#king of a kingdom that no longer exists | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

voyter · 2 months ago

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DEVOTION — jeon jungkook.

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

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

listening to. blue jeans by lana del rey / middle of the night by elley duhé / flawless by the neighbourhood

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.

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yaoyaobae · 2 years ago

Text

Its been awhile and i have another OC to share LOL gotta draw brain rots instead of keeping them in your head forever ☺️💖

Name: Aurore Dormir

School: Royal Sword Academy

Pastime: Escaping school to wander in the nearby forest, spending time alone

Hobbies: Sightseeing, Gardening, Fencing.

Family: Father, Mother , *Brother ( silver, please refer to the last note regarding my own theory)

Aurore is a third year student at RSA, currently house warden of the sleeping beauty inspired dorm.

Aurore is also the next king of the Kingdom of Heroes, which naturally made him the center of attention in RSA.

Unlike Malleus whose powerful aura pushes people away from him, Aurore draws people towards him as they feel a sense of security around him.

He was only recently enrolled into school during his second year as his family brought him back from isolation for training, far away from the world’s eyes.

At first glance, Aurore may seem like the ideal dream prince: Kind, Polite, Courageous, Strong and Smart as he is consistent in securing top grades across his cohort. But deep down, he isn’t exactly the perfect prince most of his peers think he is.

Aurore is actually afraid of strangers and overwhelming attention ( he was raised in isolation so meeting humans are.. yeah) He is skilled at hiding his weakness but starts blanking out if there are too many people crowding around him.

As a result, he finds happiness in spending time alone in places where no one recognises him. He usually takes a short stroll around Sage Island’s various forests when his caretakers aren’t looking.

Strangely, Aurore mentions that his enjoyment from lonely strolls only existed because he would suddenly find himself in unknown places as a child…as if something or someone was calling him. But he became mentally stronger as he got older and knows how to guard himself during his impromptu walks.

Bonus personal theory/lore:

Hi! So if you have been following me since i started creating twst ocs, you would be familiar with a certain comic i drew for an Aurora Oc ( its not exactly Aurore because i didn’t flesh him out) . But to sum up my theory for that comic:

There was once a powerful kingdom that clashed with briar valley, humans and fae did not get along as well back then.

Somewhere in between the war, both of the queen’s sons were cursed by a powerful magician and separated at birth. The queen initially wanted to send her two sons far away from the castle, but only managed to send one tucked away in a casket that drifted on a hidden river which led to a forest.

The war ended a few days later, with both fae and humans forming a truce. The queen fell into depression after realising that her second son probably did not make it and blamed herself for not keeping him a little longer had she known he would have been safe and alive in her arms.

Time heals wounds, and with some reassurance from the King the Queen got back up on her feet stronger for the sake of her people. Of course, sometimes the servants would catch a glimpse of the lonely Queen staring into the far forests wondering if she will ever see those small pair of Aurora coloured eyes again.

Because the Queen conceived her two sons alone away from the servants, only she and the King were aware of their other missing son. The three fairy advisors who had protected them from the very start told the Queen that if word of two cursed princes were to spread, the kingdom would be doomed to fall . The Queen had no choice but to accept this decision, and so they entrusted their only son to the three fairies in case the curse within him acts up. Hence Aurore was raised in isolation away from the world’s attention and only enrolled in his second year to prevent the curse from possibly manifesting.

In this story I created Silver is the missing prince in question who drifted far into the forest and eventually picked up by Lilia. His only proof of his royal status is a ring with an aurora coloured gem (Book 7 mention).

Regarding the curse: Silver was cursed to feel drowsy all the time while Aurore was cursed to follow a voice in his head which leads him to sleepwalk into dangerous places alone. Silver’s hair colour reminds me of the spindle/needle, so in a way he contains the sleeping curse. Like Aurora, Aurore is drawn into strange places by a voice and eventually to the spindle. Hence these two will always feel an unfamiliar sense of closeness to each other.

“Yao why do you think Silver would have a brother? Much less the RSA guy inspired by Aurora? Doesn’t Silver already have Aurora’s traits?”

In general this is just my own fun theory to think about, but my reasons are because i think it would be interesting if Silver canonically had living family member(s) from a royal family( that ring kinda tells all). It would also put him in place wondering if he should return to his biological human family or stay with his Briar Valley family as he feels a stronger bond with them. With the way TWST tackles issues about fae/human like Sebek from example, i would love to see Silver’s resolve for his found family.

In my old comic, the Aurora OC actually dislikes Fae because of the war. He especially hates Lilia because he believed the war criminal took his own brother away and is promoting peace despite his past.

I feel Aurore would dislike Lilia but eventually learns to see the war from both sides as humans aren’t all that great either, he is still a naive prince with much to learn about the world. So while Silver does have Aurora’s trait, Aurore may have some of King Stefan’s from Maleficent/OG film. TWST tends to combine diff character traits anyways🌝👍

Anyways I adore these two so much and am looking forward to Silver’s past in the future updates! Thank you for reading about Aurore, till next time 💖

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst fanart #yaoyao_twstoc #auroredormir #twst silver

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otkuhotgirl · 3 months ago

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─── 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐈𝐓 .

# with donquixote doflamingo.

the man who conquered it all could not have predicted the boredom that came with settledness. yet, fucking you with an audience was entertaining enough.

⎰ & KINKTOBER, day thirteen. smut (mdni!). dacryphilia. humiliation kink. voyeurism. slapping. drugging. afab!reader. no y/n used.

WC: 2.5k

don quixote doflamingo was an untouchable man, for neither the government nor a commoner had enough power and influence to rival one beyond a celestial — a king. that who would grow into the commander of all, rather than the mere master of a meaningless kingdom; that whose future was trailed to conquest. comfort had been the most prominent gift offered by power, yet with it came boredom. those who dared defy him could not match the strength of the weakest members of his family, let alone a single one from his elite officers. arrogance could lead him so far before the settling of inevitable dullness. a warlord; a king; a dragon. despite the revolt born from the reminiscence of his past, being honest with himself, the age of pirate life, dangerous-filled, at least had a tinge of excitement to it. the settling down that came with the successful crafting of an empire was a disappointment that, although predicted, remained frustrating.

doflamingo was unused to the process of yearning, for his seizing of what was wanted was immediate. he had been a child famished for prestige and vengeance; a teen striving for riches; an adult who at last conquered it all, yet it was far from enough. not a thing in the world could quite affect him; how one could bother the man who had whatever his heart desired? he pondered on the perspective of conforming to the scenario at hand — until you showed up.

he claimed you as he did most things throughout his life — coercion with threatening innuendos and promises of violence. you were neither given a choice nor an escape route; he craved you, therefore he would have you. the fact that you were so willing to submit was but a treacherous, laid-out trap. you behaved as though an innocent rose — innocent, willing, made to be ravaged — and once doflamingo grew used to your presence, adoration overcoming lust; having you as the favorite doll on his shelf; you surprised him with the serpent hidden underneath the petals.

the carnal endeavors were not exclusive. doflamingo made it clear that he could have you and countless others, daring to command you to remain by the pool while he had women piled on his lap. you were unfazed — ever his obedient pet — until his passion bloomed, meaning you were no longer expendable: you were his lover; a member of his family. once you realized that, said viper fangs dug through flesh and injected its poison into his bloodline. so long as you existed, doflamingo could be affected; the downfall of a god. and you were far from unaware of that privilege — especially once he ditched other women, for they were not you.

the first time you had pulled that move was during a warlord reunion — boring, catastrophic. doflamingo had brought you along for the merest sake of flexing his lover, yet the brief lack of explicit affection altered the function of your character to those who observed without context.

to them, you were but a supposed crewmate; a subordinate meant to aid were things to go sour. as a consequence, within the merest blink of an eye, you were found not by his side — but rather entertaining crocodile’s advances. doflamingo was well-aware of the distaste the fellow warlord felt for him, and enough a smart individual not to underestimate said man’s intelligence. the crystalline flirting had been a mute, mutual decision to vex him; to force him into discomfort.

doflamingo half-expected the rage to consume every nerve at the sight of another’s hand on your body; to have a languid tongue of fire teasing the flesh of his heart. yet that had not been the case. the man was surprised at the realization of his own amusement at the sight, the treacherous trail of his thoughts, treading on the image of crocodile’s fingers on your flesh; fragments of sand blooming goosebumps on your arm. crocodile would never steal what was his; doflamingo would wrap strings around that neck without second-thought was he to dare claim you. a full-blown fight would be interesting, although with predictable results — doflamingo would emerge victorious, as per usual.

the man untouchable granted a weakness of ridiculous character. at the end of such a reunion, doflamingo ravished you on the ship throughout the entire return to dressrosa — and that had been the most exhilarating experience he had in ages.

doflamingo had no need to express said desire. you noted it through the manner with which his touch shifted — the applied pressure, the rough, erratic pace of his cock pistoling itself inside. you were given mute, explicit permission to misbehave, doflamingo wanted you to flirt and lure others into his web; drew pleasure from the desperation in their eyes upon the realization of who was the man you belonged to. whenever you were to leave, doflamingo had the servants paint your skin with black-ink in swirling patterns. he’d accompany you; hidden, amused. observing as those men’s fingers stained the texture of your flesh, digits indicating where you were touched. doflamingo did not care about those men whatsoever, murdering them as soon as they dared cross a line.

rather than wiping the ink, he’d throw your back against the pool of blood and claim you then and there — forcefully mingling black and red into your flesh, adding the white of his cum thereafter. oftentimes he’d have the men alive, forced to watch his cock entering your cunt; to hear your delicious moans. his strings would wrap itselves around their throats; slice their flesh. and then — only then — would doflamingo tear your clothes off, expose your nipples to his eyes. it was better when said individuals were commoners; low-lifers. self-proclaimed important men were arrogant enough to withstand the weight of his presence; stupid enough to dare touch covered inches of flesh where the ink had not reached. his excitement would be maculated by the rage, born from said display of impertinence, and if one was to be fair the enticement lost its appeal when he was forced to face such smugness. allowing you to participate in the diplomatic dinner with the marine forces had been an error, for vice-admirals were not quite as often moral as those who occupied a higher position in the hierarchy. the man was strong — drunk, too — and you had him wrapped around your finger, serving him wine; trailing your index down his chest. the man was served the most delicious meals; offered the most matured alcoholic beverages. and, unbeknownst to him, had the king of dressrosa’s lover in his lap.

doflamingo clutched his bottle, erection enclosed by the fabric of his underwear. the vice-admiral nudged your neck with his nose, and doflamingo smirked when your eyes trailed to his own, angling your head in order to give the officer a better access to your skin. he could not kill that man — too important; too risky — a fact you were well-aware of, forcing his hand without second thought, daring him to persevere. he clicked his tongue, spreading his legs under the table and not minding enough to suppress his delighted grunt when the tip of your heel reached his shaft. in order to do so, you moved your ass where you sat on the vice-admiral’s lap, and when his eyes filled with lust, doflamingo’s fingers twitched, a single string teasing your neck. he could not touch that man, but you — you belonged to him. doflamingo was allowed to treat you as he pleased.

he tied the string around your chest, forcing your cleavage to spill out. the vice-admiral’s eyes glued to it, whereas doflamingo’s glance tethered itself to your face. you grinned in pure delight, grinding against the drunk man’s cock on purpose — in such a bliss that he remained unaware of the cat-and-mouse game happening in front of him. he tightened the grip on your throat, drawing pleasure from your hooded eyes. doflamingo tugged at the string ever-so-slightly, forcing your chest forward into the table, aware that the vice-admiral’s tip would poke at your ass. he grunted at the thought, feeling the first drops of his pre-cum that all but stained the fabric of his underwear.

“how do you like the wine?” he inquired, drowning his throat with it, observing the vice-admiral’s vicious glance.

the man seemed to have been reminded of the character of his visit — to form a deal between the warlord and the government; not to get a hand wrapped around his cock. yet, he struggled to remain composed; to focus where it mattered.

“it’s delicious,” he answered, though his eyes were glued to your figure.

doflamingo snapped his fingers, calling a servant in. the woman brought yet another bottle, and with the vice-admiral’s attention elsewhere, it was easy to pour droplets of a strong somniferous into the wine. a flick of his fingers had the bottle sliding through the table into your seat, and you raised an eyebrow.

“doffy,” you complained. “we were having fun.”

“pour it,” doflamingo demanded, and you all but scoffed — an attitude he’d correct later-on.

rather than doing it so, you parted his lips open with your thumb, convincing him to open his mouth. you poured the beverage inside, forcing him to swallow. doflamingo’s cock twitched as a string of red wine dripped down the vice-admiral’s chin, and he all but relaxed, though quite awake still, as if stuck into a particularly odd dream. the second the other’s grip on you loosened, doflamingo tapped on the table’s surface, and you knelt upon it, driving yourself towards him as though a mischievous cat. he licked his lips, well-aware of the vice-admiral’s state of dazed consciousness. he kicked the table’s leg, forcing you to fall face-straight into his chest.

“fun,” he echoed, gripping your nape and thighs. “i doubt a marine would know the meaning of fun, little bird.”

you hummed, burying your nose in his neck. “should we teach him, doffy?”

doflamingo laughed, angling his chair in order to give the drugged vice-admiral the full sight of what was about to happen. he would not dare remove your shirt, for not another deserved to have your breasts etched into memory; more importantly, you hadn’t worked enough for your nipples to be worth the attention of his tongue. instead, he raised the hem of your dress and tugged at the waistband of your underwear, unable to contain the excitement.

“tear it off,” he teased, brushing his erection against your covered cunt. you mewled, starting to move as if to remove your panties. “stupid, little bird. i told you to tear it.”

his hand forced your chest to meet his, and his long tongue darted out from his mouth to lick your cheeks. doflamingo’s grip was but a cage, and your fingers struggled to rip those panties — an order he would have no problem in accomplishing were the roles reversed.

“can’t handle it yourself, little bird?” he teased, rutting his hips in order to tease your entrance. you whined, meeting his pace; grinding against his cock.

“doffy,” you mewled, ceasing the movement of your fingers for the sake of your brief pleasure.

“what, you think shoving those panties aside would be enough?” he mocked, resting his back on the chair. “i’m an important man.”

the glance you sent his way was anger-filled; frustrated. he ignored it, grunting at the sight of your struggling figure, all but laughing throughout the time demanded for your underwear to be ripped in half. doflamingo smirked, satisfied with your desperation. he refused to offer any sort of aid, comfortably resting while you were forced to remove the lower-half of his clothes — managing to lower it down only enough to free his cock from its confines.

“pathetic,” he spat, gripping your throat; forcing your glance to meet his. “that’s why you resort to low-lifers, is it not? you’re a whore at your core, little bird, unworthy of a king.”

his palm met your face; a powerful slap that had your head angled to the side with sudden violence. you moaned, leaning into his touch regardless of the strength dwelled upon it.

“were you turned on?” doflamingo inquired, gripping your chin. “when his cock poked at your entrance, were you dripping wet?”

