#beauty x jester

[starry-p]

Worry

[leafwateraddict]

Some more jester!reader for @htsan :3

Alternate ending where reader lets the crown fall ↓

[lionmythflower]

[sinnabee]

omgggg yall, im in love with them;;; pirate sun and moon;;; these designs were made by @ariisonfire !!! i LOVE the way they draw them fhaklfjfk. the pink haired sona belongs to @pizzaplex-stargazer because they are tiny and pink and i would pay actual money to see them beat sun and moon's ass sklfjdlkgjkgksljkg

[usagi-best-boy]

Hisoka Morow

Hunter x Hunter

[verykoolkat]

I started drawing the insane jester dog :>

[leonw4nter]

(Second) Prettiest Fairy Princess

Dad!DI!Leon x F!Reader

“Say ‘bye’ to momma!” Leon beams as he holds his daughter, Aurora– or Rory, as you two lovingly call her.

“Bye momma!” the little girl in his arms beam. One hand wound around his neck and the other raised up, a tiny hand waving at you.

You say your own share of byes too, pressing a kiss to your 4 year-old’s cheek before giving Leon his own kiss to his lightly chapped yet still pink lips. You get in the Uber Leon picked up for you, shutting the door and heading to the mall where you will be having a girls’ day with Helena and Hunnigan, your former coworkers. Despite retiring because you were going to become a mother, you still stayed close with the two.

As soon as the car is no longer in his sight, he heads back into your shared home. Rory asks to be put back down so Leon does as she wants, bending down with a slight groan and making sure she’s standing upright before he lets go and bends back up, another groan escaping his mouth along with the faint pops of joints. My age is definitely catching up with me now, he thinks to himself though he doesn’t mind if it’s you he’ll be aging with.

“Daddy! I want to play!” Rory excitedly says as she takes Leon’s hand with her tiny ones and drags him to the stairs, heading for the direction of her room.

“Alright, alright, kiddo. Let’s head up, no?” he asks with a pleased smile. There’s dishes waiting in the sink and laundry waiting to be folded but they all could wait if it means spending some time making his daughter smile. The sight of his daughter’s grin and the gold wedding band that flashes a bright gold beam whenever the sunlight hits it is something his former self didn’t think he could ever experience. Back in ‘98, he was certain that the farthest length of meeting the greatest love in his life and starting a family would stop at dreams and wishful thinking but he was wrong.

He didn’t even realize they had reached the top of the stairs as he almost trips, engrossed in the sweet monologue he had going on in that head of his. His daughter’s tiny arms push him into the pastel yellow and pink room before shutting the door and proceeding to yank out tutus and tiaras from a toy basket.

“Sit.” she sternly says as she points to the carpeted ground right beneath Leon’s feet. Not one to disobey a lady’s orders, he promptly sits down with crossed legs and looks at her with genuine interest. Not too long after, Leon is dolled up to look the part of “a pretty princess for a tea party but you’re only the second prettiest because I’m the first one”, which earns a small laugh from him. Even to himself, he's second to everything because he always keeps his girls at first.

Rory hands him a small mirror so Leon can see the sparkly splash of pink, green and orange on his eyelids as well as the most pink blush he’s ever seen. His lips are the brightest shade of red ever making him look real goofy but if it means making his daughter’s day, he doesn’t mind; she’s the princess and he’s just the jester (and the occasional knight in shining armor). She swiftly puts her own play make-up on, her own lids smeared with different sparkly shades of pink and her lips in the same red shade as Leon’s.

“Your highness, let me get the tea and cookies.” she says in a wonky British accent.

“Alright, my beautiful princess.” Leon says, though he doesn’t put on a fake accent.

“Daddy, no! You’re supposed to also say ‘and please give me the sugar plum tea’! Again!” she says with a hand to the hip, dropping the accent.

“Okay,” he softly mutters with an amused smile. She definitely got the sass from her mother. “Alright, my beautiful princess, please give me the sugar plum tea!” he repeats.

She smiles brightly and excitedly announces that it’s coming right up. She walks out of the room, occasionally coming back in to take some more cups, plates, spoons, and bowls. Wait? Bowls? The princess is putting her heart and soul into this so-called “sugar plum tea”. Because the princess was brought up with manners and polite etiquette, she served Leon some cookies and cakes as he waited, along with a Beanie Baby that her uncle Chris got her (insisting it’s a snack, providing no further explanations). Playing along, he loudly made chomping sounds while she walked out of the room and busied herself with the tea. After a few minutes, she walks back inside with a tea pot and tiny cups filled with water.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, madame. My chef ahem is new to the kitchen so I had to tell him how to prepare tea the princess way,” she apologizes as she sets the cup in front of Leon with a complementary saucer.

With a sharp eye, he looks at the water and sees that there isn’t anything floating on the water; the water doesn’t look cloudy too and it’s impossible for her to have gone downstairs and taken water from the dog’s bowl so he deemed it safe to drink. After all, she did exert some effort into actually “making” the tea. He hooks his fingers in the loop of the tea cup, making sure to emulate the sticking out pinky finger just like Rory is doing before taking a sip. “The water doesn’t have an odd taste. Okay, she definitely wasn’t fooling around,” Leon quietly observes. He gives her a bright smile, complimenting the tea and calling it “the most delightful beverage to ever tickle my taste buds, a true drink fit for the prettiest princesses in this kingdom”, which prompts the little girl in front of him to giggle and start complimenting the “chef” who prepared the “tea” (the “chef” is, in fact, the Djungelskog that Leon got for you when you were 6 months into the pregnancy and very much emotional every time you saw the bear at IKEA’s window or online site). Apparently the chef is French and has worked with Barney and the Little Einsteins, according to her. This entire moment is too silly and wholesome so Leon decides to take a selfie, making a mental note to send this to you later on.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

The tea party carried on for a few more minutes until she got drowsy, prompting Leon to get up and carry her over to her bed. Grabbing a few sheets of wipes, he removes the eyeshadow and lipstick on her face before unclipping some clips from her hair and taking her tutu off. It doesn’t take long for her to fall asleep and Leon picks the toys up, pouring the water out of the pots and cups and wiping them dry before putting them back in the basket. He takes this chance to finally get back at the chores waiting for him but not before he sends the picture to you. Opening the app and choosing the contact named “my Y/N”, he sends a short message asking how you are and detailing the sweet playtime he had with your daughter along with the picture. After an hour or two, he finally finishes doing the chores– even sweeping the floors and polishing the dining table, as well as bathing the dog. He gets in the shower and freshens up, remembering the tender moment hours ago and finding himself smiling wider each time.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

It’s now quarter to 6 and Leon finishes setting up dinner just as the bell rings. He practically skips to the door, his face lighting up with joy when he sees you. He takes your bag and slings it over his shoulder, undoing the strap of your sandals and asking about how your day went. As you step out of them, he takes the heels and places it on the shoe cabinet and puts your bag on the couch. Rory jumps off of the couch, excitedly walking over to you and hugs your legs with the brightest smile you’ve ever seen. She tells you about her and her dad’s day, tiny hand gently holding your wrist as she leads you to the dining table for dinner. You were just about to reach over a piece of food and cut it up into smaller pieces for her when Leon places a hand on yours, telling you that he’ll do it.

