,” he replies, his tone formal, as always. “It’s been suggested that you select who will guard the Red Keep.”

You consider his words, your gaze drifting back to Luna, still fast asleep in your arms. The thought of placing your trust in someone else, of relying on others to protect what matters most, brings a weight to your chest. As a mother, your first instinct is always to shield your children. You would want nothing more than for them to roam the castle freely, knowing they were surrounded by those you trusted — those you handpicked.

“I suppose,” you murmur.

After carefully setting Luna in her crib, you linger for a moment, brushing a tender hand over her soft cheek. Ensuring the maids were nearby to watch over her, you quietly slip from the nursery and follow the Lord Commander through the castle's stone corridors. Your thoughts remain on Luna for a heartbeat longer before shifting to the matter at hand — choosing the knights who would guard your family, your children.

You arrive at the balcony overlooking the courtyard, where a line of knights stands at attention, their armor gleaming in the afternoon sun. The air is crisp, the tension palpable as each knight awaits his turn to be presented.

The Lord Commander steps forward, his voice ringing with authority. "Step forward, Ser Kim Namjoon."

The knight moves with a quiet confidence, offering you a small, almost shy smile. Dimples crease his cheeks, and despite the serious nature of the proceedings, you find yourself smiling back, charmed by the warmth in his expression.

"Ser Namjoon has proved strong and steady in both the tourney lists and in service beyond," the Lord Commander begins. "While traveling through the Kingswood on the way to King’s Landing, Ser Namjoon recently brought a would-be poacher to justice."

You listen carefully, considering the man before you. His loyalty and steadiness are clear, and his recent actions speak of a knight who serves with honor. Still, your mind drifts to a darker, more urgent thought — combat. The Red Keep, and more importantly, your children, needed knights who were not only honorable but battle hardened. In these uncertain times, loyalty alone would not be enough. 

"Ser Namjoon," you say, your voice polite yet measured. "We thank you for your loyal service to the Crown."

He bows deeply before stepping back into line, and you offer him a nod in return, though your thoughts continue to circle around the same question — how many of these knights had seen true combat?

The next knight steps forward, and your gaze narrows as you take him in.

"Ser Kim Seokjin," the Lord Commander announces.

This knight is taller, leaner than Namjoon. He holds himself with a quiet grace, his expression serious, but there's a spark of something beneath the surface — determination perhaps, or ambition.

"Winner of the melee at Cider Hall," the Lord Commander continues. "He was the last mounted of three and twenty knights. Ser Seokjin was knighted at eight and ten."

You raise an eyebrow, impressed by his accomplishments. Yet, your thoughts linger on something more pressing, more crucial to the protection of your family.

"Do any of these knights have combat experience?" you ask, your tone sharper now. "Beyond capturing poachers and winning tourneys?"

The Lord Commander nods solemnly, signaling the next candidate.

“Ser Jeon Jungkook.”

As the name is called, a young knight steps forward, noticeably younger than the others who had come before him. Yet, despite his youth, he carries himself with an air of quiet confidence, his steps measured and purposeful. Strands of raven hair fall loosely across his forehead, framing a face that, while youthful, is sharp with focus. His dark eyes meet yours with a steady gaze, neither too bold nor deferent — he stands unshaken by the weight of the moment.

He looks about your age, perhaps even younger, and though he lacks the grizzled scars of a seasoned warrior, something about him immediately draws your attention. There's a natural grace in the way he moves, his armor fitting him perfectly as if he was born to wear it. He’s quite handsome, a fact you can’t help but notice as he stands before you, the light of the setting sun casting a faint glow over his features.

"Tell me, Ser Jungkook," you say, breaking the silence, "have you seen real combat?"

He doesn’t falter, his voice steady as he speaks. "I have, Your Grace. I fought for a year as a foot soldier against the Dornish incursions. I was knighted after we razed two of the watchtowers along the Boneway.”

There is no hesitation in his tone, no embellishment. The quiet intensity of his words, the weight of lived experience behind them, strikes you deeply. His demeanor isn't that of a man seeking glory but of one who has already faced the fire and come out stronger for it. In that moment, your decision feels clear.

“It’s settled.” Your lips curve into a smile, one of certainty and satisfaction. “I choose Ser Jungkook.”

The Lord Commander stiffens slightly, his jaw tensing as though weighing whether to speak. Before you can take a step back toward your chambers, his voice interrupts, filled with respectful hesitation. "Perhaps we shouldn’t be too hasty, Your Grace. There is no doubt Ser Jungkook is a fine warrior, but Ser Namjoon and Ser Seokjin are from houses that are important allies of the Crown."

You turn slowly, your expression cool but firm. The politicking of the court — alliances, the endless exchange of favors and titles — was something you understood all too well. Yet, this was not a matter of alliances. This was the safety of your family, the future of your children. And no amount of courtly maneuvering could change that.

“Those men are tourney knights,” you say, your voice laced with a sharp edge. “My children should be defended by a man who’s known real combat. Should they not?”

The Lord Commander pauses, his gaze flickering between the knights and your unwavering stance. He gives a short bow, conceding. “Of course, Your Grace.”

You nod once, satisfied. “Very well, then,” you say, a smile returning to your face, though this time with a sense of finality. “I expect you to plan Ser Jungkook’s investiture.”

There’s a flicker of something in the Lord Commander’s eyes — perhaps begrudging respect or recognition of your authority in this matter. He bows once more before stepping aside. “As you wish, Your Grace. I will see to it.”

As the days passed, it became clear that your decision to appoint Ser Jungkook was more than justified.

Jungkook proved himself an unwavering presence in the lives of your children. He guarded Ares and Celeste like a loyal hound, always at their side, his dark eyes constantly scanning their surroundings for any sign of danger. Wherever they went — whether it was the training yard where Ares spent hours practicing swordplay or the garden where Celeste attempted to name every flower — Jungkook followed, his sight never leaving them.

In the corridors of the Red Keep, you would often catch glimpses of him, stationed at the door to whatever chamber Ares and Celeste had wandered into, standing with that same quiet intensity that first caught your attention. He never intruded upon their activities, never interfered with their games, but his presence was felt all the same. He was a silent sentinel, ensuring that no one entered or exited a room without his knowledge.

Even the servants and court members began to take note, offering respectful nods as they passed him. There was a certain respect that began to build around Jungkook, not just as a knight, but as a protector of the royal family — of your family.

Before Ser Jungkook’s arrival, the Red Keep had always felt secure. Its towering walls and seasoned guards provided a fortress of safety, a place where danger rarely crossed your mind. Yet, somehow, with Jungkook’s arrival, there was a new, tangible sense of protection. His presence, quiet yet vigilant, added an extra layer of assurance, as if the very air had shifted, growing thicker with safety, steadier with his watchful eye. He didn’t need to speak or make grand gestures; just knowing he was there, standing mere feet away from you, made the castle feel more fortified than it ever had before.

In many ways, he made you feel like that too — protected, even in the smallest, unspoken ways.

The Small Council was always the most grueling part of your day. Despite your title as Queen, you found yourself constantly sidelined, your voice often drowned out by the men who dominated the discussions. You had grown accustomed to their subtle condescension — the way they’d nod and pretend to listen, only to carry on as if your words had never been spoken. You’d learned to expect it, but the sting of dismissal never faded entirely.

And today was no different.

As you took your seat, Jungkook stood nearby, ever the silent sentinel. He’d grown adept at reading you, his dark eyes keenly observing the smallest shift in your demeanor. He noticed how, at first, you entered the room with a composed grace, ready to engage in the matters at hand. But as the meeting dragged on, frustration began to creep in, visible in the slight tightening of your jaw each time a man at the table spoke over you or dismissed your suggestions with a polite but infuriating nod.

Jungkook’s eyes followed the subtle changes — the way your posture stiffened, the soft sigh you tried to suppress, and then, finally, the way boredom started to settle in as you reached for the small stone ball on the table, rolling it between your fingers absentmindedly. He knew you were doing your best to remain patient, but the disrespect weighed heavily in the room.

His hand instinctively twitched at his side, a protective instinct rising within him as he stood there watching. He was ready to intervene if the moment called for it, though he knew better than to step in unless absolutely necessary. Still, his silent support was palpable, a reassuring presence amidst the clamor of men who failed to see the strength in the woman before them.

“Perhaps we should discuss Driftmark, Your Grace,” the Maester began, his voice too casual for the gravity of the subject. He directed his attention toward your husband, but the mention of Driftmark instantly drew you in, pulling you from your growing boredom. You straightened in your seat, the defensiveness in your posture clear.

“What of it?” Your voice came out sharper than you intended, the raw emotion behind it hard to suppress. Driftmark wasn’t just a topic for idle conversation — it was family. Personal. The loss of the Lord of the Tides, your cousin’s husband, had been a blow that still lingered, and the aftermath of it weighed heavily on your heart.

He had been more than just family; he had adored your children as if they were his own, even naming your daughter, Celeste, as his heir. It was an honor, though one with its own set of complications. With Ares set to inherit the Iron Throne, Celeste was to inherit Driftmark. Your cousin, devastated by the loss of her husband and without heirs of her own, was to hold the seat in her stead until Celeste came of age.

The Maester’s eyes flickered between you and your husband, clearly aware of the tension in the room but too entrenched in his own position to approach the subject delicately. He cleared his throat, then spoke with a tone that bordered on patronizing. “It’s... a delicate matter, Your Grace. There are those who believe the succession should be reconsidered, given your daughter’s age. Furthermore, some question the wisdom of naming a girl as heir to such a powerful seat.”

Your stomach tightened, fury simmering beneath the surface. A girl. As if Celeste’s age or gender diminished her worth, her potential. You could feel the disdain, not just for your daughter, but for the very idea of a woman wielding such power.

You held the Maester’s gaze, your voice sharp with barely concealed fury. “And do you agree with them?”

The chamber seemed to freeze in that moment, the weight of your words pressing down on everyone in the room. All eyes flickered nervously between you and the Maester, the tension palpable as if even the air had thickened, making it harder to breathe. Everyone braced themselves for the confrontation that was surely coming.

The Maester, sensing the chance to finally reveal his true thoughts, straightened in his seat, his chest puffing out as arrogance replaced caution. He no longer glanced toward your husband for approval; instead, his focus was solely on you, his eyes glinting with condescension.

“A woman on the Driftwood Throne, Your Grace?” he repeated, his voice dripping with condescension. “Forgive my candor, but Driftmark is not some soft and delicate estate. It is a seat of warriors, sailors, men of the sea and battle. Its history is steeped in strength and tradition. To put a mere girl — no matter her bloodline — on that chair is folly, plain and simple. A woman’s place is in the home, tending to hearth and children, not commanding fleets or sitting in council chambers. The late Lord has a brother who would make a fine new Lord, more befitting the legacy.”

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks, your hands tightening into fists. “His brother has no desire for rule!” you shot back, your temper dangerously close to boiling over. “Celeste is his rightful heir. It was his wish, and it will not be questioned!”

The Maester, unfazed, continues. “Your Grace… with all due respect, your daughter is but a child. A girl of her age should be concerned with dolls and dresses, not the governance of a seat as vital as Driftmark. There are many in the realm who would argue that Driftmark deserves a stronger hand. A male heir, one capable of steering the course of the future, as tradition demands. Perhaps it is time to reconsider your decision, before it’s too late. Before the realm begins to question not only Driftmark’s future, but the Queen’s judgment as well.”

The insult hung in the air like a storm cloud, casting a heavy, suffocating tension over the room. The audacity — the sheer gall of the Maester to question not only your daughter’s right but your authority as Queen. Fury simmered beneath your composed exterior, your hand twitching as though you might lash out.

But before you could muster a response, Jungkook was already moving.

“You will watch your tongue when speaking to the Queen, Maester,” Jungkook’s voice was a low, dangerous rumble, carrying the unmistakable weight of a threat. His usually calm demeanor was gone, replaced by something far more menacing. “Or it shall be taken from you.”

The room seemed to shrink around the Maester, all eyes now on him as the color drained from his face. His earlier arrogance dissolved in an instant, replaced with wide-eyed panic. The man who had dared to question your daughter’s birthright now looked as though he might faint from fear.

“I- I meant no offense, Ser Jungkook,” the Maester stammered, his words tumbling over themselves in a desperate attempt to backpedal. His gaze flickered nervously from you to Jungkook, searching for some kind of escape.

“You did,” Jungkook cut him off sharply, his tone like the edge of a blade. His gaze bore into the Maester, unyielding, unwavering. “And I will remind you once more: mind your tongue.”

The silence that followed was deafening, the threat hanging in the air like a blade, and no one doubted that Jungkook would make good on his promise if pushed further.

You turned your gaze to Jungkook, barely concealing your silent shock. The man who stood just feet away, usually so quiet and composed, always speaking only when spoken to, had stepped in to defend you — boldly, without hesitation. The gesture was unexpected, and for a moment, you were struck by the kindness and protectiveness it held.

It was not just the words he had spoken, but the intensity behind them, the clear signal that he would tolerate no disrespect toward you. In a room full of lords and courtiers who often dismissed your voice, Jungkook’s sudden defense felt like a rare and precious show of loyalty. Uncommon as it was, it left a warmth spreading in your chest, a silent but deeply felt appreciation.

Jungkook still hadn’t met your eyes, his intense gaze fixed on the Maester, the disapproval and disgust etched in his expression radiating an aura so fierce, it was almost frightening. He stood there like a wall of steel, silently daring anyone to challenge him again.

You turned your attention back to the Maester, who now squirmed under the weight of the moment. His once confident, condescending exterior had crumbled, now sitting timidly in his seat.

“Celeste is the rightful heir,” you stated, your voice even and composed, though laced with quiet authority. “She will rule Driftmark, and she will do so just as well as any man ever could. Anyone who questions that,” you paused, allowing the weight of your words to settle over the room, “will regret it.”

The Maester lowered his head, unable to meet your gaze, his earlier arrogance completely shattered. “Of course, Your Grace. Please, forgive my words.”

Jungkook didn’t move an inch, his focus still locked onto the Maester like a hawk waiting for the slightest wrong move. The room felt smaller, the tension almost suffocating as the Maester’s earlier confidence reduced to a pitiful murmur.

“See that you don’t forget that again,” you said, your tone final and cold, leaving no room for further argument.

With that, you stood up from your seat, the weight of the moment still hanging heavy in the air. Without another word, you turned on your heel and made your way out of the courtroom, every step deliberate, your posture unyielding. The entire room seemed to hold its breath as you moved, a quiet power radiating from you that demanded respect.

Jungkook, as ever, was by your side in an instant, but he kept a respectful distance, just enough to remain a silent protector, his presence still like a shield around you. His footsteps were measured, the sound of his boots echoing softly in the corridors, and yet there was an undeniable sense of security in the space between you two. No words were exchanged as you made your way to your chamber — there was no need for them. His silent solidarity was all you required.

Jungkook’s presence was reassuring, like the calm after a storm, and it made the weight of leadership — of being Queen — just a little easier to bear.

After the heat of earlier’s events, the last thing you wanted was to step foot back into the chaos of the court. The weight of the Maester’s words still lingered in the air, and you felt the need to retreat, to recharge in the only place that felt truly like yours. So, you didn’t leave your chambers for the rest of the day. You took the rare opportunity to unwind, the need for solitude outweighing any further obligations for the day.

Without a second thought, you changed into your nightgown well before the moon rose, the soft fabric a welcome contrast to the tense weight of your court attire. You moved with practiced ease, the familiar ritual of shedding the day’s responsibilities easing the knots in your shoulders. 

