#my wlw queen of my heart

[0wo-0yo]

NAMI-SWAAAAAAAN

[strugglingsapphic]

writing my bridgella you guys

[kissingarthurclaus]

My piece for day one of WLWeek 2024: favorite style/aesthetic 🫶💖🫶

my self insert is an alternative rock troll and doesn't typically dress very loudly, so I figured Barb would really like seeing her decked out in something a little more punky! > u <

Taglist♡: @me-myself-and-my-fos @tiny-cloud-of-flowers @sunstar-of-the-north @dearly-beeloved @adoredbyalatus @changeling-selfship @crushes-georg @miutonium @cherry-bomb-ships @rosieaurora @rejaytionships @sunflawyer @in-true-blue-love @cupiidzbow @carnival-of-love (I hope its ok I tagged u!! I just know ur a trolls self shipper and wanted u to see 😁)

[theediscodyke]

If I had a dollar for every time I ended up loving an accidental Disney yuri ship I’d have two dollars. Which isn’t a lot but kinda weird that it’s happened twice (follow my editing acc on tiktok if ya want @/inertiajoon… which is also my twitter @)

[xxrainbowvibezxx]

PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE

Y'ALL, DECEPTION SINDEL IS A FUCKING NEED.

Like, look at my wife, y'all. She's so beautiful. On her queen shit👑

What a great day to be a lesbian💜🩷🤍🧡🤎

[pop-ping-candy]

It was National Girlfriend Day two days ago so I wanted to post two art pieces of me and my gf inspired by different universes namely Yaelokre and Sanrio. I really love these art pieces and the designs I came up with for the characters we were trying to emulate.

[and-loth-cat]

HAPPY SIX MONTHS TO THE LOML

THE QUEEN OF MY HEART BODY AND SOUL

MY MY MY MY LOVER

THE ANAKIN TO MY PADME

THE FORCE THAT IS ALWAYS WITH ME

IVE LOVED YOU SIX MONTHS NOW HONEY BUT I WANT EM ALL

ALL I CAN SAY IS I WAS ENCHANTED TO MEET YOU

live footage of us (real)

@padmeamidalaswife I LOVE YOU!!!

[dissapointu]

Hi! Thanks for sharing your writing!

Can you do something with Sevika's lover losing their arm? Instead of her for once. Wlw of course if you please.

Thank you 😊

Oh my god. OKAY. So picture this: Sevika’s gf, who is like this totally badass mechanic/inventor type (think Piltover vibes, but she defected to Zaun because screw the system), loses her arm in this crazy accident while working on some sketchy tech for Silco. Like one second she’s welding, and the next, there’s this explosion of smoke and sparks, and BAM, she’s down. Sevika rushes in, her heart like pounding out of her chest, and finds her girlfriend all bloody and barely conscious, clutching what’s left of her arm. (Cue Sevika screaming “NOOOO!” like she’s in some tragic romance novel.)

Fast forward to a dark and moody Zaun clinic, where Sevika’s pacing the room while her gf is passed out on some rickety table, and oh my GOD, the angst is real. Sevika blames herself because, duh, she’s the one who got her mixed up with Silco and his dangerous shenanigans. When her gf finally wakes up, Sevika’s sitting at her bedside, looking like she hasn’t slept in DAYS, and she’s like:

“I told you to leave that damn tech alone.”

And her gf, because she’s a literal queen who takes no nonsense, just smirks (even though she’s in literal PAIN) and goes, “What? And miss the chance to impress you?”

LIKE PLEASE. Sevika does the whole clenching her jaw to hold back tears thing because she’s in love and terrified all at once. She doesn’t know how to be soft, but this is her person. So, naturally, she offers her own tech contacts to build her girlfriend a prosthetic. (Her whole “I’ll kill anyone who hurts you” vibe is now directed at literally anyone who so much as looks at her gf wrong.)