“no, doffy,” you stated, tearing up due to the aggressiveness poured into the touch.

he laughed, moving his head with certain disappointment. doflamingo snapped his hips, forcing his erection to settle amidst your folds, the wetness that enveloped the sensitive flesh of his tip causing him to grunt with sheer desire, increasing the pressure applied on your chin.

“lying slut,” he accused, gripping your hips to guide the grinding of his cock. “look at how wet you are.”

“only because you were staring at me,” you countered through a shrieking shout. he laughed, despite the painful state of his erection.

“is that so?” doflamingo taunted. “a pathetic excuse of a creature aching for a god’s cock. how egotistical.”

“doffy—”.

“beg for it,” he snapped, teasing your lips open with the tip of his tongue.

“please, doffy,” you pleaded, rolling your hips with a moan and an arch of your back, failing to please yourself without further aid. “i need you, i need your cock.”

“to do what?”

“to fuck me! please, make me cum, doffy. only you can.”

“pitiful,” he continued, raising your hip ever-so-slightly to shove his cock inside. you gripped his shoulders, searching for equilibrium, and shouting as his girth split you open.

doflamingo was a man whose height surpassed that of the common average — as a consequence, the same could be applied to the length and width of his shaft. in order not to cause greater pain to his lover, certain particularities needed to be considered. a proper teasing beforehand to guarantee natural lubrication; gradual insertion to avoid sudden stretching. yet, he did not care about that in such an instance whatsoever, merely licking the tears that traveled through your cheeks, bruising your cervix with his tip.

without further ado, doflamingo forced you to move; to bounce on his cock. he raised your figure to pistol his erection from the base to the tip, tearing your walls; demolishing from the inside-out. you moaned, and doflamingo angled his head to meet the unfocused glance of the vice-admiral, grinning as the room filled with the sound of his balls meeting your ass. the increase of your pace; the way your fingers dug into the flesh of his shoulders. you were nearing your release, and doflamingo settled back, no longer thrusting into you.

“doffy!” you shouted, and he didn’t hesitate to slap your face as a reprimand.

“who do you think you are, whore?” doflamingo snapped. “if you want to cum, work for it.”

your legs trembled; constricted. his back met the chair, hands above his nape. your breasts matched the pace of your bouncing, restless and without proper rhythm. sweat emerged on your temples, leisure movements that did nothing to soothe the tide of crippling desire that had your essence coating his monstrous size. doflamingo clicked his tongue with nitid disappointment, gripping your throat. his erection retrieved from your walls the second he forced your back against the table, only to be yet again shoved inside without ceremonies, causing you to shout due to both pain and pleasure.

“how useless,” he noted, licking his lips at the sight of his cock, the poking tip ever-so-visible through your stomach. “can’t even get yourself off.”

“i am,” you sobbed, legs spreading open as your walls clenched around his erection. “need you, please, young master!”

doflamingo grunted, tilting your head up; angling your sight of vision to have you facing the vice-admiral. “if you dare stop to look at him once, you won’t get to cum.”

you moaned and nodded your head, tethering your glance to the man in question. doflamingo’s pace had the table scratching against the ground, your back arching once his thumb applied pressure on your clit. at each given thrust, he bruised your insides further; walls swallowing him whole; g-spot finding no reprieve whatsoever. doflamingo kept his eyes tethered to your face, grunting, for your attention was offered to another. his cock twitched; his expression contorted into one of sadistic pleasure. he did not bother to warn you of his nearing bliss, instead allowing his cum to smear your insides, thrusting himself with regained ruthlessness as he rode the epiphany of his orgasm.

once he was done, doflamingo sat back yet again, removing his shaft from your cunt without further thought. you gasped due to the extreme revolt, supporting your weight on your elbows.

“you told me i’d get to cum,” you complained, and doflamingo wrapped a string around your thighs, tugging you closer.

“if you worked for it,” he pointed out, grinning. “and you haven’t; not yet. what will you do, little bird?”

#kinktober 2024 #one piece #op x reader #op #one piece x reader #one piece x you #op x you #one piece smut #op x y/n #doflamingo smut #doflamingo x reader #donquixote doflamingo #doflamingo one piece #op doflamingo #doflamingo x you #doflamingo x y/n

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smilesrobotlover · 2 months ago

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I’ve been thinking about the big deities of Hyrule and decided to make designs for different deity designs.

Hylia is the Goddess of Heroes, ordered by the golden three to watch over the Triforce when they left. She is the goddess of Hyrule, though it existed when she no longer existed because she gave up her immortality to defeat Demise. So really, no goddess protects the Triforce, and instead it scattered after ocarina of time when Ganondorf tried to grab it. But yeah Hyrule is kind of a mess with no Goddess to protect it. I lvoe big bird woman but honestly, I wanted her to look like Hylians so she’s a regular Hylian with some godly designs added. Yayy.

Then there’s Labryn, the war god of Labrynna. He’s focused on war and strategy and so he has the owl insignia to kind of represent Nayru’s wisdom. He’s kind of meant to be a mixture of Ares and Athena. He’s fun! Very rageful and has no respect for Hylia or her heroes. Hope he doesn’t create a labyrinth to test a hero 😳 that’d be crazy tho

Then we got Hollow and Drumm, the dancing gods of Holodrum. I want that kingdom to be focused on entertainment so I gave them the comedy and tragedy masks which is fun. Their designs are loosely based after the oracle Din too and yeaaaah. Idk what they do but they just kinda vibe and do their own thing.

Then there’s Oshus, king of the oceans. I feel like the ocean is its own domain, it’s own kingdom. I mean in our world, the ocean is its own world, so it makes sense for the ocean here to be separate from the kingdoms on land. So Oshus is doing his own thing and watching over the world of the ocean. And I also just love him. Def adding a ton of power to him, putting him on the same level as Hylia but idc it’s what he deserves. Now, if he was so powerful, why couldn’t he defeat Bellum? Well… Hylia had Demise so…. And she didn’t survive that battle sooooo…. Tho he’s not involved with Hyrule, Oshus has a lot more respect for Hyrule and its hero after phantom hourglass :3c

And idk, I wanted to draw Loria. Idk how her world exists she’s just kinda there vibin.

#I love adding lore and worldbuilding that’s not supported by canon at all! :D #legend of Zelda #legend of Zelda au #Oshus #Hylia #Loria #Labryn #hollow #drumm #Loria was hard #I like her tho she’s pretty

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foggieststars · 13 days ago

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if you're interested, can i request 15 for landoscar? just so curious to read your take on it and so delighted you're doing this!! 💕💕💕

15. sexual slavery

ok i got a bit carried away with this i will admit. in my defence i'm rereading an old fav fantasy series rn and well...... it all got a bit much.....

tw for like. non consent. dark themes. etc <33

The boy - Oscar, Jenson had told him, thrusting the chains into Lando's eager palm - doesn't look much like their usual captives. He's too pale, for a start. Most rebels that get brought in have tanned, weather-beaten skin, from a life spent tending the fields.

His hands are another tell. The skin on them is soft and callus-free, no scars to point to years spent on battlefields. Not a warrior, then. Interesting and disappointing in equal measure. Lando likes breaking soldiers most of all.

He doesn't speak to Lando, during the days that follow. Not entirely unexpected. The creatures the king keeps in his war camps are enough to turn even Lando's stomach, and their slaves spend most of their time carrying out their chores in a dazed, frightened silence. Still, they usually crack after a week at most, begging for their freedom, for Lando to put an end to their misery. He sells those ones off pretty sharpish, once they reach their breaking point.

Oscar's different. Lando gets the sense that he's not been scared into silence, so much as he is opting for silence. Lando can't have that. It betrays a wilfulness of spirit.

Lando's not an idiot. He knows he's only here as a favour from Lord Jenson to his father. He will remain on campaign for as long as Jenson's favour holds. The eagerness with which Jenson had welcomed Lando into his bed notwithstanding, Lando needs to prove his usefulness. He can't do that with errant slaves wandering around the camp, rage in their hearts and defiance in their eyes.

When Oscar drops a tray of crockery helping out in the kitchens one night, Lando seizes his chance. He has him strung up on the whipping post, five lashes for insubordination.

When he's cut down, Oscar's breathing is ragged and hitching, tears rolling silently down his face. When he looks Lando in the eyes, the rage in them is nearly unfathomable. Lando leaves him lying there in the grass, lets the other slaves bring him back to their quarters. They'll patch him up as best they can, with what little they have to offer. He'll be lucky if he doesn't die of infection. One less problem for Lando to deal with.

Later that night, undressing in Jenson's tent, Lando frowns at the flecks of dried blood on his boots. He'll have Oscar clean them, when he can walk again. Scrubbing his own blood off the supple leather might teach him a thing or two about pointless displays of resistance.

Oscar's even quieter after that, ducks his head low when Lando returns from scouting missions, goes about his chores in quiet, throbbing silence. Lando has him assigned to his own tent, so as to keep a closer eye on him. The lashing doesn't seem to have broken him, as Lando hoped it might. If anything, Oscar stands even straighter after it. Though maybe that's just to avoid tugging on the still-healing scar tissue.

Fortunately for Oscar, he's not the only slave Lando's assigned to look after. Following a particularly successful raid on a rebel camp in the north, the slave quarters are full to bursting. Like a fool, Lando lets it distract him. He breaks rebel after rebel on the whipping post, forgets to take note of Oscar's ghostly presence in his chambers.

Until, that is, one night. Jenson had been summoned to the king's tent after dinner, and shows no sign of returning soon. There's talk of rebels gathering under the banner of a boy king in the south, a pretender to his executed father's throne, in a kingdom which no longer exists. Lando won't be needed in Jenson's quarters tonight.

When he steps through the flaps of his tent, Lando catches Oscar in the act of rifling through the correspondence he keeps on his desk. Oscar straightens up coolly, pretending to be merely neatening the piles of letters on Lando’s desk. If Lando had been a mere moment later, he’d have thought nothing of it. But he’d clearly seen those slender hands clutched around a letter, affixed with the seal of the king’s hand.

So that's what he is. It explains the pale skin, the lack of calluses. Not a warrior. A spy.

“Find anything interesting in there?” Lando asks, his first words to Oscar.

Oscar looks at him askance, continuing to neaten up the piles.

Lando prowls closer, practically tasting fear in the air. “You’d have been better off examining the letters from Lord Sainz. The king’s hand has many eyes, but few that stretch as far south as Max Emelian’s territory. Supposed territory.”

Oscar speaks, voice cracking with disuse. “I don’t know what you mean.”

He’s got an odd accent, Lando thinks. From the very southern territories, perhaps?

“That is what you were doing, no?” Lando asks, tilting his head. He’s always been one for playing with his food. “Searching for information. About the pretender to the southern throne.”

Oscar’s a good spy. His face betrays no emotion, other than the slight flare of his nostrils when Lando says the word pretender.

“Yes, I think you would have found that much more interesting than whatever is in Lord Alonso’s letter. Though how you planned to smuggle it out, I don’t know. I do intend to find out.”

Oscar’s mouth thins, likely as a result of the implied threat to his anonymous allies. Lando wonders who he’s working with. Other slaves, most definitely. But all of them, like Oscar, spend their days wrapped in chains. Their quarters are guarded by the king’s beasts. Someone else then, with money and power. A nobleman.

Lando can see it now. The glory he’ll win, as the one to root out the rats in the camp.

To do that, he needs information. Information he won’t be able to glean if Oscar does what Lando would do in his place. Find the nearest nobleman to offend, have his head removed from his shoulders. Anything to protect his powerful ally.

“Or…” Lando offers, shrugging a careless shoulder. The very picture of a spoiled nobleman’s son. “There is another way.”

Oscar’s eyebrows quirk up, betraying his interest.

Lando breathes out, slow and steady. “Kneel,” he says, and Oscar does.

Slumping into the seat behind the desk, Lando undoes the ties of his breeches with a deft, practiced hand. He’s not had servants to dress him whilst on campaign, and with how in demand Jenson is, Lando’s had to learn to be pretty quick about getting naked.

Pulling his cock out, Lando watches Oscar take it in. Quick, desperate little breaths, the only sign of Oscar’s clearly rising panic.

“You know what to do with this, or do I need to show you?” Lando asks.

Oscar’s eyes shut tight, and then open. His face empties of emotion as he shuffles closer, wraps his hand around Lando’s cock. It’s an effort not to groan at the stimulation. “I know what to do,” Oscar murmurs. Lando takes him in with assessing eyes. Pink lips, deep brown eyes, that mop of unruly hair. It’s no surprise that someone’s bent him over long before this.

Oscar leans forward, prepared to take Lando’s cock into his mouth, when he’s stopped by the pricking of a knife at his throat. Lando smiles down at him lazily, turning the knife in a lazy motion. It makes the skin at the base of Oscar’s throat whiten.

“No teeth,” Lando commands. “Or I’ll slit you throat to anus, and your little friend on the inside, too.”

Oscar nods, breath warm and trembling as it hits the head of Lando’s cock. Lando pulls back just enough to let Oscar move without cutting himself open, but not so far as to let Oscar relax. It’s a struggle to maintain the position when Oscar swallows his cock to the base in one, smooth movement.

Oh, yes. Oscar’s definitely done this before.

Lando hitches his hips up, hits the tight ring at the base of Oscar’s throat, listens to him gag. Credit to him, Oscar takes a steadying breath through his nose, swallows around the intrusion in his throat. The wet heat is incredible. He wonders if Oscar would be so pliant on his hands and knees, too. If the warmth is in any way comparable.

Oscar hollows his cheeks and swallows, taking Lando deeper, until Lando can see the bulge of his cockhead in Oscar’s throat. It can’t be comfortable, especially not with his collar of iron. He’s talented with his tongue, pulling back to press delicate little kitten licks to the head, pumping with his hand what his tongue can’t reach.

“Harlot,” Lando hisses, at a particularly damning twist of Oscar’s wrist. Where had he learned to suck cock like this? Did the rebels pluck him from a brothel, decide his talents would be of more use elsewhere?

Oscar glances up at him, eyes wet with unshed tears. He doesn’t look quite so self-possessed anymore. In fact, there’s nothing except pure desperation shining in his eyes. Whoever it is that Oscar’s trying to protect, he clearly cares for them very much. Enough to debase himself like this.

The chains between Oscar’s feet clank on the ground when he moves. It’s taking embarrassingly little time for him to bring Lando to the brink, that sinful tongue, the slick heat. It’s all too much, too fast. Unlike the other heirs, privileged enough to be chosen for the king’s campaign, Lando doesn’t get to slink off to brothels after the endless meetings are finished for the night. Jenson requires servicing, and he’s not much of one for reciprocal lovemaking. It’s the way of the world. Lando has no doubt that in twenty years, he’ll be doing much the same with his own ward, given to him for training and protection. He doubts he’ll stoop to what Oscar’s doing for him now.