“C’mon honey, you were out walking all day. Just sit and have dinner, I’ll do it this time,” he softly says. You don’t argue against him, letting him do the cutting. Rory does all the talking, which you are thankful for since your social battery is nearly drained.

Dinner tasted amazing as usual and now your entire family is in the living room, watching The Little Prince on the TV. What Coco does to Leon, The Little Prince does to you; you’ve never finished the movie without shedding a few tears and laying on Leon’s shoulder for some comfort. Though you both know it’s a movie that has you reduced to tears, you still choose to put it on because not only is it genuinely good, it’s a movie Rory loves. While waiting for the movie to finally load, a question pops up in your mind.

“Sweetie, where’d you get the water for your tea from?” you ask. Leon doesn’t mind, probably guessing that she got it from the water bottle you forgot to bring downstairs in the morning.

“I got it from the fish tank!” she beams. Your smile swiftly drops and your head turns to Leon; you swear you’ve never seen the color drain that fast from his face. The movie finally loads but Leon feels slightly off, the food in his stomach making him feel a little odd. He’s that weak for his little girl; he’s a seasoned agent trained to read people by their mannerisms but his daughter’s devious giggling made it past his normally highly-perceptive gaze.

NOTE - I whipped this fic up right after @agent-dessis-posts asked me if I write dad!Leon and I immediately got that burst of motivation. There was this book called "Make A Wish" that I read around mid-November and the dad matched ID/DI!Leon's description so the whole time I just pictured that version of Leon whilst reading and it was AMAZING (the dad in the book is a single dad to a nine year old which made it even more amazing for me). Anyways, you guys seem to really like my fics which I appreicate a lot so thank you so much!!! I'll post the directory to my blog soon, I'm just making things look cuter :)

The heart dividers are from @cafekitsune , the images are made by me (sourced from Pinterest).

[lunarmoves]

beauty and the beasts

summary: you should've expected they were up to something when they picked you as a volunteer for one of their theatre shows. you just... didn't expect all of this.

pairing: DCA sun/moon/eclipse x reader

mentions: gender neutral reader, non-sexual intimacy, pining, fluff, true love's kiss<3, takes place when the dca used to work in the theatre, so includes ruin eclipse & their characterization, more eclipse-focused than anything tbh, eclipse uses they/them while sun & moon use he/him, they are all the same animatronic, lowercase fic

word count: 3.2k

ao3 link

this was not how you'd expected your day to go.

the theatre had been scheduled for an afternoon show according to the email you'd received from management. you were the only one on shift at the moment, so you were required to go and supervise. you didn't mind, not really. all of the jesters' stories were perfect for the kids, with just enough adventure, magic tricks, and morals to satisfy everyone. you liked watching them perform—weaving tales from that robotic mind of theirs. they never did the same story twice, not precisely, anyways. it was entertaining. and hey, getting to spend time in a dimly-lit auditorium beat having to walk around the plex any day.

ten minutes before showtime, you made your way over to the theatre and entered through the main double doors. families were already starting to trickle in, sitting on the plush seats that surrounded a curtained stage as they chattered excitedly. you smiled and offered polite nods to those you made eye contact with as you walked over to the stage to take your position next to it. you leaned against the wall and crossed your arms, gaze surveilling both the lower level and the balcony of the auditorium. looked like it was going to be a full house.

from your position, you could see the edge of the red curtain closest to you shift a tad before a glowing, white eye peeked out from behind it. you watched as it seemed to take stock of the room's capacity, the sunrays you could see spinning left and right in little motions. then the eye turned to look right at you.

you offered them a smile and a wave. they jerked back a little in a way that made your smile falter only slightly. then, their eye upturned in delight—sunrays spinning once around their faceplate—before they disappeared once more behind the curtain.

they'd been acting a bit weird lately, you pondered to yourself as you waited for the show to start. at least, weirder than usual. you'd caught them numerous times staring off into the distance—sometimes at you—or mumbling lowly to themselves. you figured maybe they were just thinking about more stories to perform. but when you'd approach them about it, they'd jump and their voice would start glitching out slightly before they'd run off to their little room.

they didn't always act like that, of course. it just happened enough times that you were starting to wonder if they were okay. did they need a check up in parts 'n services or something? maybe you'd bring it up next time you chatted with them.

as soon as the clock hit three p.m., the curtains rustled a little before a tall figure stepped out from the middle part. a hush settled over the theater at its sudden presence, the lights dimming slightly so that everyone's attention could focus on it.

"hello friends and welcome to the faztheatre!" eclipse spoke out, hands politely clasped in front of them as a spotlight beamed down on their body. you were always in awe at how easily they could command the attention of a room. their rays did a little wave-like motion around their faceplate, shifting the night cap they had on slightly. "before the show begins, please make sure to silence your cellular devices. flash photography is not permitted in the theatre. in the case of an emergency, exits are located in the back and to the sides of the stage. we hope you enjoy this fazbear-approved performance!"

and with that, they stepped back behind the curtain. a gentle murmur started up in the audience as music played from the speakers overhead. the lights dimmed further and you got yourself comfortable as the curtains parted so the first story could begin.

whoever designed eclipse had certainly done a good job helping to balance the three A.I.s they had in them. you always found amazement in how easily they were able to switch from eclipse, to sun, to moon. it was seamless—smooth. almost natural. you ended up zoning out slightly as you watched them perform, having watched this particular story so many times beforehand already. you mostly liked watching the motions they made, observing every click, twitch, and spin of their joints and head adornments.

ten minutes later, you were roused from your daydreaming when clapping erupted around the theatre. you blinked and glanced at the stage to see eclipse doing a little bow. done already? that was fast. well, the stories were rather short. each show was about half an hour long, after all. kids could only sit still for finite amounts of time. you clapped along for a bit, then quietened when you noticed eclipse straighten back up.

"for our next story," they said as they rocked back and forth on their heels, "we will need a volunteer!"

you tilted your head to the side slightly as a few hands waved up in the air, a chorus of 'me me me!' following in their wake. you don't think you'd ever supervised one of their performances where they asked for a volunteer from the audience. first time for everything, you supposed.

eclipse made a show out of tapping a finger against their chin, faceplate moving from one side of the theatre to the other until their bright gaze landed on you.

"you there! eager participant!" you blinked owlishly as a metal hand extended in your direction. their grin seemed to widen at your stupefied look. "come on up if you so insist!"

"wh—" you started, only to cut yourself off as your gaze darted around the audience. a sea of eyes stared at you, some expectant, some disappointed. sweat broke out on the back of your neck. "i don't—"

"come on, don't be shy!" eclipse bounced closer to the edge of the stage and reached a long hand over to grab at your arm. you swallowed thickly and found your legs moving to climb up the small set of stairs and onto the stage. the lights were so much brighter here, nearly blinding you and causing your eyes to squint slightly. large hands grasped at your shoulders, moving you along to the center of the stage. eclipse made a sound as though they were clearing their throat, then projected their voice out to the rest of the auditorium. "the show will resume in five minutes. please take this time to stretch, use the restroom, or purchase a drink and/or snack from one of our nearby stations!"

and with that, the curtains drew themselves back across the stage, hiding you and a seven-foot-something robot behind them. you were grateful for the reprieve from the lights, but the feeling did not last all too long.