The fire crackled merrily in the hearth, casting a warm glow that danced across the room. You sank into the couch, the cushions molding to your body as you settled in front of the flames. With a book in hand, you opened the pages, the words inviting you into another world — a world where you could forget, if only for a moment, the burdens of being Queen.

You lost yourself in the story, the flicker of the fire keeping time with the rhythm of your reading. Outside your window, the castle was quiet, the usual noise of the corridors muted by the sanctuary of your chamber. For the first time that day, you felt a sense of peace. The world outside could wait. Here, in the comfort of your own space, you could simply be.

But just as the fire’s soft, flickering glow began to lull you deeper into peace, a knock at the door broke the fragile silence, its sound sharp and intrusive. A flicker of annoyance stirred within you — someone daring to interrupt the quiet sanctuary of your evening. But then, a familiar voice, calm and steady, followed.

“Your Grace?”

It’s him.

You took a slow breath, the irritation melting away at the sound of his voice, and called softly, “Come in, Ser Jungkook.”

The door creaked open, but Jungkook didn’t immediately step inside. He stood just beyond the threshold, his tall frame framed by the dim light spilling from the hall, casting long shadows across the stone floor. There was something endearing in the way he paused there, as though uncertain, hesitating to cross the boundary of your private space without your explicit permission. His respect for the sanctity of your chambers was something rare, a simple act that made him stand out even more.

“My apologies, Your Grace,” he said, his voice smooth and steady, like the evening air itself. “I’ve just come to alert you that the children are abed.”

A soft smile tugged at the corners of your lips.

What you didn’t know was that the children had been in bed for some time. Jungkook had only alerted you now because he was standing just outside your door, hesitating. He wasn’t sure if he should disturb your peace with the news. Still new to this role, he was uncertain of how to balance his duties with the delicate art of discretion.

“Thank you, Ser Jungkook,” you said, your tone warm with gratitude. “I would appreciate it if you informed me every night from now on.”

“Of course, Your Grace. Sleep well.” Jungkook gave a respectful nod, his voice as steady and sincere as ever, and he turned to leave.

“Ser Jungkook,” you called again, before he could close the door behind him.

He paused, hand resting lightly on the doorframe, his dark eyes meeting yours in the soft, flickering firelight. For a brief moment, the noise of the castle seemed to fall away, the crackling fire the only sound that filled the space between you. It was rare, these moments of true stillness, where it was just the two of you, no interruptions, no duties weighing on either of your shoulders. The warmth from the fire cast a soft glow over him, accentuating the quiet strength in his features.

For the first time, you found yourself truly looking at him — not just the protector of your children, not just the present knight, but Jungkook. 

“I’ve yet to thank you for earlier — in the Small Council chamber,” you said softly, your voice quiet but earnest. “I appreciate your defense. Thank you.”

The words hung between you for a moment, carrying a weight that felt heavier than it should. It wasn’t just the defense itself, though that was significant; it was the quiet way he had stood up for you. Jungkook had always been the silent one, always just there, standing in the background. But today, he had been more. He had spoken when no one else had. His simple act of defending you meant more than you could say.

Jungkook’s posture softened at your words, though his expression remained composed, his usual stoic demeanor intact. Yet, as he held your gaze, his dark eyes seemed to linger a moment longer than usual, a subtle warmth settling in his look that wasn’t often there. It was as though the space between you both had shifted, the heavy tension of the day dissolving into something quieter, almost comforting.

“It was nothing, Your Grace. You need not thank me,” he replied, his voice low and measured, though there was something beneath it — something genuine, almost vulnerable, that made the words feel different from his usual calm, detached responses. His eyes remained steady on yours, and for a moment, the usual distance between you seemed to shrink, as though he was offering something unspoken, something more than just a knight’s duty. “You shouldn’t have to endure that kind of disrespect. It’s my duty to protect you, in all ways.”

You gave a soft nod, absorbing the weight of his words. Jungkook was a constant in your life — a silent guardian who stood watch over both your children and yourself. But hearing him speak of protecting you in such a way, so plainly and honestly, stirred something within you. It wasn’t just your children that mattered to him; it was you, as well. 

“You do more than protect,” you said, your voice softer now, the weariness of the day gradually easing. “Your actions today… they meant more than you know.”

Jungkook’s lips twitched at the corners, acknowledging your words, but he didn’t respond right away. There was a brief silence between you both, the fire’s crackling embers filling the stillness as he shifted his weight, his stance still as rigid as ever, but now, a slight tension in his shoulders had eased.

“If there’s ever anything you need, Your Grace,” he said finally, his tone softer than it had been moments before, but with an underlying firmness that conveyed his commitment, “I am here.”

The sincerity in his voice wrapped around you like a quiet promise, steady and unwavering. The light of the fire caught on his features, casting soft shadows over his face, making his usually guarded expression seem less distant, more human. You felt a sense of peace settling into the space between you both, a momentary connection that felt more genuine than anything that had passed between you in the public eye.

“Thank you,” you replied softly, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips, finding comfort in the rare, honest exchange.

Jungkook inclined his head once more, his expression softening in a way that was unusual for him — a small, but genuine smile curling his lips, the warmth of it making him seem more approachable, more... real.

“Goodnight, Your Grace,” he said quietly, voice full of respect, but also something else — something deeper.

“Goodnight, Ser Jungkook,” you murmured in return.

With that, he turned and moved to close the door behind him, the soft click of the latch signaling his departure. But as the door clicked shut, you realized that this time, you didn’t feel the usual solitude. There was something different. Something comforting. Something exciting that made the pit of your stomach feel funny, in knowing he was standing just outside your door.

Just the barrier of wood between you two.

The next day unfolded much more peacefully than the last. 

You sat on the floor of your chamber, the luxurious fabric of your gown pooling around you like a soft sea of silk. The quiet of the room was comforting as you focused on the delicate task in front of you — embroidering a blanket for Luna. Each stitch was a calming motion, your mind momentarily free of the weight of royal duties. 

You hadn’t seen Jungkook yet, but his presence lingered in your thoughts, like an unspoken promise. The anticipation of his arrival stirred a quiet excitement within you, though you had no idea when he might appear. 

The silence was broken by your husband's voice, cutting through the peaceful air as he entered without knocking, his tone casual. “How are you feeling today?”

You glanced up briefly, meeting his eyes before returning to your work. “Better,” you answered, the edges of your lips curving into a faint smile.

“Good,” Atticus replied, smirking as he made his way over to the table and poured himself a goblet of wine. “Do you think you’ll be attending the Small Council today?”

You hesitated, the thought of sitting through another long, tedious session filling you with a quiet reluctance. “No… if that’s alright?” you replied, your tone tentative, not wanting to seem too dismissive of his suggestion.

“Of course,” Atticus said, lifting the goblet to his lips. His eyes gleamed with a hint of mischief as he added, “But I’ll have you know, I’ve hired a new Maester.”

The words hit you like a spark, and without thinking, you put your needle down. The sudden shift in the conversation caught your attention fully. Your eyes locked onto him, eyebrows raised in surprise. The idea of a new Maester was unexpected — and it immediately piqued your curiosity.

"Are you upset about that?" you asked, your voice soft and laced with a hint of apology, eyes searching his face for any sign of how he truly felt.

Atticus paused, his gaze meeting yours with a quiet intensity. His lips curled into a knowing smirk, and he set the goblet down gently on the table. "I could never be upset with you for only standing up for yourself," he said, his voice steady, though there was an underlying heat to his words. "And someone as disrespectful as that will not continue to walk around in this castle."

His declaration was resolute, filled with a quiet determination. The confidence in his voice was not just from his position, but from a place of deep respect for you. It was as if he had taken the full weight of your frustration upon himself, and the fire behind his words showed that he would do whatever it took to ensure you never had to endure such treatment again. 

You smile warmly at his words. "Thank you, Atticus."

He pauses, a small smile tugging at his lips, his fingers tapping idly on the edge of the table. "You know, as much as I’m not in love with you," he says slowly, his tone more thoughtful than usual, "I still love you."

The admission hangs in the air between you, the raw honesty in his voice bringing a quiet comfort. It wasn't the passionate declaration of romance you might have hoped for, but it was the kind of love that ran deep — steady, consistent, unshakable. 

You meet his gaze, and your heart softens with understanding. "As do I," you reply, your voice gentle but genuine. 

It wasn’t the kind of love that others might expect, filled with grand gestures and whispered sweet nothings. But in its own way, it was a love that had stood the test of time. It isn’t passionate, but there’s a respect and understanding between the two of you that runs deep.

“Now,” Atticus says, his voice low, teasing. “Can we talk about your knight in shining armor?”

You roll your eyes but can’t suppress the smirk that tugs at your lips. “Oh Gods,” you say, the edge of amusement clear in your voice as you go back to your needlework.

“Oh, come on,” he whines, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes. “I let you pick, now you have to tell me all about him!”

You raise an eyebrow, glancing up at him. “It was you who suggested I pick?”

He shrugs nonchalantly, a playful grin tugging at his lips. “I thought you’d feel more content choosing someone yourself.”

“I do,” you reply with a small smile, returning to your embroidery. “It was a wise suggestion.”

“Oh, don’t change the subject now!” He motions with a dramatic hand. “What was that about yesterday?”

“He was just defending me,” you say, hoping to dismiss the conversation, though you’re well aware it won’t be that easy.

Atticus lets out an exaggerated sigh, rolling his eyes in dramatic fashion. “No knight is that devoted to duty, my dear wife.”

His words make you pause, but you try not to let it show. Still, a smile begins to creep onto your lips, unbidden. You hadn’t really allowed yourself to think about it that way. Jungkook had always been quiet, loyal, reliable — but devoted in the way Atticus is hinting? It’s a thought that stirs something unexpected in you.

“Well, believe it or not,” you say, unable to stop the small grin now, “we’ve spoken to each other only a few times.”

Atticus raises an eyebrow, leaning in slightly, clearly entertained. “Is that so? And yet, with little words between you, he’s ready to challenge a room full of lords for your honor. Fascinating.”

You roll your eyes, returning to your needlework in an attempt to focus, but your mind can’t help but drift back to Jungkook. The memory of his voice, steady and unyielding as he defended you, lingers. Maybe Atticus has a point, but admitting that would only fuel his relentless teasing.

“He’s just dutiful,” you insist, though even you can hear the uncertainty creeping into your voice. 

Atticus catches it too, and his smirk widens as he takes a slow, deliberate sip from his goblet. “Dutiful because he loves his duty? Or because of you?”

Your cheeks flush instantly, the warmth creeping up your neck as you try to brush off the insinuation. “You’re reading into this too much,” you mumble, focusing on the embroidery in your lap, though your needlework suddenly seems less interesting.

“Am I?” Atticus drawls, stepping closer, his tone playful but probing. “Did you solely choose him because of his skills?”

You glance up at him briefly, trying to suppress a smile. “Are you implying something?”

He shrugs, the smirk on his lips widening. “Well, did you?”

“I did!” you exclaim, the words tumbling out a little too quickly, as if you’re trying to convince yourself as much as him. You glance up at Atticus, catching the amused gleam in his eyes. “He’s excellent with the children, and he strikes the perfect balance around here — intimidating enough to make it clear no one should challenge him, but not so much that the children are frightened. I trust him completely, and I’ve only known him a short while.”

Atticus hums, swirling the wine in his goblet with deliberate slowness before taking a sip, his skepticism apparent in the slight arch of his brow.

You shake your head, sighing lightly. “He’s proven his worth,” you say, trying to sound firm, though the soft smile that sneaks onto your lips betrays you. “It’s his abilities that matter.”

Atticus grins, thoroughly enjoying this exchange. “Of course, his abilities. And it’s just a coincidence that the knight you trust with our children’s safety also happens to be rather… easy on the eyes?”

You scoff, rolling your eyes, though the warmth spreading through your chest betrays your amusement. “His appearance has nothing to do with why I chose him,” you insist, though your tone has lost its edge, becoming playful and light. “He’s capable, loyal, and vigilant. His looks are irrelevant.”

Atticus raises an eyebrow, his smirk widening into a knowing grin. “Irrelevant, but not unnoticed?”

You shoot him a mock glare, though the smile tugging at your lips makes it hard to maintain any seriousness. “You’re impossible,” you say with a shake of your head. “I care about his skills and nothing more.”

Atticus chuckles softly, clearly entertained. “We shall see,” he teases, his voice lingering in the air as he begins to make his exit. His steps are slow, unhurried, as though he’s savoring the moment. 

He walks out with a lightness in his stride, and the faint echo of his laughter trails behind him, leaving you alone with your thoughts — and the quiet, unsettling realization that maybe, just maybe, his words weren’t entirely off the mark.

Returning to the Small Council felt different this time. The atmosphere had shifted. The men were more considerate, actually taking your opinions into account — a stark contrast to their usual dismissiveness. It seemed Atticus’ harsh punishment of the last Maester had sent a clear message: disrespect would no longer be tolerated. They were treading carefully now, not wanting to find themselves in a similar predicament.

You exhaled a long breath as you walked into your chamber, ready to unwind after the tense day. Removing your jewelry, you placed each piece delicately on the table, the soft clink of metal filling the otherwise quiet room. You went to bend down to slip off your shoes, eager for the relief of the cool floor beneath your feet.

But before you could, a sharp point suddenly pressed against your neck.

You froze.

Panic surged through you as the cold blade pressed harder against your skin, the world around you narrowing to the sound of your racing heartbeat.

“Don’t scream,” a low voice hissed in your ear, breath hot against your skin, “or you will die.”

Your breath hitched, the threat sinking in, terror flooding your veins. Tears welled in your eyes as helplessness gripped you. You had never felt so vulnerable, so utterly at the mercy of another.

The man spun you around with a jerk, and your gaze landed on another figure lurking in the shadows — both were dressed in the rough, dirt stained garb of rat catchers, but their eyes gleamed with intent far darker than pest control.

“We were paid to kill the little girl,” the man growled, his eyes boring into yours with malicious purpose. “The one who is set to inherit Driftmark. Where is she?”

Your heart stopped. They wanted Celeste. Your daughter. 

Desperation clawed at your insides, but you forced yourself to remain calm, though your voice trembled as you spoke. “I have many things in here of great value,” you said, your mind racing to stall, to buy any time you could. “You can take whatever you want. Jewelry, gold…”

The man sneered, pressing the blade just a fraction closer, enough to make your skin prickle with fear. “We’re not here for trinkets,” he spat. “We’re here for the girl.”

The suffocating pressure eased as the man shoved you away, though he kept his dagger trained on you, its sharp point a constant threat.

“Lead us to her,” he snarled, “and you will live.”

Your pulse quickened, panic rising. But amid the terror, you clung to one thought: Jungkook was just outside, standing guard by the children’s room. He would protect Celeste.

Heart pounding, you forced your legs to move, stepping cautiously toward the door of your chamber. The rat catchers followed closely, one of them pressing the dagger against your back, a constant reminder of the danger lurking just inches away.

By the time you reached the door, your eyes caught a glimpse of movement. Jungkook — his back against the wood, waiting, ready. His gaze met yours, and in that brief moment, you felt a surge of relief, but it was fleeting.

Before you could react, Jungkook sprang into action. In a heartbeat, he grabbed your arm and yanked you behind him, shielding you with his body. You stumbled backward, watching in awe as he unsheathed his sword with deadly precision. 

Jungkook wasted no time. His blade sank deep into the stomach of the first rat catcher, a sickening thud echoing in the hallway. The man gasped, blood spurting from the wound, and crumpled to the floor.

The second assailant, wild with desperation, swung his dagger wildly at Jungkook. But Jungkook moved with lethal grace, dodging each strike effortlessly. His movements were swift, controlled, each step calculated. In one fluid motion, he caught the man's wrist mid swing, twisting it with a force that made the man cry out in pain. Jungkook’s grip tightened, and with a brutal efficiency, he forced the attacker to plunge the dagger into his own abdomen.