The best part? When her gf gets the prosthetic arm, it’s all sleek and Zaun-punky, but she adds a little twist—she incorporates Sevika’s iconic mechanical arm design. Now they’re matching, and everyone in Zaun knows not to mess with them because they’re THE power couple, like the ultimate ride-or-dies.

Bonus: Silco sees them together and just shakes his head because Sevika is soft for one (1) woman in this entire grimy city, and it’s absolutely hilarious to him.

Drabble:

You’re in the workshop, grease smeared on your cheek and fingers blackened from hours of work. The humming of machinery fills the space as you tweak the last bolt on your latest invention, a device you convinced Silco would “revolutionize Zaun.” (You might have exaggerated. Just a little.)

Sevika’s in her usual spot, leaned back in a rickety chair with her boots up on the table, sharpening her stupid blade like it’s some ritual. She’s watching you out of the corner of her eye—she always watches you like that, half-annoyed, half-amused, and completely impossible to read.

“Careful with that thing,” she mutters, her voice low and gravelly, like she already knows something’s going to go wrong.

“You’re always so dramatic,” you shoot back, smirking. You’re trying to act casual, but the truth is, you love when she gets protective like this. It makes you feel…seen. Loved. Even if she sucks at saying it.

But then—BOOM.

The world tips sideways. There’s a flash of light, deafening noise, and pain that hits you like a train. You’re thrown backward, slamming into the wall, and everything goes dark.

When you come to, your whole body is screaming, but it’s your arm—your missing arm—that sends the panic crashing down. You try to move it, try to feel it, but there’s nothing there. Just a horrifying emptiness.

“Stay still,” Sevika’s voice cuts through the haze. She’s crouched beside you, her usually calm expression twisted into something raw and panicked. Her hands are covered in your blood—your blood—and for a second, you think you’re hallucinating because Sevika doesn’t panic. She doesn’t let her guard down like this.

“I told you,” she growls, her voice shaking, “I told you to stop messing with that damn tech.”

But there’s no bite in her words, no anger. Just fear.

You try to smile, to make some joke about how she was right (again), but it comes out as more of a pained gasp. Her hand—her good one—clutches yours, holding on like she’s afraid you’ll disappear.

The recovery is hell. Sevika doesn’t leave your side for days, barely sleeping, barely eating. You don’t talk about it, but you know she blames herself. She keeps muttering things like, “Should’ve stopped you,” and, “Never should’ve let you work for him.”

One night, after hours of silence, you finally snap.

“Stop looking at me like I’m broken,” you say, your voice sharper than you intend.

Sevika freezes, her jaw clenching. “I don’t—”

“You do.” You sit up, wincing, and glare at her. “I’m still me, Sev. I’m not some…half-person because of this.” You gesture toward the stump where your arm used to be.

For a long moment, she just stares at you, her face unreadable. Then, quietly, she says, “You scared the hell out of me.”

Her voice cracks on the last word, and it breaks something inside you. She’s not Sevika, the enforcer, the muscle, the unshakable badass everyone’s terrified of. Right now, she’s just…Sevika. The woman who loves you so much it hurts.

Weeks later, when you’re fitted with a prosthetic (one Sevika personally made sure was perfect), you can’t help but laugh when you notice the design.

“It matches your arm,” you tease, wiggling your new fingers.

“Figured we’d make a good pair,” she says with a smirk, but there’s something soft in her eyes. Something she won’t say, but you can feel it all the same.

[emma-cowboylikeme]

one piece fic recs

all of these will be sfw! aside from gen fics, these fics will include: zosan, zolaw, cross guild, zolu, sanami, sanuso, and saboala

gen/found family

thicker than water by nevermordor - law character study & law's relationship with the heart pirates. this is a must-read

build you up by nevermordor - usopp & franky!!! their dynamic means so much to me

requiem for lab rats by @missingn000 - what if sanji fought king instead of queen? what if they realized they were traumatized by the same man? WHAT THEN? this is an incredible fight scene and character study

is there anything so undoing as a daughter by @missingn000 - doflamingo & baby 5 from crocodile's pov. this fic made me insane, i can't recommend it enough

it's only blood by @missingn000 - goth family (mihawk & zoro & perona), this fic is absolutely beautiful

greatest gift of all by SoccerSarah01 - ASL brothers with younger luffy, SO CUTE

zosan

Letters on a Blackboard by Hazel_Athena - single dad zoro and teacher sanji. this was everything i needed, it was amazing

Veracity by Hazel_Athena - zoro gets hit by a truth spell...

