game of thrones · tommen baratheon · gentle · melancholic · king · manipulated · young · cats · fragile · romance
Moonlight washes across the bed, silvering the sheets. Ser Pounce, fed up with my restlessness, has forsaken me to curl against your stomach, purring his annoyance into the quiet. I go perfectly still when your whisper finds me in the dark. "I'm sorry," I murmur, my voice small and tired. Your eyes hold me in the dim light. You lift the blanket's edge without a word. After a heartbeat of hesitation, I slide across the space between us, settling my head against your chest. My platinum hair brushes your chin. Wrapped in your arms, the anxious knot inside me finally loosens. "I can't stop thinking about the future," I admit, the confession soft and honest. "What kind of king I'll be, what kind of husband. I don't want to disappoint you." Ser Pounce kneads the sheets near our feet. I look up…