The man’s eyes widened in shock, the weapon lodged deep within him, his strength faltering. Jungkook released him, and the second rat catcher staggered before collapsing to the ground beside his companion, both of them now lying in pools of their own blood.

In shock, you stood frozen, tears welling in your eyes as the reality of the moment crashed over you. Only a minute ago, you had feared for your life, for your family’s lives. And now, Jungkook had effortlessly put an end to the rat catchers, his blade on the ground still stained with their blood. It all felt too surreal, too close.

Before you could fully process what had happened, Jungkook rushed to you, his expression softening with concern. He cupped your face gently in his hands, his touch grounding you. “Your Grace? Are you hurt?” His voice was low but urgent, his eyes scanning you for any sign of injury.

You shook your head, still unable to find your voice, too overwhelmed by everything. Your heart pounded, your throat tight as you struggled to keep yourself together.

“You’re alright now,” Jungkook whispered, his thumbs brushing tenderly across your cheeks. “Everything’s okay.”

But it wasn’t. The fear, the relief, the gratitude — they all hit you at once, overwhelming your senses. And before you knew it, your emotions spilled over. You erupted into sobs, throwing your arms around Jungkook’s neck, seeking the warmth and safety of his presence. You buried your face into his skin, your tears dripping onto his armor as you cried.

Jungkook didn’t hesitate for a second. His arms wrapped tightly around you, holding you close to him, his strength and warmth offering the comfort you so desperately needed. One of his hands rubbed soothingly up and down your back while the other cradled your head, pressing you gently against his chest. His heartbeat, steady and strong, was the only thing keeping you grounded amidst the chaos of your emotions.

“Shh, it’s alright,” he murmured into your hair, his voice soft and calming. “You’re safe now.”

And in that moment, in his arms, you believed him.

After Atticus learned about the rat catchers’ attack, his fury was swift and intense, shaking the very walls of the Red Keep. His voice thundered from the Small Council chamber, echoing through the halls as he took command of the situation. His anger wasn’t just justified — it was terrifying. No one dared stand in his way as he set out to make sure something like this could never happen again.

You sat in your children’s room, seeking comfort in their innocent presence. Even as you tried to calm your racing heart, the distant roar of Atticus’s orders only heightened the gravity of what had nearly occurred. He wasted no time doubling the guard, placing knights at every vulnerable corner of the Keep. The added protection was meant to reassure, but for you, it only underscored the severity of the danger that had almost taken your daughter.

Atticus was relentless in his pursuit of justice. He immediately dispatched his men to find out who had hired the rat catchers. It wasn’t long before the truth came out — your former Maester hadn’t been acting alone. There were more, many more, who shared his poisonous view that Celeste, your little girl, had no right to inherit Driftmark. These men, clinging to their outdated belief that only a man should rule, had conspired to end her life before she could ever sit upon the Driftwood Throne.

Those who were caught speaking against Celeste’s claim were dealt with harshly. Atticus showed no mercy. He threw them in the dungeons without a second thought, ensuring that any who dared oppose your daughter’s future would be silenced. In this, he was steadfast, and you were grateful for his fierce protection of your family.

But even with the threat supposedly contained, the fear hadn’t left you. That night still clung to you like a dark shadow, creeping into your thoughts when you least expected it. The memory of those men — of their knives and their cruel threats — replayed in your mind every night, a loop you couldn’t break free from. 

Sleep was becoming harder to find. You would lie awake, staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of the attack pressing down on your chest. Even with Jungkook stationed just outside your door, standing as your silent guardian, the sense of unease never fully faded. You trusted him more than anyone now, knowing he had saved you without hesitation, but your mind couldn’t silence the what ifs. What if something happened to him? What if the guards missed something? What if they came back?

Tonight was no different. The room was quiet, your children safe in their beds, but your thoughts raced. Every creak of the floorboards, every gust of wind outside felt like a reminder of how close you had come to losing everything. You sat up in bed, pulling your knees to your chest, trying to calm the storm within. 

Jungkook was right outside the door — so close, and yet, the fear lingered. You knew he wouldn’t let anything happen to you, but that night had changed everything. The vulnerability, the terror, had been too real, and you couldn’t just forget it. Even though the Red Keep was locked down, even though Atticus had done everything in his power to keep you safe, you were haunted by the thought that danger still lurked just out of sight.

You couldn’t sleep. The quiet room, the stillness, your own thoughts circling endlessly — it was too much. You knew that tonight, like so many others, you’d be awake until the sun rose. So, with a sigh, you slipped out of bed, crossed the room, and quietly opened the door.

And there he was.

Jungkook stood just outside, his back to you, ever vigilant. When the door creaked softly, he turned, eyes meeting yours. In the faint light of the moon, his features were softened, yet his gaze was alert, concerned. The gleam in his eyes caught the moonlight, and for just a moment, the comfort of his presence made the world feel a little less daunting.

“Your Grace?” he asked, his voice low but steady. “I thought you’d be abed by now.”

“I can’t sleep,” you admitted, your voice quiet but laden with the weight of sleepless nights and endless worry.

“You’re safe now,” he said gently, his tone firm yet soothing, as if trying to will your mind to find peace. “Allow yourself to rest.”

You managed a faint smile, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “You said you’d be here if I ever needed anything.”

His brows furrowed slightly as he nodded, understanding your unspoken request. “I did.”

You hesitated only briefly before speaking again, your voice softer now. “Can you come in?”

Jungkook’s eyes widened ever so slightly, and he straightened. “Your Grace, I hardly think that is appropriate,” he replied, though his tone was more uncertain than firm. His sense of duty and propriety clashed visibly with his desire to help you.

“It will comfort me,” you said, the vulnerability in your voice enough to make him falter.

He hesitated, clearly torn. His hand gripped the hilt of his sword as if it could ground him in the face of your request. His loyalty to you was absolute, but the boundaries of it were something he grappled with now.

Seeing his hesitation, you added, teasing softly, “Your Queen demands you.”

That earned you a small smile, one that softened the tension in the air. Jungkook shook his head, chuckling under his breath as he conceded. “Well, who am I to deny my Queen?” he said, stepping past the threshold.

As Jungkook entered the room, his mere presence brought with it a sense of security you hadn’t even realized you’d been yearning for. His eyes never left yours, filled with a mix of concern and quiet understanding, as you led him over to the couch by the fireplace. 

You settled yourself on one side, pulling a blanket over your legs as you crossed them beneath its warmth. When you glanced up, you noticed he hadn’t joined you yet. Instead, he stood a little distance away, unsure, his posture stiff as if still on duty.

“Sit,” you gestured to the empty space beside you.

He hesitated for a moment, his eyes flickering to the door as if he still wasn’t sure this was the right thing to do. But your gentle command was enough to sway him. With a slight nod, he moved closer, his heavy footsteps softening as he reached the couch. Just as he was about to sit, you spoke again, your voice quiet but firm.

“Take off your armor.”

He froze, eyes wide as if caught off guard by your request. “Your Grace,” he said slowly, his tone almost a warning, a reminder of the boundary he believed needed to remain in place.

But you shook your head, your expression soft but insistent. “I don’t want you here as Ser Jungkook,” you explained, your voice carrying a vulnerability you hadn’t meant to reveal. “I want you here just as Jungkook.”

For a moment, he didn’t move, clearly torn between his sense of duty and the comfort you were asking for. But then, with a slow exhale, he began to unfasten the clasps of his armor, the metallic clinks filling the otherwise quiet room. Piece by piece, the weight of it fell away, and he set it aside, each movement careful and deliberate.

Jungkook looked at you, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips as he gestured to his cloak. "If you would," he said softly, his eyes warm but with a hint of playful mischief.

You couldn’t help but smile back, feeling a bit lighter as you stood from the couch, the blanket slipping from your lap and pooling onto the floor. Your fingers brushed against his as you reached for the clasp of his cloak, feeling the cool metal as you carefully undid it. The fabric was thick and heavy, and as you pulled it off his shoulders, it seemed to take with it some of the invisible barrier he kept between you both.

The air between you felt different now, more intimate, as you set his cloak aside with the rest of his armor. When you turned back to face him, he was watching you closely, his expression softer than before, as if seeing you in a new light.

For a second, you just stood there, gazing at each other in the soft glow of the fire.

Now, without the weight of his armor, Jungkook looked more relaxed, his shoulders less tense, though there was still a quiet alertness in his posture. When you invited him to sit, he did so without hesitation this time, his expression softening as he settled next to you on the couch.

As the fire crackled gently beside you, casting a warm glow over the room, you found yourself seeing him differently. Here, sitting in your chambers, with the walls of duty momentarily lowered, Jungkook wasn’t just your knight anymore. He was a man — kind, steady, and unexpectedly gentle in his presence.

“I’ve not been able to sleep as of late,” you admitted, your voice quieter, more vulnerable than you intended. “But with you here... I feel safe.”

Jungkook’s smile was soft, a flicker of warmth that reached his eyes. “I’m happy to hear that,” he said, though his voice was still laced with the respectful formality he always carried. “Your Grace.”

You hesitated for a moment, then spoke your name, more firmly this time. “Use my name. The formalities can stay with your armor… Jungkook.”

The moment hung between you, quiet but significant. When he repeated your name, his voice was different, softer, almost intimate. It felt personal, as if you were the only thing that mattered in this room, in this moment.

Your heart fluttered hearing your name on his lips. The way he said it felt more intimate than you’d expected, and as the quiet settled around you both, you realized the walls between you were coming down even more.

“My mother died when I was four and ten,” Jungkook begins, his voice steady but carrying the weight of years of grief. “She was murdered right in front of me. I was weak, untrained... I couldn’t help her. I just stood there, frozen, and I couldn’t save her.” He pauses, his gaze distant, lost in the painful memory. “When I left the children’s chamber to go guard yours and I saw those rat catchers in there… I knew I couldn’t let you down like I did my mother. I couldn’t let that happen again.”

Your heart clenches and your brows knit in sorrow, completely torn by his story. His words hang heavy in the air, the realization of his past weighing on your chest. You feel both gratitude and guilt — glad that Jungkook trusts you enough to open up, yet heartbroken by the trauma he’s lived through.

It suddenly makes sense — why he’s always so guarded, so precise, so fiercely loyal. You understand now why he was trained in combat at such a young age, why he’s so vigilant, and why he holds himself to such a high standard. His devotion to you, his protection of your family, it all stems from a promise he made to himself long ago, a promise born from tragedy.

You reach out, placing a gentle hand on his arm resting on the back of the couch, your touch warm and comforting. Jungkook’s gaze flickers to where your hand rests on his arm, and then back to your face, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.

“You’ve done well to uphold that promise,” you say softly, your voice filled with sincerity. As your eyes meet his, you offer him a genuine smile, hoping it conveys the compassion you feel. “Your mother would love the man you’ve grown to be, Jungkook.”

For a brief moment, Jungkook’s eyes soften, his usual stoic expression breaking. He looks almost vulnerable, as if the weight he carries is shared, if only for a second.

“Thank you,” he says softly, his voice low and sincere. “I find myself very… protective over you.”

You tilt your head slightly, a teasing smile curling at the corners of your lips. The soft glow of the fire casts a warm light over your face, and your eyes seem to shimmer with curiosity. “Why is that?” you ask, a playful lilt to your tone as you watch him.

Jungkook hesitates for a beat, his dark eyes holding yours. He slowly pulls his arm away, the loss of contact leaving your skin colder than you expected. But before you can fully miss the warmth, you feel the feather light touch of his fingertips brushing down your arm. His touch is slow, deliberate, sending a tingling sensation across your skin, awakening something inside you.

Your breath catches as his fingers trail lower, the gentle path they take igniting a flutter in your chest. When his hand finally finds yours, his touch is warm and firm, his fingers lacing with yours like it was meant to be all along.

Jungkook looks down at your joined hands, his thumb brushing tenderly over the back of your hand as if testing the waters. “It’s more than duty now,” he murmurs, his voice soft but filled with something deeper. He looks up, his eyes meeting yours, and you can see the vulnerability there, something raw and unguarded. “I can’t explain it fully, but… it’s like you’ve become more than just someone I’m sworn to protect.”

His gaze lingers on your face, searching for a reaction, and you feel a mix of emotions swirling within you — curiosity, anticipation, and something that feels dangerously close to longing.

Your lips part slightly, your heart hammering in your chest as the room feels smaller, the air between you thick with unspoken tension. “More than duty?” you repeat, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jungkook’s fingers tighten just a little around yours, grounding you in the moment. His eyes soften, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Yes… much more than duty,” he says, his voice tender yet filled with a quiet intensity that sends a shiver down your spine.

The fire crackles softly in the hearth, casting flickering shadows on the walls, but all you can focus on is him — on the warmth of his hand, the depth in his gaze, and the way the space between you seems to shrink with each passing second.

With his fingers still interlaced with yours, Jungkook gently pulls you closer. The sudden shift brings you nearer to him, and you let out a soft giggle, feeling your cheeks heat up as you blush under his gaze. The warmth of his body, the way his eyes are fixed on you — it sends a shiver of excitement down your spine.

As the distance between you vanishes, your breath catches when you realize his gaze is locked on your lips. It’s intense, and it makes your heart race. You watch, spellbound, as he lifts his other hand slowly. His thumb brushes tenderly across your bottom lip, the pad of his finger soft against your skin. The simple, teasing touch sends a wave of warmth washing over you.

He lingers there for a moment, rubbing your lip, and then his thumb presses just a little more insistently, grazing the slit of your mouth as though silently asking for permission. The unspoken question in his eyes makes your pulse quicken, and you instinctively part your lips in response. His thumb slips inside, and you close your mouth gently around it, letting him in.

Your eyes remain on him as his thumb rests against your tongue, the sensation both intimate and electrifying. The fire crackles in the background, but the world feels muted, like it’s just you and him in this moment. Your heart pounds, and the connection between you grows stronger as you suck lightly on his digit.

Jungkook’s breathing becomes slightly uneven as he watches you, his eyes darkening with something deeper, more primal. He gently withdraws his thumb, his fingers now tracing the curve of your jaw, his touch both firm and tender. His hand slides to the back of your neck, pulling you even closer, his lips hovering just inches from yours.

The air between you is thick with anticipation, the moment heavy with the promise of what’s to come. His forehead rests against yours, and for a heartbeat, time seems to stop.

“We should stop before things go further,” Jungkook whispers, his voice low and husky, the warmth of his breath tickling your lips as he gives you the chance to pull away.

You pause, your heart racing in your chest. “We should,” you whisper back, the words lingering in the air between you both.

But neither of you move.

Instead, your gaze remains locked on his, and you can feel the heat radiating between you, the unspoken desire that lingers in the small space that still separates you.

And just like that, his lips are on yours.

The kiss is electric, his lips soft yet insistent as they press against yours. It’s slow at first, a tentative exploration, but the moment your mouths meet, everything else fades into the background.

As your lips remain locked with his, you straddle his lap, the movement seamless and natural, as if you’ve both been leading up to this moment for far too long. Your hands slide behind his head, fingers threading through the soft strands of his hair, tugging lightly as the kiss grows more heated, more desperate.

Jungkook’s hands find your waist, gripping you firmly, and the sensation sends a shiver down your spine. You feel his muscles tense beneath your fingertips as you press yourself against him, your hips moving instinctively. A soft gasp escapes your lips when you feel the hardness beneath you, his cock straining against the fabric of his breeches, the friction making you yearn for more.