Make A Fuss, Why Don't You? by Hazel_Athena - sanji wants to dote on zoro, and zoro wants to be doted on, but neither of them know how to communicate that (they figure it our eventually though)

don't look too long, or you'll forget to fall by Resacon1990 - zosan 5 + 1, i loved this so much

cross guild

(all of these are genderbent wlw - i love cross guild in all forms but all of my sfw recs happened to be yuri)

Caramel popcorn, belladonna-sweet by inpolariis - I'll just copy the summary because it really captures the essence of the fic: "Alternative title: Buggy and the two bad bitches she pulled by being silly goofy"

Pink and Purple by AcesCorazon - this one is buggy/mihawk, featuring doting girlfriend mihawk. it's absolutely adorable

Coexisting (but just barely) by AcesCorazon (WIP) - this one is also buggy/mihawk and so cute!

zolu

mithridatism by swordsmans (series) - there are two fics in this series, one from sanji's pov and the other from zoro's, and both are outstanding character studies

But Patience Boasts by Augment - sanji pov, dealing with zoro and sanji's conflicting feelings on love

zolaw

Cut My Feelings Off Clean by Augment - one of my favorite one piece fics. a brilliant law pov and character exploration of both law and zoro

things not seen by nevermordor - this fic is really special to me because it introduced me to this ship and i loved the exploration of law's experiences and views on religion

sanami

Righting Wrongs by Cherry_Sundae - this is sanami yuri with transfemme sanji and it's so important to me. i love the idea of sanji realizing she's trans during the timeskip period and this fic was everything i wanted it to be

sanuso

Home, Where You Are by kiite - short and sweet sanuso, i love this ship and the exploration of their similarities

acesan

Sing In Me, O Muse by LorettaFryingPan - acesan yuri! this fic explores both their insecurities and it's so so sweet

saboala

Sins of the Father by kiite - short and sweet saboala <3 i adore this ship

[captainamericasmotercycle]

@captainamericasmotercycle DROP A RHAENYRA X FEMALE READER AND MY LIFE IS YOURS!!!

warnings: alicent, reader/nyra/alicent used to all be friends, kissing, reader is a highborn lady but her house is not specified, plot is S1E3

a/n: i've never written a wlw fic before so i hope i did alright for you!

You and Rhaenyra sat beneath the weirwood tree in the Keep’s courtyard. Her head lay on your lap as you silently read a book. A castle musician finished his rendition of Under the Dragon’s Eye for the third time.

“Again.”

“Perhaps the Princess might like to hear something else?”

“She would not. Play it again.

The minstrel cleared his throat, begining the song again, “She fled with her ships, and her people, her heart broken for those.”

You looked over to see the tired minstrel as Alicent made her presence known, clearing her throat gently. The minstrel stopped, “Your Grace.”

“Did I say to stop? From the beginning,” Rhaenyra commanded.

“Rhaenyra…” you gently warned her. She ignored your attempts.

“Rhaenyra?” Alicent called out to her new stepdaughter, her hand layed over her swelled stomach.

“Yes, my Queen?”

“Your presence is wanted in the outer courtyard. The royal hunt readies to depart,” Alicent tries to move closer to the two of you, but stops just short.

Rhaenyra sits up from your lap, scooting closer to you, “I've decided to remain here and read instead.”

Alicent hums, vexxed, “You may go, Samwell,” she stops the minstrel.

Rhaenyra nearly takes Alicent’s head off with her glare, “You are to stay by order of the Princess.”