There are tears leaking down Oscar’s face by now. Lando wonders how much of it has to do with the physical discomfort. The tears are what does it for him, pushing him over the edge. Lando comes with a broken cry, something to be embarrassed about in front of a suitor. Lando doesn’t bother to pretend in front of Oscar. He likes the way Oscar shudders as he swallows the load, the way his eyes screw tightly shut, brows furrowing on his forehead. The little trembles of Oscar’s hands as he cups his own elbows, drawing his arms tight against his body, like he’s trying to protect himself.

“That’ll do for now,” Lando says, tucking himself away with careful, measured movements.

Oscar, kneeling still, slumps slightly. Shoulders curling in on themselves, he wipes at his mouth with a desperate air. He doesn’t get it all on the first go around, pink tongue darting out to clean the rest of Lando’s come from his lips.

The fierceness radiating off him, the rage in his eyes - it’s gone. It takes all Lando has not to preen with victory.

He breaks them all eventually.

“Have your belongings moved to my tent,” Lando informs him, revelling in the way Oscar’s shoulders stiffen. “It should give me a chance to keep an eye on you.” Keep him so busy bouncing on Lando’s cock he won’t have time to slink away for a secret rendezvous with his man on the inside - until Lando wants him to, that is.

It’ll be easy. Plant just enough information in official-looking letters that Oscar gets desperate. Until he takes the first opportunity possible to meet with his informant, unaware that Lando will have arranged it all. Lando can catch them in the act, throw the traitor at the king’s feet, and be awarded a kingdom’s ransom for the privilege. And until then, he’ll keep Oscar by his side.

Perhaps after that, even.

#kink prompts #i got. SO carried away wtih this. im so sorry #this is barely a kink prompt. this is literally just like. my take on a medieval fantasy

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honeyxbunny99 · 4 months ago

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Sandor Clegane~ The Bitch and The Hound pt. 1

You bit your tongue as you scrubbed at King Joffrey's stinking royal feet. The taste of blood and pain mingling in your mouth was the only thing strong enough to distract you from your own humiliation in this moment. You could blame Joffrey Baratheon, the foolish demon before you. You stole a glance upwards only for your eyes to quickly flit back down in shame when you saw his thin lips curled up in a wiry smile, hatred in his blue eyes, and it was all directed at you. No, not all the blame on him. Your father.

Your father was to blame, that damned fool. He was the reason you were in this mess in the first place. Once your father had been charming, or so you were told. A traveling magician who settled in King's Landing when your beautiful mother opened her legs to him one night. Truly, the greatest trick he'd ever pulled was bedding your mother. She was said to be the most beautiful woman in the Reach once, before she was trafficked to marry another noble. One fateful stop for the night, wine, and slight of hand, and you came into existence. You, who were once not even a thought, were suddenly a big problem. She was found with your father and bloody sheets and thrown out into the cold. She bore your stupid father one more child, a girl, before she couldn't handle her life any longer, and ended it herself.

~Good riddance.~ You used to think sometimes. ~How could you leave us?~ You thought all other times.

YOU were now the most beautiful girl in King's Landing, or as your father would bolster, in all the Seven Kingdoms. He had made it his mission in life to improve your family's circumstances, through no work of his own. No, your family's future depended entirely on your pretty face. Barely 17, you had developed a reputation around town for your beauty, and your mystery. You were not allowed to walk about unescorted, but your family had no money. Your father would walk you everywhere, keeping his prize close to his chest at all times. You were no fool; you knew you were beautiful by the way people's heads turned in the streets. By the way shopkeepers offered you items freely and how many men would come knocking on your father's door asking for your hand.

Some men had been handsome, some had many prospects. And yet, your father turned them all away, wanting, no, needing, only the best. ~A fool~, you thought as you opened your mouth to wince, drinking in your own blood from your harsh bite on your tongue.

He is the reason you were here, presented before the young king in your finest dress.

~~"Your grace, what she lacks in title, she many times over supplements with her beauty, her kindness, and her intell--"

"That dog?" Joffrey started, looking between you and your father with a disgusted look that you had never seen before. "You've come to my castle to bring me a bitch? To what, to fuck, to marry, to kill?"

Your heart sank to your stomach as you listened to his harsh words. "Y-Your grace, it was my daughter's greatest wish to meet you. She can only dream of calling you her husband..." You watched your father take a step back in apprehension. Joffrey said nothing, only raised his eyebrows as if in wait of a punchline. "(Y/n) is the greatest beauty in all of the Seven Kingdoms, and she wishes to be your wife now and alw--"

The Boy King erupted with laughter. He doubled over in his chair, slapping his knee for effect. Your cheeks flushed in embarrassment, and you glanced at the crowd surrounding you. Some laughed along with the boy king, others hid their face in embarrassment for you and your cause, but most were stoic, waiting for Joffrey's next move.

The King stood finally and pointed his dainty finger at you.

"This bitch is not fit to kiss my boot! You have brought shame on your family, ser, but not nearly enough. You see, I can't simply allow everyone to waste the king's time like this. Your family name is what, I've already forgotten?"

"(L/n) ... Your grace." Your father's voice was low. This had not gone at all how he had been expecting.

"(L/n) ... Well, my good man, I truly believe you will succeed in what you came here to do today. You came to make a name for yourself, and your whore daughter." As Joffrey spoke, you looked at the people around him. His mother, useless. His Head of the Kings Guard, an abuser just like him. And The Hound, his protector from childhood. Not one of them could end this miserable moment. "Today, no one shall forget the name (L/n)."

As he finished speaking you realized he was right in front of you. He reached his hand up and turned your face with it, examining you. You held your breath, nails digging into your palms behind your back.

"Hmm..." He looked you up and down, licking his lips fiendishly. "You are not fit to kiss my boot, but perhaps you could make use of yourself by washing my feet."

Your brow furrowed in confusion and the boy's smile grew. "Someone bring this bitch a sponge and water."

"Your grace, I--"

"Ah, she speaks!" He cried out, looking at his followers for approval. Laughter followed and you saw someone dart off to fetch the items. "I don't like the sound of your voice. If I hear it again, your father will take the blows."

He stalked up the steps to the Iron Throne again with Pride. You stood frozen. "Well, take off my boots." He said lazily.

"Your Grace, I do not wish to offend--" "Then don't, bitch... Your father said it was your greatest wish to be mine, or are you calling your father a liar... Lying to the king is an act of treason, and I don't mind reminding the court of the punishment for such crimes... Is your father a liar?"

"No." You said breathlessly. Tears pricked at your eyes at the thought.

"Then today should be a dream come true for you... You get to touch your beloved king."

You looked back at your father, and out towards the freedom behind him.

"Ser Merryn, pull her father to the side and bring forward my next citizen." Just then the man returned with a sponge and a bucket full of soapy water and forced it into your hands, the water splashing on your gown, making the king laugh.

You struggled internally for a moment before your feet walked forward on their own. The king stared you down as you knelt at his feet, finally resolving to wink at you before his attention was drawn to another subject complaining.

You tuned it all out as best you could and focused on the task at hand.~~

Finally, as you were drying your king's feet, he tutted at you and looked down. "You really are worthless, aren't you? You've missed a spot!" You squinted in confusion as the king brought his right foot closer to your face. Suddenly your face scrunched up tightly in pain as Joffrey kicked you hard in the nose. You fell back on your ass and slid down a couple steps as a result. Joffrey chuckled quickly as you panted and held your nose to stop the bleeding. He made a show of tying up his shoes while the court was silent, before standing and grabbing your bucket. He walked slowly towards you and raised the bucket over your head, then dumping the dirty water on your head. You gasped and choked on your own blood. Tears could flow freely now, as the water would mask it anyways. You stood quickly, not even thinking.

"FUCK YOU!" You screamed. The boy's eyes widened. "Fuck you and your incestuous mother, you pathetic little shit!"

Ser Merryn marched forward at you as you heard your father shout scoldings and apologies. You blocked your face, but he hit you anyway. You stumbled back but did not fall.

"Ser Merryn! I said her father would take the blows!" The boy king retorted. The knight marched back over and whacked your father hard with the hilt of his sword 3 times. You dared not look away from the king.

"Stop!... Ser, you came here today to improve your circumstances... And you, bitch, to find a husband worthy of your beauty. I am nothing if not a generous king, and I understand the needs of my people." He smirked, a fire in his eyes. "So, I will grant you your requests... Your circumstances shall improve, knowing you no longer have a bitch around to mooch off your family. And you," he smiled, biting his bottom lip, "You shall have a worthy husband... And who more worthy for a bitch, than a hound?!?" His voice was deranged, and he raised his arms up, demanding approval from his court. He did not receive it.

"Hound!" He called and you watched his guard dog snap straighter in attention. "Come collect your bitch. You will wed tomorrow."

You watched in terror as the giant marched up to you, his hair hardly hiding the burns marring his face, scowl ever present.

"But--"

"Didn't I tell you that I hated the sound of your voice?! You will hold your tongue, or I will cut out your father's."

The hound grabbed your shoulder roughly and you pressed back against it, trying to push his hand off. He growled and picked you up to throw you over his shoulder. You winced at the change in pressure for your throbbing head but kept your mouth as quiet as possible in fear of further punishment. The hound began walking off, until he snapped back around at the final words you heard from Joffrey. "Don't forget to break her in rough!"

You trembled in the hound's hold. His pace was quick, and your face burned with anger and shame as he paraded you about the halls of The Red Keep, marching you to God knows where. Servants looked at you with fear and sympathy clear in their faces and you let out a small, choked sob.

Suddenly you were dropped down to your feet in front of a great door. The Hound opened it wordlessly and shoved you in. He quickly shut it again before you could say a word, and you heard the lock click into place. You bolted over to the small window and looked down. There was no hope of escaping. You tried to steady your breathing and made note of things around the room but there wasn't much. You walked slowly into the next room, a bathroom, and noticed your reflection in a very broken mirror.

Your sobs racked your body when you studied your face, bloody, dirty, wet, worried. You crumpled down to the floor and rocked yourself back and forth as you cried. That night was spent alone, cowering in fear in the bathroom. The Hound never once walked back in.

In the morning you blinked your eyes open in surprise when a woman entered the bedroom. "Miss (L/n)?" The strange woman called, scanning the room. She rushed over to the window, as if worried you had somehow thrown yourself out of it. You came up behind her, back still flush against the wall, and said "I'm here." She gasped and smiled softly, hand clutching her chest.

"Goodness, you gave me a fright." You winced at her words, remembering your face. You could still feel your heartbeat in your nose, and your right eye's vision was smaller than your left; a result of the backhand you'd earned from Ser Merryn.

"I-I'm here to help you dress for the day, Milady." She sensed your discomfort and matched it with her own.

"I don't need help." You retorted rudely.

"I don't make the rules, I only follow them. Queen Mother Cersei has instructed that the rules for today are to dress you, feed you, and prepare you for your wedding night."

Your heart thudded faster in your chest, and you tried not to let your panic show. "Very Well." No use in fighting. You loosened the ties on the back of your dress and she rushed over behind you. "Let me help." She insisted. You thought of your sister, who you would normally dress with, and wondered if you would ever see her again. You wondered if your father already had, or if he was dead or locked away too. Either way, for certain you knew you were now a prisoner. A forced marriage to a monstrous man awaited you. You bit your lip and breathed quickly through your nose.

"Hey," the woman said, resting a gentle hand on your shoulder and walking around to face you. "It does not have to be so terrible..." She tried to make you feel better. "You are here, in one piece. That is more than can be said for those that came after you... You really pissed the King off yesterday, you know."

"Whatever suffering Joffrey caused after me was his own doing, not mine and I--"

"Milady, calm down. I am not blaming you for anything. No one should. You said what we've all thought one time or another..." She smiled softly at you and your brow twitched. "The King is a monster... But your husband does not have to be."

She continued on as she dressed you, informing you how easily men can be manipulated into softness by their women. "Your beauty and your gentleness are weapons against a dog like him. Even wild dogs enjoy being pet." She winked.

You let out a noise between a laugh and a scoff. "I am to be, in the words of his Highness, broken in rough. By a man people call a mad dog. Whatever beauty I had cannot save me now. My gentleness will be my undoing." You said coldly. The girl shook her head. "Perhaps... Come, there will be breakfast in the garden."

Over breakfast you got to know the servant girl, called Anna, deeper although it took a great effort as she was not used to talking about herself. She even made you smile in spite of yourself. You did not eat of your own accord, only when she would force food into your hand, and say that you would need your strength.

"Do you know how it works?" Anna said after some silence.

"What?"

"Sex? Breaking in?"

Your eyes widened and you looked around the garden for eavesdroppers. She didn't seem amused. You cleared your throat. "My father could be a very crass man. Unfortunately, I have seen the act firsthand, when he was keeping my sister awake one night. Still, he wanted to preserve me as best he could."

"So, you ARE a virgin?" She raised her brows.

"Of course."

She brought her hands up to hold her face, as she looked almost embarrassed or nervous for you. "Well, if you can handle the hound, you should be able to handle anybody."

You reflected on his size and felt the heat return to your face. "I'm terrified..." You confided. "I don't know all the cruel things men can do, and I never wanted to..." Your eyes welled with tears and your hands began to clam up and shake. "Do you think he will kill me?" You choked out.

Anna got on her knees before you and took her handkerchief and dabbed at your face. "Oh, my lady, no, no, he will not kill you. Joffrey has not ordered him to do so, so he will not."

"But he will be rough."

"Yes, I imagine even gentle sex is rough with him... I am so sorry, (y/n). I do not envy your position, but know that I will see you the next morning and help you wash his filth off of you... Just try to close your eyes and imagine yourself somewhere else."

You chuckled sadly and nodded. You took a deep breath and stood as you heard the large clock strike noon. You were to be married in 4 hours. You had to start getting ready. You grabbed Anna's hand tightly and followed her back to the room.

Later, things flowed as expected. There was a girl to do your hair, and one to fit you into a simple wedding dress. You tried with what little makeup they provided to hide how swollen your face was and highlight your eyes. Father always said it was one of your best features. Every girl is meant to feel beautiful on her wedding day, and yet as you walked down the aisle to your husband in a suit of armor and King Joffrey holding back laughter, you felt like a true clown. You said your vows, and your husband grunted out his. It was only then during the ceremony that you learned your husband's true name: Sandor Clegane. And now you were Lady Clegane.

You sat silently beside your husband at the wedding feast. No one came up to congratulate you, and you didn't want them to. This was, after all, a punishment. Eventually you heard the voice of your father pipe up from across the room. He was laughing with some other nobleman you'd never seen. You furrowed your brows in confusion and anger and stood abruptly, causing your husband to glance at you. You paid him no mind and instead walked across the room to find him.

"Ah, (y/n)!" He was loud, drunk. You saw the bruising on his face. "You looked beautiful as always, my darling. A truly happy day!" He said, truly jovial. You scowled at him, wanted to hit him.