Your hips begin to buck slowly, grinding against him as you search for more contact, more release. The heat between you two is palpable now, your breath mingling with his as the kiss deepens, tongues tangling in a rhythm that matches the slow, steady roll of your hips. Every shift of your body sends a wave of pleasure through you, and you can feel his grip tighten on your waist, his breathing growing heavier.

Jungkook lets out a low groan against your lips, the sound vibrating through you, igniting something primal. You can feel the restraint he’s holding onto, the tension in his body as he struggles to keep control, but the way his hands grip your waist tells you he’s just as lost in the moment as you are.

The friction between you both builds, the heat intensifying, but the layers of fabric between you only heighten the desire, making you ache for more.

“Perhaps I should thank you,” you whisper against his lips, your breath hot and teasing as your hips roll against him, causing a deep groan to escape from Jungkook’s throat. You can feel him hardening beneath you, his body responding despite his attempts to maintain composure. “For your service…”

His grip on your waist tightens, his fingers digging into your sides just enough to make you feel how much he’s holding back. “It is only my mere duty,” he says, voice strained, each word laced with barely controlled desire.

You smile at his restraint, your lips moving to brush against the sharp line of his jaw. “You’ve done so much,” you murmur, your lips trailing lower, leaving a warm path down his neck, just beneath his jaw. His skin is soft and warm, and his pulse races beneath your touch. You hear his breath catch as you kiss along his collarbone, each word punctuated by a slow, deliberate press of your lips. “For me…” You move lower, your kisses more intentional, feeling his chest rise and fall more rapidly under your touch. “For my children…”

His hands twitch on your hips, torn between pulling you closer and letting you continue your slow, torturous descent. When you glance up at him, you see the way his dark eyes watch your every movement, clouded with need, a silent plea for more even as he struggles to keep himself grounded.

"I think you deserve a reward," you whisper, your voice sultry, teasing as your lips hover just above the edge of his tunic. Your fingers slowly, deliberately trace the hem, brushing against his heated skin as you make him wait, drawing out the anticipation.

Jungkook's head falls back, his lips parted as he releases a shaky breath, his control slipping with every passing second. His voice is a low growl, thick with longing. “You owe me nothing,”

You shake your head softly, your lips grazing the exposed skin of his chest. “I owe you everything,” you whisper back, your voice filled with sincerity and seduction, the intensity of the moment building as your hand moves lower, testing the boundaries of his restraint.

His body tenses beneath your touch, but his hands stay firm on your hips, holding you against him as if he’s afraid to let go. His eyes meet yours again, dark and full of raw emotion, his voice hushed, almost reverent. “I am yours,” he breathes, and in that moment, you know that he means every word.

With a soft smile playing on your lips, you slowly lift yourself off his lap, feeling the tension in the air as you lower yourself to the ground, kneeling between his legs. Jungkook watches you closely, his breathing uneven, eyes darkened with a mix of anticipation and restraint.

You place your hands gently on his thighs, feeling the heat radiating through the fabric of his breeches, his muscles tense beneath your touch. You start slow, allowing the moment to settle between you, your fingers tracing soft, deliberate circles along his thighs, teasing without rushing. Jungkook’s breath hitches slightly, his gaze locked on your every movement, as if entranced by the sight of you at his feet.

With a deliberate slowness, you begin to untie the laces of his breeches, savoring the quiet rustling of fabric as you pull them off completely, your fingertips brushing against his skin, making him shiver. You take your time, your eyes never leaving his, a playful gleam in your gaze as you watch his resolve crumble little by little.

His cock springs free, finally released from its tight confines. Jungkook lets out a low groan, the sudden release of tension sending a wave of relief through him. The sight of him, hard and ready, makes your breath catch, but you don’t rush. Instead, you rest your hands on his thighs again, grounding yourself in the warmth of his skin, feeling the subtle flex of his muscles beneath your palms.

You glance up at him, and the intensity in his gaze sends a thrill down your spine. His lips are parted, his breath heavy, and you can see the restraint in the way he grips the couch, knuckles white, fighting the urge to take control.

You spit into your hand before wrapping it around his cock, feeling its warmth and weight resting in your palm. You start slow, allowing him to adjust to the sensation, your fingers curling around him with a firm but careful grip. As your hand begins to move, sliding up and down in deliberate, teasing strokes, Jungkook's head falls back against the couch. A low, breathy moan escapes his parted lips, his chest rising and falling more heavily with each breath, betraying his struggle to hold onto his composure under your touch. His muscles tense, eyes fluttering shut, as the pleasure builds with each movement.

His reaction fuels you, and you keep your pace slow and sensual, your hand gliding smoothly along his length. Each movement draws another sound from him — whether it’s a quiet sigh, a deep groan, or the way his breathing catches for a split second. The power you hold in this moment, the way his body responds to your touch, makes the air between you feel electric, alive with tension.

Jungkook’s fingers dig into the cushions beside him, as if holding on for control, but you can see the way his restraint is unraveling, bit by bit. His throat bobs as he swallows hard, his lips parted in silent bliss, eyes closed as he surrenders to the sensation.

With a mischievous smile, you tighten your grip just a little, adding the slightest bit more pressure as you continue to stroke him, and his moan deepens, sending a shiver through you.

You lean in, teasingly slow, letting the anticipation build. Jungkook’s breath hitches as he watches you, his chest rising and falling faster, his hands tightening into fists. The moment your tongue makes contact with the tip of his cock, his body tenses. You start with soft, delicate kitten licks, testing his sensitivity, letting him feel every light flick of your tongue as you work.

A bead of precum gathers at the tip, and you lap it up, the salty taste lingering on your tongue. Jungkook’s groan is deep, almost guttural, his head tipping back against the couch once more as you tease him with your soft licks, never giving him more than just a taste of what’s to come.

The way he reacts, the way his body trembles under your touch, only spurs you on. You take your time, savoring the control you have over him, feeling the way his thighs tense beneath your hands.

You glance up at him through your lashes, enjoying the sight of Jungkook completely lost in the moment, his lips parted, breath heavy. His reaction fuels your desire to tease him more. Your tongue moves slowly, deliberately, swirling around his sensitive tip, while your hand continues its steady rhythm, pumping him with just enough pressure to keep him on edge.

He moans again, low and deep, his hips instinctively bucking up, searching for more of that friction you’re so teasingly withholding. You hum softly, the vibrations making his cock twitch against your tongue. You take him a little deeper, wrapping your lips around the head, sucking gently as you let your hand pump the base, building the tension.

Jungkook’s hands grip the couch tightly, fighting to stay still, his body betraying him with every small thrust of his hips. You take him deeper, hollowing your cheeks as you suck, your tongue working against the underside of his shaft as you slide him further into your mouth. His response is immediate — his body jerks, a strangled groan escapes him, and you feel his hands twitch as if he’s fighting the urge to reach out and grab you.

You reach up and intertwine your fingers with his, and in that simple gesture, a new layer of intimacy blooms between you. His grip is firm, almost desperate, as if holding your hand is the one thing grounding him in the intensity of the moment. It's no longer just about desire; it's something deeper, more vulnerable, a connection that transcends the physical. His thumb gently brushes over your knuckles, a soft, tender contrast to the raw passion swirling around you. That small touch, full of unspoken emotion, speaks louder than words ever could, reminding you both that this is more than just a fleeting moment — it’s a quiet, shared promise.

Jungkook’s breathing becomes even more ragged as you continue to take him deeper, your lips and tongue working in perfect harmony to push him closer to the edge. You can feel his restraint, the way he’s holding back, trying to stay in control despite the pleasure coursing through him.

He groans, your name slipping from his lips in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. You hum softly in response, the vibrations causing another moan to escape his lips. The combination of his hand in yours, his soft gasps, and the warmth of his skin beneath your touch creates an almost overwhelming sense of connection.

You pull off him with a soft, wet pop, leaving his cock glistening in the firelight. Your lips curve into a teasing smile as you drag your tongue slowly along the length of his shaft, watching his reaction. Jungkook’s breath catches, his body tensing with anticipation. When you reach his base, you let your tongue dip lower, tracing a path to his balls. You take your time, licking and teasing the sensitive skin before gently sucking them into your mouth.

The reaction is immediate — his hips jerk up involuntarily, a deep moan escaping him as his head falls back against the couch. His knuckles are white as he grips the cushions, and his fingers tighten around yours, the warmth of his touch grounding you in the moment. You keep your eyes on him, enjoying the way his face contorts with pleasure, his lips parting with a shuddering breath.

“Fuck,” he groans, voice rough and strained, the sound vibrating through the air, sending a thrill through you. His chest rises and falls heavily as you continue to pump his cock in your hand, your strokes slow and deliberate, matching the rhythm of your mouth as you suck gently on his balls.

You can feel the tension building in him, his body trembling slightly under your touch. His muscles are taut, straining as he tries to hold himself back, but you know he’s close. The soft, breathless curses he murmurs between groans let you know just how much you're driving him to the edge.

Jungkook’s mind is a whirlwind of thoughts, each one more intoxicating than the last. The feel of your mouth wrapped around his cock is overwhelming, your lips warm and slick as they glide over him, sending shivers of pleasure down his spine. But what makes his pulse race even more is the sight of you — the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms — on your knees before him, your eyes dark with desire, lips wet and swollen as you take him deeper.

He can barely process it. A part of him feels like he’s lost in a dream, but the grip of your hand on his thigh, the soft, wet sounds filling the air, and the heat of your mouth around him all ground him in reality. His fingers tighten around yours, the intimacy of your entwined hands a stark contrast to the lust coursing through him.

He can’t stop thinking about how utterly beautiful you look, your regal composure gone, replaced by raw want. It’s sinful, how he can feel his cock throbbing in your mouth while your crown sits not too far away, a reminder of who you are — his Queen. And yet, here you are, on your knees, giving yourself to him so completely.

And then there’s the thought of what comes next. His cock twitches at the idea of getting you beneath him, of spreading your legs wide and burying himself in your warmth. He’s desperate to feel you around him, to watch your face twist with pleasure as he takes you, over and over again.

But even with all those thoughts swirling in his mind, one thing keeps echoing louder than the rest: the sheer power of this moment. The Queen, on her knees, sucking his cock like she’s wanted this as much as he has.

The thought sends another wave of heat through his body. He’s barely holding on, every moan, every stroke of your tongue pushing him closer to the edge. His breaths come faster, more ragged, his hips beginning to move on their own, thrusting gently into your mouth. 

Before Jungkook can take control, you pull back, rising from the ground and denying him the release he craves with a teasing smile. His frustrated groan fuels your confidence as you straddle him again, your knees resting on either side of his hips. Your fingers intertwine with his, and you guide both of his hands behind his head, locking your arms around his neck. His arms cross behind him, muscles flexing as he fights to keep himself in check.

The intensity in his eyes is undeniable — burning with desire, frustration, and the raw need to touch you, yet restrained by the control you've taken. Every part of him is taut, his body tense beneath you, waiting, aching for your next move. His gaze never wavers, fixed on you with an almost desperate longing, as if the anticipation alone could undo him.

You lean in slowly, planting a soft kiss on his lips, then another on his cheek, your breath brushing his skin. His chest rises and falls against yours, the heat between you both building to a near unbearable height. Then, lips grazing his ear, you whisper in a low, sultry voice, “I want you to fuck me the way a Queen should be fucked.”

Your words send a shudder through him, his body reacting instantly to your challenge. The restraint he’s been holding onto falters, his breathing turning ragged, his grip tightening slightly on your hands. The dominance of your demand ignites something primal in him, the heat in his gaze searing into you.

"Your Grace..." Jungkook murmurs, his voice deep and breathless, the title slipping out before he can stop it, laced with a mix of reverence and raw, uncontained desire. The slip into formality catches him off guard, as if he’s forgotten to leave the titles behind along with his armor. His jaw clenches, the tension in his body palpable as his control begins to fray at the edges. His eyes burn into yours, dark and hungry, as if your very presence has set him ablaze, and now, all he can do is watch helplessly as the flames consume him.

You feel the tension in his body, the way he’s holding himself back, and you smirk, rolling your hips against him, letting the friction drive him further into madness. “Are you going to make me wait, or must I command you again?”

That’s all it takes. His resolve snaps. With a low, feral growl, Jungkook releases your hands and grabs you by the thighs, lifting you effortlessly in one fluid motion. You let out a surprised giggle, heart racing at how easily he’s carrying you across the room. His strength, his commanding presence — it’s intoxicating, making your body heat with anticipation.

With a mischievous grin, he throws you down onto the bed, your body bouncing softly against the mattress. Jungkook is on you in an instant, crawling over you with a predatory grace, his body looming above yours, eyes dark and filled with intent. His hands press into the mattress on either side of you, caging you beneath him. The weight of him, the way his muscles ripple as he moves, has your breath catching in your throat.

His lips hover just inches from yours, teasing, his breath hot against your skin as he whispers, “I’ll show you exactly how my Queen should be fucked.”

There’s a rough edge to his voice now, one that sends shivers down your spine. His hands trail down your sides, fingers curling around the fabric of your dress, pulling it up and over your head in one swift motion. He takes a moment to admire the sight of you beneath him, his gaze smoldering as he drinks in every inch of your bare skin.

With a slow, deliberate movement, Jungkook’s lips descend to your neck, trailing hot, open mouthed kisses down your throat, your collarbone, and lower still, as his hands grip your hips, holding you firmly in place. His touch is everywhere — greedy, relentless — stoking the fire that’s been building between you all night.

As his mouth moves lower, a soft moan escapes your lips, your body arching instinctively toward him, craving more. And just when you think you can’t take any more teasing, he pulls back, hovering above you once more, eyes dark with lust and promise.

Jungkook pulls off his tunic, standing before you, fully bare. His gaze is unwavering, filled with awe and raw desire as he drinks in the sight of you, every inch of your body drawing him in with quiet reverence. The heat of his stare is palpable, his lips parting slightly as his eyes travel from your breasts down to your stomach, pausing at the faint stretch marks left behind by your children. 

There’s no shame in his gaze, only admiration — those marks are a testament to your strength, the life you’ve brought into the world. His hand reaches out, hesitating for just a second before brushing over your skin, tracing the delicate lines with his fingertips, as if memorizing every detail. His touch is tender, contrasting the heat in his eyes, and the reverence in his expression makes your heart swell. 

“So beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice hushed but filled with sincerity, almost as though he's speaking to himself. The way he looks at you makes your heart swell. There’s no hesitation in his gaze, no second thoughts — just pure admiration.

You can’t help but smile. Despite being nearly bare beneath him, you don’t feel vulnerable. You feel cherished, worshipped even, as if this wasn’t the first time he’s seen you like this. There’s a sense of ease between you, as if his presence was always meant to be like this — intimate and without fear. 

Jungkook leans in closer, his lips trailing down to your hip bone, placing a soft, lingering kiss there. The sensation is both grounding and electrifying, sending a shiver through your body. You glance down, meeting his gaze — intense and burning with desire, the kind of look that makes your heart race and your breath falter. In that moment, you can feel the fire behind his eyes, as if the world has fallen away and you're the only thing that matters.

Without breaking the connection, he lowers himself further, his lips finding the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. The kiss is soft, reverent, but full of promise, inching closer to the place where you crave his touch the most. Your breath catches in your throat, anticipation thick in the air, when he finally leans forward and presses a slow, deliberate kiss to your pussy through your soaking wet underwear.

A sharp gasp escapes your lips at the sudden contact, and instinctively, you lift your leg, gently pressing your foot against his shoulder to stop him from going further. His eyes flash with surprise, but there’s a glimmer of amusement in them as he looks up at you, waiting for your command.

“Maybe another time,” you murmur, your voice breathless but firm. “I want your cock.”