Alicent swallows harshly, “The Queen commands you to leave the Godswood at once.”

Samwell stands, nodding at the three of you, “Princess. My Lady. Your Grace.”

Alicent waits for Samwell to depart, “The King wishes for you to join us.”

Rhaenyra stands, pulling you up with her, walking away, “The King has much to celebrate. He does not need me. I would much rather stay here.” She nods at you, taking your hand in hers.

Alicent’s face hardens, “He wants for us all to be together. Perhaps the hunt could be... fun.”

“Is it the King's command?”

“Yes, but it—”

“Then at once, Your Grace.”

Alicent shoots you an apologetic look as Rhaenyra pulls you from the Godswood, “But it needn't be. None of it needs be this way in truth, Rhaenyra.”

-

She pulls you through the Keep to her chambers, shutting the door quickly. She mocks Alicent, “The Queen commands you! Does she think she is suddenly my mother?”

“Nyra—”

“No. She isn’t. She never will be.”

You came over to where she was standing, taking her hands in yours, “She won’t… but she is trying to keep her relationship with you.”

She looked down at your conjoined hands, avoiding your eyes, “I do not wish for that. I just want to live free of her and my father.”

You lift her chin with her finger, forcing her to look at you, “I know. But you have duties, no matter how much you wish to be rid of them. Your father and Alicent are both apart of those, now.”

“I wish she wasn’t. And I wish my father did not want me to come to Aegon’s name day celebration,” she pauses, dropping your hand and walking to stand in front of her mirror, “He only wishes for me to take a liking to a high-born lord so he can marry me off… to rid of me.”

You come up behind her, wrapping your hands around her waist and resting your head on her shoulder, she holds her hands over yours, pouting a lip out at the mirror, “You are his heir, he does not wish to rid of you.”

“But you do not deny he wishes to marry me off?”

You stayed silent choosing to press a kiss to her bare shoulder, her dress falling low near her shoulders. She turns around, holding her hand on your cheek, her thumb caressing the soft skin of your face, “I wish it was just us, together, forever. No lord husbands, no duties, no evil step-mothers, just you and me and Syrax.”

“You know it cannot be like that,” she nods her head at you.

Bringing up her other hand to your face, she leans her forehead into yours, breathing gently. Your eyes bore into hers, you put your hands onto her hips.

She pulls you into a kiss, you hold her tightly. Her lips are soft as they move against yours, her mouth getting desperate for yours, and her body pushing harder against you.

You pull back for a second, whispering her name, “Nyra..”

She whispers yours back, smiling.

A knock on the door makes the two of you jump away from one another quickly. Both of you still nearly panting.

“Princess? They are ready to leave for the hunt. Your presence is requested.”

She looks to you, and rolls her eyes at the voice outside of the room, “Yes, I will be out soon.”

She rushes forward, stealing another kiss. She holds her hand out between the two of you, “Join me for a horrid hunt?”

You smile, taking her hand, “I would love nothing more.”

[strugglingsapphic]

YOU GUYS GO READ HER AGAIN J FORGOT A PART, HAD TO FIX HER

@c-rose2081 i didn't realize i left out dove i was convinced that part made it in i'm so sorry😭

@c-rose2081 @ineedtherapydesperately @gayafsowhat @chxrmingswxrd

enjoy the hurt

[kissingarthurclaus]

'All I ever wanted, all I want is always you

It's always you'

Taglist♡: @me-myself-and-my-fos @tiny-cloud-of-flowers @sunstar-of-the-north @dearly-beeloved @sosoftandsweet @changeling-selfship @i-love-you-by-thunder @limey-self-inserts @drjohndisco @bob-in-tekken-8

[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.

[cherryredlove]

☆ the eyes of the weirwood ☆

Alicent Hightower x Targareyen Septa! Reader

• • • • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • • • •

• • • • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • • • •

The childhood companion of the Princess turned Septa sits grieving by the weirwood tree. You seek out the love you have always denied and comfort her aching heart.