"A happy day?" You asked, venom in your voice. "Do you have any idea what you've cursed me to?! Your stupidity, your pride, your--" "That's enough." He grabbed your wrist tightly. "You've cursed yourself, you insolent girl." He whispered angrily in your ear. "If you had only shut up and let me do the talking, maybe you would be home right now. Maybe your sister would not have to carry on your burdens!"

You winced audibly and twisted your arm. Your father grabbed your face and turned you forward to look at your husband, who was already looking at you from across the room, expression truly unreadable. "Your tongue got you into this. Your fiery spirit... I've heard the hound LOVES fire." Truly, your father had never quite been this cruel to you. You must have truly embarrassed him. "You made your bed." He spat in your ear. "Now go and lie in it."

With that you were released and walked quickly back to your seat. Sandor's eyes followed you the entire way, but when you sat down beside him and tried to meet his eyes face-to-face, he turned his head away. You blew a sharp breath out through your nose in humiliation. Your eyes were then directed to his hands, the way he tore apart a leg of chicken, his large meaty fingers relentlessly prying. Your stomach flipped on its own and you tried to chug your wine.

Later that evening, at the king's insistence, Clegane carried you bridal style all the way to your room as his laughter echoed behind you. You tried not to, but you were shaking like a leaf. Even the alcohol could not dull your nerves. He set you down gently inside the room and you walked slowly to the bed. There was a great silence after he closed the door and locked it. You took deep breaths and tried to remember all that Anna had told you to prepare you. He turned around to look at you and leaned back against the heavy wooden door, arms crossed over his chest. Your eyes raked over him. Truly, if he wasn't so terrifying, he might be attractive. You tried to list his positives.

Tall, strong, gruff voice, very likely well-endowed, loyal... Who he was loyal to was another issue entirely, but perhaps like Anna said, you could work him into your favor. His eyes focused on all the different parts of you.

You licked your lips in preparation of your speech, truly the first words you would ever speak to him outside of your wedding vows.

"Would you like to take off my dress?" You asked meekly, reaching for the laces on the back yourself.

His face hardened almost unnoticeably. It was very dark in the room, but you could still make out his expressions--deciphering them was another task entirely beyond you.

"Aye. I would, actually." He spoke lowly. "Let's get this over with." He stepped quickly over to you, and you tried not to flinch. Your face almost collided with his chest plate as his hands made quick work on the dress at your back. A shiver ran down your spine at the closeness and you closed your eyes. Suddenly you felt him ball the fabric at your sides in his fist, he growled and tore the dress open. The sound of it ripping sent a shock wave through you and you gasped, hands coming up instinctively onto his hands to stop him. You looked up at him through your lashes in fear. ~My God, he IS rough.~

Your hands did nothing to stop him as he tore the dress down your sides, leaving you in your underclothes.

"Shut up," he said gruffly. You stood in your sheer garment and your body tensed. He picked you up and threw you onto the bed. You yelped at this and finally felt the familiar prickling in our eyes.

"Please" You begged for nothing.

"Shut up, I said." He stood at the edge of the bed and looked only at your face. "Take that off." He ordered, and you dared not disobey. You pulled the dress off over your head and covered your breasts instinctively with your arms. Sandor Clegane, however, still, made no apparent effort to see your exposed body.

Instead, he took the armor off of his arms and withdrew his sword from its keep at his waist. Your mouth opened in terror.

He's going to kill me. He climbed onto the bed with you and grabbed the underdress you had discarded nearby. Then he surprised you again, taking his sword to his own forearm and cutting the top of it. You gasped as he started to poor blood. Your gentleness took over your confusion and fear and you reached out to him to try to stop the bleeding. He growled at you viciously and you retreated your hands. You watched him from the edge of the bed. He directed his blood flow to the crotch of your dress, and the proceeded to smear it around the bed. Your heart had never beat so fast, and you felt faint.

He tossed your clothes aside and covered his wound, walking to the bathroom to wash it off. Your chest heaved, repeating the scene in your mind.

~That was not sex.~

"W-What the hell was that?" You called out, still frozen on the bed.

"Don't worry, girl. That's the most action you'll be getting from me."

You frowned; confusion only intensified. "B-But why?" You begged.

He walked around the corner, revealing himself again. "You are a virgin, aren't you?" He asked, as though you were dumb. Perhaps you were dumb. "Ah hell, it doesn't matter. You'd bleed from ME even if you were a well-trained whore."

He blew out snot onto the floor and proceeded to take the rest of his armor off in the bathroom. Your heartbeat steadily slowed to a somewhat normal pace.

"They'll be coming in the morning to check the sheets. To see what all I've done to you." He said casually.

"You won't touch me?" Your voice was still thick with apprehension.

The Hound scoffed and sneered. "You think I want to?"

You blushed and covered yourself again as he finally looked you up and down.

"Maybe I ought to..." He surprised you, and a lump formed in your throat. He approached slowly. Now that his armor was removed you could see him in his plain clothes; see and smell the sweat under his arms. The musk that emanated off of a man after a long day. You trembled and closed yourself up as much as you could without cowering. "Come here, girl." He mumbled and grabbed your ankle, pulling it toward him. You shouted weakly and slapped him, though he didn't flinch a bit.

He was on top of you in an instant, legs closed in tight around your hips as he took both of your wrists easily in one of his own. He raised and pinned them up above your head on the bed and you whimpered, his face close to yours. The pace of your heart quickened again as you squirmed beneath him, but you did not yell, did not cry. He looked down at you, grip becoming bruising on your wrists. You moaned in pain, and he scrunched his face up at the sight of you.

"Look at me, bitch!" He demanded, a bit of spit flying from his mouth onto yours.

"I am!" You called back, eyes locked onto his face. He took your throat in his other hand while the rest of his body kept you powerless against him.

"What do you see?!" His voice was bellowing, and his eyes glared down at you. "A monster--"

"My Husband!" You answered, simultaneously. His hard expression broke and his grip on your neck loosened, though truthfully it wasn't tight to begin with. He pulled himself back from you a bit, slowly, and his eyes left yours to drift over the sheets. "I know you don't know me, don't like me. Hurt me if you have to! But you're my husband now, the only man I'll ever have, and I intend to make the best of it..."

His face twisted into a grimace and his hand on your throat tightened again, making it difficult to breathe.

"I'm not your husband, you stupid little girl." He chided. "I'm your damnation! I am your life sentence, but you are not mine. Weak little girls don't last long around here, especially when they don't know when to shut the fuck up!" His words were harsh, but his voice was low, like he didn't want anyone else to hear but you.

Your eyes studied his face as he let you go. He got off of you quickly and sat at the side of the bed. You stayed laying down for a while, silently counting your blessings.

"If you are a monster, why did you hurt yourself instead of me?" You couldn't hold it in any longer. "Monsters don't know sacrifice..."

He side-eyed you, breathing through his mouth like a true brute. You sat up, rubbing your wrists together to soothe them. "You don't want to hurt me."

"You want me to hurt you MORE, is that it? You crazy, stupid, fucking cunt." He shook his head.

"I don't want more pain... But, am I..." You looked down at yourself, then residing to cover yourself with your underdress once again, as bloodied as it was. You were feeling incredibly insecure, something you weren't accustomed to. You turned heads, made men and women and children smile at just the sight of you, and even you yourself thought you were above average all dolled up for the big day. He made you feel ugly without saying a word.

Imagine that. Someone deformed like him and a supposed beauty like you, joined in matrimony. And he will not touch you. Does not want to touch you. In that moment you felt so much smaller than he. You sighed, feeling more comfortable now that you were covered. You looked him in the eyes until he was staring back at you.

"I am sorry that you are punished with me... I realize you also had no choice in this marriage, and well..." You trailed off, not even sure where you were going with this. "You have been kind. And dutiful, and loyal to your king in spite of the monstrous little shit that he is." You tested, seeing if he would hurt you further. Instead, you saw the smallest crack of a smirk pull on his lips. You looked down abashedly. "I will do my best to be a good partner to you, in whatever capacity you need me..."

He said nothing for the longest time, and you looked up at him once again, in curiosity. He was studying your face in the moonlight. "Are you quite fucking finished?" You nodded quickly. "You talk too much." He chided.

You couldn't believe it. You breathed out a laugh and he rolled his eyes. He stood and pulled one of the fur blankets off of the bed.

"Maybe try sleeping in the bed tonight instead of the room I shit in."

You blushed and furrowed your brows at him as he crouched down on the floor, smoothing out the blanket as if it were bedding. Your mouth gaped as he laid down on the floor, closing his eyes.

"Ser, this is--" "My Lord. It's my lord, when people hear you talking to me, that's what you say. I'm not a ser and I never will be. I ain't no fucking knight..." He paused licking his lips. "But now I'm your husband. To Joffrey and everyone else in the Red Keep, that's what I am. In this room, with me, you can speak freely. Call me what I am. A dog." You leaned over the bed, studying him as he spoke with his eyes closed. He looked so vulnerable down there. "Just don't go on and on." He chided again.

"Get some sleep. I won't touch ya."

You wanted to speak, but did not know what to say. He rolled over anyways, his back towards you. Finally, you resolved to lie on your back. You closed your eyes and truly believed he would not touch you. You had no fear of it throughout the night.

The strangest thing, however, was your desire for it. Your dreams that night twisted reality.

~ You were back in that bed, Sandor on top of you, barking down in his usual dog way. Wrists in his grasp, breathing controlled by his pressure on your throat. Your mind, however, changed his form to sink his mouth down onto yours. He swallowed your moans with his kisses and his hand went from your throat to your pert breasts. He squeezed and groaned into your mouth. Finally, he released your hands, and they went straight to his hair, pressing his kiss even harder into yours. "Call me husband again!" He growled when he pulled away, string of saliva connecting you. ~

"Lady Clegane, are you hurt badly?" Anna's voice woke you and you sat up quickly in bed. You watched her rush over to your bedside, and you nearly warned her to avoid stepping on Sandor, but you quickly realized his blanket was back on the bed and he was nowhere to be found.

"Hmm, what?" You asked, still confused.

"You were whimpering in your sleep!" Anna explained, looking over you. She gasped lightly at the sight of your neck. "Oh my lady, I am so sorry." She grabbed your hands and slowly led you to the bathroom, where you saw a tub steaming. "It's always the worst the first time, remember. But boy, he really did a number on you." She lifted the dress up over your head slowly, leaving you naked. "I'll launder these with the sheets, My Lady."

You watched her carry your bloody dress away and found yourself in the broken mirror again. You saw the bruising around your neck and almost felt a thrill. To everyone else, your husband had set up quite the convincing show, and yet he kept your dignity intact. As you slipped into the bath and Anna droned on about the day, trying to distract you, you wondered if Sandor Clegane would ever touch you in the true ways husbands touch their wives. You wondered deeper, why you suddenly wanted him to.

#sandor clegane #game of thrones #the hound x reader #the hound smut #sandor clegane x reader #sandor clegane smut #sandor clegane fanfic #game of thrones fanfiction #rory mccann #short story

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vodkassassin · 1 year ago

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Amity Park didn’t return to Illinois after they were transported to the ghost zone.

After all, the Zone is fickle even in transporting singular entities like the smallest blob ghost. How about an entire town, with all those people in it?

Instead of Illinois, they end up slightly off the coast of New Jersey, a long time before Amity Park, Illinois ever existed.

Fixing damages that happened to the town during the transfer is considered a total loss, so they scrap everything and rebuild. Since the ghost issue seems to not be going anywhere ever, the decision to lean into the aesthetic and embrace it instead of denying and fighting it is nearly unanimous (save for a few ghost hunters here and there, but they are the minority).

It’s easy to slide into their new existence. Things are very different from the modern life they’re all used to, but much is still the same.

Phantom is always there to protect.

Hauntings are a part of their very foundations.

Amity Park was always pretty isolated, all things considered. So they continue on.

Tucker later on becomes mayor of the new town Gotham (Sam has a heavy hand in convincing everyone to go along with the name). He holds his position much longer and with far higher approval ratings than his predecessor.

Sam eventually marries someone who moved to the newly established Gotham from the mainland, on a business venture, whose last name is Wayne.

Together, they inherit what’s left of the immense Manson wealth.

People from the mainland come and go, providing economy. Not a lot of them stick around, too uneasy of the supernaturally dreary atmosphere of Gotham Island and it’s frankly hostile architecture. The Amitians — Gothamites now — don’t really get it. What’s wrong with ghosts??

The original townspeople are so saturated with ectoplasm at this point that they’ve ceased aging. They die eventually, but immediately become ghosts and just make the trip through the portal to become citizens of Phantom’s kingdom in the Infinite Realms. All things considered, nothing much changes after death, either.

However, it’s soon decided that before any more new people can move to Gotham, the portal must be closed and locked for the safety of the regular humans who are not as immune to the influence of the Zone.

So the portal is buried and hidden, locked and guarded by the eternal soldiers of the Ghost King, the key safely kept on the King’s person at all times.

Life goes on. Years pass. The true origins of Gotham fall into the realm of the forgotten. Eventually, it becomes what it is today.

Batman and all.

The Batcave is more home to Bruce Wayne than even the manor that caps it. That’s because in the cave, he is a step closer to a portal to the Infinite Realms that has been locked and hidden deep underneath the land that once belonged to his ancestors, the Manson-Waynes.

As a direct descendant of one of the original Amity Park townspeople, and one who was (is) so closely tied to the haunt of the Ghost King himself, Bruce has always had a special and innate connection to the town and the land that his city is built on, but never really knew why.

He just thinks of it as his father Thomas explained it to him; the Manson-Waynes, later the Waynes, had been one of the founding families families of Gotham — alongside the Fenton, Baxter, and Sanchez families. Since the other families have long since died out, it’s up to the Waynes to uphold their legacy, and that duty falls to Bruce.

Or so that’s how Thomas, who knew nothing of Gotham’s ghostly, Amitian origins, understood it.

It’s not until Jason, back from the dead, becomes a regular part of the family again, that Bruce starts feeling as if something is different about the cave, and then later the city at large.

Almost as if it’s been awakened, somehow.

#dc x dp #danny phantom #Batman #dp x dc crossover #dc x dp prompt #amity park

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burningcheese-merchant · 2 months ago

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Y'know how Cacao has a son, you remember dark Choco right? Y'know how Vanilla got custard the II right? And then there's holly with royalberry and Golden Cheese with fettuccine and White Lily with.... Gigngerbrav-

What the beasts think?

