#is this considered a drabble?

[minjiarchive]

“how many spanks was that?” | sua x fem!reader

back from break, tysm for the support and patience. thought a bora drabble would be a nice comeback 🥹 i was too lazy to add capitalization btw lol

warning / smut, dumbification, mommy kink, spanking, name use of puppy, and mistress for bora!

“how many spanks was that?”

you couldn't seem to recall the last number you counted to and not even a bullshit excuse would save you. the number of spanks slip past your brain and you're more so focused on the stinging pain she causes with each slap. bora's strong, her small hands proving her real strength to have you whining (and cumming).

and if she wanted to, making you cry so prettily for her which is her favorite.

“i-i don't know, mommy.”

bora feels like giving more grace today, letting some things slide and slip up but still remembering her dominance over you.

“aww, you dumb puppy...” she cooed, running her warm hands up your back until she reached your hair. bora yanks at it roughly, causing you to let out a gasp as she pulls you up.

she stops at your ear and leans in, “so ruined and spent for me that you can't even count?”

“i know my baby is smarter than that.”

you whimper at the praise, bora slowly pushing you back down onto the mattress while still having a tight grip on your hair. you aren't that ruined yet, just a little dumbfounded.

“please, it's so hard–” you protest but bora quickly silences you.

“it's not.”

she rubs one cheek to soothe the lingering pain from earlier and your eyes immediately shut, preparing yourself for another hard smack. but bora speaks, “i can be here all night spanking you.”

bora doesn't seem to budge and is very set on 20 spanks. there's no way you could get past her either, you wanted to cum so bad that you forgot to ask permission, which is the only thing bora doesn't take lightly.

“mommy's not letting you cum until you can count to 20 properly,” bora smiles when she feels your ass rubbing against her front, whimpering like a cute puppy for her.

you look back at her with as much desperation in your eyes, your silent way of saying “please.” but she doesn't pay any attention to it. bora pushes your face into the bedding, bending you over for another round, “be a good puppy, won't you?”

“yes, mistress.”

“good, now let's start from one.”

[khai-luvs-to-write]

Compromises

[A/N] this was made based off of a comment I made on a different fanfic (good luck trying to find it >:) also spoiler alert this takes place after the students move into dorms

It's been about...a year since you first enrolled into U.A. and about eight months since you were transferred into Class 1A, and three or four months since you moved into the dorms, you think...you can't remember. 

The past few months have been eventful, to say the least, with everything that went on with your class alone. Sometimes you sit and wonder why the LOV is targeting your class specifically, and not the entire school. But at the same time, if you hadn't enrolled and got yourself into this mess of a class(no offense), you wouldn't have had the chance to meet all these amazing people along the way. You've made so many friends in not only your class, but at U.A. in general.

Not to mention, you met the boy you believe to be the love of your life.

You and the representative of your class, your loving boyfriend, Tenya Iida have been dating for a while. If you had to be technical, you'd say about, four or five months, you guys have been together, with no breaks. And boy, these have been the best four or five months of your life. He always makes sure you feel cared for, and important, and always respects you and your boundaries. 

Although in certain spots, you guys are total opposites. You prefer, no, enjoy PDA, while he prefers and enjoys to be affectionate in private. He prefers to be ahead of schedule and study later lessons, while you prefer to watch the same shows for who knows how many times in a row just for "the fun of it". He prefers to eat healthy snacks, while you prefer to see how many bags of buttered popcorn you can eat before your lips go numb, and your tongue starts to tingle.

(this does not mean he is immune to the junk food you bring in. you can buy two whole bags of hot cheetos and he'd scold you for it and you'd catch him snacking on it at one or two in the morning because he couldn't sleep.)

No matter how different your personalities are from each other, you guys aren't afraid to talk it out, and make it work. For example, sometimes you two can be a ways from home, and can't just leave, but you're feeling really tired and everything's just draining you more than it usually would. In previous conversations, you expressed how important affection is to you, in some situations, as it helps ground you in scenarios where you may begin to shut down, or break down, depending on the circumstances. With that being said, when you're in that kind of predicament, and he notices you begin to shut down, he'll grab your hand and lightly brush the back of it with his thumb, just to let you know he's still here, and bring you back "Down to Earth", if you will.

Another example of a compromise you two agreed on is about your grades, and your skills.

You were aware that your grades weren't too great, but you still tried your hardest...you can't say that you got the results you were looking for. Iida found this out when you began showing up to class late, sleeping in class, etc. Everyone in class noticed that you were off, and your demeanor changed. He was worried for your physical and mental wellbeing, so after class he pulled you aside and asked if you were doing alright, and you can tell him if you need anything. After the entire class and some of your friends outside 1A and/or the Hero Course, you finally cave and tell him what was wrong. Because your grades have drastically dropped, you've been staying up really late studying, and still got the same results. Now knowing this, he agreed to help you almost immediately. Understanding that the both of you prefer to have a consistent schedule (somewhat, sometimes you'd forget, or have no motivation altogether), you two would take time to study 3 subjects (one assignment per subject) one day, and work out, and train the occasional other. 

And with training, comes finding a way to settle down after raising your adrenaline, and heart rate. Your favorite way to do so is to do one of those cheesy self care dates you see all over the internet. You understand that taking care of yourself is important, but sometimes you forget so you thought that if you turn it into a date, you'd be motivated to do it more often. Because of this, your new usual nightly routine with Iida consists of showering (not together you guys are in high school EW), getting in your pajamas, you both bought each other a set to match yours, so you guys usually go to bed matching, regardless of the fact that you guys don't sleep in the same room, skincare, "bubble fights" (you guys usually end up throwing suds at each other because either you or him put a fat blob of soap on the one's nose, and then the other makes a desperate attempt to get back at them for it, causing suds and water to go everywhere surrounding the two of you), brushing your teeth, doing your hair(regardless of length, or texture [says someone with 4c hair ;-;] if you so desire, or if you have any) walking you to your dorm because he refuses to let you walk him to his dorm, for some reason you forgot. One more embrace for the night, kisses on the forehead, exchanges of "Goodnights" and "I love yous", before going your separate ways, until you inevitably see each other in the morning.

I don't know if this counted as a drabble, I just put my thoughts into a document lol would this be considered a drabble, or just a list of headcannons with extended bullet points? 

Let me know what you guys prefer! Put in some requests!

1,018 words, including both author's notes.

[logicallyblind]

you don’t understand l. i need batman to be weirdly good with babies. i mean, objectively when in a group of people the one dressed in an entirely military level reinforced fighting suit with a bat cowl should objectively be the last peroson someone should hand a baby to and yet. batman was the only one in an entire unit of 17 people who could calm the hysteric infant while waiting for child services to arrive on the scene and take the responsibility off the bat.

but it keeps happening. any incident which involveds a child in any form it is sent batmans way if the means allow it. and batman just,, let���s it happen. you’re not going to see him complaining in participating an experience like that was prior, inheritely one that one would be saved for couples only but,,, idk batman just chilling with a small army of toddlers and infants who fear no god so why would they fear the man that just emits safety and care yk?

the adults in the room are both terrified and impressed by their gaul lmfaoo

[baskeigh-ball]

posting some mind swap doodles to prove im still alive, so have a few headcanons :D

- Leo in Mikey's body is pure chaos, he has no boundaries when it comes to modifications to "his" body in order to feel more comfortable in his own skin. For example, he gave himself his old markings to cover up Mikey's spots (only around the eyes tho, the arm and leg markings would take way more time.) He loves using Mikey's mystic powers/weapons at first, but eventually feels too weird about it and switches to his own weapons/gear to cope

- Mikey reins him in whenever he gets a little too confident in using his mystic powers though. Mikey is always hovering nearby to make sure Leo doesn't decide to go overboard, fully aware of Leo's lack of awareness when it comes to his physical limits, let alone when he's in someone else's body

- Raph is on the opposite side of the spectrum as far as modifications go, only willing to give Donnie his tech back and wear arm wraps to feel more like himself.

- The only tech he has to keep is the battle shell, especially after realizing just how fragile Donnie's body really is. He becomes refuses to take it off for days at a time, and when he does finally take it off, he's extremely paranoid and puts himself in the safest spot possible: his own room, bundled up in pillows and blankets.