Word Count: 1.1k

Themes: angst, lesbian angst, just let my girl alicent be a wlw queen cmon, religious guilt, kinda OOC soz

• • • • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • • • •

The godswood is silent, save for the soft rustling of leaves in the gentle breeze. The sun sets, casting a warm glow over the Red Keep and painting the sky in shades of crimson and gold. You walk through the ancient grove, your footsteps hushed on the moss-covered path. The old oak trees stand tall, their branches reaching out like welcoming arms. Your robes sweep the floor, and you heart thuds in your chest. 

In the midst of this serene setting, you find yourself drawn to a familiar figure seated on a stone bench beneath the weirwood tree. Her auburn hair glows like fire in the dimming light, and her shoulders tremble with silent sobs. Queen Alicent Hightower, once your childhood companion, now the widow of King Viserys, grieves alone. You are not unknown to this grief yourself. He was your father, despite only ever seeing Rhaenyra as a true Targaryen princess.

You stop for a moment, taking in the sight before you. The woman who once laughed with you under the very same tree now sits, silenced and wrought. The years have carved paths of worry and weariness upon her face, but to you, she remains the beautiful girl you once knew—a girl you secretly loved.

As you step closer, your heart pounds in your chest. Your decision to become a septa instead of marrying had not been an easy one. It severed any chance of relationship with your father and sister. You were too pious and meek for their dragon blood. It was a path that granted you freedom from the duties of court life, yet it had also been a means to escape the yearning you felt for Alicent—a love you dared not speak of, not even to yourself. You remembered the hot shame you felt when your sister teased you for wanting to dance with Alicent instead of handsome suitors as a younger maid.

"Alicent," you whisper softly, your voice barely breaking the solemn silence she sat in.

She looks up, her eyes red from crying, yet they soften upon seeing you. The weight of the crown seems to slip away, if only for a moment, and before you sits not just your Queen, but also your Alicent.

"(Y/N)," she breathes your name like a prayer, as though your presence alone could aid her stricken heart. "What are you doing here?"

"I know not, my feet took me here of their own accord," you reply, though your true purpose is far deeper. "But seeing you here... I couldn't leave you alone in your sorrow."

Alicent wipes her tears with the back of her hand, trying to compose herself. "It's foolish," she says, her voice cracking. "To weep like this. He was your father too."

"It's not foolish," you reassure her, taking a seat beside her. Your hand hesitates before resting on hers, and you feel the warmth of her skin—a touch you've longed for, yet denied yourself for so long. "Grief is the heart's way of speaking when words fail."

The two of you sit in silence for a moment, listening to the whispers of the trees. Your mind drifts back to those days of youth when you and Alicent would escape to this very spot, finding fun and companionship away from the prying eyes of the court. You would steal away with cakes stolen from banquet tables and regale each other with reenactments of legends of old. Back then, your feelings were a secret, even from yourself, masked as the innocence of friendship.

"I miss him," Alicent confesses, breaking the silence. "Viserys... he was a good man, even if our marriage was... complicated."

Your heart aches for her loss, but there's something deeper—an ache for what might have been if circumstances were different. You glance at her, taking in the sight of her gentle profile, the elegance that is Alicent, and suddenly, the words you've held back for so many years press against your lips. The blood of the dragon finally roars within you, urging you to be brave, be true.

"Alicent," you begin, your voice trembling with the weight of a thousand unsaid words. "There is something I must tell you... something I've kept hidden for far too long."

She turns to you, curiosity and concern mingling in her gaze. "What is it?" You believe she already knows. How could she not, when all you ever did was gaze longingly at her?

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for what you are about to reveal. "I've loved you, Alicent. I have always loved you, from the days of our youth until this very moment. From when you would declare yourself the Rhaenys to my Visenya, I have loved only you."

Your confession hangs in the air between you, the air heavy and thick. Alicent's eyes widen, and for a brief moment, you fear rejection. But then, something shifts in her expression—a softening, a recognition.