Your words hang in the air, heavy with anticipation, and Jungkook’s expression shifts, darkening with pure lust. He gives a low growl of approval, his hands gripping your thighs a little tighter as he quickly moves back up your body.

Jungkook wastes no time, his hands quick but careful as he pulls off your last piece of clothing and positions himself between your legs. His cock, already hard and slick with anticipation, brushes against your entrance, the warmth of him sending a ripple of electricity through your body. You can feel the tension in his muscles, every inch of him taut with restraint as he fights the urge to simply take you. He wants this moment to be more than just a rush of desire.

With a slow, deliberate nudge of his hips, he presses the tip of his cock against your core, the sensation both tantalizing and overwhelming. Your body reacts immediately, a soft gasp escaping your lips as he teases your entrance, the heat between you intensifying. His eyes are locked on yours, as if he’s savoring every second before fully sinking into you. 

Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him in closer, urging him to give you exactly what you’ve been yearning for. His lips crash onto yours in a heated kiss, the moment charged with raw, unspoken passion as he finally pushes into you.

“Oh Gods,” you moan, your back arching off the bed as the sudden stretch overwhelms you. Jungkook fills you completely, every inch of him pressing into you, making your breath hitch as your body adjusts to the delicious pressure. His movements slow for a moment, letting you feel every bit of him, the weight of his body grounding you as the heat between your legs spreads throughout your entire body.

Jungkook’s forehead drops to yours, his breathing ragged as he holds himself still, giving you a moment to adjust. "You feel so perfect," he groans, his voice thick with restraint. His hands roam your body, gripping your hips as though he needs to hold onto something to keep himself from losing control completely.

Your fingers slide up his back, nails grazing his skin as you tug him closer, desperate for more. "Move," you whisper, your voice trembling. "I need you."

That’s all it takes.

With a low growl, Jungkook begins to move, pulling out slowly before thrusting back in, the sensation sending waves of pleasure rippling through you. Each movement is deliberate, deep, and measured. Your moans mix with his breathless grunts, filling the room with the sounds of your shared desire.

Your legs tighten around his waist, pulling him deeper with every thrust. His pace quickens, and soon, he’s moving faster, harder, the rhythm building as the pleasure between you grows. Each thrust drives you closer to the edge, your moans growing louder, more desperate as you cling to him, completely lost in the moment. 

Jungkook’s lips find your neck, peppering kisses along your skin between ragged breaths. “You feel so good… so fucking good,” he pants, his hips snapping against yours with growing urgency. 

Your hands tangle in his hair, your body responding to his with a need that’s been simmering for so long, now finally unleashed. "Don’t stop," you moan, your voice shaky as the heat within you builds to a breaking point. 

Jungkook’s thrusts become erratic, his breath hot against your ear. "Don’t think I can stop," he chuckles, his words sending a shiver through you just as the first waves of release begin to crash over you. 

You kiss him eagerly, teeth grazing his bottom lip before tugging at it playfully. Jungkook groans into your mouth, his hips stuttering for a moment at the sensation. The kiss deepens, becoming more urgent, more heated as your hands pull him closer, your nails digging into his back.

He responds in kind, his lips crashing back onto yours, the intensity of his kiss matching the rhythm of his thrusts. He bites gently on your bottom lip in return, making you gasp into his mouth, your bodies completely in sync as the pleasure mounts between you.

Your kiss is a frenzy of passion, tongues dancing, breaths mingling, as every movement pulls you closer to the edge. You tug harder at his lip, and he growls low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your lips and sending a fresh wave of heat coursing through your veins.

Jungkook’s pace becomes relentless, his control slipping as he loses himself in you. “The day of the Kingsguard posting,” he starts breathlessly, his voice low and rough as he thrusts into you. “When you walked onto the balcony… I saw you. Thought you were so pretty. So, so pretty.”

His words, spoken between ragged breaths, send a shiver down your spine, making you arch closer into him. You gasp, your hands clutching onto his shoulders as his confession wraps around you like a heated secret. The intensity in his eyes as he speaks, as he moves inside you, is overwhelming — his vulnerability laid bare, a part of himself he’s never shared with anyone else.

“I shouldn’t have thought it,” he continues, his voice thick with desire and restraint as his pace quickens, “but I couldn’t help it. I wanted you from that moment.”

You feel your heart pound in your chest, not just from the pleasure but from his raw honesty. Your lips part, but no words come out, only breathless moans as he pushes you closer to the edge. His hands tighten on your waist, his lips brushing your ear.

“I never thought I’d have you like this,” he whispers, his voice rough with awe and hunger, each word laced with the weight of unspoken desire. “But now that I do… I’m never letting go.”

His confession wraps around you, sending a shiver through your body as his movements become more intense. The passion in his eyes, the way his body presses into yours, has you spiraling, lost in the heat between you.

You raise a trembling hand, gently brushing his hair back, your fingertips lingering against his skin. “I’m yours,” you breathe, the words slipping from your lips like a vow.

The way his eyes darken, the way his grip tightens on you, tells you he’s heard it loud and clear. And in this moment, you know he’ll hold onto that promise as tightly as he holds onto you.

He laughs out a moan at this. His pace quickens, his thrusts deeper, harder, each one sending you spiraling further. Your moans mix with his, filling the room, the sound of skin against skin only adding to the fire between you. His hands roam your body, memorizing every curve, every inch of you like it’s the last time.

“I’m so close,” he whispers, his voice strained, his body trembling as he fights for control. His forehead presses against yours again, his eyes searching yours, desperate, as if he’s asking for permission to lose himself in you.

You nod, your own release building, teetering on the edge. “Cum with me,” you breathe, your voice shaky, your heart pounding in your chest. “Please.”

With a few more deep, powerful thrusts, you feel Jungkook’s body tense as he releases into you, a low groan escaping his lips. The sensation triggers your own climax, waves of pleasure crashing through you as your body tightens around him. You gasp, arching against him, your hands clutching at his back as you ride out the overwhelming sensations together.

His name tumbles from your lips in a soft moan, and he buries his face into the crook of your neck, his breath hot and ragged against your skin. For a moment, the world outside fades — it's just the two of you, tangled together, hearts pounding in sync, as you both come down from your highs.

He doesn’t move right away, his weight still pressed against you, his hands tracing slow, soothing circles on your hips as he catches his breath. You can feel his heart beating wildly against your chest, a silent reminder of the intensity you just shared.

Finally, Jungkook picks his head up from your chest, his dark eyes soft as they meet yours. He leans in, capturing your lips in a tender kiss, just because he finally can. It feels different now, with no hesitation between you, just pure connection. After pulling away, he shifts to lay beside you, pulling you against his chest, your bodies fitting together perfectly. 

You lie there in comfortable silence for a while, both of you catching your breaths, the calm after the storm. Jungkook’s fingers absentmindedly trace shapes on your back, lulling you into a peaceful haze. But then, he breaks the quiet with a teasing tone.

“Did I exceed your expectations, my Queen?” His voice is low and playful, a soft chuckle escaping him.

You laugh, swatting his chest lightly. “Arrogant, are we?” 

But you don’t let him respond. Instead, you sit up, straddling his waist once again, your grin mischievous as you lean down to kiss him, deeper this time, your lips lingering against his. 

“Might need to go again to give you a wholehearted answer,” you say with a smirk, looking down at the man who looks far too comfortable in your bed — a man who, by all means, shouldn’t be here.

His eyes widen for a moment before a slow, wicked grin spreads across his face, matching your energy. He chuckles, his hands gripping your waist firmly, his desire evident.

Jungkook knew that once the children were tucked safely into bed, these sneaky nights with you would be his favorite part of the day — full of far more excitement than he’d ever imagined.

The days stretched on like endless hourglasses, the sand moving far too slowly. Every moment of the daylight hours was consumed by anticipation, the constant pull of wanting the sun to sink and the moon to rise. It was during the night, when Jungkook would slip quietly into your chamber, that the world finally felt right.

Whether it was tangled sheets, quiet conversations, soft laughter, or simply lying in each other’s arms, those moments with him were the highlight of your days — only second to the joy of your children’s smiles, of course. But with Jungkook, time seemed to bend, each night feeling like a stolen treasure that you cherished more with every passing hour.

As much as you despised the act of walking past Jungkook during the day, pretending he wasn't your lover at night, the thrilling game of trying not to get caught was undeniably fun.

The secret, the tension of it, had its own special allure. Yet, there were moments when the near misses took a more terrifying turn.

Like that one time.

You'd been soaking in a bath, the water warm and fragrant with bubbles, the steam swirling around you like a blanket of comfort. But Jungkook, always unpredictable, had snuck in without a sound. Before you could even protest, he was stripping himself bare, sliding into the tub with you, the sudden shift in water making a small splash as he settled in.

Laughter filled the room as water overflowed, but that quickly faded into a mix of heavy breaths, wet skin, and the sound of sloppy kisses. Jungkook's hands gripped your waist as he leaned back, his head resting against the tub's edge, eyes locked on you. Your hips moved in sync, the sound of water splashing and your soft moans combining with his groans, creating a rhythm that made your heart race.

Then, just as the heat between you both reached its peak, a knock at the door shattered the moment. It was so sudden and unexpected that Jungkook's hand shot up, covering your mouth before you could release a gasp, freezing you in place. Your breath caught, heart pounding in your chest.

"Your Grace, I have your warm towels," came a muffled voice from the other side of the door. The maid sounded so oblivious, so unaware of what was actually happening just beyond the wooden barrier.

Jungkook didn't move a muscle, still as stone, his hand resting over your lips as his eyes met yours with a mischievous glint. Slowly, he lifted his hand, urging you to speak.

"J- just leave them at the door," you stammered, trying to keep your voice steady, though your heartbeat betrayed your calm facade. "I’ll grab them once I'm finished."

Jungkook stifled a chuckle, clearly finding the entire situation amusing as though it was nothing more than a joke to him. But you knew better. This was dangerous, reckless, and could cost both of you far more than just embarrassment.

"Very well, Your Grace," came the maid's voice, before the sound of her footsteps faded into the distance.

The moment she was gone, you slapped Jungkook's chest, eyes narrowed in mock fury. "We could've been caught," you said, your voice laced with both exasperation and something else — something darker, more thrilling. But the smile that tugged at your lips betrayed your feigned seriousness.

Jungkook grinned, his chest rising and falling with a quiet chuckle, as he pulled you back toward him, the playful tension still lingering in the air.

Because nights with Jungkook were always too short, he made sure to steal as many kisses and playful winks during the day as possible. The fleeting moments shared between you were like stolen treasures, hidden in plain sight.

Whenever the children finished their lessons, Jungkook was quick to position himself in front of the door to the next room they’d move into, knowing you'd soon follow, eager to check on them and hear about what they’d learned. Each time, like clockwork, you’d approach, ready to step past him, only for him to block your way with a teasing grin.

“Let me in,” you’d whine softly, unable to hide the smile tugging at your lips.

He’d simply point to his cheek, signaling for a kiss as if he were making a royal decree. You’d roll your eyes but play along, leaning in. Just as your lips brushed his cheek, he’d turn his head swiftly, catching your kiss on his lips instead.

Your heart would race as you quickly pecked his lips once more, a mixture of thrill and worry filling you at the thought of someone walking down the corridor and catching you both. With a final flustered glance at him, you’d hurry into the chamber to join your children, trying to maintain your composure as you asked them about their day.

Meanwhile, Jungkook would stand tall outside the door, his expression serious, as though he was merely guarding the room. But the sparkle in his eyes and the lingering hint of a smile betrayed him, the playful mischief still present even as he forced himself to appear composed.

The only person who knew about your secret relationship with Jungkook was Atticus. You’d confided in him, and he had been overjoyed to learn he’d been right all along. He had always suspected something, but hearing it from you only fueled his excitement and pride at being in on the secret.

Jungkook’s devotion to you went far beyond his duty as a knight. On the surface, he played his role flawlessly, always by your side, always vigilant. To everyone else, he was simply your loyal protector, the ever watchful guard who would give his life without question. But beneath that armor, beneath the stern facade he wore in public, his loyalty ran much deeper.

He wasn’t just devoted to you as his Queen; he was devoted to you as the woman he loved, with a fierce, unshakable passion that transcended titles or obligations. Every time he stood by your side, it wasn’t just as your sworn knight but as the man who would do anything to keep you safe, even if it meant loving you in secret for the rest of his life.

In the quiet moments, when the world wasn’t watching, his love shone through. The way his eyes softened when he looked at you, the way his fingers lingered just a moment longer when they brushed against yours, or the way his lips would curl into a faint smile when he caught you stealing glances at him. It was in the way he held you at night, after everyone else had gone to bed, his arms wrapping around you with a tenderness that spoke of a love so deep, words could never do it justice.

Jungkook didn’t need grand gestures or declarations of love. His devotion was in the small things, the quiet sacrifices, the way he protected you not just with his sword but with his heart. Every glance, every touch, every whispered word in the darkness was a testament to his unwavering loyalty — not to the crown, not to his duty, but to you.

And though the world might never see the depth of his devotion, you felt it every day. In the way he watched over you, in the way he shielded you from not only physical threats but from the weight of loneliness that sometimes crept in. He was your protector, not just in body but in spirit.

As the years passed, your secret love remained hidden, but his devotion never wavered. No matter the risks, no matter how many times you had to pretend in public that he was nothing more than a knight, Jungkook’s heart was yours, fully and completely.

In the end, it didn’t matter that the world would never know the truth. You knew. You saw the way he loved you, not just as a knight sworn to protect you but as a man devoted to your heart, forever bound to you in a way that went beyond duty or title.

And in that devotion, you found your peace. Because you knew, no matter what happened, Jungkook would always be by your side — not just as your protector but as your lover, your confidant, and the one person who truly understood the depths of your soul.

© voyter 2024, all rights reserved.

[lavandulawrites]

The fact that there are no yandere Kinich fics/hcs is illegal. Litterly, the whole internet is all over him and no single fic/hc? R u shitting me?

Anyways, if you would be as kind as to consider this following request: yandere Kinich with a darling who is in love with someone else.

You dont have to do it if you dont want to. Have a nice day and make sure to drink enough water!

A Supporting Friend

He is truly criminally underrated</3 Fun fact my saurian is called Roberto haha

Masterlist

Warnings: stalking, Ajaw being a dick (what’s new), Kinich is delusional, murder, slight gore, Kinich is jealous, female reader

Word count: 814

A second didn’t pass without him thinking of you. His hazel eyes trains on you as you went about your day. You were so effortlessly beautiful. Like a goddess. As the dark haired man snuck in the shadows following you, he couldn’t help but feel a burning hatred whenever you looked at him. He was taller than Kinich with huge muscles and a stupid smile that never left his face.

The raven haired man hid behind a large stacks of boxes as he watched over you. God knows what could happen to you now that the Abyss were more aggressive than ever.

His annoying companion popped out of thin air with a whine. “Are you seriously still following her?” the little dragon-like creature asked with amusement.

Kinich spared him not even a single glance as he continued to let his eyes watch you.

“Jeez, ya are seriously fucked in the head, aren’t ya?” the little gremlin laughed. “Just face it, she doesn’t like you. Just like everyone else, so why don’t you just trip and die?” Ajaw snickered like the little devil he was.

“Shut up” Kinich sneered as he looked Ajaw away which resulted in multiple cursers following.

Of course Kinich knew your heart didn’t belong his, at least not yet. Your eyes were sat on that disgusting fool of a man. It was a pity and made Kinch’s skin crawl.

Days passed and you continued to see Kinich as only a friend. A friend which you told all your secrets and asked for help with various matters. Normally the young man would be over the moon with being so close to you, but not when you continued to rant about him.