Could be yandere, could be their already a thing, some other stuff idgf i must hear your words on this

Been wanting to try to answer this one since I saw it haha. Let's go both routes I've got for these bozos, Reformed Beasts and Yandere Beasts

Reformed Shadow Milk: I want to imagine that, once upon a time, Shadow was an actual people person and was genuinely fond of children. After he reforms, he regains that old fondness, and it extends to Custard III (perhaps more than all other kids, just because he's close to Vanilla). Such a cute, silly boy, with his silly crown and his silly dreams (not that he wants the kid to feel bad for wanting to be a king, it's just... Kid doesn't seem to understand what a king actually is, you know? It's funny, and a bit sad... But Vani is there and now so is Shadow, so it'll probably be fine). He keeps calling Custard his son/nephew/grandson/apprentice/heir (he keeps thinking of new titles all the time, all tongue-in-cheek) and cooing over him... in a not-so-different manner than how he likes to fuss over Vani lol

Yandere Shadow Milk: Ohhhhh this tiny little creature. This bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, ignorant little WEAKLING. None can take Pure Vanilla's place in ANY capacity, including leadership; though he might be a soft-hearted fool, Vanilla is nevertheless a capable king, and Shadow knows this - and he deeply, violently resents the thought of anyone usurping him, even if that throne no longer truly exists anymore. The thought of a small child wanting to be a king? To be like his Silly-Vanilly? Foolishness - and Shadow only tolerates foolishness if it occurs on HIS timetable and HIS terms. But it's fine... This child shall pay for his hubris eventually. Vani means so much to the boy, and vice versa... Perhaps Shadow can use this to his advantage. Perhaps he can breathe a whisper or two into his ear. Leave a footstep or two behind in his dreams. Tie a string to him somewhere, see if he notices - and after he doesn't, which Shadow knows he won't, he'll tie another. And another, and another. Until Shadow can greet the world with his brand new puppet. Poor little orphan boy, nowhere to go and no one to care about him... Stupid, arrogant, foolish little boy, who thinks he can rule the world and that he can ever be a fraction of who Vani is and was. He shall atone for his sins. For his pride, for that empty head, for that hideous little costume (he would try to stitch together such a haphazard monstrosity in the face of Shadow's own superior craftsmanship? He would try to don his Silly-Vanilly's face this way?!)... For being dear to Pure Vanilla at all, because the only person who deserved to exist in Vanilla's world is Shadow Milk himself.

Reformed Eternal Sugar: Now that she has found a place in the world and by Hollyberry's side, Sugar has likewise found good company in those surrounding Hollyberry herself - including and especially her dear son. Such a sweet man; so much like his mother, inside and out, albeit without the same energy... but that was alright. Royalberry's passion simply manifests in a different manner, one more similar to Sugar's own. Calmer, quieter, but no less sweet and sincere. Sugar almost acts as a motherly figure to him herself, sometimes... He doesn't mind, though. They get along quite well. She only hopes that whatever wisdom she can offer in service of the kingdom is actually worthwhile.

Yandere Eternal Sugar: Hm... Perhaps she would like him more if he was HER son. If he'd come from her rightful union with her dear Hollyberry. But he didn't, so she doesn't. Shame, really; he's quite adorable. So much like his mother... but not like her at all, at the same time. He lacked her drive, her spirit. Perhaps that was for the best; Sugar cared nothing for drive or spirit anymore, save for that fire that burned within her dear Hollyberry that awakened what was long-dormant within her... that strange, ethereal feeling that she dared to call happiness. And that lack of drive would make Sugar's plans all the easier... He's a weak, silly man who worries much and often. She has experience with people like that. She'll put him down for a nice nap, let him dream happy dreams where he can pretend he's a worthy king and son. Then she can right the wrong of his and the entire kingdom's existence and have Hollyberry to herself. Hollyberry could even join her in a special dream she'd gladly make up just for the two of them, where they have their own child, a better one than this fool she already wasted time loving and raising...

Reformed Mystic Flour: In all honesty, Flour actually harbors a bit of admiration for Dark Choco, for the path he once walked wasn't so different from hers... and he, like she eventually did, found the strength and wisdom to turn back. She's had a good few conversations with him about it all; about the nature of redemption and atonement, and how one answers to evil when it calls for your soul. Dark Choco can't help but understand and relate to Flour, always lamenting his own fall to darkness and betrayal of those he meant to protect and serve. Lots of commiserating between them, I'd say. Outright wallowing, at certain points lol. But it's this understanding between them that actually helps Flour along her journey to redemption, arguably more so than what others offer her. She cares for and respects Dark Choco, and vice versa. She can see so much of Dark Cacao in him... whatever mistakes Cacao made, he nevertheless raised a fine young man, even after making mistakes of his own. It only proves to her that Cacao really is the rightful owner of the Soul Jam after all...

Yandere Mystic Flour: ...What a strange feeling this man gives her. So much like Cacao. Too much so, in some places... yet, unlike his father (and, more importantly, exactly like her), he strayed from the path and ultimately stumbled and fell into the same abyss as she and so many others. Flour's denial of her attachment to Dark Cacao likewise extends to those around him, his son more than all the others - in fact, one might be tempted to say that her denial of having any thoughts or feelings regarding Dark Choco is stronger than what she has regarding Dark Cacao. The reason behind this goes as such: with how similar to Cacao he is, and with his fall from grace... it almost makes Flour hope believe ponder whether or not Cacao could fall from grace, as well. If Cacao could follow in his son's footsteps, as his son once tried so hard to follow in his. Dark Choco worsens her sickness, feeds her delusions, albeit indirectly. If he can fall - if he can become a beast - then Cacao can, too. And if he did, then perhaps she... they... No. No, no, not this. Not this nonsense... Dark Choco angers her worse than anyone else in Dark Cacao's life, because he inadvertently offers her this fantasy of Cacao turning out just like her, thus increasing her chances of having him. But... she doesn't want him. She doesn't want anyone or anything. She's not supposed to. Damn it, even things and people tangentially related to Cacao make her worse...

Reformed Burning Spice: Not unlike Shadow Milk, Burning Spice also once liked kids. He liked being seen and admired as a larger-than-life figure, figuratively and literally. He liked that he was "cool", he liked that he could be a big, strong protector to them. It's... difficult for him to lean back into this sentiment again. When you're a mass-murdering tyrant for so long, you tend to lose your people skills (it's something he always envied Shadow Milk for; even as a Beast, he knew how to hold sway over others with AND without violence. That envy was small and buried deep, but it existed nevertheless). And... many of his victims were children. Spice once killed wantonly, indiscriminately. He's beheaded children, cleaved them in two. Left them in pieces, scattered across the earth. The weakest, most vulnerable members of society... when he remembers how dishonorable and pathetic it is to target children, it deals quite the psychological blow. So he's quite awkward and uncomfortable around them while he's working through his redemption; they inspire a particular guilt and remorse in him that adults don't. Golden Cheese keeps pushing him, though, and brought Fettuccine around him most often as a sort of "practice". Fettuccine is calm, sweet and trusting; an "easier" child than most. Plus... she's a mummy. She, too, perished during the Dark Flour War. She's already endured pain, she's already faced death. There's nothing Spice can do that hasn't already been done to the poor girl. And Golden tries to remind him that she doesn't know him; they're complete strangers from different times and places. This is as fresh of a start as you can have with a person. So Spice is made to be an unwilling babysitter for a while... until he does eventually come around and warm up to the girl. And after he overcomes his reservations with Fettuccine, he goes on to overcome those he has with children in general. A series of baby steps that led him down the path of appreciating other people again, and he's grateful this little mummy girl helped him along

Yandere Burning Spice: Pfft. A mummy, huh? Amusing. Are his little bird's grief and desperation so great that it's infected the corpses of her oh so precious subjects? And one actually felt compelled to crawl out of her casket because of them, how charming. Burning Spice HATES Fettuccine. He hates ALL of the Golden Cheese Kingdom's citizens. He hates every single person, every single living organism that Golden Cheese ever paid an ounce of attention to besides himself. All the time and effort, all the blood and sweat and tears his little bird wasted on her oh so precious treasures - all of which should've been spent on HIM. Devoted to HIM. Nothing matters, no one matters, destruction is the only way. He will wipe EVERYTHING she ever held dear off the face of the earth, including Fettuccine. ESPECIALLY Fettuccine. This tiny, weak little worm that wiggled out of the dirt, trying desperately to crawl towards his little bird, craving her presence, her radiance. No. Golden Cheese's radiance is for Burning Spice alone. He can, he will, he MUST maim and dismember this pathetic child as soon as possible; the quicker he separates Golden Cheese from who and what she loves, the better. The quicker he can have her to himself. They can fight, they can dance, they can touch and taste each other, all without her treasures getting in their way. The world is theirs to do with as they please, and together, they shall wreak glorious havoc. And... well... if she gets upset... he can fix it. She likes children, he knows that. He can give her some. Such is his devotion to his other half that he'll briefly betray his nature and create something with her, for her. As many as she wants. As many times as she wants. Their children are the only children he'll ever give a damn about. And so help him, they'll be the only children that SHE gives a damn about, because he's going to slaughter all the other ones, STARTING WITH FETTUCCINE!

Reformed Silent Salt: Same deal as Spice tbh, only x1000. Salt struggles to be around anyone, let alone children, such is his soul-crushing guilt and shame. White Lily is the only one he's able to spend time with for a very long time; she has to coax him into coming into others' line of sight, and it doesn't work half the time. She ends up bringing people to him instead of bringing him to people - and, believing his demeanor might help soften him, she brings Gingerbrave and co. What an... unusually upbeat and forgiving boy, that Gingerbrave is. Lily acts as Salt's translator (I headcanon Salt as being mute and using sign + body language to communicate with people) as well as... a security blanket of sorts, because if she wasn't there, then Salt wouldn't be, either. But she's insistent, and so is Gingerbrave, and so are his friends. It's... strange, to have people be happy to see him again (I'll explain in a separate post, but I have some headcanons regarding Salt's old life and upbringing that basically amount to "I try to make myself useful so people think I have worth"). But it's nice. Nice enough that... he eventually lets more people near him. And eventually, he lets Lily and these kids lead him back to civilization, where he doesn't need to be alone with himself and his guilt anymore...

Yandere Silent Salt: Sigh... White Lily... His White Lily... All Silent Salt really wants is to make her happy. To see her pretty smile. For her to stop being so... sad. So somber. But that happiness needs to come from him. It NEEDS to. He tries so hard to pretend... He tries to be patient, he tries to let her focus on others for only a moment. But it never lasts. She's HIS White Lily. She moves too far away from him, she speaks too many words to someone else, she spends too much time in another's company- and he snaps. And that doesn't change with children, including Gingerbrave. ESPECIALLY Gingerbrave. That boy doesn't... suit her. Her countenance, her demeanor. He's too loud. Too annoying. Too simple. Silent Salt wants him to go away. He wants EVERYONE to go away, really, but Gingerbrave can go ahead first. Leave him and his White Lily to their peace. He tries so hard to pretend to be unbothered, Salt really does. But every passing moment, every ticking of the clock, every sound of that insipid boy's shrill voice and laughter reaching his ears (and all but drilling into his White Lily's, as he knows it must be)... He stands by in the shadows, waiting, waiting to take her back, his grip on his sword only tightening further and further...

#i need more info on Eternal Sugar bc I genuinely don't know what to do with her most of the time.#I've got Salt squared away in my headcanon. But Sugar gives me trouble for some reason.#regardless. I hope this answer proves satisfactory #cookie run kingdom #burning spice cookie #shadow milk cookie #eternal sugar cookie #mystic flour cookie #silent salt cookie #burningcheese #goldenspice #pureshadow #shadowvanilla #hollysugar #silentlily #mysticcacao #reformed beasts au #yandere beasts

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littlelamy · 10 hours ago

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hear me out: prince(maybe king)!rafe x maid!reader. 🧖🧖🧖🧖

author's note: eeekkk i am so so excited that someone requested this. i went a bit overboard and created a moodboard with the request. ahhh i hope you like it!!!🤭

rafe had always been a man of extremes. as a prince, he had earned a reputation for his ruthless cunning and the unyielding fire in his blue eyes. the court whispered about him—how he wanted everything in his kingdom to shine with perfection, to bow to his every whim. yet, none of that prepared anyone, least of all you, for the way he turned his obsession toward you.

it had started so innocently. you were just a maid, one of dozens who cleaned the gleaming marble floors of his grand castle, who arranged flowers in gilded vases and tended to fires in his countless hearths. you had caught his eye in a fleeting moment, bending to pick up a stray petal from the floor of the great hall. rafe had been striding through, his voice sharp as he barked orders at his entourage, but he fell silent as his gaze landed on you. that single moment was all it took.

from that day on, you felt the weight of his attention like an iron chain around your neck. it wasn’t long before his orders began to involve you directly. he demanded you be reassigned to his personal chambers. at first, it was simple tasks—polishing the ornate frames of his mirrors, arranging the heavy drapes that shielded his private windows. but as days turned to weeks, his demands grew stranger.

“stay,” he would say as you finished your work, his tone leaving no room for argument. he’d sit at his desk, pretending to pore over documents, but his eyes always found you in the reflection of the polished glass. “just for a moment longer.”

rafe’s fixation was terrifying in its intensity. he spoke to you as if you were the only thing that mattered, as if the kingdom itself was a distant second to your mere existence. his words were laced with a dangerous kind of reverence. “you don’t understand,” he whispered one evening, his voice low and almost tender. “you’re the only thing in this place that feels real.”

you tried to avoid his gaze, to keep your answers curt and respectful. “your grace, i am only here to serve.”

“and serve you will,” he replied, his lips curving into a possessive smile that made your stomach twist. “but not as a maid. no. i have other plans for you.”

those plans became clearer as he began to isolate you. you were no longer allowed to eat in the servants’ quarters or mingle with the other staff. instead, meals were brought to you in a small, luxurious room he had ordered prepared for your “comfort.” guards watched your every move, their silent vigilance a reminder that escape was not an option.

rafe’s obsession was suffocating. he lavished you with gifts you didn’t want—silken gowns, jeweled necklaces that felt like shackles against your skin. and yet, despite the fear that gripped your heart, a part of you couldn’t help but wonder at the man behind the obsession. there were moments, rare and fleeting, where his intensity softened into something almost vulnerable.

“they all want something from me,” he confessed one night, his voice heavy with exhaustion. “power, wealth, favor. but you… you didn’t even look at me. you didn’t try to catch my eye.” he cupped your chin then, forcing you to meet his gaze. “do you have any idea how maddening that was?”

you didn’t dare respond, your heart pounding in your chest. his thumb brushed over your cheek, a touch that was both tender and possessive. “you belong to me now,” he murmured, and the finality in his voice sent a shiver down your spine.

one evening, as you stood in his chambers, preparing to leave after completing your duties, rafe stepped into your path. his gaze was dark and unreadable, his breathing uneven. before you could protest, his hand reached out to cradle the back of your neck, pulling you closer. his lips met yours in a kiss that was as fierce and demanding as the man himself.

it wasn’t gentle. rafe kissed like he was trying to claim every breath, every thought, every part of you. his hands tightened their grip, one tangling in your hair while the other pressed against the small of your back, anchoring you to him. his touch grew rougher as the kiss deepened, his fingers groping at your waist and hips, pulling you flush against him.

he tilted your head back, his teeth grazing your lower lip before pulling away just enough to let his breath ghost over your skin. his eyes burned into yours as his thumb brushed over your swollen lips. “so beautiful,” he purrs, his voice low and guttural. the word sent a flush through your body, leaving you stunned and breathless.

when he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breaths mingling with your own. “you drive me mad,” he whispered, his voice rough. “but you… you’re mine. never forget that.”

in the days that followed, you tried to find cracks in his armor, weaknesses in the iron-clad control he had over you and his kingdom. but rafe was relentless. his obsession consumed him, and in turn, it threatened to consume you as well.

late one night, as you stood on the balcony of your gilded cage, staring out at the moonlit expanse of the kingdom, you felt his presence behind you. his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you against his chest.