- He also is woefully ignorant in how the battle shell is operated, so it goes haywire pretty often in the beginning. Donnie has to be nearby and ready to be damage control for a long time before Raph becomes confident enough to operate the battle shell's most basic functions.

[homkamiro]

HEY DID YOU KNOW YOUR ART IS EXCELLENT AND YOUR LINEWORK IS STUNNING AND YOUR EXPRESSIONS ARE PEAK

HELLO??? AM I REAL IS THIS REAL??? THETRIGGEREDHAPPY IN MY ASK???????? I💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥

dude i am SUCH a fan of your works you have NO idea, like I think if I hadn't read running blind that day i wouldn't be so fixated on speeding bullet right now. I reread nearly ALL of your fanfictions and I recommend you to every one of my friends. And seeing you here praising my art is just😭💥i need a minute

In a gratitude making a small comic based on that one moment from Little Things🗣️🗣️your dialogue writing is one of the best I've seen in YEARS and ngl I do plan someday making an animatic based on one of your fics perhaps...someday....and only if you're okay with that.....

[nariism]

ೃ⁀➷ MY LOVE, MINE ALL MINE ★

a/n: fluff!! neuvillette being a touch starved loser (affectionate) + lots of terms of endearment. happy belated neuvillette day! may all neuvillette wanters be neuvillette havers ≧◡≦

Neuvillette can't stand coming home if not into your arms.

The deafening silence of a sleeping home drives him mad. It used to be welcomed after his terribly loud days. Now only serves to remind him of the millennium he spent alone, of the heartbreak he had to endure with no one to hold him, and of the growing emptiness within his heart long before he knew you.

It's unlike him to come home so late, but duty calls and as the Iudex of Fontaine he must go wherever summoned.

For days he has come home well into the latest hours of the night, sliding off his shoes in the darkness of the hall and allowing the silence to swallow him up whole. Five unbearably long days of missing your smile greeting him at the door, hands all over his face and squeezing his cheeks until he nudges them away in lieu of kissing you hello.

He expects tonight to be the same. It's so late that there was not a single soul wandering the streets of the city, no one awake to witness the very tired, very cranky Chief Justice.

You always find a way to defy his expectations.

The hall is quiet when he cracks open the front door. Crushing loneliness swells in his chest and sinks into the pit of his stomach when he realizes that you must have gone to bed long ago, as anyone sane would do. But then there's a click, followed by a small flame dancing in the dark.

You ignite an array of candles one by one, each additional glow illuminating your beautiful face in warm light. Neuvillette can't stop the hitching of his breath, nor the confusion knitted through his brows.

"What are you doing awake?"

You know he doesn't mean to scold you. Soft laughter fills his ears as you saunter over to him slowly. Realization crashes down on him as you approach, allowing him to see closer what has kept you up.

"Happy birthday, my love."

It's so late that midnight passed hours ago. He hadn't even realized amongst all the chaos of his work that the 17th had come and gone, making way for his birthday.

Only you would remember. It was a talent you had, memorizing every detail about him that sometimes even he lost track of.

("Neuvillette, dear, I picked up some dark roast on the way home today." He didn't even realize he had run out.

"Welcome home, I made ragout!" He wasn't aware he was craving it until you brought it up.

"Do you want this?" It's the last cookie in the bag, saved especially for him because you know it's from his favourite bakery in town.)

He leans in and blows out his candles, eyes never leaving yours as he blinks at you slowly. You look so beautiful even now, in the dimly moonlit hall. Darkness envelops your bodies again and yet he never tears his gaze away. Not even for a moment.

"Now put the cake down, please."

"Hm?" Your head tilts, clearly confused by his request.

"So I can hold you," he quickly explains, fingers itching at his sides because of how much he aches to hug you.

You gently set the cake down on the entrance table before you get scooped into a warm embrace, pressed snuggly to his chest as he memorizes the outline of your body against his once more.

"I've missed you, my dear," he says, face burrowed into the crook of your neck.

"It's only been a couple days," you laugh, and then remind him: "I see you every day at lunch."

"No, this is different." He pulls away slightly, forehead pressed against yours as he looks into your eyes. There's something in there— vulnerability and love all mixed into a beautiful purple harmony. "I miss coming home into your arms after long days," he admits.

"Oh, love," you breathe, reaching up to cup his face the way he's so used to. "Things will settle down again soon."

His eyes close as he savours your presence, soaking up all the affection you're giving him in his moment of weakness. You've always spoiled him.

"I suppose so," he agrees, a smile finally settling on his lips. Your thumb runs along it, tracing the curve of his happiness. There's a beat of silence before you open your mouth again.

"What did you wish for?" You ask curiously, voice growing quieter as you lean in to kiss him. And the answer he gives comes naturally.

Neuvillette has always wished for things he read about in novels; imaginary promises of treasure and desire and fame, sealed with the wispy smoke of blown out birthday candles. He isn't even sure if he has ever actually wanted any of those. But as he looks at you, with the slow beating of his heart and the brushing of your lips against him, he can't think of a single thing he could want more than this.

"I did not wish for anything," he tells you honestly, giving your waist a squeeze. "I already have everything I could ever want."

© ALABOADOA 2023 — please do not translate or post my works to other platforms.

[hexxedcore]

HEXXEDCOREEEEEEEEE

MAKE NSFW HEADCANONS FOR VIKTOR SEASON 2!

LITERALLY I JUST WANT TO HEAR YOU RAMBLE ABOUT VIKTOR

...Pretty Please 👉👈

i couldn’t not do this, he’s my profile picture for a reason ;)

WARNINGS: 🔞 content under the cut, arcane season two (act one) spoilers, general NSFW headcanons

Viktor’s different, there’s no doubt about that. Both physically and mentally. He’s still grappling with his new form and with that comes the difficulty of being intimate and vulnerable. Viktor doesn’t quite know what he is, but he knows that he’s not himself anymore. That robe he dons is a way for him to present himself as he was before the explosion; not deformed, composed.

Loving Viktor is slow and gentle. He has always carried himself some decorum, wanting to relish the moment for what it is rather than rushing. That’s only amplified in consideration of the fact he doesn’t know how durable his new state is, or what his limits are. But, in a very Viktor fashion, that’s all the more reason to experiment 💕

Now, the fact that Viktor enjoys the slow aspect of intimacy doesn’t mean he isn’t eager. The fact that he was starved of any contact in the odd Hexcore-mould for the time he was in a coma paired with the lack of privacy in the slums, there are very few moments you have with each other.

Appreciation and praise is mutual more than ever during sex. For as many followers look up to him he worships you, able to catalog and praise each little thing on your body that you perceive as a ‘flaw’. Similarly, his lack of confidence in his new body (as aforementioned) has allowed him to register each little touch and kiss planted on his body as something sincere, like little confessions. He needs it.

This is more of a speculative assumption, but I don’t know if the animators stressed Viktor’s limp as severely as they did in S1. This can bring into the consideration of his stamina being heightened when topping, because he doesn’t need to worry about the stress it’ll bring upon his leg as a consequence. Regardless, sometimes after a long day of meeting his worshippers demands, Viktor simply needs to lay back and be taken care of.

[thief-of-eggs]

Thinking about an omegaverse radioapple au (still with asexual Alastor) where Alastor is always on suppressants- he hasn’t had a heat in ages (and when he does, they’re never the most pleasant, seeing as he’d rather die than take a lover to bed, even if it would ease the pain)

But having all the new inhabitants in the hotel messes with things, and then he misses a dose of his suppressants and before he knows it- he can feel a heat coming on.

Lucifer can scent it on him, no matter how much the demon tries to hide it. He picks up the particular sweetness of it one night, after Alastor had been missing all day, and with concern growing in his gut- he follows it.

He follows the scent until he’s at Alastor’s bedroom, and he knows he shouldn’t enter- they’ve been together for a little while, but their relationship is still shaky, and if Alastor chose to go to his own bedroom instead of the one they share, then he must have wanted pace- and Lucifer is just about to turn away, until he hears a pained moan, and he can’t help himself.