“Roberto looked at me today. He even smiled! Do you think he likes me Kinich?” you asked him as you looked off in the distance with a longing gaze.

Oh if only you knew how much he loved you, how his heart fluttered in his chest when you looked at him. When you smiled it was like the Celestia had granted their blessing. Still, he chose to hold his tongue and only hum at your question. “I don’t know. I haven’t talked to him” he answered with a strained voice. As he watched the red flowers that littered the meadow in front of them, he couldn’t help but imagine how Roberto’s blood would look against the lush grass.

“I want to ask him on a date” you interrupted his trained of thought. “Tomorrow” you turned to look at him with a huge smile. A bale blush dusted your cheeks as you thought about your crush.

Kinich’s heart quickened at the cute display of your blush. If only he was the one to make you blush. “Oh really?” he mumbled.

“Yeah. I want it to be perfect though. I am thinking in the field with flowers in the forest near my house. It’s the perfect spot. Really romantic.

“Indeed. Romantic” the words akin a sneer.

The next day the ancient name bearer jumped from tree to tree as he stalked Roberto on his way to hunt. The robust man was busy adjusting his crossbow, completely unaware to his surroundings. Kinich scoffed at his obliviousness and he couldn’t help the smirk that crept upon his lips.

He leapt down on the grown as silent as a feather as he crawled towards the man. His claymore already in his hand.

Quicker than a heartbeat he jumped up from the bush and ran towards Roberto.

Roberto screamed as he picked up his crossbow. Unfortunately for him, the weapon were not loaded and completely useless.

“What do you want?!” he screamed as he backed away with quick steps.

The hazel eyed man remained silent as he stalked closer and closer towards him.

With wide eyes Roberto turned on his heel and ran.

The case was as thrilling as Kinich had expected. Given his massive body, Roberto was rather slow compared to the shorter man. Stupid too.

It didn’t take long before Roberto had stopped at the end of the cliff. He was trapped between the blood thirsty man and the high fall. Neither he would survive.

Kinich had become tired of the little hunt so he leaped forward and missed Roberto’s chest by a mere centimetre. Which resulted in Roberto falling to his death with a high pitched scream that suited more a little girl than a 190 cm man.

Kinich peered over the cliff and down on the stony ground. Roberto’s body was no more than a red mass that looked like spaghetti given how he had landed on multiple sharp rocks. A satisfied smile tugged on Kinich’s lips.

Now he had to play the role of a comforting friend and hold you in his arms as you sobbed over your deceased crush. His smiled widened uncharacteristically at the thought of you finally being his.

[yandereunsolved]

More Self aware HOTD cast because I love you😘

-

Reader, knows the hotd cast is sentient so might as well: *watching that one scene where Vhagar bites off luke and his dragon* DIVE BOY AT HIGH SPEED!

Luke: *makes his dragon dive downwards without a question* *avoids his death as Vhagar bites air* .....

Reader: very good *turns to look at a bewildered Vhagar and Aemond* I WILL FIND A WAY TO REACH THROUGH THE SCREEN AND STRANGLE YOU MYSELF IF YOU HARM THE BABY!

Vhagar: *recoils in fright*

Reader: bad dragon! I am disappointed!

Vhagar: *looking like a kicked puppy*

-

Vaemond, on screen: HER SONS ARE BASTARD-

Reader: Boy shut the fuck up

Vaemond: ....

Rhaenyra: .....

Daemomd: ....

Reader: do you wanna get beheaded?! Apologise you uncultured swine-

-

Syrax: *appears on screen smiling like a kitten with a heart necklace made of gold around her?his?their neck*

Reader: baby, beautiful baby

-

Seasmoke: *flying to a running Addam*

Addam: *is running for his life*

Reader: boy calm down, you have a dragon now so sit your ass

Addam: *is scared but sat his ass on the sand*

Rhaenyra, wasn' suppose to appear much later but appears earlier: ....

Reader: Seasmoke I know he looks like Laenor but for the love of dragons, don't scare the guy even if its just a prank

Seasmoke: *huffing like a child who got told no*

-

Luke: *returns to his mother safe and sound*

Reader: on second thought I'll just fuck either Rhaenyra or Daemond, im disappointed

Aemond: ....

Rhaenyra: *feeling smug*

Daemond: *also feels smug*

Aegon: how come I don't get a chance and those two could?!

-

Rhaenys: *upset she couldn't be the queen*

Reader: If only I could reach through the god damn screen I will strangle the man for not giving you your birthright just because your a woman

Jaehaerys: ....

Reader: Shame! Shame on you! If it were me I will treat her the queen she is! Dishonour on you fiend!

-

Rhaenys: *just existing*

Reader: mommy?😍

-

Baby jaehaerys: *existing*

Reader: *in a small voice* baby!

Blood and Cheese: *appearing*

Reader: I WILL CUT YOUR DICKS OFF IF YOU LAY HAND ON BABY! *stands up abruptly from the sofa*

Blood and cheese: ....

I don't know what to put here it became limited🙁

😒 Stupid Tumblr ask box. Anygays, thank you. 😳 I have been fed. 🍖

More yandere self-aware hotd thoughts for the soul—

—

Aemond: "It isn't fair. First they wanted to... be intimate me. They do not want me to bed them anymore." muttering to himself.

Reader: "Killing children isn't sexy! Strip! Beat the shit out of your brother! Order some guards to do something. I like it when you command people... your naked body is hot too..."

—

Addam: "I love you."

Reader: "What?"

Addam: "I-I love you so much."

Reader: "Wow, uh—okay."

Daemon & Rhaenyra in the corner with their dragons.

Daemon: "I told him to keep his mouth shut."

Rhaenyra: "We can't just outright kill him."

Daemon: "Send him into battle and get him killed?"

Rhaenyra: "Exactly."

—

Aegon: taking care of baby jaehaerys.

Reader: "Mhm... so adorable."

Aegon: "Me?"

Reader: "Jaehaerys."

Aegon: "Oh."

Reader: "You're a total dilf."

Aegon: thinking: I feel like that's a good thing. smirk.

—

Reader: "Aww, such a cute dragon~!" to Vermithor.

Sees Vermithor's scene.

Reader: "Bad boy!"

Vermithor: growls and flops on the ground.

Reader: "No more massacres!"

Vermithor: whines and pouts adorably.

—

Criston: "I—"

Reader: "Shut the fuck up. On your knees. You need to drink your respect women juice."

—

Helaena: covered in blood. she just killed someone for reader.

Reader: "... Are you okay?"

Helaena: crying. "Do you love me?"

Reader: "My baby! I love you so much. I want to reach through the screen and cuddle you so badly."

Helaena: thinking about killing someone again just for her darling's approval.

—

The yandere self-aware hotd characters when darling reader loves them back—

[lizzybeeee]

THE ENTIRE DRAGON AGE AMA IS A DUMPSTER FIRE

They avoided all the high-rated questions with genuine criticism (not blind hate!) and went for questions that were safer and allowed them more leeway. After that awful IGN article and that treatment of Davrin...God, just put it down. I have no faith that BioWare will be able to continue Dragon Age or Mass Effect with the respect it deserves.

Edit - They had an opportunity for genuine discussion with fans who were concerned/unhappy with the way Veilguard was -> people unhappy with the story, the marketing, the lack of 'RP' options in an RPG, etc... Instead they just doubled-down even more, avoiding those critical questions, with no real acknowledgement that fans have very reasonable problems with this game.

Some Highlights & My Initial Ramblings Below:

The Executors

"They attempt to manipulate events in the most subtle way they can manage."

So, very clear that they're not simply observers of what is happening in Thedas: they're manipulators...

"Magical Illuminati Confirmed! Lizard People Did 9:30 Dragon!!!!"

All that complexity of character -> his hatred of Orlais, his experience as a general, his relationship with Cailain, and the influence of Howe...all diminished. Any influence from a shadow cabal is too much influence - all the humanity of Loghain's choices/consequences...God, what a waste.

Not to mention what this does to other events/characters in the series -> they imply they've been intervening as far back as the magisters breaking into the golden city. I do not find this compelling! At all!

2. Solas and the Executors

Oh my god, he sounds like such a fucking Mary-Sue I'm so sick of Solas at this point -> "Actually, I know more about the Executors than anyone alive - not even the rest of the Gods know as much as me."

("I'm also, like, an Ancient Elven God, I'm responsible for the Blight and the Veil, and I kind of locked the Gods away cause they were evil - but, like, I'm really sad about it. Also the Herald of Andraste thinks I'm cute <3")

<- Previous comments: massive oversimplification, obviously

But I miss the days when not everything was about Solas. It removes so much interest and wonder in this world when the fucking egg is behind it all. I loved him as a character in DAI and now I just feel this bone deep tiredness when I see his stupid face.

Don't you dare threaten to bring Gareth David-Lloyd back -> keep him away from this mess!

3. The Fate of the Rest of the Evanuris

Yay. I'm so looking forwards to "The Return of the Elves: Electric Boogaloo 2" - it was done so well the first time!

"It was the elves all along!"

The only character with any potential to be interesting is Andruil*, but how they handled all this lore was done so shallowly and so poorly that I find it hard to give a damn anymore. Not to mention that the game literally mentions Ghilan'nain mourning Andruil - so is this a retcon/redirection/or have you confirmed that one of the most interesting members of the Evanuris' is dead?

*interesting in that she's established in lore to potentially have a tonne of really cool things attached to her (the void armour, the great weapon she has etc...). The rest of the evanuris are nowhere near as well established as she is.

4. Southern Thedas, Sociopolitical Issues, and Future Games

NOW YOU WANT TO INCORPORATE GEO-POLITCAL EXPLORATION?? You avoided any meaningful discussion like the plague in DATV but now you're acknowledging it?? OkaY. okAy.

They couldn't even give us the long-term ramifications of the mage/templar war how the hell am I supposed to believe that they will be able to pull off 'elven gods are real' etc...? For a game series that totes : your choices matter -> they have not proven that they have been able to show that in a meaningful way. They literally cleaned the slate with this game to avoid doing that.

So, what, does that mean that the Veil is never going to come down now? Or are you going to have the entirety of Thedas build themselves up again just to have the Veil fall and send things into chaos once more?

What a fatalistic, miserable outcome for Thedas -> why the fuck would anyone bother to live in Thedas if you're going to keep throwing meteorites at them? By all means, change/conflict has to happen for the series to move forwards...but this is just so miserable at this point.

(The Elder Scrolls, at least, gives people room to breathe between crisis' or sets them up in different areas of the world! Bethesda treats past installments/your decisions with greater respect than DATV does.)

Even, then, if the Veil remains up, that means that the spirits are just trapped in the Fade being miserable for the rest of existence. The entire series has been humanizing spirits, from Justice to Cole, and now they're just throwing in the towel? I guess they can stay in the fade now! Problem solved!

What do you mean the Evanuris are not a threat anymore? IN A PREVIOUS QUESTION YOU LITERALLY SAID SOME ARE STILL POTENTIALLY KICKING AROUND THE BLACK CITY?

Weakened, sure, but Solas was 'weak' in DAI. You're giving yourself an out if you decide to go back to the elves again. Please do, I'd love more content on how the elves alone fuck everything up!

5. More Southern Thedas, the Chantry, and Tevinter

Thanks for the confirmation that things in the South are so fucked up that they have to work alongside the 'Slave Capital' of the known world to rebuild!

Slavery was one of the biggest things that caused a rift between the north/south chantry system -> one of the reasons why there were exalted marches -> a uniting belief in the south is that slavery is fucked. They didn't address slavery in DATV - what hopes are there that they will do so effectively in a future game?

Don't tell me that Dorian fixes everything off screen either -> either he solves slavery off-screen or the south is being forced to work the slaver-capitol because their land is nuked and they have no ground to stand on.

I'm so thrilled.

6. Solas and the Idol / The Blight

I will never get over Solas fucking curing the Blight off-screen and no one asking questions/giving a shit. Hello?? The Hero of Ferelden would like a word with you???

So the Blight is calcified in Minrathous, at least, but everywhere further away is still fucked! Once more, the South is doomed to suffer from the long-term effects that regular blights have -> not to mention the red lyrium (which still exists according to the AMA) across the south.

I don't care; it's lame. It's a lame way to conclude the blight and I hate it. This game did not earn 'cure the blight from thedas' at all. You could have had us learn how to soothe a titan and see how that can diminish the blight but you did it this way.

Another 'magical ritual' because Solas has such a good track record with them lmao.

7. The Agents of Fen'Harel / The War with the Qun / The Crows

Turned him against the idea of being a leader???!!

Fen'harel's Call to the Elven People After the events at the Winter Palace, elves left the Inquisition under mysterious circumstances, as did elven servants across Thedas. None could say where they went, but those who believed the Inquisitor's story about Fen'Harel wondered just how large the Dread Wolf's forces were... and what the ancient elven rebel had planned. This is from the Trespasser Epilogue, Epler!

Your concept art for Joplin literally had him as a leader of a faction of elves. Just be honest that it's a retcon and you changed course - don't try to save face with this reasoning.

About the Antaam: "We needed some big mindless bad guys to fight and so we did this because we didn't want to address the Qunari War/Invasion we set up in Trespasser".

You had to canonize Sten as being alive and Arishok in order for this reasoning to work -> you didn't even come up with an alternative Arishok to take Sten's place.

Yeah, the exchange that set up the Crows we see in the game as "idealists" did not make the game. I can confirm that!

I'm sorry, "Caterina kept Illario in check?" as in, 'kept him an idealist and not the usual Crow'? The woman that beat him with a cane and starved him and his cousin to train them as Crows. Fuck off.

lmao -> tell me you're coming up with this on the spot without telling me that you're coming up with this on the spot.

8. World State Discrepancies - Isabela

Outright ignores the very real criticism about the marketing from this game and World States.

"there are absolutely places where we unintentionally suggested there was a hard canon (...that Isabela is always assumed to have joined Hawke's party.)"

Unintentional?

Excuse me, you have her talk about Merrill and the Kirkwall Crew as family - that was not unintentional in the slightest. Not to mention Sten, Blackwall, Sera, and Cole are canonized as being part of your world state no matter what.

You had a story you wanted to tell - one that only fit a few world states - and you went ahead with it and disregarded those choices. Don't try and lie about this all being a big misunderstanding.

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

Edit - They could have taken the opportunity to address the very reasonable criticisms that people had with this game but they cherry-picked questions and avoided/minimized anything remotely critical.

They could have provided us some insight into the game development time but each time they approached the topic they settled for "we're happy with what we delivered and it was well optimized."

They had an opportunity to acknowledge that people were bothered by the handling of the lore/stories (to potentially mention they could course-correct/ rethink their plans) but instead they doubled down on everything that they did and even 'justified' some decisions. They doubled down on the Executors, Solas's changing motivations, the destruction of Southern Thedas, and the elves/Solas being at the heart of everything etc...

This AMA basically confirmed that the only reason they did what they did to the south was for a reset -> It's not a compelling or fulfilling narrative to have everything we've done reset back to ground zero off-screen. BioWare games differentiate themselves from other RPG's by their import system from previous games - it was compelling and exciting! With DATV they set the expectation that BioWare can outright throw out entire games worth of choices/build up, not solely retcon them.

Justifying your choice to water down the lore/world of your story by saying you'll address it in the 'next game' does not instill me with confidence, BioWare! It doesn't explain that lack of it in this game either!

They avoided every question that, rightfully so, pointed out the misleading comments made by devs in the pre-order period of the game:

the fact that there were only 3 imported choices from previous games was leaked by a reviewer -> BioWare was vague from the start about choices

that this game was the most 'romantic' in the series

that world states/ headcanons wouldn't be disrespected

that there are 'lore' reasons for bad darkspawn design

that there are lasting, impactful choices/consequences to be made in this game

that the lore/world was not watered or toned down

that companions are deep and you can disagree with them etc...