“you’re mine,” he said again, his lips brushing against your ear. “and i will destroy anyone who tries to take you from me.”

you realized then that there was no escape, no reasoning with a man like rafe. he was a king in every sense of the word, and his obsession had made you his queen—whether you wanted to be or not.

taglist: @namelesslosers @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @rafesheaven @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog @slavicangelmuah

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enfantdelumiere · 1 year ago

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behold. MORE yugo emotes. i'm having fun with this.

#king of a kingdom that no longer exists #wakfu #yugo #islands of wakfu

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seaswallovvme · 8 months ago

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You are the one I’d come looking for. Over and over and over again

A/N: I am SO sorry for this but I can’t believe I’ve never seen a fanfic like this so I took it upon myself to write it. No beta reading or editing. We die like..nevermind

TW: angst, hurt and comfort, leprosy? No one is dying!!

People had thought her foolish for longer than she could think.

A pretty, young maiden from a good house, wealthy parents with political influence others could only dream of and yet she had chosen to marry a leper.

The king of Jerusalem was well known around nobility for more than just that of course, having won the battle of Montgisard against the Arabs at such young age seemed like a miracle from God above.

Even before that she had been by his side and it was not the fortunes, glory or status that had interested her which would no doubt be beneficial side effects of being married to him.

No young woman in her right mind would have willingly accepted the hand of a man doomed and she could hardly blame them.

Her parents had approved of the marriage as their hands were bound, depending on trade offers and the generosity of the holy land for their own existence.

Even then, when the letter from the court of Jerusalem had arrived they had been worried about the future of their darling girl.

Everyone had been, even nobility from far away and the news of King Baldwins marriage had spread quickly and then the whispering began.

She had never been bothered by the likes of them, faithful to her new husband who treated her with utmost care, she had everything she could have ever asked for and more.

He was a good man, gentle and wise for his age and he was grateful she had accepted his hand in marriage, he would have been a fool to not treat her well.

To him it was more than a political match propagating his strength to the outside kingdoms and his own.

To him this young woman was home, acceptance and love.

Despite all this their marriage was a slightly unusual one.

They had never been able to kiss nor were they able to consummate the marriage in a way deemed proper, the king refusing to risk contagion and his physicians agreed with him.

Despite all this she had never minded the lack of physicality in their marriage all that much.

She cared about him in a way that was beyond desires of the flesh, what they shared came close to holiness.

They talked a lot, shared poems and stories when she would caress his bandaged hands.

She would spend the late evenings in their shared chambers, after a tremendous amount of convincing, finally applying ointments to his sore, blistered skin to help it slow the spreading.

She would caress his bare back with fingers gentle as if she feared he would disappear into thin air, like a vision or a daydream, is she dared touching him too firmly.

In their eyes those sacred moments were almost enough but of course even the fate of the most pure could be harsh more often than not.

It started with a pale rash on her side, right over her ribs.

At first she had been sure it had come from spending too much time in the stables, perhaps she had been bitten by an insect.

Then one night when she had just finished brushing her hair before going to bed she noticed the tingling numbness in her fingers and feet.

It started slowly, like tiny ants crawling over her skin, not painful but the recognition was and she could feel her heart drop.

Though it wasn’t herself she feared for.

Baldwin let his best physicians be called to their shared chambers immediately.

After the three men had taken a look at her, whispering in a foreign language with their eyes drooped with worry and told them how deeply sorry they were the young king wished for his instant death.

He had always had a hard time being kind to himself, never to others but the wave of agony that rolled over him threatened to swallow him whole, burning like a demonic fury.

Her own eyes brimmed with tears and she sat up after the physicians had left, so frightened for her husband who was now sitting on the edge of the bed, his masked face buried in his hands with his shoulders trembling.

There was no use denying that she had caught the disease.

It was only a matter of time, she is playing with fire, others had whispered behind her back when they thought she wasn’t listening.

“Baldwin..” crawling up on the bed right behind him she wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

The gesture that had comforted him even in his worst moments now seemed to shatter his heart even more so.

“I have been so foolish..my beautiful, beautiful angel” he whispered, his voice dying in his throat and when he raised his head his eyes were flooded with tears.

He was trembling as he spoke and she was frightened as he nearly seemed mad with grief.

“You should have never come here..I should have never asked anyone, you, to put themselves in danger for my foolishness. If the Lord wants to punish me so be it but why would he wish to punish you of all people? When it was I who was selfish?”

She only noticed that she too was crying when she tasted the salt on her lips, wiping it with shaking fingers.

“Do not say such things..you are not selfish, nor foolish. It was I who made the decision to accept the offer to marry you with the pain and dangers that I was warned of. And I swear to you that even now I do not regret our vows, a single day or night we spent together”

Reaching out for him he cupped his cheek, a pained smile gracing her features in the soft candle light of his chambers.

“Please do not blame yourself my love. I am not scared of my fate but I am scared of losing you, whether it be to grief or shame. I beg of you, don’t leave me now”

There had never been a moment where Baldwin had to fight against contempt for himself as in this very moment.

He disdained himself for causing her to share his fate when he should have been the one to be level headed, keeping a distance for her own safety when in reality he was the one searching for her warmth like a frightened little boy.

Now there was no use avoiding her, he recognised with bitterness seeping like pus from an open wound.

Now it was too late, the die had been cast but all words of comfort, an apology he could have offered her seemed to be worthless now and he knew this sweet, innocent girl would not hear it.

How wonderfully stubborn she could be sometimes, with too much love to give and headstrong to a point where it was almost unbecoming for a woman but he wouldn’t have it any differently.

“Come now” she murmured, shuffling on the bed to slip underneath the covers.

The silken sheets were cool against her skin and a part of her wondered for how long she would be able to feel them at all.

She pulled him in as she did every night since they had exchanged their vows, his head resting against her shoulder and she caressed his soft hair soothingly.

“The promise of God is not that He will never give us more weight than we want to carry. The promise of God is that He will never put more on us than we can bear.”

Her voice was so soft as she spoke, without a tremor and she was not scared anymore.

Not for herself nor for him, not when God was watching over them, not when her love for him burned stronger than ever and she could feel his heart beating, so alive and warm in his chest.

“Let us not waste the precious time we have..not a second”

This was something the young king could not disagree with and how eager he was for her comfort if that meant to comfort her.

Now he had to be strong for her sake when she needed him now more than ever before, and she was right.

The promise of God is that He will never put more on us than we can bear, no matter how heavy the burden can be in the darkest times.

He shuddered when he felt her gentle fingers sliding the silver mask off his face as she had done many times before but something about it now felt different.

His eyes were wide, still glossy and red, his face scarred severely but she could only see the man she loved more than anyone or anything.

They looked at each other for what felt like hours, the fingers of one hand entwined, the other on each others cheek, stroking over skin, gently brushing a strand of hair behind one’s ear.

She was the one to lean in first and to him the feeling of her soft lips on his, for the first time ever felt like he was being reborn.

The kiss was clumsy with inexperience but it could not have been more raw and honest.

She kissed him like she didn’t care about his disfigured lips and he kissed her like it was the last thing he would ever do.

Both of them kissed like they had been starving for this and now there was nothing left to lose and by the end of the kiss both of them were crying.

A soft sob rose in his chest, fading into a huffed out laugh and he seemed drunk with fondness for her.

She only smiled, wiping his tears as he wiped hers before leaning in again to kiss her warm, soft lips once more with more urgency this time, in disbelief that he would get to experience something like this after all.

Something that made him feel less alone, more like any normal young man instead.

A wave of warmth flooded him when he felt a small, soft hand slip underneath his nightgown, resting on his bare stomach and when he pulled away from the kiss, his cheeks flushed he recognised the desire in her eyes.

Honest and playful as she was and despite his nervously racing heart he gave her the most timid nod.

There was no fear within either of them now, uncertainty perhaps and pain surely, worry about what the future might bring but they had each other after all.

Each other and a life time left to love, however long that might be.

#baldwin iv #king baldwin iv #kingdom of heaven #baldwin iv x reader #baldwin iv headcanons #baldwin iv fanfiction

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noirvedette · 2 months ago

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Chapter Two: The Union of Two

Satoru Gojo x Reader. (Royalty AU Series)

Synopsis: Wanting the best for your kingdom, you accept the marriage proposal sent by the Gojo empire to marry the new Emperor Satoru Gojo. What you don't know is that he has been yearning for you since he came to know of your existence and is determined to make you reciprocate his affections. How far will he go to earn your love? Series Warnings: Explicit language, smut, slight angst, acts of violence(not between the main characters), war. Author's Note: A longer chapter this time! Please let me know whether you enjoy it this way or if you'd prefer shorter chapters. Writing this during exam season so be prepared for irregular updates :) Word Count: 2.5k words

Today is the day. You and Satoru shall finally meet.

If things go as Satoru planned, you may marry each other in a few months.

To him, it all feels like a dream. Like a possibility of paradise.

He wondered what you would be like once you arrived, whether your smile would still be the reason behind his blushed cheeks, whether the calming cadence of your voice would still send shivers down his spine.

Whether you would still affect him the way you had five years ago.

He recalled every time he ranted about you to Jaeyun, telling him about how you captivated him to no end, squirming with embarrassment as the King jokingly called him pathetic for the nth time that day.

His heart started palpitating, threatening to abandon its place in his chest in favor of finding its way to you.

As he waited in his study, his mind went into overdrive.

What if you don't like him? What if you think that you are not right for each other? What if-

"Your Majesty." The Emperor's musings were interrupted by the voice of his secretary.

"Yes? What is it?" He inquired, exhaling a bated breath.

"The royal family of Aveloria have arrived." The secretary informed. "They await you in the salon."

With a nod and a small prayer recited in his mind, he strode to the salon.

Wow, you thought to yourself.

Satoru Gojo is a good-looking man.

Your mind was void of thoughts for the first few seconds within which he stepped into the room and interacted with your parents.

You took in his appearance—from azure eyes to hair that resembled the clouds in the sky—and it couldn't be denied that his appearance was nothing short of captivating.

The Emperor looked a little contrasting from when you saw him at King Jaeyun's coronation. Now, his features seemed more grown up, his jawline more defined and his eyes slightly sharper.

Eyes that were now looking at you, you realized.

"Your Majesty," You softly smiled at him, your hand outstretched for him to shake. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"The pleasure is all mine, Princess _____." Satoru smiled back, engulfing your hand in his. "And please, call me Satoru."

"Satoru it is." You declared, your hand still in his. Your heart sped up due to the physical contact.

You watched as he shifted his grasp and softly kissed the back of your hand. You felt your face warm up at the gentle feel of his lips on your skin.

God, he even smells good, you think as the scent of citrus and cedarwood surrounds you.

Soon after, his family joined as well. His mother, Magdalena, and his sister, Isadora, whom you were already well acquainted with, were nothing short of welcoming.

Conversation ensued as everybody took a seat Your parents discussed the statuses of your respective territories and other miscellaneous topics, but you chose to remain quiet, observe, and sip your tea in between, taking in Satoru's responses and body language.

He was nothing like the version of Satoru that you heard about. Nothing like the cold, egomaniacal tyrant that you've heard others lament about via gossip.

He seemed... amicable? He answered your parents' queries with courtesy and posed thoughtful questions to indicate that he was attentive as well. He even asked your brother about the younger one's hobbies and interests.

It was the bare minimum, and yet it brought a smile to your face.

Maybe marrying him would prove to be enjoyable after all.

Once the conversation began to meet its end, teacups and sandwich platters once filled now almost, empty, you collectively decided that it was time for you and Satoru to have a conversation in private. You followed him into the art gallery and watched him shut the door before facing you.

Feeling overwhelmed by nerves, you turned to look at the paintings.

A particular piece caught your eye, so you went toward it, admiring the landscape of the shell-pink tulip field before you. 'The Magnificence of Naturality,' the name of the artwork read.

"I take it that you like this one." You felt the warmth of his presence as his saccharine voice slightly soothed you. "Are tulips your favorite flowers?"

"Tulips are beautiful, I will admit, but hyacinths have to be my favorite." You smiled at him, your fingers playing with the sleeve of your dress to direct your anxiety elsewhere. "Which painting here is your favorite?"

"This one here." He pointed to the one beside the tulip field, directing your attention to it. "It's called 'Chasm in my Soul'."

In the aforementioned painting, a man and woman are at a dock, presumably just married, as they are in wedding attire. They appear to be slow dancing, with another man not too far away playing the violin.

A sigh of awe left your lips as you took in the intricacies of the painting. From the ripples in the water to the lace detailing in the bride's wedding dress, little was left to be desired.

"I understand why you like it so much." You turned to look at him, watching as he stared at the painting in admiration. "It's beautiful."

"It is." He smiles at you before decidedly changing the subject.

"I know that our previous interactions have been brief, but I really admire you, Princess _____." He began quietly, clearing his throat. "I genuinely hope that we can find happiness together."

He looked flustered, almost shy in your presence. You had no words. No idea how to respond to such passionate words.

"As far as I know you, Satoru, you seem nice," You started. "But I think we need to get to know each other more before making a decision."

"Of course! I agree completely." A grin bloomed on his lips. "We have much to learn about each other."

"I'll ask the first question," You took the lead, turning to look at the artwork once more "Why is this painting your favorite?"

"The shared happiness between the newlyweds is so heartfelt. It's a love that's quite rare to encounter," He began, his expression turning into one of fondness. "You can discern the comfort and solace they find in each other due to the artist's mastery."

"You were the last person I thought would be a romantic, Satoru." You teased, smirking up at him.

"I could show you just how romantic I can be, Princess." He smirked back, moving closer to you.

He's flirting with you. You barely maintain your composure while trying to muster up a response.

"Maybe I would like that." You reply, slightly breathless.

"Accept the proposal and I promise you, I will." His eyes darted to your lips for a quick second before meeting yours again.

"I need to think about it," You teased once more, an easy grin twitching on your lips. "I hope you'll be patient."

"I'll be anything you want, _____." Unlike you, he was serious, his words containing an intensity that wasn't previously present. "I'll wait for as long as you want me to."

His expression was one of determination, ready to wait for you as long as you wanted him to.

Little did the Emperor know that he wouldn't have to wait too long at all.

You had already made your decision.