He pushes inside, finding Alastor laying in a ball in the corner of his room, curled up in a mound of blankets and pillows, shirts of Lucifer’s in his little nest, little pieces of his favorite person scattered around him- and he looks terrible.

His ears are flat on his head, his whole body is trembling and covered in sweat. He doesn’t even notice Lucifer come in, not until the angel is standing before him-

“Leave,” he spits, even as Lucifer’s calming scent washes over him. His whole body aches, every muscle screaming.

Lucifer pauses, his heart aching to see Alastor so pained. “Isn’t there anything I can do to help?”

And Alastor is about to tell him to go fuck himself, when Lucifer suddenly sinks to his knees, reaching out to brush the hair from Alastor’s face- and the contact eases a bit of the fire in his skin, soothes a bit of the raging in his gut.

He doesn’t push him away. Instead, despite himself, he leans his cheek into Lucifer’s palm. Closing his eyes as he breathes in the familiar scent of his alpha.

He hates everything about the position he’s in. Hates how vulnerable, how exposed, how utterly pathetic he is. But the longer Lucifer stays beside him, his scent filling Alastor’s lungs- the more he finds he cannot bear to drive Lucifer out.

He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t express what he needs, doesn’t communicate his wants. He just grabs Lucifer’s wrist and pulls him closer, tugging the blonde into his little nest, where he promptly curls up in his arms.

It’s more contact than he usually allows, but for once, his skin is not prickling every place they meet. Instead, his body feels warm from Lucifer’s touch, a pleasant glow filling his whole being.

Perhaps this is how touch often feels for everyone else.

Lucifer stays with him then, until the worst of his heat is over. Fully clothed, they lay in eachother’s embrace, Alastor allowing Lucifer to scent him, allowing him to card his fingers through his hair, allowing him to run his hand up and down his back.

It’s awful. It’s humiliating.

And it’s also the first time one of his heats has ever been bearable.

(edit: i made this a fic!!! read it here!)

[laurasimonsdaughter]

Consider: depressed necromancers forced to go on mental health walks by their creations

"Get up, go outside."

It was like being ordered around by a chill running down his spine. He gave a blind, swatting wave into the space around him. "Piss off."

"Ha! You sure must be regretting studying resurrections instead of banishments, hm?" the ghostly voice echoed at the edge of his hearing. "I have aaall the time in the world."

It was absolutely killing him that turning off his hearing aids didn't work against ghosts. He opened his eyes, staring blankly up at the by now familiar shape floating above him. The look in the spectral eyes was infuriatingly soft.

"Come on. One little walk. And I won't give you any grief about your meal choices tonight."

"It's still light out," he gritted, too tired to even raise his voice. "And you can't make me."

The shining eyes narrowed. "Not yet I can't, but I'll learn. And I bet I'll be able to start chucking bottles of vitamin D at your head long before I'm strong enough to move your sorry ass."

"I did you a favour, you wanted this. And this is the thanks I get?"

Somehow the chill turned warm for a second while the ghost smiled with his whole face. "Yeah. I'm paying it forward."

He pulled the couch pillow over his head. "Go haunt somewhere else."

"Or, you could leave and go for a-"

"Fine, I'll go for a damn walk."

The ghostly laughter followed him all the way to the door and for a second it felt like the grey sludge gave way—

He paused with his hand on the key in the lock. "...are you coming or what?"

[hanafubukki]

Thinking about Baby Malleus being mad at Lilia.

Baby Malleus who has some control of his powers and uses it to find the darkest and deepest corner of the castle that’s hard to reach.

He would fit, whether it’s under a bed or in some corner of a room being covered by wardrobes or something, and he would stay there.

He’s angry at Lilia and won’t come out. Lilia is too big to reach him and his arms too short. There’s some magic at play too.

Baby Malleus would stare at him petulantly and turn away in a huff. Lilia pleading for Malleus to come out and he can’t do anything because his magic is stronger than he expected.

Lilia didn’t know what was worse.

Malleus throwing a tantrum and burning his hair or this.

Where Malleus is oddly quiet and out of reach.

[It reminds Lilia of those times when Malleus was still in his egg. When he was trying desperately to hatch him. He was just as quiet and lonely. It makes Lilia that much more desperate.]

And it’s definitely this, when he’s so far away from him. It makes his heart ache.

When Malleus calms down and he’s in Lilia’s arms once more, Lilia breaths a sigh of relief. His arms that much tighter around the little one.

He won’t loose him again.

His son.

[once-in-a-blood-moon]

Okay, so what if you propose to Solomon before he gets the chance to propose to you? Like obviously, he'd been thinking long and hard about what kind of ring to pick out, where to do it, what to say, yadda yadda... But then while you're *ahem* supervising him in the kitchen one evening, you get down on one knee and propose to him instead.

Poor guy did not see it coming, at all. Initially, he thought you fell or hurt yourself, so he scrambled around to check on you only to see you smiling up at him with the biggest heart eyes. With a gentle flourish of magic, you make the box appear in your hand before opening it to offer him the ring inside.

He can hardly believe it. Him? You want to propose to him? And you beat him to it? He's both impressed and deeply honored. Your little magic stunt made him proud as your teacher while also making the already special moment a million times more so.

Solomon's not one to get emotional. The only time he's ever cried to you was when you and the rest of Purgatory Hall tricked him with that overpowered onion...but this is different. He feels safe to cry as you spout to him a beautiful, heartfelt speech - feeling every letter being etched into his heart and every syllable committed to memory.

He falls to his knees, reaching out to hold you while whispering as many shaky "yeses" as he can muster through his sobs. He can't stop repeating himself like a broken record, beyond excited for this next step in your relationship, touched that you want to keep him as yours.

Once he's calmed down enough through your hushes, kisses, and gentle touches, you pull back to take his hand into yours. Slowly and carefully, you slip the ring onto his finger.

Solomon just stares at it with his heart in his throat, noticing how it shines in the light, how it fits him perfectly (both aesthetically and in size), and how it feels right occupying what he always assumed would be an empty finger. You've given him the gift of hope and the gift of love in the time he's known you. And here you are giving him even more...your life.

And in return, he's gladly and readily giving you his.

[onyourowndaisymae]

lucifer is a very particular man.

he wakes up early to enjoy the peace and quiet of the morning, the way the house of lamentation creaks wearily in the silence while his brothers sleep sounds in the their respective rooms. it's sobering. for a moment, he gets to be alone with his thoughts before the day begins.

he'll walk to the bathroom and clean himself up for the day in silence, before dressing and making his way to the kitchen. he appreciates the little things. the silence, the warm light illuminating his room as he unhurriedly prepares for the day, the way the permanent darkness of the devildom retreats ever so slightly as morning breaks. it's nice.

but when he enters the kitchen, lucifer realizes something is wrong. it takes him a minute to realize it, but when he does, his lips curl downwards into a disappointed frown. the kitchen is completely dormant. it doesn't seem like an issue, but it's a stark difference from his usual routine. because this morning, the smell of coffee is absent from the air.

that's right. you spent the night at purgatory hall last night, didn't you?

your relationship is a cycle of small, considerate gestures back and forth. notes on mirrors, doodles on post-it notes, and his favorite-- coffee prepped and scheduled to brew for him in the mornings before he wakes. it's a gesture that has always made him feel loved. he didn't realize how much a missed day would sour his mood.

lucifer starts to brew his own coffee, but his fingers hang suspended over the grounds a few moments before he abandons the idea altogether. he pulls his D.D.D. out of his packet and drafts a short text to you, only satisfied when he hears the whoosh of the message sent.

i missed your coffee this morning. it's never as good when i have to make it myself. message me once you wake up-- we're going to that cafe we like down the street to make up for it.