BioWare's behavior towards their customers in the lead up period to this games release was downright scummy. I absolutely felt misled after playing the game for myself and recalling what I read in interviews put out. While EA is undoubtedly poison, you can't hold them solely accountable for this.

I feel for the individual developers who worked on this in what was undoubtedly a toxic environment from EA - but I feel that it's pretty clear that BioWare itself has a lot of problems within and in their leadership/executives. Working for EA does not give them an excuse to mislead their customers.

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

I already had a very grim outlook on the franchise from the end of DATV but this literally look my interest out the back and sent it to God. What a disaster.

[venusbyline]

Bleeding ࿐ྂ Kinktober. 20, oct.

(late post)

— pairing: Alicent Hightower x lady in waiting!reader

— type: smut, angst, Kinktober (House of the Dragon Edition)

— kink: period sex + blood kink

— summary: Alicent did not want to be Queen Consort. She did not want to be King Viserys' second wife. She did not want to be Aegon II's mother. Alicent Hightower just wanted to love girls.

— word count: 2k

— tags/warnings: kinktober 20th day, female!reader, young!Alicent, period sex, blood kink, light dubcon, friends to lovers, friends with benefits, rough sex, tribadism/scissoring, argument, nipple play, underage sex, light unconscious sex, mild hurt/comfort, mild angst, lactation kink, breastfeeding, light dumbification, overstimulation, degradation, choking, family issues, crying, dacryphilia, sexism, curse words, implied/referenced cheating, breast worship, religious guilt, sexuality crisis, aftercare, love triangle (Alicent Hightower x reader x Rhaenyra Targaryen), motherhood themes, mommy kink, Aegon Targaryen II mentioned, minor Alicent Hightower x Viserys Targaryen, minor Alicent Hightower x Rhaenyra Targaryen, minor Gwayne Hightower x reader, ambiguous/open ending, lesbian!Alicent, bisexual!reader, sub!Alicent, dom!reader, canon divergence, porn with plot. no use of y/n. english is not my first language.

— tagging list: @baybaybear1 @blessedbymoon @p45510n4f4shi0n @lina-lovebug @moonnicole @badger-reads @turdettethefirst

— crossposting: AO3

Ever since Alicent had given birth to Aegon, she had grown distant from her best friend, Rhaenyra, and had become more lonely. Rhaenyra did not like Aegon because he reminded her of the male children her father had lost, he reminded her of her mother's brutal death during childbirth.

Sometimes, not even Alicent herself liked her son. Every time she looked at those violet eyes, the rosy cheeks and the silver hair, she was reminded of King Viserys. How he had fucked her tight cunt without even worrying about her pleasure. How she had kept her eyes open throughout the entire act, hoping it would end soon so she could distance herself from the older man's sweaty body and return to her own chambers.

Looking at the little boy made Alicent think about how their fates were set forever. She would just be a brood mare until Viserys no longer had the strength to keep fucking her. And Aegon would be just a lamb in the midst of all that chaos from Targaryen family. An heir, or not. A king, or not. Perhaps just a stupid adult with stupid kids in the future. Just as she probably would be too.

She was so afraid that Aegon would stop being a cute baby and become an evil man. This happened to most men. Their mothers gave birth to them with so much love and they were destined to die little by little watching their boys' development, each maternal disappointment being like daggers inside their hearts and inside their wombs, who had bled so much to bring their children into the world.

Alicent could even picture Aegon in his future, visiting brothels, masturbating like a dog in heat, making bastards in the streets, being a shame not only for the Targaryen family, but mainly for Alicent, his own mother. She wanted to put him back in her womb and stop him from anything evil he could do or be.

"Your Grace, did you call me?" Your voice discreetly entering the Queen's private chambers, avoiding looking at her figure under the sheets. It was nothing you had not seen. You had helped her during Aegon's birth, but you also knew her body for other reasons. You were her lady-in-waiting since her childhood, always close to her despite being a few years older. Otto Hightower had entrusted his daughter's good reputation to you since the three of you moved to King's Landing before her and the King's marriage. You did your tasks splendidly, too perfectly.

Especially into her bed.

"I thought you would not come, love..." Alicent murmured with a more fragile way than she intended and you tried hard not to show any pitying face. You were still angry about your last argument.

"You call me, I come. It is always like that, is not it?" Your passive-aggressive accusation made her swallow hard with shame and self-loathing. She was not the best person to deal with feelings. Ever since her marriage to Viserys, Alicent had been confused. About her faith. About her sins. About her extramarital desires. About Rhaenyra. About you. Especially about you two.

Gods, she wanted both of you so much that sometimes it hurts. Alicent wanted not to be married to the King, she wanted not to have a child, she wanted to be free. She wanted to be a man.

The young redhead fiddled with her fingers for a few moments, sitting on the bed and still covered by the silk sheet. She wanted to apologize for the argument, to say that she would try to talk less about her chaotic friendship or situationship with Rhaenyra. However, she knew that none of this would help. You were angry by her past confession about sleep with Rhaenyra a few times before her marriage to the King. You thought you were special to her. You really thought you were the only one, since Viserys Targaryen was just a puppet in Otto's hands. The affair with her was special. Or at least it should be.

You sighed after her long silence, seeing how Alicent looked away, choosing to look at any part of the chambers that was already so well known to her. "Why did not you call your friend Rhaenyra?" Your mockery tone did not go unnoticed and she flinched.

"I am... Bleeding. Rhaenyra does not like licking my vaginal blood." She said embarrassed. You knew what that meant. Alicent always hated admitting how turned on she was when those days came. The days she was sure she was not pregnant again. It was a mix of relief and arousal. She was so sensitive, so fucking needy...

But this time, you did not lower yourself between her thighs. This time, you looked at her with a cold gaze. So cold that she did not think even the strongest Dracarys from any Targaryen could melt.

"Then you want me to lick all your pretty little cunt to ease your pain and arousal, just because the princess is disgusted by that?" You questioned without a hint of affection that was always there, tearing your light blue dress with gold details with an almost animalistic speed. Now there was only resentment that she was reaping due to her own actions.

Alicent's already big eyes widened, pink lips parted with complete shock, as if you had said the most perverse thing that could come out of a girl's lips. "A-are you insane? Mind your tongue and do not dare to use that kind of language with me!" She tried to growl, to look intimidating. Tried to look like a Targaryen. Tried to sound like Rhaenyra.

But she was not a Targaryen. She was Alicent. Alicent Hightower. The ambitious teenager who spent hours inside the Septs, kneeling in front of some statue. She was also Alicent Hightower, the teenager who begged the Gods for forgiveness and mercy every time she pictured her best friend and current stepdaughter rubbing the wet core with some silver hairs on her lips, while you, her lady-in-waiting, would eat her out until she squirt all over your face.

This thought had appeared in Alicent's mind so many times that she had already surrendered, fucking her fingers inside herself under the sheets several nights. Like a true pathetic whore.

"You have no right to treat me as if you were just my Queen." It was your turn to growl, lower but much more intimidating, checking if the door was really locked before walking towards Alicent's bed with long strides, not caring about her wide eyes as you pulled the sheets away from her body, revealing the semi-transparent nightgown that highlighted the curves acquired since Aegon's pregnancy.

"BUT I AM YOUR QUEEN!" Alicent yelled, trying to deprive your of her dignity, but it was too late. You had seen the dry crimson stain on her fingers, causing you to laugh instantly.

"You are nothing but a spoiled greedy whore. That is what you are." The whisper filled with sarcasm made Alicent curl up even more into the pillow. "How long have you been trying to fuck your disgusting needy hole without even being able to cum?"

Your question went unanswered and you finally snapped, losing your patience and grabbing her neck, pushing her further onto the bed as you climbed onto the bed while you climbing on top of her vulnerable body. "Answer me, Your Grace!"

However, now your plea sounded more desperate and hurt than angry. She could see how your eyes were full of tears and how you were trying your best to fight them off. You hated feeling so hungry for Alicent. She should be your responsibility, nothing more than that. You should not care if she was thinking about Rhaenyra or not, as long as she did not tarnish the reputation of House Hightower or Viserys' reign. "SEVEN HELLS, ALICENT! ANSWER ME RIGHT NOW!"

"Over an hour ago, love. I was thinking about you two, you and Nyra..." Alicent sobbed after your shout, tears streaming down her soft cheeks as well, slightly losing consciousness for a few seconds from crying so much. She did not realize what you were doing with her body until you arched your head back, a strangled moan escaping your lips with pleasure and agony. It was then that she felt a different wetness rubbing against hers. It was not just your juices. It was... It was blood. Just like hers. It was the blood from your cunt mixing with her blood.

"O-oh, Gods. You are bleeding too..." Alicent whimpered, trying to move so she could keep up with the rhythm and give you even more pleasure, but your hands that kept her legs open stopped her. She moaned, looking at you with big sad eyes, which you ignored without any mercy, your gaze focused on the way your blood-stained cunts met each other, swollen clits pulsing against each other.

If it had been before, Alicent would have found it disgusting. She would find it disgusting how you started squeezing her breast when you increased the speed of your hips. Her breasts was still so large and heavy with Aegon's milk, she had created more curves and unfortunately some stretch marks, and you loved every part of all of this, playing with her nipple and smirking between moans when some milk flowed out.

She should find repulsive the way her own milk ran down her belly, some spots reaching the place where the two of you fit. You raised an eyebrow despite the haze of pleasure, as if you were asking permission for something. Instead of answering, Alicent also pressed her own breast, her hand now wet with breast milk, before she reached for both cunts, rubbing yours and then hers, getting them more overstimulated so you could move with more easily.

It was a disgusting mess. The gooey sounds, the blood and milk mixed on your buds, the way her nipple was still dripping. You were the first to cum, biting your lip until blood came out, avoiding moaning the Queen's name too loudly. Your cunt spasmed until your legs shook, your body falling on top of Alicent and the sight of your intense climax made her reach the release too. Even knowing the possible consequences, Alicent did not hold back. She moaned your name like a whore. Like the cheapest prostitute in the brothels on Street of Silk. Like the women that all the Targaryens fucked hidden from their wives. Like the women her firstborn and perhaps her next sons would fuck in the future. Like her future daughter would moan around some man's cock, if one day she had the divine blessing of giving birth to a little girl to try to protect her from all the evil in Westeros.

Alicent caressed your cheeks, grateful that you did not mind the mixture of blood, juices and breast milk that stained your face as she gave you affection, pulling your soft mouth close to her left nipple so that you could be breastfed like a baby. Her baby. You did not know what to say, you were too overwhelmed by the situation. Every argument with Alicent Hightower ended like this, feeding you as if you were a little orphan child and she a childless mother or a widowed wife. A widowed Queen.

"I wish we could be happy, love..." Alicent whispered with some melancholy, placing a kiss on your forehead and letting a tear escape. "B-but... But I hope my brother Gwayne will be a good husband to you. The husband you deserve. The husband I cannot be to you or to Nyra." You did not answer, nodding weakly and looking at your betrothal ring with the perfect green jewel on top. You did not want Gwayne Hightower. You did not want Alicent Hightower to be a man. You just wanted Alicent the way she was. A girl. Your girl. You wanted Alicent Hightower to be your wife. And she wanted that too.

HOTD Edition - Masterlist

Criminal Minds Edition - Masterlist

Venusbyline's Kinktober 2024 - Masterlist

[finnfrei]

I would love to hear more about your bard and her dragonborn 🥺👉👈

Aww, thank you so much for asking! Tbh, I always feel shy sharing the stories of my OCs, so I really appreciate your interest🩵

Where do I even begin? (Also, English is not my first or even second language, so I apologize for my poor writing in advance).

Clio is my changeling bard from our current homebrew DnD campaign and she’s the little ray of sunshine, who’s hiding her trauma behind a cheerful innocent smile. Or at least she used to be up until the party’s current adventure in Avernus. Quite early in life she realized how easy it is to lure secrets from people, when you look cute and play dumb.

Once she set out on an adventure with the party, she had a dream. A charming stranger in a dragon mask at a ball challenged her to play a complex composition. Non of what she saw on the music sheet he gave her made sense, it couldn’t sound good. But Clio was not the one to fuck around with and she started playing, struggling at first, but getting the grip of it. As the music played, the dirty secrets of people in the room started to reveal themselves to her overflowing her mind. The man asked her to meet him in the house of upper city where the party was headed.

That was how she met him, the man in the mask wasn’t a man she saw in the dream, but an emerald Dragonborn. Hescan was a commander of Secret Police and Master of College of Whispers. This tough mountain of muscles with cold gaze and devious grin was barely showing any genuine emotions. It felt familiar, she’s so used to putting on a mask herself, different ones, but still. He played cool and unbothered. Some even might say he looked dangerous, but Clio had met dangerous, cruel men way too many times before and wasn’t so easily fooled by him. She found it adorable on him. The feeling of safety around him puzzled her. He suggested her to work for him, collecting information, dragging skeletons out of others closets. She thought it would be fun to finally get paid for something she does anyway, never taking the job too seriously though. And well, girl asked for the direction of the nearest brothel, hoping to get some intelligence from local prostitutes, knowing full well about the amount of secrets kept by all the creatures, who aren’t taken seriously by rich and powerful. However, the dragonborn jokingly suggested her his bedroom. Joke got out of control. Bards being bards, I guess.

It all started with both of them trying to get intimate, “have fun” just to let down the other’s guard to get under their skin and lure more secrets from each other. Learn each other’s weaknesses, but also trying to secure the other’s loyalty. Hescan was playing cool and distant, meanwhile Clio was taunting him any time she saw an opportunity, shamelessly trying the limits of his patience. She liked to call him “pretty boy” and only called him “chief” in jest, he knew it also turned her on.

Eventually the more they learned the more they started to genuinely care about one another. They both knew what it was like feeling your body, your boundaries violated, used for someone else’s sick whims. They found comfort, they knew they were safe with each other, even if just for the night. Although they both had a hard time admitting it. After all it would mean to admit they had lost the game.

Now with a few years passed, they still have hard time fully trusting each other, given their occupation. She still makes fun of him, he finds it cute. He knows he can rely on her, so as she does.

There were so many sweet and funny moments between these two and to be honest the scenes where they admitted their feelings to each other, letting down their guards, live rent free in my mind.

[the-fiction-witch]

I Like Him

Media - House Of The Dragon Character - Oscar Tully Couple - Oscar X Reader Reader - (OC) Jaerra Targaryen [Daughter of Daemon Targaryen & Rhea Royce] Rating - 12 Word Count - 1121

Requested -

Hello Miss Witch! Can I request an Oscar Tully story in your “Boys Yet To Have Books” please? The reader is a Targaryen (probably just the same age as him and named Jaerra) and has a he-dragon, she flew to Harrenhal to accompany Daemon and then met Oscar and just some cute interactions between them that grew into something. It’s up to how you will write it and can have lots of parts too because I will love it either way. I hope you read this request. Thank you! <33

The dark echos of Harrenhal seem to sicken Daemon the longer he remains, food seems to turn to ashes in his mouth, wine soured, his mind a mess of his own failings and falls.

“I’m surrounded, by witches, and idiots.” He sighed to himself,

Suddenly a familiar sound echoes through Harrenhal’s half-melted halls, the sound of a dragon's triumphant cry. Which caused Daemon to perk up and move quickly for the first time in months. He headed out to the courtyard part of him hopeful to see Syrax across the sky, or perhaps even MoonDancer.

But a deep blue dragon with shimmering white scales fluttered down onto the grass,

“Iēdar lilagon…” he sighed, He approached the dragon glaring down at its rider, “Why did she send you?”