"eclipse, dude, what the hell?" you wheezed as you stepped away from their hold and spun around to look up at them. a rasped 'language!' came from moon that you ignored as you gave them a look. a smile was still on their face. "you and i both know i didn't volunteer myself. what gives?"

"come on, it'll be fun!" they told you delightfully, rays spinning slightly. they swayed gently side to side to a tune you could not hear. you frowned. they were planning something, you knew it.

"i don't even know how to act," you grumbled, listening to the chatter of the audience from beyond the curtain. it left an uneasy feeling in your gut that made you feel slightly sweaty. you did your best to push it down.

"fret not, my dear! just follow along with us and you'll do wonderfully!" eclipse soothed you, hands reaching out to hold onto your upper arms. "you needn't even say a word, just allow us to guide you!" your frown only deepened before you let out a long sigh and allowed some of the tension to ease itself from your shoulders. something seemed to sparkle in their eyes at your relent.

you only had to last through a ten minute show for a bunch of children. you could do it. you didn't even need to speak. it shouldn't be too bad. "fine, but this is the only time i'm doing this, okay?" you wagged a finger up at them, then poked them right between their eyes that upturned at your action.

"amazing! now come—let's get you a costume."

five minutes went by quicker than you'd expected and soon you found yourself standing off to the side as eclipse stood in the center of the stage once more. you fixed the shiny headpiece they'd put on your head and took in a deep breath when music started playing through the speakers once more. the curtains withdrew and the audience quieted.

"once upon a time," eclipse began in a honey-coated voice—soft, gentle, dulce—as he narrated, "there lived a humble prince."

before your eyes, they shifted over to sun—who stood proudly on stage decorated with a fluffy cape and golden crown placed around the rays on his head. eclipse's voice continued on even as sun let out a hearty 'ho! ho ho!'. "the prince loved adventure. the thrill was something he chased after. sword in hand, he journeyed far and wide, looking for people he could help." sun brandished a wooden sword from somewhere behind him and bounced around the stage, pretending to fight invisible enemies.

"one day, the prince learned of a gentle noble who'd been kidnapped and locked far away in a castle for reasons unknown." that was your cue. you took in another deep breath and stepped into view on the stage, resisting the urge to squint your eyes in the light. "none had been able to save the noble, for a dangerous beast guarded them."

sun suddenly shifted over to moon, white eyes being replaced with red ones that lit up his face in an ominous glow. straight teeth slanted into ones sharp enough to rip you to shreds. the crown disappeared and was replaced by a familiar night cap. moon let out a low, raspy chuckle and swept up close to you, circling you slowly in a way that had goosebumps rising on your skin. he reached out a clawed hand and pulled you close to him so he could guide you across the stage in a strange, sweeping dance.

your gaze darted up to his face, allowing him to lead you along. moon's sharp grin seemed to widen at the slight confusion on your face. the close proximity made your heart skip a beat. you hoped he couldn't hear how fast it was racing.

moon suddenly let you go as eclipse continued with the tale, shifting over to sun in the process. you stepped away into the shadows of the curtains. "naturally, the prince believed this to be a worthy adventure. so he set off in search of the noble." sun marched about the stage, a determined look on his faceplate. "he found the beast in his travels. knowing he was close, the two fought against each other."

you watched as sun and moon took turns shifting into each other as they enacted a dramatic battle. it was interesting to look at, especially with you standing so close by. sun struck his sword out in front of him, then twirled around into the spot he'd slashed as he shifted into moon. "the prince won the battle. but as the beast lay dying on the floor"—moon made some choking sounds and collapsed onto the ground in a heap, clutching at his chassis where sun had presumably injured him—"he used his last breath to curse the prince."

moon made a clawed motion with his hand, then shifted up into sun who clutched at his rays and made a pained noise. he dropped his sword and cleverly kicked it to the side near the curtains. he seemed to fight with himself, rays jittering in and out of his head before he shifted into eclipse. they stared down confusedly at their sharp hands. "the prince turned into a beast. dazed and disoriented, he found himself stumbling towards the castle the noble was imprisoned in until he found them."

you emerged back into view as eclipse staggered over to you, reaching a clawed hand out. "the noble looked in horror at the prince, and as he managed to tell them that they were free—that he killed the beast—they only looked at him in sadness." you did your best to school your expressions into the ones eclipse was describing, but you weren't quite sure if you succeeded.

"the noble told the prince that they had been kidnapped and locked up because of their powerful magic. they had grown to believe it was dangerous and that they needed to keep away from society." eclipse took your hand in their own and squeezed it gently. you patted it sympathetically with your other one. "they refused to leave and with the prince now turned into a beast, he did not want to go either. so they stayed in that castle together—healing. grieving."

eclipse tugged you close and twirled you around in another dance, your hand still gripped in their own. they were being awfully touchy with you. you found yourself not minding all too much—not with how careful they were being. "the two grew close together over time. they danced around the feelings that had developed between them." eclipse dipped you swiftly and brought you back up so fast you wondered if it had happened at all. a rosiness dusted itself across your cheeks that you did your best to fan away. "but just when the prince thought to confess, disaster befell them."

eclipse ripped themselves away from you and shifted into moon again, crouched low to the floor. "a warrior had arrived at the castle, intending to free the noble once and for all without knowing their story. and upon seeing the prince-turned-beast, the warrior struck."

moon launched himself forward and made a slashing motion with one of his clawed hands. he spun around and switched over to eclipse, who clutched at their chassis and fell dramatically backwards onto the floor. "in the noble's grief at seeing the prince fall, they used their magic to end the warrior's life then stumbled over to the side of the prince."

you didn't know what to do about the whole 'using magic to end the warrior's life' bit, so you just fumbled your way over to eclipse's side and sank down onto your knees by their chest. their eyes were closed and they lay as still as possible. their voice continued on with the story. "the noble grieved over the prince's body." you sniffled and did your best to force yourself to cry, wiping your hand at your eyes. "and as the prince let out his last breath, the noble leaned down and gave him true love's kiss."

wait— what the fuck?

there was a moment where you froze, eyes widening slightly. eclipse's grin twitched from where they were laying on the floor, feigning death—or close to it, anyways. and as you processed the words they'd spoken, you shot them an incredulous look and felt your face burn with the heat of a thousand suns.

were they messing with you? they were just messing with you, right? you glanced up at the audience before you—so silent that you'd nearly forgotten you were on stage, performing. right. you were just acting. you swallowed heavily and—ignoring the way your heart thumped rapidly away in your chest—leaned down to press a light kiss to the metal of their smile. you added a weak "mwah" for effect.

eclipse's grin widened delightedly.

"the prince turned back to normal and came back to life," eclipse said as they shifted back into sun, who wasted no time in springing to his feet and grabbing onto you. he swept you up into a crushing hug that shocked a laugh from you and spun around, rays happily clicking in and out of his face. "and they all lived happily ever after. the end."

the audience burst into applause at the end of eclipse's story, the sound echoing in your ears. but all you could hear was the pounding of your heart—feel the breathlessness in your lungs. sun grinned happily up at you as the curtains drew together once again, swathing the both of you in shadow.