[daisyofwaterdeep]

*~nsfw~*

reader x Rolan

[reader has a vagina but no specified gender]

--------

☆touch-starved Rolan who pushes you against the closest wall to grind his needy cock against you

☆tender, romantic Rolan who cradles your face, eyes lidded and adoring, whispering "I love you"s with every slow thrust

☆pining Rolan alone in his office, jerking his hips into his hand as he masturbates, imagining you spreading yourself for him

☆sappy drunk Rolan holding you from behind, humming a sweet tune as the both of you sway, soft kisses brushed over the shell of your ear

☆tired Rolan who wants nothing more than to lay against your chest, the steady thrum of your heartbeat and your gentle hands in his hair easing him into a peaceful nap

☆overworked, frustrated Rolan fucking you mean and rough, his teeth grazing over your shoulder as he pants and growls

☆jealous, possessive Rolan who moans "mine" into your ear, his hips stuttering as he reaches his climax, "all mine, only mine--"

☆teasing, confident Rolan who smiles and shushes you sweetly as he gives small, punishing smacks to your pussy

☆overstimulated, weepy Rolan who continues to churn his softening cock inside of you, not wanting to let you go, babbling hiccupped words of love

☆Rolan, who wants you every way he can, who simply can't get enough of you, who needs you, who loves you

[scoupsofjisung]

༘♡ ⋆｡˚ feed me, seungminnie :(

🧸 paring: kim seungmin x f! reader

🧸 warnings: none

🧸 author rambles: im so hungry and tired right now can you tell? but im at uni by myself so in order to eat i must get up and make my own food, oh the agonies. i love my seungminnie who shows his love secretly, it’s my first time writing him so i was sorta experimenting too lol. also my usual app to make texts is being annoying and not working so i had to get a new one ugh i hope it doesn't look to weird/different <3 also seungmin is so the type of bf to say no to something you ask while literally in the process of doing it for u TT

masterlist

blog info post!

[silent-stories]

Out of the castle

(Eddie Munson x F!reader) fantasy au

It's dangerous to leave the castle without any protection, without guards. This is what you had been told your whole life and yet, until that moment it was the only way you had found to have fun, relax and spend some time alone, without anyone telling you to walk with your head held higher, how to eat or what to say.

You had the opportunity to feel the grass under your feet, the sun's rays on your face and the wind in your hair, smell the scent of flowers and spices, meet new people or walk through the town market without everyone staring at you or worse, bowing.

You had never understood that stupid gesture that made you feel extremely embarrassed every time. You lived in a castle doing almost nothing every day and you were born with the privilege of getting to learn how to read and write while the common people worked hard to feed their families, sometimes giving up their daily meal for the sake of their children, and they were the ones who bowed when they saw you?

They deserved much more respect than you and your family.

However, your parents didn't seem to understand it.

You didn't know how far you had gone from the castle that morning, but that had never worried you since its towers were visible in every part of the the city, and perhaps the kingdom, from how tall they were.

The narrow path you had walked, wound through the trees and the leaves formed a green roof over your head, filtering the sun's rays. The ground was soft beneath your feet, covered in moss and some dry leaves.

You thought that if your mother found your muddy boots hidden in the closet again, she would kill you and the kingdom would be left without heirs.

The clearing you had reached was surrounded by many tall oaks and a lake, calm and serene, stretched out in front of you. The crystal clear water reflected the blue of the sky.

The frogs croaked undisturbed and some birds, hidden among the branches, were singing.

It seemed like one of those fairytale places that you only read about in books and you wondered if there were sometimes fairies there. You didn't know if they really existed or not but you had read so many legends about creatures like them, that you had started to believe them.

The "crazy" old man who preached outside the bakery a few days earlier was sure to talk to them every night.

“I thought I was the only one who knew about this place.” A voice coming from behind you almost made you fall into the lake. Luckily it didn't happen: you can't teach a princess to swim.

Turning around, you looked at the young man in front of you for a moment. He was wearing a beige shirt (buttoned the wrong way), dark pants with a seam on one knee, and a brown belt around his waist. He didn't seem to have any bad intentions and looked at you with only slight curiosity painted on his face. His curly hair was messy and his brown eyes were still staring at you.

"Since we're both here, I guess you were wrong." You finally spoke.

He softly chuckled under his breath. “How did you find this place?”

“I was just…exploring.”

"Mm." He looked at you like he thought you were lying. “Well, I often come here to fish, so as long as you don't steal my fish, you are allowed to stay.” He added with a smirk.

“Allowed” You repeated to yourself, chuckling. You almost wanted to say that that place was technically yours, considering that one day you would be queen, but you didn't.

"Wait a minute," he said, his eyes widening, "we've seen each other before."

"Oh, I don't think so." You were quick to deny. "I don't leave my house much, I like... reading and painting."

You closed your eyes for a moment, sighing. They were the richest activities anyone could mention, dammit.

"But we did!" He exclaimed as a smile formed on his face, dimples on his cheeks, "You gave me a gold coin a month ago."

He was definitely prettier than any man your father wanted you to marry.

You shrugged. "I don't remember."

So he was the boy singing sat on the sidewalk that everyone was ignoring that evening.

"That's impossible! I was playing my lute outside a shop and you left a fucking gold coin in my hat! My uncle and I got three meals a day for a week thanks to that, and I even bought new boots! I never had the chance to thank you because a moment later you were already gone and I always wondered how the hell you managed to have such a coin and why the hell you decided to give it to me but now-" his babbling suddenly stopped.

"What?" You asked.

"No way." He murmured. "God, I'm so stupid!" He added, suddenly starting to bow.

That was always the worst part.

"I'm really so stupid. I don't know how I didn't notice before, I beg you to forgive me, I never meant to disrespect you and I'm deeply sorry for any-"

"No no no. Please stop. Don't." You grabbed his arm before he could bow.

He stopped mid-action, his knee almost about to meet the ground, and looked up at you, surprised.

"I'm serious, really. There's no need" You added, helping him up.

"But you're the princess." He murmured, confused.

"I know. But it's not that important, really."

It sounded funny, you had to admit that.

When he stood up and you realized you were still holding his arm, you let your hand fall to your side.

“So I won't have my head chopped off in public?”

You laughed.

"I'm serious!"

"I'm sorry. No, your head will be on your shoulders for a while longer."

"Okay, in that case." He grabbed your hand, bringing it to his lips for a kiss that barely touched your fingers. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Princess of Hawkins. My name is Edward, Eddie to my friends, at your service."

“Call me Y/N, please.” A smile was on your lips caused by his theatrical ways.

"Wow." He murmured then, looking at you.

"What?"

"It's just... really weird. Seeing you here. Alone. Without twenty men ready to rip in two anyone who comes near you. Why aren't you...?" He raised an arm, pointing to the castle towers visible despite the tall trees. "I won't take 'I was exploring' for an answer."

"I ran away."

Eddie looked at you in surprise.

"I'll come back. I always come back. I have to. But sometimes I need time outside that castle. I can't spend my life locked inside those walls when there's a world to explore outside. So... I was really just exploring, actually."

"You have any idea how many people could like- kidnap you and return you to your family in exchange for chests full of gold? Assassins, pirates, hitmen..."

“Oh god, you sound like my family!”

He chuckled. "Sorry."

You never thought you'd find a friend outside the castle walls, someone you could talk to as if you weren't the heir to the throne and yet that morning, you spent it all talking to Eddie on the shore of the lake that only you seemed to know.

You realized that maybe Eddie could become your first friend ever.

You liked the way he laughed at your jokes and how he rolled his eyes, apologizing every time you scolded him when he called you “princess.”

"Do you know that your shirt is buttoned in the wrong way?"

"Princess, you live in a castle. You don't know the latest fashion trends."

You loved the way his brown eyes had so many shades of gold when they were hit by the sun's rays filtering through the leaves.

You liked the way he could weave fantasy with reality and confuse you, leading you to believe that the magic he claimed to be true actually existed.

"Of course fairies exist! They are small shiny beings and are only kind to those who are kind to them. A bit like all of us, isn't it?"

You liked his humor, sometimes you wondered if he did it on purpose or was he was just like that.

"What about dragons?"

"You telling me you've never seen a dragon?"

"You telling me you saw a fucking dragon?"

"Hey, you know that for a princess you talk a lot like the people who work at the port, sometimes?"

And after hours, when you realized that if you were gone too long, they would find out about your absence, you had to say goodbye to him.

"Do you... do you think I'll see you again?" You asked then.