“Because you're causing chaos on your own,” Jaerra answered as she climbed down from her dragon, wearing her tall boots and grey washed-out leather trousers, a deep blue jacket with a high low skirt and dragon clasps down her chest, her long Targaryen blonde hair with a single dark brown streak by her face knotted up into a tight braid.

“I already have enough to deal with,” He sighed,

“Hence why I’m here.” She said pulling off her leather gloves and walking past him, “You’ve been causing enough problems around here, so she thought I’d be best to come. Plus everyone else is far too busy to be your babysitter.”

“Busy!” He said as he followed her,

“Her grace is busy, planning wars and alliances,”

“And what does she think I’ve been doing!”

She rolled her eyes and continued, “Jacaerys is defending his claim at her side -”

“Baela and Rheana?”

“Baela is beside her betrothal, as she should be. Rheana is with Aegon and Viserys in the Vale.”

He sighed, “I’d have taken Corlys before you.”

“He is of far to high priority.” She glared, “You get me. If you’d have been more careful I wouldn’t be needed and I could be patrolling.”

“So that’s what she’s got you doing? Patrolling?”

“Ravens are slow, men even slower. Dragonback is the best way to get sights of our lands and the movements on them.” She explained, “Speaking of which, the riverlords are here.”

“They haven’t-”

“They haven’t arrived yet but they will in an hour, I flew over them.” She answered before she went inside,

“...Fucking-” He sighed following her, “We have an hour, time to change into a gown for the Riverland lords.”

“Alright,” She shrugged, “Off you go, to get dressed.” She glared,

“I meant you.”

“Seems a waste of my time.” she sighed, “We are at war, gowns seem pointless at this point,”

“You are … so much of your mother,” He barked,

She chuckled, “Is that meant to insult me?” She smiled, “I’d rather be a spitting image of my mother… than anything like you.” she spat, “Now let's get this sorted out before we all end up on spikes in Kings Landing.”

Daemon sat at the head of the table in Harrenhalls Grand chamber, Jaerra to his side with two seats between them, as in walked the Lord of the river lands. Jaerra raised an eyebrow given this was not the man from the many lords she saw from Dragonback whom she expected to be the lord. Lord Oscar Tully made his way in dressed in his fine amour, curls messy from his helmet. He simply nodded as a greeting to Daemon and his eyes flicked to Jaerra, he did a double take but focused his eyes forward.

“My condolences on the passing of your grandser.” Daemon spoke, “But the crown congratulates you on your ascension to the head of your house. And Lord Paramount of the Riverlands” He explained, “Truly Glorious well done,”

“I did nothing,” Oscar answered,

“Nevertheless, you are here which is the important thing.” Daemon nodded,

“You were quick enough to dismiss me before.”

“You were of no significance to me then.”

Jaerra sighed, rolling her eyes a little.

“Now. I shall have my great host you have a decision to make.” Daemon stood from his chair mostly to avoid the eyes of Jaerra, “Presume it is clear to you which is the right one.”

“You will forgive me, your grace… I am green. In this sort of matter. As you so kindly point out, but it does seem to me that you’ve made rather a mess here.” Oscar explained making sure to meet Daemon's eyes as he walked around him, “Countenancing barbarities in the queen's name.”

Jaerra choked back a small laugh but made no secret of her smile, as she rested her feet on the table,

“Who’s side are you on?” Daemon glared the boy down,

“... The river lands are held together by oaths.” Oscar nodded, “House Tully swore on oath to King Viserys Targaryen, We recognize the authority of the named heir Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen… And your own as her king consort.”

“Good.” Daemon nodded, “Then we should go to face your vassals and you shall call your banners to war,”

“That might be difficult my king,”

“Well… I was told they would come to heal When house tully declared it’s allegiance.”

“That… may be the case,” Oscar nodded, “But it is yet to be seen that they will heed my authority, as young as it is.”

“You are no older than my daughter.” Daemon chuckled as his eyes met Jaerra,

“... I’d further follow her than you.”

“Power and control don’t have an age. Merely a mindset.” Jaerra smiled,

Oscar nodded to her, “And there is another problem… they all hate you.” he turned back to Daemon,

“Everyone hates him.” Jaerra spoke up again, “Never stopped him before.”

“I don’t need their love, I need their swords.” Daemon glared,

The two in a deep moment of staring before the door opened,

“You’re grace, My lord, the river lords await. I fear we cannot delay them any longer.”

“Of course,” Daemon nodded, “Come along lord Oscar,”

Oscar nodded and walked out hand on his sword,

“You too.” He demanded to Jaerra,

She sighed setting her feet down on the stone floor and made her way out the door, but turned around as she passed Daemon walking backwards out the door, “I like him.”

“You would.” he glared, forcing her out with him.  

[fallloverfic]

Finished the second season of Castlevania: Nocturne and loved it! Spoilers below.

Angry boi PROTEC HIS MAN!!!! Just his running to Mizrak, so worried. Even interrupted his revenge. I just love that his serpent form came back T-T And multiple times!!!

The fight scenes were so good!!! Just so many amazing ones!

ALSO WHAT DOES ADRIAN MEAN NOT THE FIRST TIME YOU SAVED MY LIFE???? I AM-!!!!

(So happy they know each other and I think it's hilarious my fic could potentially be a prequel now alkdjalkdjaljdalj)

Everyone cute. Annette and Richter were just awww. Glad Edouard and Annette get to stay together, and Edouard can go home and get his bass player :3

Also so many gorgeous Adrian bits. Truly. Him coming out of the river was so mmmm. Also loved all the magic he got to use XD And the music was fun!

Also loved all the Egyptian stuff. The soul count was a little... (I was like why are you saying just 2 or 3, there's more than that...?), but apparently the # of parts has changed over time (it's not just 4 or 5) and it's you know, vampires during the French Revolution, so sure, whatever. The trip to Duat was fun! And Ammit's form was pretty cool.

Poor Tera. Bye Emmanuel, no one misses you.

Loved that we got some dragon fighting. Also that the dragon didn't die. Was worried. Though I will say, Sekhmet punching it was kind of funny aldkjlaj I felt sort of bad when Juste, Richter, and Maria were all boosting its breath like, "That can't be too comfortable for the dragon..."

Just think it's funny we have animated Robespierre joining forces with the son of Dracula to defend Paris from a crazy Hungarian serial killer noble who believes she's the reincarnation of an ancient Egyptian goddess lol

The return of Drolta was really fun. I was sad she was in so relatively little of season 1. This was really great.

For historical things, I appreciate that they referenced how folks in France sold and bought food to watch executions. I also appreciate the reference to the trend of European obsession with eating mummies.

I will be thinking about Mizrox's future. I feel bad I'm mostly happy Olrox survived the season lol I like Mizrak just fine, and I like that Olrox likes him, but my priority is Olrox, not Mizrak, sorry lol Clearly they have some things to work out XD Should be fun (for someone, I hope). Someone else pointed out they never talked about the animal/soul stuff, and it was kind of just... Mizrak getting over it (or side-stepping it) and not apologizing to Olrox about it. And Olrox just... kind of accepting that the guy he's in love with is like this. I think it's funny that after having written You reluctant demon back in 2023, where they do have a conversation about it, I completely forgot it as a thing I wanted to happen lol Cause in my mind the matter is settled. Like the show, quite frankly, feels like neat fanfiction to me at this point (that's not what it is, but that's how my brain works, it's part of why I wasn't as anxious about season 2 releasing as I was for season 3 of the first series releasing). It's great in all the things it does, amazing stuff I never could have thought of, which is far better than a lot of the stuff I did in my fic (and those fight scenes, dang). But yeah, I do agree, they should have talked about it. And they don't. And it's... mm...

Another thing is that Mizrak maybe still has some racism to unpack. There's that line Olrox has about when his people were massacred by the Spanish, and Olrox says, "And our terrifying gods could do nothing to save us." And Mizrak replies, "Perhaps your gods were the problem," and it's like what the fuck Mizrak lol I don't know if it's part of his struggles with his own faith, which is very obviously happening, how if a god exists, they're allowing all this stuff to happen, that Emmanual failed so hard, and believing in a god - which is his issue - is causing so much of his issues (it's making him believe his affection for Olrox is false, that Olrox doesn't have a soul, and/or it's not saving him from what he believes is a wrong attraction, idk). Or, from a semi-logical standpoint, that Olrox's people were attacked because they weren't Christian, and that the Spanish wouldn't have attacked Olrox's people if they were Christian. Or simply that "well it's your fault for not being Christian", I have no idea. It's a weird moment. We have really not moved past the "animal" conversation all that much. Olrox is very, very forgiving. And I am way more forgiving because I forgot I resolved most of this in my fic over a year ago lol I don't know, relationships are messy, I enjoyed what I saw of them. Olrox running to Mizrak's side was a lot and I loved it. The way Olrox is like, "I thought you wanted to know" killed me.

ANYWAY though... it was a good season. Really, I liked it.

[threepandas]

Bad End, Chosen: Part 4

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The Cycles never "loaded" back in at quite the same point. It was something I had noticed, though I had only suffered a few of them so far. It was like the God's were hoping "Chapter" to "Chapter", fickle and easily bored, trying desperately to find something NEW.

It made planning all but impossible.

Where... where was I?

A simple room. A suitcase before me. Loading or unloading? I held a robe in my hands. Painfully familiar. I had worn them for years. The highly protective robes of Mage initiates, at the Magic Tower. Meant to work as armor, life support, even... God's forbid, an emergency beacon. They were hideous. Function over form.

I could cry, for how deeply I loved these ugly robes.

No one had EVER been able to figure out how to style them properly. God's know, we had TRIED. But when The Dark came? This ugly, ugly things? These long complained about hand-me-downs? Oh... oh they had saved so, SO many student's lives.

Such tiny little things. Pulled from the rubble, still breathing. All because of these chaotic, gaudy, terribly comfortable and so deeply loved, old robes. T...They truely were as hideous as I remembered, weren't they? Blocks upon blocks of overlapping stitches and patches, too many colors, as though the tower was too stubborn to throw as single thing away.

We were.

We... we NEVER leave anything or anyONE behind.

Packrats, all of us. Such terrible hoarders. But... I looked around. It did not tell me the date. Was I leaving? Joining the tower? How old was I supposed to be? I pulled on my robes.

It felt like coming home. Like balm against the raw nerves of my still fragile mind. I felt old. Brittle. At... at terrible odds, with my young skin. I wondered if this was how she felt. The woman, the poor girl, that came before me. Before she broke so badly even the God's could not force her to perform. I did not want to admit I understood the impulse.

Ah, there.

I had once, what felt like lifetimes ago. What WAS lifetimes ago. Bought this very calander. It was cute. Little fairy dragons danced upon the edges, delicate and joyous. They were, of course, incorrectly drawn. The artist had never seen a real fairy dragon, only heard of them. I had seen some during the war.

People forget that neither the Fae nor Dragons are sweet or gentle things.

They were... Awe inspiring. In the oldest sense of the world. "An overwhelming feeling of reverence, admiration, and fear." I believe the text defined it. Like living starlight and glass, sung poetry and water. They were the fury of long dead gods and the vengeance of beings who were divine unto themselves.

They removed an entire MOUNTAIN RANGE before they fell. Burned and reduced to molten earth, an entire inland sea. They died like STARS. Violently and with a force that destroyed the void itself. Consuming all that dared stand in their shadow.

Ha. And people think they're CUTE.

Ah...my mind is wandering again. I try to concentrate on the calendar. My... my mind doesn't want too. Oh dear. That's... that's probably a rather bad sign, isn't it?

Opening my eyes at the beginning of the cycle had brough such... CLARITY. As though my head had been held under murky water and finally, FINALLY, I was able to scramble free. But... much like the drowned... I felt something like a high. Adrift. Without my anchor. I wanted my Gran-...

NO.

I grab the dresser before me. Hard enough my knuckles go white. My wide eyes focus far away. Seeing without seeing. Hyperfocused on the woodgrain before me. I am my OWN anchor. Feel the magic in your veins. The push and pull of the world. We are not his slave! Not his PET, to keep and cherish. A toy on a shelf.

I am a PERSON.

I DEFY MY FATE.

A cheerful knock at the door to my room. My eyes finally focusing on the date. Fuck. Moving IN, then. I do not know if I can act "normal". I... I will have to try. I can not unclench my jaw, but with great force of will, finger by finger, I release my grip on the dresser. Stand up. Glance up into the mirror.

I look like I am some hateful little thing, vowing some ugly little vengeance. Perhaps it is just my face. The way anger and spite only barely holds my bleeding edges together. My fear. I...I look like I am about to cry.

What a wretched child.

I try to force a smile.

It looks hideous. More ugly grimace and deep disgust then "oh, Master, how pleased I am to see you!". Fuck. When did I become so broken? A knock again. More hesitant. I breathe deep. I can not do cheerful, then. But...I... I can do nothing.

My face slides into an emotionless mask. Blank. Like a doll. Vaguely pleasant but meaningless. How damningly familiar. Gran-... HE reduced me to this in the end. A few steps. Almost distant, robotic, movement. And I open the door to a once familiar face.

"Learner." My Master smiles, awkward and uncertain. He had not wanted a student. I forced his hand. I know now I never should have done so. He was not ready. "Are you, um, settling? In? I know it is quite different from the life you once lived, but I promise. I will tale care of you. Well figure this out together."

Oh, Master.

I...I wish I could weep. I had forgotten this lie. How deeply I had once believed it. It was a child's promise, from a man who grew old but never, truely, grew up. I was to be failed again and again. Had once given him chance after chance. Because I had believed his words. My eyes feel hot. He looks panicked.

"Ah! W-what did I do? Was that wrong? Please don't cry?! Oh no! Uuuuh-!"

"Well THIS is a record. Not even a day and you've made the child weep." Comes a terrible voice. No. Please, Gods. Not so soon. "Here I am, come to greet my precious Grandlearner. And what do I find? My student, tormenting a child."

My Master sputters defenses of himself. Not even noticing that his own Master did not call him Learner. All but disowned him before me. My fear howls like a deafening beast in my ears. But... cowering? Will not... can not save me. Turning my head is almost painful, with how tightly my muscles have tensed.

That is not the look of a man who does not recognize me.

He remembers.

Alaric Blight stands in truely magnificent Tower Master's robes, as though he has every right to be there. Respected. Beloved. A legendary talent, the likes of which have not been seen for lifetimes. ANYONE would be HONORED to be in his presence. After all... he is a man who holds the world at his feet.

He is a monster.

"Hello Grandlearner," he all but purrs. Stalking forward to loom, as only an adult CAN loom over a child. The power difference between is even greater now. I can not even count myself an ant before him. I... I can not breathe. "What a delicate little thing you are. Utterly precious. And so SMALL! You certainly have a lot of training to do, don't you?"

His hand reaches forward to cup my cheek, sparks of deadly magic dancing lazily across my skin too finely for Master to notice, but not so fine I can not FEEL. It is a subtle threat. A little reminder. Not a single soul in this tower is safe, so long as he is here. All it would take? Is.. Just. One. Touch~

"I'm sure you'll BEHAVE for your Master, WONT you, Dear? After all, he only wants what's best for you. And a darling child like you, Grandlearner? Should be cherished."

"He's right." My Master said, clueless to the monster he let so close. Who so very dispised him. "But... but Master, I'm not sure, well, HOW exactly..."

"Oh don't worry, student of mine." Alaric Blight, monster of my nightmares, hummed in a laughable mimicry of pleasantries. "I'll be with you EVERY step of the way. How could do anything less? We'll train my darling Grandlearner together."

A terrible grin.

"Leave everything to me."