"you did great, dearest!" sun exclaimed once you were both out of view, spinning you around once more for good measure. you laughed and attempted to hold onto the headpiece you were still wearing to no avail. it slipped off your head and fell somewhere to the floor in a light clatter that you couldn't hear over the crowd of people leaving the theatre.

"that was surprisingly fun," you admitted, your hands holding onto sun's shoulders so you could keep your balance. "it's cool seeing you guys at work. you've really got a knack for storytelling." as sun preened with your compliment, you paused for a second and thought back to the ending. "well. you've got a few plot holes."

sun's grin twitched a little before he switched over to moon. it was a bit strange, especially with you still clutched in his hold. moon grinned sharply at you. "plot holes? do tell."

"well for one, the noble used their magic to kill the warrior when they were in the castle because they were afraid of how dangerous they were," you rambled, tapping moon on the arm so he could set you down. he did so after a short moment of hesitation. you fixed your clothes once you were solidly on the ground. "like, talk about trauma. no way they're gonna wanna leave the castle after that. they didn't really have any character development either in terms of accepting their magic."

moon tilted his head at you then said, in a dry voice, "it's a story for children. they won't remember it by tomorrow." he then switched over to eclipse, who clasped their hands together.

"we'll workshop it!" they chimed out, swaying side to side animatedly. "a tale of helping others, love, and embracing who you are!"

you gave them a smile. "i'm sure it'll be great after."

eclipse seemed to look at you then, almost in an expectant manner. their hands wrung together. "you know, maybe you should get a position as a theatre assistant! you'll do numbers on stage!"

at that, you laughed and waved a hand at them. "who, me? no thanks, i don't think acting's for me. you guys do fine on your own." something changed in their expression that you couldn't quite make out, but before you could ruminate on it further, you distracted yourself with looking at your phone. you didn't know why you were feeling so... odd. you brushed it off easily. "i need to get going. got a mess to clean in bonnie bowl. i'll catch you guys later."

with that, you spun around and waved at eclipse as you headed to the stage's stairs. you couldn't linger—if you did then you'd never leave. their arm spasmed a little before they lifted it up to wave back at you. "come back soon, friend!" they called out, watching as you disappeared past the thick, red curtains. they waited—as though hoping you'd return—but when you didn't, their body slumped.

their arm fell slightly before they reached their hand up to touch at the smooth metal of their grin thoughtfully. longingly.

eclipse sighed, the sound getting lost in a stage that was a bit too big for just a solo act.

[starry-p]

Endmire Prince

[archonsbane]

AND I TRY TO TALK REFINED

The one time Il Dottore speaks to you in another language, the one time he speaks to someone else in another language, and the one time you give him a taste of his own medicine.

pairing. dottore x reader

tags & content warnings. gn!reader. reader is the tsaritsa's child. reader is referred to by they/them. there's one (1) mildly suggestive sentence (and it's in a different language lol).

word count. 2.9k

author's note. so. i'm back from the dead. i have two fics for pantalone and one for diluc, around 8k+ words. (none of them are finished LMFAO) but of course i drop everything for this stupid ass man. the reader here is my tsaritsa’schild!reader, though this takes place before beauty is terror. this is set in the early days of their relationship and the start of dottore’s involvement in the fatui. reader's backstory is also implied here, but not outright stated. also i got inspiration from @fatuismooches lovely headcanons, though i strayed a bit far HAHA. thank you for letting me write this! and thank you to my two lovely delulu friends (you know who you are) bc i suddenly got into the mood to write because of them.  also, what is heavily implied to be the script of khaenri'ah in-game is based on latin, so i headcanon that latin is the language of khaenri'ah. also i had to sneak in a tsh reference lmfao it was too perfect not to. i promise i don't include it in all my fics it just so happens to be perfect for certain situations huhu. also i hope you guys catch all the little details i put in! reader and dottore have always been like this lol the title is from 'talk' by hozier.

You are undoubtedly the worst teacher Dottore has ever had, bar none. 

Flighty, distracted, and prone to seamlessly maneuvering to an entirely different topic without blinking an eye, leaving him dumbfounded. Your teaching sessions, if they could be called that, are filled with constant interrogations of his life and large infusions of food. Half the time you aren’t even teaching him, you’re simply rambling about whatever it is you ramble about (he’s learned to tune you out, partly because he doesn’t care and partly because he can’t understand what you’re saying). He is truly reconsidering forgoing learning Snezhnayan — at the pace you're going, he might as well take his chances and learn by himself.  

“But Mother said,” you remind him, petulantly, like a small child. Yes, the Tsaritsa commanded him to learn Snezhnayan, and commanded you to teach him, but he is greatly tempted to ask her to send another teacher. It has only been two weeks since your lessons begun and he might truly go mad. Sometimes he thinks this might be the worst thing a divine being has ever inflicted on him.

In truth, he already knows Snezhnayan, but only enough to hold a polite conversation. It is his least favorite of the languages he learned from his teachers in the Akademiya, and anyway, he never quite had a deftness for tongues. He is always most at home working with his hands, destroying and creating physical matter, covered in dust and soot, cracking open the world’s secrets like an egg. But the Tsartisa willed him to learn, and he is nothing if not a scholar. 

“But Mother said,” he mocks, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. He’s learned that you have no convictions about his personality. If anything, you seemed to embrace it. Whereas he dons a respectful — as respectful as he can conjure, anyways — mask with the Jester and the Tsaritsa, it’s… looser, with you. Still, he is careful not to cross the line. He is only allowed this because he amuses you. You've been treating him like some sort of pet to be played with whenever you desire since his coming here. “Your mother also said to teach me how to speak Snezhnayan, but this is the third time you’ve called for snacks in three hours.” 

You flash a lazy glare at him and go back to eating your beloved pastilas. “You require a tremendous amount of effort to teach.” You’ve switched back to speaking the common tongue, obviously for his sake. “You’re a horrible student.” 

“You’re a horrible teacher!” 

You sniff and take another bite of your pastry. “You’re just really bad at learning.” 

For that, you get a glance heavenward. He is tempted to simply throttle you and be done with it. Treason seems like a fair price to pay for shutting you up. But he considers his options and decides that he would rather not be on the receiving end of your mother’s wrath — it’s too fucking cold here already. Still, greatly offended by this statement, he vents out his anger by cursing at you.

In the language of Sumeru. 

He does not really think of it; his use of his mother tongue has greatly decreased since coming here, but even then, it simply rolls off his tongue as naturally as water flows from a river's mouth.

Your brows shoot up. You open your mouth, pause, and for a moment he fears he is in danger of being exiled or thrown in the dungeon. But then you cock your head to the side. “What does that mean?” You ask. 

An idea unravels in his mind, sparkling with mischief. “It means you’re bad at teaching.” 

You frown. “For some reason, I feel like you’re lying.” 

He curses at you again. Your frown deepens. There is something so satisfying about the way those frustrated lines burrow into your face. When he does it a third time, you actually put down the pastila. 