Once you returned from the art gallery with Satoru, you exchanged pleasantries with his family to end the night, his mother whispering in your ear about wanting you to be her daughter-in-law, making you blush in the process. He pretended not to hear her, choosing to believe that the surge of warmth he felt was completely unrelated to her hushed words.

That night, once you returned to the palace, you quickly bid good night to your family as you were tired due to the day's festivities. You sluggishly walked into your chamber, leaning your forehead on the door once you clicked it shut.

A gasp left your lips as you turned around.

There in the middle of your room stood a familiar landscape of a tulip field. 'The Magnificence of Naturality' glinted in the lighting of your room, along with a bouquet of hyacinths placed on your nightstand. A smile bloomed on your face as you noticed a note on the bouquet.

'The hue of these flowers may be beautiful, nevertheless, nothing will be as alluring as you always have been.'

The Emperor is an abundance of surprises, it seemed.

[SEVEN MONTHS LATER]

The wedding would be the very epitome of royal luxury.

It was to take place within the ceremonial cathedral, every crevice of the building embellished in burgundy and gold accents.

The general public was elated to hear the announcement regarding your wedding. Others mused upon what the union between two extremely powerful nations would result in.

You stood in the dressing room, staring at your satin dress in the mirror, admiring the corset bodice and flowy skirt. The jewels in your crown glistened in the natural light. A few minutes remained before the procession would begin.

Needless to say, you were trepidatious.

This moment didn't feel real. Nothing about this whole ordeal felt real.

In a few hours, you would be married to an Emperor. A very influential one at that.

Within the few months between the confirmation and the actual wedding, you rendezvoused with Satoru many more times. He treated you to elaborate dinners, took you to explore his land, bought you all the best street food, and gave you an opportunity to mingle with his citizens who would regard you as the Empress.

By the time you were done recounting all the experiences you've had with Satoru in these few months, a dazed smile formed on your lips.

There was a knock on the door, followed by Isadora walking into the room. "Nervous?"

"A little." You released a shaky breath.

There's nothing to be worried about, _____." She comforted you, noticing your hands slightly trembling. "We're all here for you, okay? This is a joyous occasion, my dear. Cherish it."

"I will." A nervous laugh left your lips, making her chuckle in return.

She nodded towards the door and then looked back at you. "Shall we?"

You responded with a curt nod, took her hand, and followed her out of the room and into your chariot.

Into your future.

Clad in his military attire and regalia, Satoru stood at the altar awaiting his bride-to-be.

He wiped off the sweat on his hands for the nth time that day, the cold temperature doing nothing to calm the heat within.

His mother sat in the front pew and smiled at the sight of him so anxious as Jaeyun tried to make him relax.

Suddenly, the crowd went silent, announcing your arrival. The doors to the cathedral slowly opened and you came into his view.

Satoru had never looked more in awe in all twenty-two years of existence.

No man will ever be as fortunate as me, he thought to himself.

You looked enchanting.

You maintained eye contact with him, a soft smile gracing your features as the long, dramatic train of your dress flowed behind.

You stopped and turned to bow down to his family and yours, sending Heeseung a teasing smile once you noticed the tears in his eyes.

The priest then began the ceremony, blessing your marriage with unity and prosperity.

You exchanged glances with Satoru now and then, returning his grin with your own each time until it was time to exchange your vows.

You placed your hands in his own as the ring-bearer found his place beside the both of you.

"I, Satoru Gojo, take thee, _____ Amiria, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth."

With that, Satoru slipped the intricate gold ring onto your finger, his engraved initials catching your eye.

"I, _____ Amiria, take thee, Satoru Gojo, to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth."

You smiled at each other as you slipped an identical gold ring onto his finger, your grins widening as you took note of your initials on the wedding band.

The priest then confirmed and blessed the wedding once more, deeming you married. You could hear the cheers of the crowd that had amassed on the church grounds, congratulations being hollered in unison by the people outside.

Soon, the guests started to file out of the cathedral to make their way to the private reception.

You and Satoru, however, began climbing the stairs to the third floor of the church within which the balcony was located.

There, you would make your first public appearance as a couple, greeting and thanking the crowd for their celebrating your union.

The public appearance also entailed sharing your first kiss.

You tried not to think about it too much and instead, tried to live in the moment, deciding to focus on your hand in Satoru's.

Once the doors to the balcony opened, the both of you walked to the front, waving at the crowd with your unoccupied hands.

The cheers and happiness that emanated from the crowd were positively overwhelming, and Satoru could tell. To lessen your nerves, he drew circles on the back of your hand with his thumb, effectively soothing you.

You turned to face Satoru as he did the same. He cupped your face with one hand as you placed yours on his shoulders.

"It's just you and me, okay?" He gently smiled at you as you nodded. "Just you and me."

Two heartbeats later, his lips met yours.

The sound of the crowd cheering melted into the background as you kissed. It was gentle, teasing even, and you could feel each other smiling in your moment of passion.

Once you pulled away, you mind was hazy. You felt your face burning up as the cheers got substantially louder. You turned to wave at the crowd once more.

In the enclosed area where your family stood, you found Heeseung discreetly pretending to vomit, coaxing a laugh out of you.

Once the final goodbyes were said, the departing procession began.

You and Satoru climbed into your shared chariot, thus marking the beginning of the trip for your honeymoon to Damona Isles, a tropical island located in the south of Aveloria.

Taglist(open): @baepsays @laaalaaaloooppppsiiieeeee @iamrgo To join the tag list: Send an ask ♡

#gojo satoru #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk smut #satoru gojo #satoru gojo x reader #jjk fluff #jjk angst #gojo satoru smut

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athzhowakar · 1 month ago

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Queen of Hidden Evils (Chapter I)

✒️ Maegor × Toxic OC wife

✒️ Summary: Maegor needs to find a new wife since his existing wives have failed to provide him an heir. He sends a proposal to a lesser lordly house of the Crownlands, asking the hand of the Lord's widowed sister. Maegor has heard very little about that woman but what really matters for him is the fact that, she has a ten year old daughter and hence, her fertility is proven.

✒️ Trigger warning: Mature content

✒️ Next part: Chapter II

The Red Keep :

“And whom do you suggest this time, Grand Maester?” King Maegor said reluctantly. He was getting quite tired of marrying again and again but he made sure no one knew that.

“Your Grace, if it pleases you, I would suggest Lady Lucinda Rosby,” Grand Maester Benifer replied.

Stroking his beard, Maegor said, “Lucinda Rosby? I have never heard much about her.”

“She is a woman of proven fertility, Your Grace,” Grand Maester Benifer said. “She has a ten years old daughter.”

“She is a widow, I suppose. Her husband was the elder brother of the current Lord Stokeworth, who died in a hunting accident,” Maegor said, trying to recall the events.

“Ser Bennard Stokeworth was a brave man, Your Grace. He was fond of riding horses and hunting. Unfortunately, that took his life just two years after his marriage. He left behind a three month old daughter and a grieving young wife. Her Ladyship was only eight and ten when she was widowed. She has been a widow ever since,” Grand Maester said.

Maegor looked at him and remarked, “A quite devoted woman or perhaps quite picky.”

“What are the orders for me, Your Grace? Shall I send a raven to Lord Rosby or perhaps a messenger?” Grand Maester asked.

“Send a messenger, Grand Maester. Ravens are comparatively less impressive. Who knows? That picky lady of the Rosbys might find that raven ugly and drive it away without reading the message,” Maegor said with a tone which certainly did not reveal whether he was being sarcastic or serious.

The Grand Maester paid his respects and left the king's chamber.

Maegor stood up a while later and arrived at Queen Rhaena's chamber.

“Beloved Niece!” Maegor exclaimed.

“Not at all beloved Uncle!” Rhaena responded back with an equally enthusiastic tone to mock him.

Maegor grabbed her waist as she tried to wriggle away. He whispered into her ears, “Don't you think that you are being too insolent, my dear wife?”

Rhaena mocked him by saying, “How do you expect me to talk to a kinslayer and usurper?”

“We could have been the most powerful king and queen the seven kingdoms have ever seen. You could have been a good wife to me and given me a son or a daughter or both. And yet, you choose to provoke me, mock me and dig your own grave,” Maegor said tightening his grip on her waist.

Rhaena replied, “I do not want any of that.”

“What do you want then?” Maegor almost screamed.

Rhaena said, “Nothing from you.”

Maegor let go of her. Rhaena took a deep breath and saw her uncle approaching her. She was scared as her uncle was unpredictable and crueler than anyone she had known.

“Do you think that you would have a better life without me?” Maegor asked. “You resent me for sending away your whores whom you call companions. But do you think that oaf of your brother would have allowed that? That fool tried to fight against me atop a dragon which wasn't even half the size of my dragon. You think that he could have kept you happier? You wish for me to die, don't you? You do not wish to give me a child. Isn't that why you have been secretly taking moon tea and poisoning your womb? I know everything. But I stayed silent because I love you and because you are my blood.”

“That is all a lie. You do not love me. You do not love anyone but yourself,” Rhaena said, spitefully.

Maegor replied angrily, “Foolish woman! Do you know what will happen to you if I die today? I made you the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms but if I die today, you will no longer be the queen. You will not be the Dowager Queen either, for you have given me no child which I can call mine. If I die, your brother Jaehaerys will be the king and perhaps your sister Alysanne will be the queen or whichever daughter of lickspittle your mother chooses. You will have nothing. No one will care for your opinions anymore and no one will respect you the way they do now. My own mother forged the Seven Kingdoms along with my father, with fire and blood. And yet, when your father was the king, she had no choice but to see her kingdom almost perish into nothing. What have you done compared to her? Your fate will be much worse.”

“Is that why you came here? To remind me of how great you are and how lucky I am to be alive and have you as my husband?” Rhaena asked him with tears in her eyes.

“Oh no, certainly not,” Maegor said. “I came here to tell you that I have decided to take another wife. I have already sent the proposal.”

“And who is that unlucky woman?” Rhaena asked.

“Lady Lucinda of House Rosby,” Maegor replied.

Rhaena burst into laughter on hearing the name.

Confused, Maegor asked her, “What happened? What is the matter?”

“If you hadn't killed that Pentosi witch, she would have certainly told you how her husband died. You do not know that, do you?” Rhaena said, laughing.

Maegor said, “He died in a hunting accident.”

Rhaena laughed again and said, “Things people say to keep their honour. One of my previous companions was Samantha Stokeworth, the younger sister of her husband, Ser Bennard Stokeworth. She told me something that you do not know.”

“And what is that?” Maegor asked.

“Apparently, her husband had a lowborn paramour. Lady Lucinda had that wench killed, and her head and entrails served to her husband when he was about to break fast on the morrow, while on his hunting trip. Ser Bennard was horrified when he saw his paramour's severed head wrapped in her entrails, and died of shock in his tent,” Rhaena said with an evil smile on her face. “I wish you luck, Uncle. I am sure she is the perfect wife for you.”

Rosby Castle :

Lady Prunella Stokeworth, a maid of ten, was the only Stokeworth living in the Rosby Castle. Lady Rosby used to think that it might be more proper if she lived in the Stokeworth Castle with her people but as the girl grew older, that thought vanished. The girl though comely, did not even possess a quarter of the beauty that her mother and Lady Rosby's goodsister, Lucinda Rosby did. However, Prunella seemed lovely enough to Lady Rosby. As a matter of fact, she had even convinced Lady Lucinda to get Prunella betrothed to her son.

It was another evening when Lady Rosby was having a chat with Prunella in her chamber.

“Aunt, is it true that the king wishes to marry my mother?” Prunella asked Lady Rosby.

Lady Rosby said, “It is true, little one. A messenger arrived this morning with a letter from His Grace. If we agree, he intends to wed her two moons later.”

“Will Uncle agree to this?” Prunella asked.

“Oh my sweet summer child, it is not really a proposal. It is an order and your uncle cannot defy it. However, we have to convince your mother as well,” Lady Rosby replied.

Just then, Lady Lucinda entered the chamber. She had just returned from the Castle Sept.

“May I join?” Lucinda asked.

“Sure. Let me pour you a cup of wine,” Lady Rosby said.

Prunella asked her mother, “Mother, have you heard about the proposal that came from the king?”

“I have,” Lucinda replied without a visible expression on her face.

“Are you going to reject the proposal?” Prunella asked.

Lucinda chuckled and said, “Foolish girl! Why would I refuse to become the queen?”

To be continued

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kykyonthemoon · 22 days ago

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The Witch's Flowers

In the kingdom of Philos, witches are a scourge that must be banished. Many years have passed since the witch hunt was issued, and magic has chosen to hide in the dark forests. Deep in the heart of the forest, a field of wavy-leaf sea lavenders blossoming with blue tells the story of a young Knight and The Witch whom he was ordered to hunt down…

ಇ.Xavier x MC (Reader)

ಇ. Tags: AU, fluff with angst, hurt/comfort, HE, fairy tale, witch hunt, first pov (Xavier's)

ಇ.Word count: 3788w - oneshot.

ಇ. Requested by ChloeVN.

ಇ.Masterlist ♡ Request a fic (closed for the time being)

Blood.

The foul liquid was staining the blue petals a dark, deadly red. My palm was likewise saturated in the color as I pressed firmly on the open wound in my abdomen. Staggering, with each step a blue flower was stained with my blood. As though I were dreaming, the flower field in front of me radiated a mystical blue. I had traveled through many lands, discovered countless secrets, but I had never set foot in this place. The dark woodland encircled a field of wavy-leaf sea lavenders, in the middle of which was a cottage, where ivy wrapped around the walls, smoke billowed from the tall chimney, and warm light shone from the open window. Someone was humming a lullaby that made my eyes heavy. Everything before me wavered and blurred. The wavy-leaf sea lavenders welcomed me into their arms, cradling my lifeless body and saying:

“Rest now, rest,

O Knight of a distant land.

Sweet dreams

Shall heal all your wounds,

And wipe away your tears.

Rest now, rest…”

The dense forest at the eastern end of the kingdom had long remained a mystery. Few who ventured there could come back alive to tell the tale. Most feared the wild beasts within, while others spread rumors of witches who dwelled there. Witchcraft was a forbidden topic in Philos. Many years ago, the royal family issued an order to capture and execute everyone who practiced witchcraft. Today, no one would dare to speak of magic in public for fear of being arrested. Yet witches still existed, somewhere in the dark woodlands, concealed among mankind. And regardless of how much they feared or despised witches, the royal family aspired to wield their power.

That is why I, a knight of Philos, took on the mission of finding a cure for the ailing King.

I had never despised witches. To me, nobody was born good or wicked. But my oath of devotion to the royal family compelled me to travel to the East, fight monsters, and find a witch with the mythical power to bring the dead back to life. I kept adventuring and struggling until my feet could no longer move.

And then I awoke in a little room filled with the aroma of herbs. I was covered in pale blue wavy-leaf sea lavender blossoms. They tumbled into the bed as I rose up.

The pleasant singing voice that I had been listening to since regaining consciousness abruptly stopped. A few seconds later, a girl approached the door.