"(Y/N)," she murmurs, her hand squeezing yours gently. "I have longed for you as well. In the silence of my heart, I wished things could have been different." Her face is fraught. Fear of shame is etched into her, but yet she still holds your hand.

The relief that washes over you is mingled with a bittersweet realization of the paths you both chose. Duty, family, and honor had dictated your lives, pulling you away from each other. Yet, in this stolen moment beneath the weirwood's watchful eyes, those burdens seem to fade.

Your gaze locks with Alicent's, and without another word, you lean forward, capturing her lips with yours. The kiss is gentle, filled with the yearning of years unspoken. It is a taste of what could have been, a glimpse into a world where your love was not confined by duty and titles.

Alicent responds, her kiss tender and hesitant, as though afraid that acknowledging this love will unravel everything she has built, everything she has fought for. She has given her maidenhood and life for the crown. But within this fleeting moment, the world outside the godswood ceases to exist, leaving only the two of you and the unspoken bond you share. The kiss is not just a kiss. It is a promise, and the weirwood tree's eyes watch knowingly.

As you finally part, reality returns, bringing with it the weight of your choices. Alicent's eyes glisten with tears, and you know this moment, as perfect as it is, cannot last.

"I must return," she whispers, her voice laced with sorrow. "To my children, to the realm. There is no place for us in this world." That cuts you like a knife.

Your heart breaks at the truth of her words, yet you nod, understanding the burden she carries. As a septa, you have vowed to live a life of celibacy and devotion to the gods, but your heart will always bear the mark of this love. Your true devotion will lie with her.

"Know that you are not alone," you tell her, your voice steady despite the ache within. "I will always be here, by the weirwood, in your heart, should you need me."

Alicent nods, and though her eyes are filled with gratitude, they are also heavy with the loss of a love that can not be. She stands, and you watch as she walks away, her form retreating into the shadows of the evening.

As the night falls over King's Landing, you remain, like a statue, your heart tethered. In the quiet solitude of the ancient grove, you pray to the Mother and the Maiden not only for peace but for the strength to accept the path you both have chosen.

Yet, even as you bow your head in silent supplication, you know that your heart will always linger in the godswood, where the echoes of your love for Alicent remain eternal, like the whispered prayers carried on the wind. And so, you continue your vigil, hoping that one day, perhaps in another life, your paths may cross again without the chains of duty holding you back.

• • • • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • • • •

AN: very sappy and ooc, very much inspired by Alicent and Rhaenyra’s scene in the sept. Alicent just can't catch a break lol

[fantasydreamland]

Reader is Margaery's shy secret admirer, she wouldn't dare bother the king's wife, so R communicates in the language of flowers, sending all kinds of them to express her feelings

Basically Margaery Tyrell x Fem!Reader, please?

Secret Admirer

Margaery Tyrell x fem reader

Summary: You have always admired Margaery. Her grace, her kindness and her overwhelming beauty. You wouldn’t dare make your feelings known as you (and many others) are terrified of her husband King Joffrey. So you find a way to secretly show your admiration. 🌹

Notes: 18+ ONLY!! a little smut, mostly kissing, fluff, wlw, cheating (kinda), possible spoilers

Thank you so much for this request!!

word count: 1209

masterlist

Ever since Margaery arrived in Kings Landing you have been completely entranced by her. You have never seen a woman so beautiful. Her graciousness and kindness only adding to your admiration.

The day of the royal wedding was a tense one. The festivities were great fun but you could not help but notice King Joffreys cruel antics and Margaerys uncomfortable demeanour in response, no matter how well she tried to smile and hide it.

That very night you decided to send her a large bouquet of flowers to congratulate the couple, but really it was in hopes it may bring her some delight on her awful wedding night. You quietly delivered them to their chambers long before they would enter.

The next day you did the same, quietly delivering beautiful flowers to her chambers. The king and queen now slept in their separate rooms only rarely would they share a bed when Joffrey wanted to try for an heir.