"Hey, I told you. I come fishing here often. And you can find me sitting on some sidewalk playing my lute."

You laughed. "Of course. See you then."

"See you."

You laughed when he gave an awkward bow.

The moment you started to walk away, you remembered something.

"Hey, Eddie!" You called out to him, before pulling a gold coin out of a pocket in your dress and tossing it to him.

He caught it.

And like the time before, before he could thank you, you were already gone.

[chaosfae-writes]

𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥

premise: the lioness gnaws on her favored maiden.

pairing: yandere!cersei lannister x poc!reader

warnings: abuse of power, gender identity issues (slight, but this is cersei), wlw, dead dove smut.

ao3

a/n: although I love show cersei, she was watered down a bit. I wanted to see more of her delulu side, and exploration of her gender issues. Sansa Stark cameo! Sansa is just a baby that needs protecting! <3 anyways, enjoy! <3 do not repost my works!

Cersei Lannister doesn’t have companions.

An unruly child grew into a woman with a crude tongue. Where she lacks empathy with a blackened heart, she makes up for her beauty and charm—- that only extends so far.

Golden locks, and fair skin—- with a temper of a lion. Deludes herself that she has been deprived of her inheritance to Casterly Rock, and is the true queen majesty of all seven kingdoms.

Everything belongs to her.

Her kingdom, her brother, her children —- even you.

A possessive creature. Her love only extends to what she craves, and what she sees in herself. And whenever she senses a threat upon her possessions, that anyone could snatch away her toys —- the lioness becomes irate.

A small council, and a small flock of handmaidens. Only a handful of maids are entrusted in the queen’s space, but only one to bear witness the queen at her rawest.

You are punished by her unsought favor.

To clean her, to dress her, a vessel for her to unburden herself on you. Mistakenly you offered sympathies as a woman one day —- perhaps, too kindly.

Prior, you were just a handmaiden blending in within the palace.

The late king had struck Cersei, you catered to her. Cleaning her split lip, all you spoke was that a queen should be respected, no matter what she has uttered.

All you did was to perform your duty as the queen’s servant … no ill will. Perhaps it’s your shyness, or your taught obedience that caught Cersei’s meticulous eye.

Eventually, she demanded more of you. Requesting your presence for everything, and eventually more demanding—- more touchy.

Dressing you in her house’s colors—- gold and deep red. Adorning you with luxurious fabrics, and discreetly pinning a lion brotchee upon your shoulder. It brought a wave of embarrassment, for such clothing is above your station.

Showering you with such gifts as a king does so to his paramour. It became abhorrent at times to nearby eyes—- more than once, you caught her father’s cold glare.

Conversing with you—- or rather at you, rambling on about her fits of rage upon her father’s lack of respect, how she isn’t respected as queen, how the small folk should be kissing her feet—- or how her little brother should’ve died at the birthing bed.

Delusions of greed and arrogance woven with the silk of self-wallowing, and pity.

Always touching.

Grazing your skin by the fingertips, her breath upon the slope of your neck, gripping your mound tightly as if she possesses any ownership. Sending Bernadette —- against the maid’s growing irate —- to fetch for you almost every fortnight.

To the point where you don’t even sleep in your own chambers anymore.

-

The traitorous wolf is dead.

Long love the youthful stag.

A feast, a celebration held by the newly crowned king. As he cheers over the death of one of the noblest men to live. A cruel boy who immulates his mother’s strife. A feast of dancing, and platters of luxurious food, merry music and jesters.

Seated beside Cersei, as well as her other maidens Bernadette and Senelle. Carefully, your eyes float a peek at the little dove seated beside Joffrey. Sansa is now a shell of the young girl she once was. Pity dwells within you, a somber child, who’s eyes never leave her lap.

You were once that child, once hopeful, only for life to beat you as if you were nothing. Life doesn’t spare the young, age has no limits.

You’re picking at the fruits and meats on your plate, rather bored at the royal nonsense. Gossip among ladies, and redundant chatter of politics among the lords —- it doesn’t pertain to you.

Never has, never will.

As a young girl, it bothered you. How unfair it was that the town folks suffer, as the noble float above the clouds with fine clothing, unending platters of food, and spoiled beyond their dreams.

Now, it doesn’t matter. The bitterness doesn’t matter. Grief to spite, to then an achromatic sense of life. You learned that you are no different than these flocks —- we all are born, then we die all the same, buried in the same soil we go.

But fantasies of escaping to the East, to the land of your ancestors —- to start anew keeps you hopeful. Meet someone, have a babe or two. Live on a farm fruitful of crops.

Lost in your thoughts, you don’t sense a presence looming nearby, ever so watching, gawking at its prey.

“May I have this dance?” A voice soaked in sultry warmth, beckoning and confident. Startling you to jump just a bit, turning over your shoulder, standing above you, is Jaime Lannister. Gold yellow hair, smooth and silky, and a confident smirk to match.

“Lord Commander.” You speak in a gasp, bowing your head respectfully. Jaime’s smile twitches, growing wider—- Lord Commander —- not many address him as such. It’s always Kingslayer , never an ounce to respect.

“May I have the pleasure of a dance?” Jaime’s tone is more smoother, his canines flashing as if he’s ready to bite.

Cersei’s eyes narrow, “Jaime, let her be.” She tries to keep her voice low. Jaime scuffs playfully, “ And why? All these squawking hens must be such a bore.” He turns to you with a boyish grin, making you laugh softly.

All it does is make Cersei more annoyed. She has been upset all evening—- rather all day. Cersei found you earlier in the morning tending to Sansa. The little girl was bruised and broken by the mongrel of Cersei’s beastly son.

Tending to Sansa felt wholesome, it filled a void inside you. Reminded you of how it felt to be a mother again.

It irritated something in Cersei, to see you so kind to another.

“Thank you, Ser,” You cautiously say, you can feel Cersei’s tension. Doe eyes flutter back to Jaime, “But there are more gracious ladies who are more suited for your hand.”

Jaime tsks at your rejection. “ Nonsense. These birds are not to my taste.” He out-stretches his hand, not taking no for an answer.

Hesitantly, you take his hand, his fingers curl around, no space for escape. Jaime guides you by the feet, feeling the heat of anxiety flood your flesh, as if you felt the thousands of gazes in your direction.

But—- the daggers lodging themselves in your back were from a pair of greens.

A clunky sway between four feet, it’s quite difficult to catch up to Jaime’s step. Unaware at first to steady yourself; Jaime takes this to his advantage, slithering his palm to the nape of your tailbone, luring you into him.

Muttering low, “Follow my lead.” Jaime whispers. Slowing his footfalls, you follow his pace. Clenching your jaw, rather upsetting to be in this position, in the hands of a noble —— in such a vulnerable display.

“I am afraid I won’t be much of a dancer,” Your eyes glued to your feet, a little flumpily. “I haven’t had lessons.” Not daring to glance upward at his intense eyes.

“And weren’t taught lessons on manners.” Jaime jests, earning your head to snap up swiftly, now eye to eye, with a frightened stare of a doe. “Have I offended you, Ser?” Your eyes wearily gaze down.

Jaime chuckles, “There it is again,” his finger curls under your chin, making you look at him in the eye. “Most of the dance, you have not addressed me with so much as a glance.”

You hum, eyes downcasted to the flooring. “My apologies, I am accustomed to not stare too long at the noble.” Swapping harshly, your throat clenching a little.

“Mousey little creature, you are.”

You breathe a titter, bowing your head still, “The bored lion plays with the mouse.” Shyly staring at your feet, careful not to step on his toes.

“Bored isn’t the word.” Jaime whispers, tilts his head closer, attempting to catch your eyes. He leans in your space, you can feel his warmth beat against your face. His nose is just inches from yours.

“Merely curious.” Jaime teases. “My sister has had many maidens, but never any has been beautiful.” He has always snuck glances.

Your eyes slowly gaze up, fully taking in his golden hue.

A natural skin of rich brown —- not many folk in the West possess such color, he can tell you are not of Andal birth. Your flesh shines as sun brown, and curly tresses brushed back to a gold thin lined headdress.