"How are you feeling?"

I was slightly taken aback. I had no idea who she was; if I had ever met a person this beautiful, I would never forget her. She was as lovely as the blue flowers outside the cottage, glowing naturally and without pretense. Her tenderness made me feel secure, and I was able to rest even though I had no idea where I was or what I would confront without my sword in hand.

“Hey there, Knight!” She suddenly came closer, leaning down extremely near to me. I could detect the aroma of wavy-leaf sea lavenders emanating from her. "Can you hear me?!"

Her little fingers waved in front of my eyes. While I was still in a trance, she mumbled to herself:

“Oh, did I make the wrong potion?… Have I… ruined him?…”

She dashed out of the room in a panic. She reappeared shortly after, with a steaming bowl of potion. She handed it to me.

"Drink this."

I took it. The peculiar liquid was dark blue, and the scent made me nauseous. I gazed up to meet her eyes.

"Would it be all right if I refuse this?"

She was a little startled when she heard me. She replied, “So you can speak?! I thought you… Oh, give me the potion.”

I was relieved she had moved the bowl of potion away from me. Then she stepped closer, closer than before, leading me to lean back slightly and rest one hand on the bed.

“So are you feeling better? Does it still hurt anywhere?” she inquired. Her gaze swept me from head to stomach. “Let me check your wound!”

Without waiting for my consent, her fingers slipped under my shirt. I was astonished and swiftly grabbed her wrist.

“What… What are you doing?”

“Checking your wound. I just told you!”

She brushed my hand away and lifted my shirt, revealing my abdomen where the monster’s deep cut had healed completely. There was no trace left to indicate that I had almost passed through the gates of Death. This confused me as well.

“It’s healed now. You’re recovering well!”

The girl smiled. Her cool fingertips stroking my flesh caused me to blush. I pulled my shirt down in a haste.

"That was you. You've healed me, right?

She did not respond immediately, but instead gave a mysterious grin. "If I said I had intended to use your body as fertilizer for my flowers, would you believe me?"

I was astonished to hear her say that. She laughed.

“Don’t worry, I have no intention to do that yet. As long as you don’t burn me on the pyre, I won’t harm you.”

Her gaze shifted to the corner of the table, where my sword rested. She was already aware of my identity, and she may have assumed I was here to hunt her down.

"So you're… a witch?"

She stared at me. A trace of grief appeared on her face, but she instantly cracked a playful grin.

"I am a witch, the most malevolent one in this realm. I did not save you out of any mercy. I only needed someone to test my handcrafted potions."

I looked at the bowl of horrible potion, which had already lost its smoke. My wound had healed entirely, yet my body still ached and I was fatigued. Faced with a witch, I doubted I would be able to flee to the forest's edge. Not to mention the savage monsters who waited for me outside. In addition, I still had to repay the person who saved my life.

After considering it for a while, I said to her:

“If you need me, I’m here. I want to repay your kindness.”

The Witch smiled. “You shall replant my beloved flowers that you've ruined out there first.”

From that day on, I stayed in the cottage with The Witch. Her treatment helped me purge the monster poison from my body. Day by day, I healed rapidly. However, I still used the excuse of not regaining my strength yet so that I could stay here. II frequently assisted her with little errands such as repairing the cottage, woodcutting in the deep forest, or hunting animals. She cooked really well and even provided me with a comfortable spot to sleep in the living room. I immediately realized it had been a long time since I recalled what a regular life was like.

As a child, I was trained to become a knight. My existence revolved around the orders and expectations of my clan. Yet here, in the midst of nowhere, the load on my shoulders appeared to be removed, along with the shining, hefty armor. And before I knew it, I had grown to enjoy the quiet life here.

I also fell in love with the girl who cared for me every day. How could I not, knowing that beneath that mystery exterior was a really compassionate person? Despite her claims that she was using me for potion testing, everything she gave me was a tonic. She said I was her errand guy, but whenever she cooked something, she let me have it first. She treated me, a knight - who was originally ordered to hunt her down - with all her sincerity and kindness.

If it had not been for the edict to kill witches, she would not have had to flee to the farthest reaches of the kingdom.

“Xavier? Don't just stand there. Bring me the potion.”

Her voice echoed across the wavy-leaf sea lavender field. She was sitting on the ground, with the baby unicorn creature resting on her lap. She took care of not only me, but also the wild animals and even monsters in the forest. Sometimes they would come to the cottage in tatters, and she would heal them. I wondered if she had considered me to be one of those creatures when she had first seen me.

I delivered the potion to The Witch. She put some blue liquid into the unicorn's mouth. It groaned, fought for a time, and finally fell asleep soundly.

"How many times have I told you not to go too far from the forest? Humans will catch you, skin you, and eat you alive!"

The little animal turned over in her arms. She stroked its one-horned head, then looked at it with loving eyes. Like her, the creatures living in this forest had never harmed anyone before, yet they were frequently hurt by humans chasing them or putting traps along the woodland's border.

After a moment, I spoke to her: “Not all humans are so cruel.”

She looked at me. The wavy-leaf sea lavender field swirled in the bright sunlight around us. I wished I could give her a life free of worry and dread of being persecuted. I wished I could give her my entire heart, but I was not qualified to do so. I was not deserving of her.

“Yes,” she answered. “Xavier is a human, but he won’t hurt us!” She patted the small unicorn in her arms again.

"Ouch!" I grabbed my head, appearing to be in agony. "I suddenly feel a little dizzy…"

She smiled at me. She let me lean on her shoulder and rubbed her cheek into my hair.

“Why are you so weak? Are you certain that you’re a knight, Xavier?”

I was unresponsive, just continued to pretend. I was afraid to tell her that I had come here to find a cure for death, and that she was the witch with such power. I had been discreetly investigating her for quite some time before concluding that she was the one I was looking for. She was capable of curing all ailments and even bringing life back to some creatures that were dying, like in mythology. However, a part within me refused to believe it. I did not want to be the bringer of her death.

Her lullaby resounded again. In the midst of the blooming way-leaf sea lavenders dancing in the breeze, I dreamed of a peaceful vision where I would stay here forever, with her.

Good things came to an end so soon. My blue dream was exactly the same.

The other knights had managed to track me down. The forest sent a warning to The Witch, and I knew it was time to say goodbye to her.

We sat beneath the falling stars. The wavy-leaf sea lavenders, bathed in the light from above, went about their serene lives, unknowing of the impending calamity. I silently begged that time would stand still as The Witch placed her head on my shoulder and watched the shooting stars.

“You have made up your mind, Xavier?”

She asked, and I nodded. Then she sat up straight to look me in the eye. Behind her was a silver strip of the falling star that had just split the night sky in two. Broken.

“You’re not pretending to be weak anymore?”

The Witch was well aware that I had been acting all along in order to win her gentle care. I grinned.

“"If I could, I would remain here with you forever. But I need to depart and distract the other knights. They should not come here and find you.”

Silence descended between us. The shower of stars above was fading away. After a while, The Witch spoke:

“Will we ever meet again?”

I dared not promise her anything. Perhaps I was like those stars, briefly soaring across her serene flower field before plummeting into the endless night. I took her hand, then gently placed a kiss on it.

“As long as I breathe, I will always search for you.”

The Witch leaned in extremely close. My heart missed a beat. Just when I thought she was ready to kiss me, she chuckled and slipped a sprig of wavy-leaf sea lavenders in my hair.

“Worry not. I can defend myself. I’ve been hiding from humans for so long.”

“I know you can’t bear to leave this forest. You don’t want to spend your whole life in fear, or keep running away either.”

This place had always been her sanctuary. And mine. Neither of us could bear to leave it behind.

“Just keep your word and come find me.”

Our little fingers intertwined in a sacred ritual under the blessing of the shooting star and blue flowers. Then, she leaned towards me again to grant me a real kiss.

“I can’t take it anymore. I have to tell you the truth!”

The voice of Jeremiah, another knight in my troop, interrupted my afternoon siesta. We had been on the road for several days, far from the forest where my Witch resided.

"You've been misled!" Jeremiah stated this while sitting beside me under a tree.

“What are you babbling about?” I rubbed my eyes. Jeremiah looked around to make sure we weren’t being overheard before lowering his voice to me. “He knows. Our teacher has been tracking a witch in those woods for a long time. After you disappeared, he sent people to investigate the area. I don’t know what happened to you there, Xavier. But he thinks you’ve been… bewitched! So he sent us here on purpose to get you out of the woods. He’ll deal with the witch himself.”

“What did you just say?!” I broke out of my daze.

“I’m telling you this because you’re my good friend. You’ve been talking about that witch all these days. I can't keep the truth from you, knowing that you would regret it for the rest of your life."

I got up and went to get my horse. I galloped through the trees, and Jeremiah’s voice cheered me on from behind:

“Go, Xavier! May the winds take you to her!”

But I was still a little too late.

The wavy-leaf sea lavender field before my eyes was burning, and the cottage where The Witch and I had spent our days together was also engulfed in flames. I heard her screams mixed with the roars of the miserable creatures who had just sacrificed themselves under the cutting sword to defend the Witch.

I gripped the hilt of my sword and pointed it at that person. My mentor.

“Xavier. Do you recall when I warned you that the spells of witches corrupt the minds of humans?”

Over the shoulder of my mentor, the illustrious Grand Knight of Philos, I caught a glimpse of The Witch. Her hands were bound with shackles invented specifically for witch hunting. The blood trickling from her pale face came from the creatures that had died for her, and it was the same crimson liquid that stained the blue flowers.

The Witch's eyes were filled with hatred rather than fear. Yet when she saw me, she almost burst into tears.

“She has never harmed anyone,” I said. “Please let her go.”

“Let her go?” the Grand Knight repeated. He laughed aloud. His elderly but still powerful physique trembled beneath his dazzling armor. “She is the one we seek. She is the one who can save the King!”

"At what cost?" I demanded. "Her life?" You taught me to wield my sword to fight for my principles and defend what I hold dear. But all I see here is my revered mentor hurting innocent creatures at the commands of a dying man!"

The Grand Knight turned to face me.

“The royal order is my life’s principle! Xavier, you are my favorite pupil, yet you have also disappointed me the most! In such a short period of time, you have become so enchanted by that witch that you are unable to discriminate between good and bad!"

My sword became even more steady as it was directed toward him. I replied:

“And you, my mentor, have been sleeping in the honor and orders you have been given all this time. You have forgotten what your sword once protected!”

I charged towards the Grand Knight, who did not flinch as he parried my attack. Everything I knew, every fighting skill I had mastered, was taught to me by this man. I remembered the training sessions between the two of us, when I was very young. He had told me that only the strong could defend the ones they loved. So that child practiced till he bled every day in order to be recognized by his mentor and protect his clan.

At that time, the witch hunt had not yet been issued. A few years later, when I officially became a knight, the King, in order to find the elixir of immortality, had relentlessly persecuted witches, using violence to suppress them. The myth of witches using magic to hurt innocent people was only a pretext for the royal family to publicly execute them and use their blood to create the elixir. But this was not how magic worked. The King was gravely ill and dying, and numerous innocent witches had to give their lives for his dream of immortality.

“Let him die!” I shouted as I continued to attack the Grand Knight. “Let the King and his false immortality die!”

While I was fighting against my mentor, The Witch had vanished. She kept running away, disappearing from this place. As long as she was safe, I was willing to give up everything.

Even my life.

The blade that had served as my guiding light pierced through the gap in my armor and stabbed straight into my chest. But I also thrust the sword into the Grand Knight's neck. He stared at me. Disappointment and grief were evident in his gradually cloudy eyes. In that moment, I chose The Witch and the justice that my heart urged me to pursue. I apologized and bid farewell to my mentor. This battle was not not meant to have a winner. The Grand Knight shouted my name one last time. Then he sank on the trodden ground, strewn with blue flowers.

I clutched my chest. My feet stumbled down. Blood seeped through the armor I had barely managed to remove. The blue carpet was welcoming me one last time, just like the day I first arrived. But I still had one last wish.

“Xavier! Xavier!!!”

I heard her call my name. My Witch. She appeared beside me and drew me into her embrace. Her hands were still bound. I used my sword to cut her chains.

“You… You’re free now… Leave…”

But she held me. She cried. Her tears dropped like falling stars to the ground. My trembling fingers wiped them away, leaving only a scarlet streak on her face.

“I'm sorry… I ruined your flower field again… This will probably be… the last time…”

My entire body sank into her arms. She put me on my back, so I could see the dying sun in the distance, and her tears watered my face.

“Xavier… You can’t die…” She sobbed. “I’m the one who saved your life… You owe me your life! You are not allowed to die like this…”

I could only apologize to her. But my eyes felt heavy. I whispered to her:

“Can you… sing for me?…”

She leaned down and kissed my forehead.

“Xavier… I’ll sing… Go to sleep. When you wake up, everything will be fine…”

I was certain that I would not be able to wake up again. But if she granted me a beautiful dream, then what if I never opened my eyes?

The Witch began to sing. It was the familiar song I had heard when I had discovered this place for the very first time. It was a song meant for me.

The surrounding wavy-leaf sea lavender field suddenly glowed with a halo as my eyes slowly closed. A tremendous and pure energy surged over me, lulling me into a peaceful sleep with her song.

“Rest now, rest,

O Knight of a distant land.

Sweet dreams

Shall heal all your wounds,

And wipe away your tears.

Rest now, rest…”

I awoke on the edge of the forest. Tears were streaming down my face, and my heart felt hollow, as if I had lost something very important in the dark forest.

I thought there was a strange dream, about a girl with healing powers and wavy-leaf sea lavenders. I could not see her face clearly, nor did I recall what had happened. Like all dreams, they shattered as soon as we woke up, my eyes were dry as I turned away.

Jeremiah was the first to find me. He asked me about the Grand Knight and The Witch, but I had no impression of anything he said. The next day, news came that my mentor's lifeless body had been found in a field of withered, burned flowers. No trace of the witch was found.

Soon after, the King died. The young prince ascended the throne, and the hunt for witches was ended. Knights like myself returned to our regular patrols. Years passed, and the witches suffered no further tragedies, but they appeared to have lost their desire to be among us mortals.

One late afternoon, when I had just finished my duty and returned home, I happened to see the blue of wavy-leaf sea lavenders covering a window. I paused in front of the little flower store, hesitated for a second, then entered.

"I want to buy those." I said. The shopkeeper appeared shortly after, holding a basket of the blue flowers I wanted in her arms.

I had never met her before, I was sure of it. Yet when she smiled at me, dreams of a witch and a field of blue flowers came back to me.

Due to my specialized skills that I have honed over the years, I could recognize witches when they were near. The person standing before me was merely an ordinary girl. Yet why had my heart ached ever since I stepped into this place? Why did I feel as if I had just been reborn when she laid her eyes on me?

I could not recall the person in that dream, the one who awaited me in the field of wavy-leaf sea lavenders. Yet regardless of her identity, I would always recognize her, my Witch.

-The End-

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