“What does it mean?” You demand. “You aren’t saying anything bad, are you?” 

It means you’re an insufferable little bastard of mean intelligence and he hopes you fall into a ditch, so yes, he definitely is saying something bad. “It means you’re the most gorgeous, most wonderful person in the world,” he says, sarcasm dripping from the syllables. When you look genuinely taken aback, he lets out a cruel, derisive scoff. “It means you should trust me more.” 

“That seems like a horrible idea.” 

He shrugs and reaches over to take one of the pastilas, light pink with a white, foamy top, vaguely aware that another one of your language lessons has gone considerably off course. Perhaps that was too light a description. It shot in one direction and came speeding back the other way. “Suit yourself, Your Imperial Highness.” 

You smack his hand away, gently. Almost too gently. “Those are mine.” 

He eats it, anyway, and learns many new colorful Snezhnayan curses for it, though he detects no real annoyance in your voice. You ring for another batch of desserts. He counts it as a successful lesson. 

He continues speaking in Sumerian when you're near. It’s the greatest of treasures, seeing you frown and demand to know what he had just uttered in your presence. Sometimes he just says the first phrase that enters his head, most times he insults you and relishes in your clueless blinking. You can't do the same to him — he's been picking up on Snezhnayan at an exponential pace, and he's made sure to memorize all of the insults and swears first. Obviously. It’s his talent for machinations that he prides himself on, but lately, he’s been deriving vicious pleasure from the fact he can speak twenty languages, though it never mattered much to him before. It’s a good, safe outlet for his annoyance whenever you’re near, which you seem to always be, nowadays. 

Even outside the language ‘lessons’ (the word lessons being used extremely lightly) you seem to trail him wherever he goes. Ambushing him in the halls, materializing in the laboratory, and in general trailing him like some attention-starved puppy. He resents it, resents the stars that float through your eyes whenever he enters your view, resents the way you immediately disengage from whatever it was that you were doing to attach yourself to him, all smiles. 

He actively avoids you, but somehow you keep running into him. On purpose or accidentally, he has no idea. He suspects it is the former.

Today is one of those days. You’re by his side, again, chatting happily about… something. He’s trying to tune you out, focusing on the long walk back to his laboratories after a meeting with the Tsaritsa. He needs to do something about that, it’s woefully inconvenient to have to walk a mile every time she calls on him. Some sort of contraption that could go up and down easily would be of great use, and he wouldn’t have to climb so many fucking stairs.

Then — it happens. In your excitement, you bump into some government official accompanied by another, what his role is Dottore does not know and does not care to, but he must be quite high up if he allows himself to glare at you for an instant before it disappears into a cool stare. Or maybe he just has a lot of gall.

"Oh, my apologies sir," you murmur, ducking your head. 

"Quite alright, Your Highness," he says smoothly, "have a good day." He turns his back and starts to mutter to his companion, their heads bent together, completely unaware that with your godly senses and his recent enhancements to his body, you both can hear every word.

"How clumsy," the first man tuts, "what does their mother teach them? She's been too soft on them."

"She lets them run amok doing whatever they please. The other day, they—"

"—yes, I heard. Look at those clothes, aren't they too plain for the heir?"

His companion makes an agreeing noise. "And the company they keep… " 

Dottore doesn't particularly care about what other people think of him, and perhaps if it was only the last sentence that had been uttered he wouldn't have said a word, but the tirade of their complaints makes irritation, absurdly, flare inside him. He whips his head back to their retreating figures, and you throw him a glaring warning, so he clenches his jaw and stays where he is. He isn't one to do nothing, however. 

“Kol khara,” he says to them, viciously. Eat shit. He hears you stifle a sound that might be a laugh and briefly wonders why exactly you would laugh. 

The men turn back around. “Excuse me?” The first one says. 

“Nothing,” he says, curtly, his eyes like sharp daggers, “go on." They throw each other confused glances but say nothing further, going further down the hall until he can no longer see their backs. You both stay in the middle of the now-empty hallway, staring silently off into the distance.

You’ve never been able to contain your curiosity for long. After a good minute of silence, you turn inquisitive eyes on him. He’s been expecting your question.

"What did you say?" You ask.

He shrugs; makes a dismissive gesture with his hand. "Nothing."

You narrow your eyes. "I know it isn't nothing. It was something bad, right? You've said it to me before.” Clever you, he thinks briefly. Nothing gets past you. When he stays enclosed in icy silence, you press on further, “I won’t be mad. It doesn’t bother me — I think it’s funny. Just tell me.” He has no idea why you would ever think it’s funny. Nonetheless, he stays silent. 

You try again. “Tell me.” 

“No.” 

“Please?” 

“No.” 

“Tell me,” you say again, but this time you slip into the voice of the noble, unshakeable heir to Winter. The two words are a command, and they leave no room for argument. He must follow. 

He sighs and runs a hand down his face. “It means I want them to eat shit.” 

A moment of silence passes and Dottore wonders if he should start running. Then, you start to laugh. A small laugh, so small he almost thinks he could cup it in his hands and never let it go. But he recognizes it as different from the laughs you’ve given him before. This one is warm and sweet, conjured from the belly upwards. Summer in a sound. 

He tries very hard not to smile when he says, “you aren’t mad?” 

“No,” you say, still laughing, “I suppose I do deserve it.” He silently agrees. “Anyways, after coming to my defense, I forgive you.” 

He snarls, that sudden irritation reviving itself. “I wasn’t coming to your defense.” 

You shrug, not looking bothered at all. “Fine. Defending yourself and by extension — and complete coincidence — me.” 

He decides it is best not to argue, and listens quietly as you walk with him back to his laboratory, chatting happily away once more. If you notice that over the next few days, his outbursts toward you decrease, you say nothing of it. And if you notice he is insulting other people more in other languages, seemingly for the sole purpose of making you laugh, you say nothing of it, too. 

You’re speaking Sumerian. 

Fluent Sumerian. Rapid-fire Sumerian, without blinking or stumbling over your words. Clean, pure Sumerian, speaking everything with the perfect enunciation of a noble. You don’t notice him behind you, utterly bemused, as you speak to a foreign dignitary from his homeland. The First drags him out of the underground labs from time to time in order to socialize and familiarize himself with the political atmosphere, but Dottore lets you do all the work for him. You engage in polite small talk, though delivered with much more enthusiasm than necessary. But the words are barely intelligible in his head. It isn’t possible that you’ve learned how to speak fluent Sumerian in such a short about of time. He will begrudgingly admit your brightness, small as it is, but even he cannot master a language within a few months. Which means there must only be one conclusion. 

When you notice him, your face morphs into one of surprised panic. Oh. He’s sure his fury is plain to see. It’s at that precise moment the dignitary — Dottore does not see the point in blessings but, Archons bless her — chooses to excuse herself, leaving you open and without a proper excuse to escape with. 

“You can speak Sumerian,” he says, plainly, having immediately taken the empty spot at your side. You take  cautious, half-step backwards. 

You look both amused and slightly abashed. 

He grits his teeth. “For how long?” 

“... since I was five." A pause. You look thoughtful. "Actually, it was your Greater Lord Rukkhadevata who first taught me."