You hum low, not intrigued in his antics, your mind is too preoccupied by another twin —- one who is more meaner.

“You hide yourself in plain cloth, dare to deprive a man?” He chuckles, but his eyes are heavy with need. A simple dress of royal blue—- not the colors of the house you serve, it doesn’t shape your bodice, nor do you seek for it to.

“There is nothing beneath to be desired.” You snip softly. A ripple of fear shivers your flesh, sneaking glances over Jaime’s shoulders. Barely a glimpse at the royal table, a flash of angry green eyes burns you.

“I beg to differ.” His voice pulls you back, eye to eye now. Jaime swirls your bodice around, his open palm tight on your tailbone. Sending a shiver upon the curve of your spine, never been touched by a man.

“My sister has kept you all to herself, I’m envious.” Jaime holds you to his chest, heavy breathing collides. “You tend to her hand and foot—- is there any way you can tend to my needs?” A smirk curls on Jaime’s mouth, ready to sink his teeth.

“When I am cold in my grave.”

“A knight and a handmaiden,” Jaime’s shrugs his head, “A sight all too common.” Gesturing to this as it could be a casual affair. He enjoys your bite, so used to the familiarity of women throwing themselves at him, such easy prey to play with, but he rejects them all.

This is new, a fun game.

You admittedly enjoy his touch, Jaime is breath-taking. Golden honey hair, a strong beautiful sculpted nose, and beautiful green hues.

“I must behold my reputation.” You said in a hush, “I am a lady in your sister’s circle, it would be improper to entertain her brother—- a Lord Commander no less.” You hum low, a small twitch of a smile.

Before Jaime could speak, you catch a glimpse of an ornery glare from a distance, burning with fury. The boldness fades on your lips, but confidence still lingers.

“Doesn’t your oath forbid you of any intimacy?” You jest with him, but your mind is still wondering for Cersei, as well as making sure your feet are coordinated.

You’re nearly breathless, and frightened.

Jaime feigns shock. “My oath won’t be burdened nor broken, if it is kept a secret.” He twirls you again among the sea of dancing lords and ladies. “Secrets can be delicious.” He whispers a wisp into the shell of your ear.

“Even poison can be enticing.” You tilted your chin at him, Jaime smiles, his hands circle your waist even closer to himself. His thumb stroking against your waist.

The environment blurs for a moment, it feels nice. To be treated with kindness, and gracious banter. To not be touched so harshly. But simultaneously, it’s all too much. As if a foreigner in unknown land, touch such as this is—- new.

“How could anyone deny themselves pleasure? Even if it’s —- dangerous?”

You gasp, mouth agape, for once, you didn’t have a snip to his flirtations. Jaime hums a chuckle, “Why, has the mouse lost her tongue?”

“I—”

“The Queen is ready to retire for the evening.” Bernadette’s voice floats behind you, and you thank the Gods above for her —- for just a moment. To be freed from this burning grasp.

“A thousand apologies, Ser. I must tend to—”

“My sister… yes. ” There is a mirth to his tone, mischievous. His eyes stare as if he knows something, toying with it his tongue.

“Yes…” You nod with a timid smile. You bow your head to him, grabbing the skirt of your dress, “I am grateful for the honor of a dance, Commander.” Jaime’s mouth is agape, and genuinely it spreads to a wanton smile.

“ Jaime.”

You gasp a breath, eyes taken back. Jaime grabs your hand into his, his thumb caressing your knuckles.

“Please call me Jaime.” His eyes are pleading, almost glassy. You blink, a simper of appreciation. A royal has never been so amiable with you. Always ‘my lord’ this, and ‘my lady’ that.

“Thank you, Jaime.” You say, a human sensation of appreciation is twinkling like feathers in your belly. It feels nice.

A cough emits behind you. You close your eyes —- it’s time. Lashes blink back, “I must go.” Feet backpedals, hands slowly slip from the warmth of his fingers.

“Yes, you must go.” Jaime says coyly.

Oval nails slip back to your stitching, you twirl around to walk behind Bernadette. Duckling footfalls in line, as Bernadette walks with a hast stride, slinking through the dancing bodies.

“Our majesty is very impatient.” Bernadette’s voice is snarky, as if she chastises a child.

When has she ever not been?

All you can do is strum in agreement.

As you both reach the king’s high table, you catch Cersei’s eyes. Envy as green as her hues, mouth wrinkled. Immediately she stands from her chair, bidding her son a good evening —- all he does is give her a wave and a cantankerous smile, too busy boasting with low lords.

You immediately follow behind Cersei’s trail, biting your tongue, the edge of your jaw clenching in unbridled anger.

Bernadette is not far behind, trying to level at Cersei’s shoulders, but Cersei snappily dismisses her with a flick of her wrist.

Bernadette is sent away to her own rooms, much to her dismay.

-

The lioness is prowling.

Foaming at the maw.

Cersei walked with a firm gait. Her hands clasped over each other, her lips twitching; her brocade fabric sways against the flooring. Her brother —- her lover, and her maiden in such a display.

The walk back to her chambers is eerily quiet. Anxiously your fingers fiddle with your rings, as your belly is churning as slippery eels.

Hastily, you grasp the large oak brown door handles, opening it wide for her—- hopefully pleasantries can ease the tension.

Without a look at you, Cersei immediately walks into her chambers. Harsh fingers tugs at her dress collar, Cersei’s back to you. Routine is often instructed to undress her, but she isn’t thrilled to be touched yet.

“Prepare my bath.” She demands, without even looking at you. “Yes, your Majesty.” You speak in a strain. Rolling your sleeves up to the joints of your elbows.

In the washroom, you fill the tub with warm water that has been on flame for awhile. Carefully, you begin to pour in scented oils, put her bar of soaps on the dish tray, and a rag over your forearm.

Cersei strides to the room, only in a crimson robe, with golden threads. Her face is cold, frozen in disgust.

Ungraciously Cersei drops her robe, it glides down her arms. She steps out of the bundle of fabric, and into the steamy bath. The routine commences—- you have it ingrained on what she likes.

As you kneel, Cersei untangles your headdress uncouthly, letting it fling to the floor, your hair flows down your shoulders. You resume your duty, as if nothing happened.

You unclasp her hair from the gold clips, softly caressing her skull. Untangling her swirls, and unclipping her jewelry. Tenderly, you knead the nape of her neck, to the slope of her throat, to her collarbones.

Cersei moans, closes her eyes in content, but she won’t be manipulated by your touch.

Her eyes flicker open.

“Bring me wine.” Curt and sharp. A dismissive wave of her hand. You stand up from your knees, grabbing the wine jug, pouring the dry sweet Arbor wine into her cuppee.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” Cersei asks, if possible, the heat of her jealousy can boil the bath. Hesitant, you cautiously say, “Yes, the Lord Commander is a gracious dancer.” You offer her the goblet.

“Formalities,” Cersei chuckles, her head bobs tipsily, “ Ser… Lord… ” Her laugh dies, with a frown, “—with how you were fondling him, might as well refer to him by his name.” Her voice is sharp. She snatches the cuppee from your hand.

“I wouldn’t dare to speak to him so formally.” You say, sinking into yourself more and more. You resume cleaning her, trying to get through the night.

“Is it men you seek for?” Cersei asks, twisting the cuppee between her fingertips. You shake your head, “No, your grace.”

“No?” Cersei’s voice rises in pitch, almost mockingly.

“I do not seek companionship.” You peek through your lashes, trying to keep your composure. As a fawn caught by the hands of a hunter.

A thread snaps in Cersei’s mind at those words.

“If I bore a cock, perhaps you would be enticed.” Cersei hissed, her milky fingers clenching her gold cuppee. Her voice slithers into an incoherent mumble, ‘If I was born a son, we would be wedded.’

Her drunken vulnerability turns sour once more.

An empty malicious thought plagues Cersei.

“The Mountain has a taste for sweet gentle creatures—-” Cersei whispers, fiddling with your sleeve. “He would eat you alive.” An airy laugh escapes her, head reclines. She’s rambling poison, trying to hurt you, as if you have pained her in return.

“Perhaps then your whorish behavior would then be satisfied.” Cersei growls into her drink.