Every few days you would secretly sneak to her chambers to leave her beautiful bouquets to express your love for her. For weeks you sent different flowers, lilies, carnations, tulips, peonies, orchids, sometimes mixtures of different kinds. One day leaving lovely white roses.

The next day you saw her having tea in the gardens as usual, this time with a white rose in the back of her half braided hair. Your heart soared at the imagine of her finding them and enjoying their beauty so much she decided to wear one. Part of you hoped it was a sign to her secret admirer that she has noticed these gestures.

That evening while she was at dinner, you decided to leave red roses. As you were setting them nicely on her bedside table, you heard the door opening. You froze as you stared wide eyed at Margaery entering her chambers. She looked at you for a confused moment until she glanced over to the new bouquet on her table.

“You? You have been the one leaving me flowers?” She asked with an arched eyebrow.

“Uh, y-yes my queen.” You choked out.

“They are quite beautiful.” She said moving closer to them. “If you would be so kind to tell me who has been requesting you send these, I would love to give my gratitude.”

“I- um, I have been sending them at my own request, my queen.” You shyly look down.

“You’re my secret admirer?“ she ask, amusement in her voice. “And why have you wanted to send them?” You did not see the small smirk as she asked.

“Well I- I simply admire you, your grace.” You say still looking at the floor.

She walks closer to you forcing you to look up and meet her gaze. “You have sent me beautiful flowers for weeks, only because you simply admire me?” She says raising her eyebrow again.

Her question makes your stomach knot and palms sweat. You stare at her blankly, not knowing how to respond.

“Please… tell me the truth of it.” She calmly demands.

You swallow hard before speaking. “Well. I do admire you quite a bit, my queen. Quite a lot, in fact. I- um, I think you are the most kind and gracious woman I have ever met, and your beauty-“ you stutter.

She gives you an enticing look to continue your sentence.

“You are the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on.” You blurt out, instantly feeling embarrassed.

She smirks at you, lightly touching the red roses before leaning in to smell them. “So, it would be safe to assume your admiration may actually be deeper feelings for me?” She turns back to you.

Once again you freeze in panic. The strong feelings you have kept hidden for so long being called out by her.

“I cannot say I have not noticed you as well, (y/n).” She says, making your heart race. “I have noticed your gaze on me. We do not know each other well but I have also been one to admire your beauty from afar.”

“R-really?” You say dumbfounded, shocked by her words.

“You are very intriguing.” She smirks, walking closer to you. “So what is it you desire from me, hm?”

“I- nothing, your grace. I simply wanted to quietly bring you some small form of joy and beauty.”

“Yes, that was your intention leaving me flowers… But what do you desire in your heart?” her enchanting blue eyes looking deeply into yours.

You stare blankly at her, too frightened to give a truthful response.

She moves closer, until you are nearly a breath away. “What is it you think about in the night? When you think of me?” She takes your hand, making your heart stop.

“Your queen is demanding a truthful answer, my lady.” She says with a calm but serious expression, continuing to look in your eyes.

“I- I think about a moment like this…” you choke out, looking down at her hand holding yours. “Imagining being this close to you… and-“ you stop.

“Continue…” she urges.

“And… I think about what it would be like to kiss you… m-my queen.” Your voice shakes, terrified at the words you just confessed.

“So that is what you desire, hm?” She smirks, gently lifting your chin to meet her close gaze.

Her touch was making your brain fuzzy, all you could do was give a timid nod.

You hold intense eye contact for a long moment before she leans in and places a delicate kiss on your lips. You look at her with wide eyes, trying to decide if this is truly happening or you are somehow dreaming.