This new piece of information surprises him so much that the flames of his anger are snuffed out, if only for a second. Then they come back raging, and he cannot contain it.

"You knew what I was saying this entire time!" He rages, jabbing an accusing finger at you. You cringe away. "You could understand all of it!"

"Not all of it—" When you see the exasperation that crosses his face, you smile. "Alright. Most of it." 

You begin to walk away, but he furiously follows you. "You lied to me!"

"You were cursing me to my face. I think it's a fair exchange." You shrug with one shoulder, eyes sparkling with mischief. "It was funny, anyway. Your cluelessness, that is." And then, "you should know, now that you know — I can speak the main languages of each nation." 

"I can too," he says haughtily, raising his chin up at you. 

"Really?" You laugh. "Cubitum eamus?"

"What?"

"Nothing." 

"What does that mean?" He demands, only half aware he's repeating the interaction you once had over a plate of pink and white sweets. He's never heard a language sounding quite like that. Perhaps it could be a dialect, but it doesn't sound similar to any currently existing language. "What language is that?"

You deliver your coup de grâce with such smooth smugness on your face. "It's Khaenri'ahn." The dead language. 

He blinks. Opens his mouth dumbly. And lunges.

As he chases you through the halls, your laughter floats warm and clear in the frigid winter air. You easily outpace him, but perhaps out of pity, you let him catch you and drag you to — well, he doesn't exactly know where he's going, only that he does not want to let you escape his rage. You thrash in his arms like a trapped animal, still controlled by a laughing fit all the while. 

"I hate you," he grumbles later, when you've calmed him with a slice of strawberry cheesecake from the kitchens. He's still quite angry, but not angry enough to not accept your peace offering. "You're horrible."

"So are you." 

A pause, then, "Teach me Khaenri'ahn," he says, leaning forward, a bright idea sparking in his chest. "There's so many texts I have yet to decipher — you have no idea the knowledge I can grasp if you teach me." He thinks of the old Ruin Golems in Sumeru. How hard it was to learn how to control them! But with your help, with your knowledge, he could crack the world open like an egg and watch its secrets spill like yolk. 

"I thought I was a bad teacher."

"Bad is better than none at all."

The utterly offended look that flashes on your face teases a grin from his mouth. "You're horrible."

"So are you."

He thinks he sees the corner of your mouth involuntarily curl upward. You twirl your fork in your fingers, humming thoughtfully. "Why should I?" 

"... For the pleasure of contributing to my research?" The look you give him tells him you're not at all convinced. He continues, "My research that is so very essential to the success of this nation?"

You scoff, but you cannot deny it. He would not be alive if he wasn't useful to Snezhnaya.

"You'll owe me," you tell him. 

He shrugs. "There's worse things in the world. Let's start."

It startles you somewhat. "What, now?"

"Yes, now. Unless you have other things to do?" 

You don't. Your language lessons with him already ended when he reached an acceptable mastery over Snezhnayan according to your mother, and he knows that though you have a schedule (mysterious and utterly incomprehensible though it is — not even he has been able to figure it out), you'd drop everything in an instant if something else interests you. Your other engagements are often boring things, too, and the only duty you ever truly commit to are the strange missions your mother sends you on, ones that could go for months on end. He's fairly certain you'll acquiesce to his request.

You pretend to consider it, before shrugging with hardwon carelessness and saying, "Fine."

You're exactly the same. Flighty, distracted, and prone to seamlessly maneuvering to an entirely different topic without blinking an eye. Half the cheesecake is eaten before you even start on the alphabet, and the journey to that is filled with endless detours that consist of bickering, fighting over the (large) cake, and kicking each other like children under his work table. His intelligence is insulted more times in half an hour than in his entire years of study at the Akademiya.

Dottore decides, with solid determination, after eating the last slice of cake, finally learning the pronunciation of the vowels and consonants, and being on the receiving end of an onslaught of Khaeri’ahn curses he truly cannot understand — which is horribly ironic considering the past few weeks — that he might as well beg the Jester for lessons instead, and no one can do a damn thing about it. He tells this to you, chin up, resolute and unwavering in his declaration. 

He never does get around to doing that. 

[lacedinweb22]

Vampire Next Door ⋆⟡⋆ Miguel O'Hara x reader Chapter 1: New Girl *✩

Your neighbor is strange, to say the least. Miguel O’Hara: Alchemax’s newest scientist, genius, most sought-after bachelor … and according to your wildest suspicions … a vampire?

☆‧͙⁺˚*･

One ... more ... box.

You carry the fifty pound box up the stairs, panting and motivating yourself under your breath. New apartment building, new area, unfamiliar faces, unfamiliar ... smells, but fresh start. You needed this. After your nightmare roommate from last school year, you need peace, quiet, solitude. Your sanity depends on it. Your own little world, free from shitty people, broken promises, betrayal, all of the hell that was last year.

One more set of stairs to go.

You hear footsteps from the stairwell below you, coming closer. You're sweaty, in sweatpants, and not at all ready to make a lasting first impression on your new neighbors. But they're getting closer.

"New girl,"

You turn around, to look up at the tall, handsome– Miguel O'Hara?

But you pretend you didn't know of his existence until now.

"That's me, and you are?" you breathe out.

"Miguel," he says, analyzing you and your box.

In a way, you're grateful you're meeting him now since being out of breath, a flushed face and sweaty shirt can all be attributed to this workout rather than how he makes you feel.

"Please, let me," he offers, holding his muscular arms out. You stop on one step, and turn to look at him, he's one step below you, but still much taller, looking down at you.

He's muscular, and so are you (you’re ¼ his build), but you're also exhausted, so you allow it.

"Thanks," you mutter, offering a weak smile, fixing your hair after he so effortlessly lifted the box out of your arms.

You observe him. He looks different than he did two years back at Nueva York University: bigger, more muscular, more sure of himself, and more threatening? He was intimidating before, intimidating as in hot genius geneticist, but now he's intimidating hot shot Miguel O'Hara.

"You live on the fifth floor?" he asks, stopping at the landing.

"Yeah, and I'm guessing you do too?"

"Yeah, I do. What number are you?"

"501," you nod, smiling. You follow him down the hall.

He walks in front of you, nodding.

"I'm 502," he says, turning back to look at you, reading your face, before stopping in front of your place.

He smiles, his eyes on yours. You melt the way you did back then. Yep, he's still got it. You notice his eyes are different, the same beautiful brown, but with a new maroon tint to them. Almost inhuman. But the way he smiles, that's familiar. You get butterflies in your stomach, and feel everything all over again.

You knew him before Alchemax. You knew him when he was a less famous, all the same genius amongst NYU intellectuals. You remember admiring him from a distance. You sat outside of the library with Ash, and snuck glances at him over her shoulder, watching as he walked to class. You loved the way his dark brown wavy hair cascaded onto his face, the way he poked his glasses up, the way he rushed to class all while holding his school books, his motorcycle helmet, and pulling his lab coat over his compression shirt.

The autumn leaves fell gracefully all around him, like a scene straight out of a movie. He was picturesque, a piece of art, your hallway crush, unaware of your existence

and now right in front of you

... and he's your neighbor.