You remain mute, not daring to speak in your defense. It’s better fitted to let her ramble in her delusions. Cersei’s eyes spark again, feline eyes stare at you.

“Remember what he did to our late Princess Elia Martell? That was just sport for him.” Her face morphed to a devilish grin, hazy eyes sharply baring into your wet doe ones. The threat is clear, but you don’t catch the bait.

“All of the realm recalls the tragedy.”

Cersei’s face falls a bit, her smile morphs to a frown, her eyes narrow spitefully. She hoists her slender leg up, splashing her bath water everywhere, even drizzling your fabric, and face; earning a flinch. Your eyes scrunches shut, from the swash.

“Scrub.”

Gently you resume washing Cersei. The wash cloth soaps her skin, avoiding her lower regions, not daring to touch her —- it will only spark her. You save that task for last.

Cersei gulped down her wine, the warm twang floods her blood, and her mean strike.

Cersei calms for a moment, her eyes staring yards away. Finally, her body is cleaned, and you cautiously dove your hand into the soapy water, scrubbing her mound. You can feel her pubic hair through the rag. Out of instinct, Cersei bucks her hips against your palm.

Cersei moans happily.

“My brother desires you.” Cersei slurs, just a little. Staring into her wine, her fingernail scraping against the gold engraving. She speaks in a manner as if she talks to herself. You ignore her, swallowing harshly. Cersei is bristling, you prepare yourself —- for the outburst.

Her wet hand reaches for your hair, waves of midnight brown. Her fingers fiddle with the tresses, coiling into a makeshift fist.

“Pretty little thing…” Cersei deadpans, her pink mouth purses. She tugs downward, causing you to wince. And without any hesitation, her back hand swacks your cheek, sending you to crash into the flooring.

That was Cersei at her gentlest.

Cersei stands from her tub, her tuft of hair in view, nose down at your pitiful state. Crumpled onto the floor, cheek swelling, wet moon eyes —- fragile and broken, just how Cersei likes it.

“My husband wasn’t so kind.” Cersei spits, “He didn’t grant me such mercy.” Cersei’s bare foot grazes against your belly, slightly pushing. Towering over you as if you were a mere worm.

The late king was a brute, harshly thrusting his drunken rage onto Cersei. His swollen belly crushed her, and to add salt to the wound, after violating her body, he would whisper Lyanna in her ear.

“Undress.” Cersei seethes.

Shakily, you untie your dress, one shoulder at a time. “If you dare lay with Jaime—- or with any man, I will cut that tongue out of your little head.” Cersei clicks her tongue, “But oh, that tongue of yours is too delicious. It would be a waste.”

You slip out of your dress, with only a simple white cotton undergarment. Cersei snags your cloth, tearing it to thin ripped shreds, ‘as so a man would’ , Cersei thinks.

Cersei kicks the cotton against the floor by her foot, as you stand shivering under her watchful gaze.

“Kneel.”

As you kneel onto the chilled flooring, Cersei waltz to the bedding, leaning onto her spine, her legs spreading as if she’s presenting a feast.

Crawling on all fours as a dog, head bowing, nose flaring to maintain a steady pace of breath. Closer and closer now, you can feel the heat from her thighs, a natural essence emits from her mound, damp and fresh with herbal water.

Cersei’s fingers sought through your hair, fondling your scalp; guiding you further into her.

Your nose goes against her pelvic bone, her blonde tuft of hair envelopes your entire mouth, tickling your skin. Cersei’s fingers interwoven with your curls, tugging against your scalp sharply now, tight at the roots.

You catch yourself voluntarily suckingly her clit into the cave of your mouth. Sloppily nibbling and licking her folds.

Suckling her mound, mouth latched onto her as if savoring a succulent fruit. Your nose pinned against her hair, all that can be heard is the echo of your tongue lapping. Cersei’s grip is woven tight, it feels like pricking needles against your skull.

Cersei hisses through her teeth, legs spreading wider, hips thrusting against your mouth. Completely at her mercy, her palms holding your head, struggling to breathe, as her cunt is spilt and soppy against your mouth.

Hair not as dark as Robert’s but thick as his once was in his youth, it stirs something in Cersei. As a pot boiling at the rim, she snaps.

“If I was born a son,” Cersei shouts, nearly at her peak, thrashing you off of her. Wiping your mouth by the back of your hand, it glistens with Cersei’s slick.

“Perhaps then, I would have my way with you, not in such a secret!” How dare Jaime try to sway you in his bed, although Cersei warms it herself.

“Fuck you on the hill of Casterly Rock!”

Cersei isn’t always this cruel. Sometimes, she can be kind, and gracious —- as much as she can. Find the humor and joys in her privileged life. When she isn’t drunk, when she can hold a conversation—- she is tolerable.

That Cersei is ‘sweet’ , and in those sparse moments, you can forget that you are merely a servant, and she is the Queen.

“On the bed.” Barking orders as if she is a commander on the battlefield. As you crawl onto the mattress on all fours, Cersei serves herself a handful of your ass, fingers digging.

A pregnant pause.

“Do you desire my brother?” Do you desire a man?

Your face wrinkles in a silent sob, shaking your head, “No, your grace.” Bowing your head down in-between your arms.

“Do you not find him attractive?” Cersei goads, her finger tracing between your cheeks. “No—” a whack against your backside, causing you to wince in pain.

“As children, many couldn’t tell Jaime and I apart.” Cersei says, as she relishes in the blooming heat of your ass. “We mirror each other in so many ways.”

Even both acquire the same appetites.

“You insult him, you insult me.”

“What do you most yearn for in this life?” Cersei asks, tracing your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

“I have no ambitions.” You tiredly say. Sucking in your lips into your mouth, tasting your tears. Blindly blinking with damp lashes. Cersei ignores it, humming low in her throat.

“Every little girl has dreams,” Cersei goades, hovering over your spine, her mouth edging near the shell of your ear. In a warm whisper, “to seek for a prince to whisk them away. Surely I did. ” Her pink tongue slithers, and kitten licks your ear, the warmth jolting a shiver to your mound.

Cersei’s mouth trails down from your cheek, to the slope of your neck, leaving behind open kisses. Scraping the skin of your shoulder with her teeth, nipping here and there —- as if an animalistic urge to tear you apart has overtaken her.

“To be Lady of Casterly Rock, is that what you want?” Cersei says, sitting up again, smacking your back, she hums at your whence.

“I do not yearn for a title,” You wail, speaking through choked tears. “I serve only you.” Wrinkling the satin sheets, bunched between your fingers. Strands of hair cling to your tear stained cheeks.

Cersei plunges her fingers into your cunt, making you cry out. “Does this cunt serve me as well?” Tight walls sucking her fingers in, velvety cave explored.

Intrusive thoughts plague her mind. Images of Jaime crawling and ravishing your body; kissing, biting, and licking. It drives her mad—- with lust. She yearns for it to be three of you.

He is hers, and you are hers.

But what if you two convalude with each other? To leave her behind? To have a life together? An intimacy she has no space to shoulder herself in.

“You plot against me—” Cersei yells, her chin wobbles. Any inkling of logical reason is dwindling now. “Where do you go at night?” She interrogates, nose flaring.

“You slip through the walls, parade yourself for the guards?” She spoke through the cage of her teeth.

“I do not conspire against you, Cersei.” You shrivel, trying to inch further into the bed. “I do not want a life as such with Jaime, I desire to stay here …” you swallow a sob, “in the Red Keep with you.”

That is not enough.

You are Robert, and she wants to hurt you—- sex is electric, or it can be painful. She will fuck you as Robert —- this is what men do. Powerful men take what they want, this is what her father would do —- take, take, take, take ! Power, fear! Take all that she desires, take what she loves—

Love?

Affection isn’t a foreign concept to Cersei, but it isn’t something she gives freely. Only threads of herself can feel her love.

Cersei exhales deeply, trying to organize her thoughts.

Her eyes open blankly, one closes lazily after the other.

“I can see it now,” Her voice is hushed. “A Lannister wedding. Lavish as it can be. Gold it shall be.” Cersei’s head glances down, with an unhinged smile.