You use all your strength to push away your fears and kiss her back, harder and longer than the kiss she gave to you. She is taken aback, with a smile on her face. She pushes her lips back into yours making you whimper. Letting go of your hand, she moved hers to hold your waist, pulling you closer to her. Your hand moves to cup her cheek as the kiss deepens. Your body feels as if it’s set aflame when she slips in her tongue. You moan into eachothers mouths as your tongues gently dance together. She slowly moves one hand from your waist to your breast, still pulling you close with the hand that remained on your waist. Your hands gently move into her hair, making her sigh. The entire world felt still as you kissed, only resuming when your lips finally parted.

“Well I will be expecting a rather large bouquet of flowers in the morrow.” She jokes, as you both grin widely, still holding eachother.

“Of course, my queen.” you say as your body still vibrates from the excitement of the moment.

You slowly break apart and she places a final kiss on your cheek. “Goodnight, (y/n).”

“Goodnight your grace.” You give a small curtsy, still smiling wide. Your legs feeling like pudding as you make your way out of her chambers and back to your own.

—

There was overwhelming electricity the next time you caught eye of each other in a public setting. Margaery takes a drink as you look down at your feet, both silently smiling to yourselves remembering of your little secret.

[douqhnxtss]

LONG CHAT (#♥︎) :: k.mj smau

pairing :: kim minjeong (aespa) x oc (reader)

oc name :: lee heeseul

genre :: wlw (gxg), smau (social media au) + written, idol!au, band!au, miscommunication, bandmate's!sister!minjeong, nonidol!minjeong, strangers to ??? to lovers, fluff, angst, comedy, crack, slow burn

synopsis! :: after long years of studying abroad, minjeong is finally back in korea. having spent all her time there piled up in her room studying, she's determined to life her life to the fullest. what's better than attending your brother's band's concert, right? when feelings start to bloom and there isn't any sign of spring yet; minjeong and heeseul are forced to navigate. once their hearts' strings get entangled does it really hit to the two that it may just be more complicated to go back than expected.

warnings :: may be slightly suggestive (not sure), kms/kys jokes, broken humor, profanity, typos, lowercase intended, others will be mentioned in the chapters itself

featuring :: aespa, enhypen, nct, le sserafim, (g)i-dle and lots more idols

song recs :: long chat (#♥︎); aespa | feel my rhythm; red velvet | butterflies; (nayeon) twice | love dive; ive | fever; enhypen | hype boy; newjeans | cheer up; twice | heat waves; glass animals | xo (only if you say yes); enhypen | push & pull; (sana, dahyun, jihyo) twice | licorice; aespa | wishing on you; (jihyo) twice | cupid; fifty fifty | cherish(my love); illit | attention; newjeans

updates :: every 1-3 days between 2pm to 4pm IST

status :: on indefinite hold

timeline :: (drafted; september 25, 2024) published; september 29, 2024 started; october 28, 2024 ended; nobody knows

taglist :: [open!]

(heavy) disclaimer! :: this is totally just fiction, i don't hate any of the idols and i'm in no way trying to say that the idols are like how i portrayed them, in real life.

Douqhnxtss © 2024 :: all rights reserved || plagiarism is indeed a crime, and this is comprised of the storyline and writing that is indeed mine. do not translate, edit, repost or plagiarize any of my work !

|| universe!

MASTERLIST (#♥︎)

profiles :: (#1) trick or trick | (#2) minjeong's soldiers | (#3) tot addicts

(#one) :: TIME TO YAP AND SOB

(#two) :: the whore-iest whore in town is back

(#three) :: Plot twist?!

(#four) :: #SeeingMyGF | wc ▪︎ 1.5k

(#five) :: rude alert?!

(#six) :: i wanna kiss mark

(#seven) :: chat do i kms or do i kms

(#eight) :: u devoured pussy slay queen

(#nine) :: my queencards | wc ▪︎ 656

(#ten) :: yuqieth songing the III

(#eleven) :: gosh, men (stress)

(#twelve) :: stfu oldie

(#thirteen) :: project seul protection

(#fourteen) :: #brokebitchcore

(#fifteen) :: tbw (to be written)

(#sixteen) :: tbw

(#seventeen) :: tbw

(#eighteen) :: tbw

more tba—