Ch. 2 here 😼

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[minty-drop]

Shadow milk cookie x reader

Tw: consent of relationship to forced relationship, mentions isolation, yandere themes

Type: angst

Fear, is what was brought into the earth bread when the beasts had become spoiled,crazed with power running through there dough. They destroyed the once peaceful land into their own playground, twisting and turning beliefs into worship and then fear. No cookie stood a chance to those who stood higher than them, challenger after challenger being crush beneath the monstrous power the 5 cookies had.

That kind smile you once knew, the different shades of beautiful blues that glow in hues. the jester who loved a good trick, those eyes that used to hold such sweetness and mischievous nature now had become what they swore they would never be. A monster, a tyrant that played with the life of cookie kind for his own entertainment, destroying what took so hard to create all for his own selfish pleasure.

You tried to run away from the sickening beast this kind cookie had become. You had no choice, for if you didn’t, you would be killed as well, and you didn’t plan on going back. What you didn’t know is that, shadow milk cookie was not quite ready to let you go, much to your dismay.

And when he had pulled you down with him into the dark as the seal had been placed, you knew as you fell down with him. then and there, he was not the same cookie you once loved. Trapped with these 5 beasts for centuries in the small confinement of the silver tree. Shadow milk had lost his mind more than he already had along with his fellow ‘friends’.

Shadow milk cookie feeds his own delusions with the constant forced words he made you say against your will. So caught up in his fantasy he still doesn’t realize, no, he does not want to acknowledge the fact you no longer see him. All you see is a monster, even if a part inside of you still loves him, you will never forgive him for his actions.

And when that fresh air had suddenly hit you, the cookies in front of you tired and bruised as a young cookie sealed off the breach. You could hear the sorrowing screams of agony and desperation behind you, reaching out for you to come back to him, don’t leave him. With what little hope you had, bursting in tears you ran into a random stranger arms, the smell of lily’s filling your senses. anything to get away from the pain of leaving a part of your life behind.

…

..

.

[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.

[verykoolkat]

Look who's alive :D I am so sorry for not being active I've had to choose my options for school and practice for my drama assessment 😭 but the jester boi is done at long last! It might look shit cuz I was trying a new style that's slightly messier lol

[poppyswriting]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐍.

One shot! Royal!Sun x reader.

summary: The next day after the ball, you tried to avoid the princes as much as you could, avoiding places that they were, avoiding talking to them, making contact with them anything. Until you received a visit from the sun-like Jester and a little chit chat with the Prince.

warnings: None really

Notes: This idea appeared in my head while I was grocery shopping and couldn’t get it out ever since, I think this is just a little parody (non official/non cannon!!) I made in my head for the first chapter of “Of fools in Gilded Masks” written for @cloudyvoid’s Medieval au, really loved the chapter! I really like sun, so this is going more to the sun lovers, please enjoy!! I’m sorry if it’s not great, this was kinda rushed since I didn’t want to loose the idea

*none of the characters mentioned are mine! They all belong to @head-in-the-icloud, and I personally love the whole au and it’s story so please make sure to check it out!! Really worth it.

Ao3 post.

Great way to start the “keeping it low mission” you thought.

At the ball, you committed quite the mistake. You interacted with the princes you so desperately tried to avoid. Your cheeks turned pink as you cringed at the idea, god what an awful start.

You sat on the bed as you yawned, looking over the room you noticed the empty bed. Guess that your “roommate” decided to take a morning walk or something. You didn’t want to go out of the room, the bed and blankets welcomed you so deliciously you wanted more minutes on it.

Even if it would’ve been the best option, you yelped at the sound of the doors opening. A maid entering the room quietly, “The Queen would love to greet all the remaining guests in the ball room.” Remaining guests? You were about to ask but the maid was quick to leave the room. Leaving the word in your mouth.

You sighed, getting up from the bed and get dressed. You had to use the same green dress you used for the gala night since, well, it was the only one you had. You looked around the room before stepping out to the ball room.

Now you understood what the maid meant when she said “remaining guests.”

You were entirely sure that there were more people than the ones that were here. It was still a large amount but there were less than yesterday. There were groups who were talking to each other, you stood on one of the corners of the room away from the crowds. You heard trumpets blare, making you look up again as one of the servants introduced the queen. She smiled at the crowd.

“I’d like to congratulate the remaining people here, most of you would be asking where are the others. Unfortunately, most of them were sent home for inside reasons. In the meantime, please feel free to enjoy the breakfast served.” Oh right, there was a large food table you didn’t noticed. You spaced out in your own thoughts, before you saw the people approach to the table.

You grabbed a plate and took some pancakes, they were really well decorated with strawberries shaped like hearts and some blueberries on the sides. It looked too cute to eat, but still very tasty.

After the breakfast, the groups left the rooms some to the bathrooms to clean themselves and some went walking through the halls. You took this as an opportunity to explore more the castle, walking down the halls and taking a look at some of the beautiful glass stained windows. But when you took one of the turns you saw at the distance a group of people, mostly woman whom were circling someone.

You thought of walking past them, but when one of the woman moved a little to the side you caught a glimpse of a familiar sun-like face and he seemed to have seen you too. Because when you both made eye contact he was quick to call you with a sign of his hand. At this you turned around and walked away back to the turn and left that hall, yes you felt bad for ignoring the Prince but you wanted to keep it low. Not be noticed, and get this over with.

After a while you were really tired of walking, it’s been almost an hour or at least that’s what it felt like. Why was the castle so big?! Of course is a castle. You sat down on the floor, not really pretty but come on of all the walking you’ve done you haven’t seen a chair nearby and it looked like you weren’t going to see one either. You stretched hearing a few pops from your bones and sighed in relief while you closed your eyes, you took some time until you decided to keep going

“Hello friend!” A voice quite loud besides you talked and you almost jumped at the sound. You weren’t expecting that, looking besides you you were met by the familiar Jester, Dawn right?? “Jesus! Don’t-, Don’t be sneaking into people like that!” You didn’t meant to be harsh in any way, really. But that almost got the soul out of you

“My apologies friend! I couldn’t help but noticing you here all by yourself! Mind if I join in?” For some reason, you actually didn’t mind that. You nodded and he was quick to take a seat besides you, with a moment of silence in the air. “How’s the thing going? Like it around here?”

“Oh, yeah sure. The food is great I must say, just looking around.” The silence was really loud, not that you would mind. “Have you talked to any of the princes yet? They say they’re very charming.” You didn’t expect that question, still it wasn’t unreasonable. That was the “reason” you came here after all. “Well yeah, I talked to one of them. Made a fool out of myself though”

You looked besides you to be met with the mask already looking at you, suddenly you had all of his attention. “Really? Is that why you haven’t talked to them ever since?” For a moment you frowned, how did he know that? But you brushed it off because well, he worked here of course he could see around and maybe he just saw how you avoided them. Right?

“Well yeah I think so, this whole idea is somewhat scary you know? I just, I’m afraid that if I get picked I will just be marrying someone I barely know. What if it’s the wrong one?” You put your legs upwards and hugged them, avoiding making eye contact with the jester. “I just, I want to marry someone I actually love, noble or not. And doing that with someone who doesn’t even know me then.. How am I even sure I’m going to get loved back?”