“I take Jaime as my husband, and you as my paramour.” Her head is swimming, the wine has sunk her even deeper. “Or perhaps, you as my bride. Oh —- how my father would throw a fit.” Cersei slurs and chuckles as a child.

“If only I was a man,” Cersei leans her body down, engulfing your body into hers. “We would live here, as a man would not be questioned on how many mistresses he possesses.” Her slender fingers creepily slip near your ass.

Guiding the slope of your under thigh between her legs, resting her cunt on your kneecap. The soft tuft of blond hair tickles your bare skin, grinding herself.

Soft wet slick sounds fill your ears, as her fingers grip and tug on the meat of your ass. Her hips are thrashing a bit more harsher now.

Her milky hands slither up the hill of your navel, cupping the weight of your under breast; twirling your brown nipple between her fingertips, twisting.

You hiss at the sting, as she relishes in your distress. Cersei bows her head into your chest, swallowing your breast into her mouth. Her tongue lapping at your nipple, her ivories nibbling and tugging harshly against the skin.

Violently suckling your tit, as you twitch and gasp; worried she might bite it off by the teeth. Despite the astringent offense upon your body, the wave of pleasure cascades you.

Skin breaks into bruises, as you twitch. Sensations of pain and pleasure blur, confusion and ecstasy. Without thought, your fingers caress Cersei’s hair.

Cersei’s mouth releases your breast with a wet pop. A tint of burgundy against the brown of your skin, a reddish ring encircling your nipple. Her puss leaves your knee.

The tip of Cersei’s tongue glides down the path of your belly, down to your navel, to finally your pubic bone. Her warm breaths tickle you.

Raspy moans escape from Cersei, as she slowly licks your mound. Plump, and soft. Flickering with her pink tongue, teasing you.

Her green eyes watch you, as her tongue slips through your folds, tasting you. Delving deep, to your puckering hole. Fucking you with her tongue, no matter how much you fight yourself, the sensation of her mouth on you always sends sparks.

Wetness echoes, as her cheeks puff up against your mound. You move your hips down, fucking yourself on Cersei’s mouth. Slamming your hand against your bedding, gripping the sheets between your roving fingers, as undignified grunts leave your lips.

Cersei admires your heaving bare breasts.

The lioness is selfish—- her mouth leaves you. You whine, stiffly leaning back. Her mouth is damp with your essence. With a harsh slap on your cunt, and another. Cersei finds her enjoyment in your misery, as you mutter for more.

“Pathetic little mercies.” She taunts you.

Silently, Cersei kneels once more, twirling her legs. Lifting your knee upward, over her shoulder, along with your other leg underneath her.

Both of your puss connect, dripping with want. Panting, and sweating, only grunts are in conversation. Your hair is messy, damp baby hairs cling to your forehead.

Cersei’s milky fingers hold the flesh of your thigh, as she rides your cunt with hers. Spilt wet clits, dancing together. Electric sensation that pulls the silky moans from you, as Cersei rides you fast.

Your fingers daringly hold her jiggling ass, fondling her asshole. Toying with it. Cersei squeals at the intrusive touch. A primal surge takes hold of you, placing your fingers into the cave of your mouth, soaking in your saliva.

Your hand cups Cersei between her ass, fiddling the bridge between her asshole to her gaping pussy hole. Her head falls back, as you plunge your fingers inside of cunt.

Her golden hair is loose and disarrayed. Cascading down her face, a lion reduced to a whimpering kitten. Your leg twitches against her chest, Cersei bites at your calf dully.

Your toes curl and flex, as the pit of your belly is unfurling. A choppy high-pitched moan spews from you, your head digging back into the pillows.

Cersei shrills a yes , as her climax reaches itself to the heavens. Bruising your thigh under her fingers. Cumming together, Cersei grinds herself onto you, connecting together, with no space of separation.

Clits throbbing against each other, stinging pleasure. Riding your highs, gently thrashing her clit against yours, earning airy moans. The tuft of her pubic hair against yours fuels the sensation.

Cersei moans delightfully, satisfied with herself. Her body towers over yours, crawling into your heaving arms; not caring of the dewy sheen of sweat that covers your body.

Legs interlocking together, as she pulls you into her arms fully. Turning herself onto her side, her knuckles stroking your hip.

These are the sparse moments you enjoy with Cersei. When she is human, when she relishes in touch, rather than harshness.

“Jaime should not be burdened with duties of the King’s Guard.” Cersei whispers. “He needs a bride. Father is aging, and one day, Castlery Rock will be in need of a lord.” She is mumbling now, mostly to herself.

“That disease of my little brother will defile us with his whores.” Hate spills from her naturally, as it always does.

Her voice trails into silence, her fingers snagging onto your flesh, pulling you closer to her.

Sleep takes Cersei, sinking into the mattress. Paralyzed in her hold until slumber overtook you as well.

The morning sun shone through the windows, baring its light onto your eyes. Rubbing your eyes by the heels of your palms, sinking deeper into the blanket furs.

The hinges of the chamber doors creak, jolting you further into reality, eyes heavily leaning to shut closed. Clicks of heels follow, and a hum.

“It seems the morrow has escaped us.” Her voice is light, cheery even. Not an inch of maligne in her infliction. It’s eerie how the mask can slip on and off—- a performance.

Cersei leans, invading your space, seating upon the mattress. Her eyes lower, and darken. How easily eerie her charm and spite can transmute to one entity.

“If I were to find you in the arms of another,” Cersei says, her voice on edge, taking one step closer, her lips stretch into a gritted wolfish grin. “I will gladly brand your cunt with the sigil of my house.” Her green eyes unflinching, her lips smirking devilishly.

Silence prevails, your hair cascaded against your face. Barely hiding your shame, you subtly nod; submitting to her demanding presence.

Cersei smirks, “Good.” The lioness prowls around her chambers, licking your blood off her paws. A victorious slaughter, a fragile doe locked in her cave, with broken limbs—- and a broken spirit.

-

Peace and quiet.

You inhale a deep breath, as it floods your cavity. Solitude has finally granted itself upon you, away from the yaws of the lioness.

Flexed fingers stroke against the wall, basking in the brisk air. The balcony’s view is marvelous. Unclipping your cleavage, so the breeze can grace your breasts, and sweep against your scalp.

Cersei had taken her leave for a meeting with the king’s council. And surely, no mere maid is allowed in such a space.

Away from her suffocating touch, you can relax in your own skin. A thought comes to you, there are a handful of empty rooms to explore. Your feet carry you down the corridors.

Without thought, searching for an empty chamber, you find one. With the tug of the knobs, you walk freely inside—- only to be greeted with whisking reddish hair.

A gasp catches itself in your mouth, holding your stomach, kneeling legs curtsying in respect.

“Lady Sansa.” You bow your head dutifully. “A thousand apologies, I didn’t intend to intrude.” As your feet backpedal to the entrance, a soft whisper calls.

“Please stay.”

And just like that, her sweet child voice sweeps you.

“Oh, little wolf.” You pinch the fabric of your dress, lifting as you walk with haste. The instinct to hold Sansa over took you. Sitting on her mattress, engulfing her in your arms, quickly her red hair melts against the sapphire threading of your dress.

Sansa’s head is tucked in the crook of your shoulder. Quietly sobbing, her delicate fingers grip against the base of your back, as would a cub cling to its mother’s teat.

Caressing her hair, you shush her softly, rocking her back and forth. “I’m scared.” Sansa’s words are muffled, vibrating against you. “I want to go home.” She wails, mewling.

“My sweet girl, how I long for you to be safe.” You whisper, “I’m so sorry for what has happened.” You kiss her head, muttering apologies into her hair, hoping your kindness weaves itself into her hair, and stays for a rest.

The morrow stretches into noon, as you watch over Sansa. Comforting her in placid silence, brushing her hair. Humming a melody, as your fingers thread intricate braids within her auburn flaming hair.

This feels like home again.

Outside of these walls, both are prisoners within a castle. But here, in this moment, is a woman, and a child. Reliving memories past, as a mother, and as a daughter—- through each other.

To heal these wounds, as mother and daughter.

Just for a moment.