There was a pause, the silence turning awkward as none of you spoke. “Well, how are you sure that it’s not going to work out if you don’t try? If not knowing them it’s what scares you, talk to them and see if you connect. Don’t make all of your traveling not worth it, if you don’t get chosen then that’s okay. At least you tried.” Honestly he was right. You had the option to talk to them, get to know each one separately and see where things go.

“I guess that you’re right.” None of you looked at each other, the conversation turning deep rather quickly. “Say, you wouldn’t know another jester trick?” You didn’t know if he smiled, but it felt like it when he stood up and took your hand.

You had a fun time with the jester. Trying out new tricks and jokes here and there, laughing and overall you forgot the whole thing until it was time for him to go. You understood and nodded when he told you, so you went to wonder in the halls once again. You opened one of the doors that you saw, leading you to a big garden full of precious flowers in perfect conditions.

There were all sorts of flowers like Roses, Sunflowers, Lilly’s and more. You followed the clean road while looking at the flowers, after a while walking you spotted a big fountain in the distance. It had the edges wide enough for someone to sit on them so you did, admiring the flowers in the distance.

It was peaceful, It reminded you of your aunt because some of the flowers were her favorite. Making you smile at the memories with her, “Mind if I sit here?” You were on your own little world, spacing out to the distance. You hummed a yes, not looking at the person who sat besides you.

“They are beautiful aren’t they?” The voice sounded familiar, familiar enough to take you out of your trance and look besides you. You were met by the sun-like Prince who was looking at the flowers too. Your eyes widened. “Your highness!” You bowed your head, you heard a chuckle from him. “There’s no need for that please”

“Are you enjoying your stay here?” He asked, you nodded and he smiled. “Excuse me your majesty I-“ as you were standing up to make an excuse and leave you felt a hand touch yours, “Please stay, I insist” There was a kind smile on his face and suddenly, the Jesters words ran through your head. Making you stop, doubting for a second and sit again.

Time passes and it amazes you how easy to talk to was the Prince, it eased you to know this and it calmed you a lot. Even though sometimes your heartbeat was strong enough to make you confuse your words. You didn’t think you’d enjoy it as much as you did.

It was starting to get late, and he had to go because “Prince duties” and stuff. But before leaving he turned to you with that characteristic warm smile, “Can,” he stopped for a second “Can we repeat this one time? I really enjoyed it.” You told him yes, and he thanked you before parting his way.

You looked at him as he walked away and a smile appeared unconsciously in your mouth, you were smiling like an idiot. But who could’ve blamed you? The fact that now you both could get to know each other, and judging by how the conversation went, you were sure you could be eager to get to know the Prince.

[guacamoleroll]

— 𝖇𝖔𝖞𝖘, 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖎𝖗 𝖙𝖔𝖞𝖘 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖎𝖗 𝖘𝖎𝖝-𝖎𝖓𝖈𝖍 𝖗𝖔𝖈𝖐𝖊𝖙𝖘 ₊˚⊹

pairing: nikolai gogol (bungou stray dogs) x fem!reader

content warning(s): not-safe for work content (18+ MDNI), lingerie, sex toys, vaginal fingering, french kissing, choking, light bdsm, top!nikolai, bondage, blindfolds, impact play, bruises, vibrators, degradation, praise, cunnilingus, cum eating, overstimulation, subspace, creampies, aftercare

word count: 3k+

author's note: i don't know what demon possessed me while writing this, but i would like to thank it because MAN this came out steamy.

would you like to see more? join the taglist or comment under this post!

"Do you like them? I picked them each out by hand."

A festive night of gift-giving underneath a star-sparkling tree twists into some spicy seasonal bedroom moments between you and a certain jester. Knowing Nikolai, he's always finding new ways to turn up the heat.

Within the heart of a festively adorned living room, lights sparkling upon satin furnishings and iridescent ornaments, a tree stood as its masterful centerpiece—the embodiment of holiday enchantment. An assembly of flashes adorned every bough, casting a warm glow against the bubbling couple that bundled together below the branches. The more lively of the pair, a snowy-headed jester in striped pajamas, tore open his presents with the gleefulness of a child. One after another, checkered pants and sweaters, dotted scarves and bows, and magician kits with decadent engravings sat in piles surrounding the both of you.

"Do you like them, Коля?" you managed to ask between giggles, your skin prickled by the fervent kisses from your boyfriend.

"Like them? I love them!" he beamed, rocking back and forth on his bum.

His nose nuzzled into your neck, trailing butterfly kisses that made goosebumps prickle on the side of your throat. "You're far too good to me, dove." He had a dopey expression on his face, so absolutely love-sick as he stared up at you between drunken lashes—and then he remembered that you hadn't opened any of your gifts yet. He shot up from the floor with the speed of a rocket.

"My turn!"

His feet pounded against the floor as he dashed to the tree, sorting through the mountains of presents with a struggle despite the obvious difference between his crudely wrapped boxes and yours. Some others ended up rushing out of his overcoat in waves, swirling into a large pile on the floor at your feet.

You struck him with a raised brow. "Do I even want to know where these came from?"

His only response was a smirk, and you decided the best course of action was not to question him any further—you'd rather not track down the list of people he had stolen from during the holiday season, so you rolled the brief guilt away with practiced ease. Instead, you began to open your own presents, most of which you had correctly guessed would be accessories and makeup. Nikolai loved seeing you all pretty for him; he always said he enjoyed dressing up his dove in fancy clothes. You had looked into the next box, assuming it would be the same—and in your defense, you were mostly right. However, you were not expecting to pull out a lacy baby doll top. You peered around its sheer cloth to look at a suddenly still Nikolai, his smirk deepening into something much more suspicious.

"Lingerie?"

"Like it? It was made especially for you."

You didn't comment, staring at the beautiful lacework before settling it into your lap with care, shifting the last box over. It loomed over, much larger than the rest, and your hands trembled. The box was quite heavy, despite the obvious crinkle paper shaking around inside. You cracked the lid open, slowly peering in, and your eyes widened—you certainly had not expected that. Without thinking, your thighs clenched together as your heart raced at the sight.

"Look through them, dove."

The entire box was basically a model display of sex toys—vibrators, dildos, restraints, blindfolds, lube—anything you could think of. Through the sudden haze of disbelief and lust, you thought you hallucinated the sensation stirring in your lower half, only to realize that a certain someone was thumbing at your clit. You didn't even have to glance down to know Nikolai was using his ability in his favorite way.

"Do you like them? I picked them each out by hand." A finger dipped between your soaked folds, tracing smooth circles inside your pussy as he gathered slick on one after another. You released an airy moan at the stubborn sensation, unable to buck your hips as Nikolai stilled them, sweeping his unoccupied thumb across your panted lips.

"You're so easy to rile up, dove," he muttered, taking advantage of your parted lips to slide his tongue into your mouth, practically sliding it down your throat as his desperation became apparent, the need to consume you whole unraveling in his searing touches as he reveled in the way you slowly came apart.

"So pretty for me. моя гарна дівчина," he hummed like it was a little tune, twisting the straps of the lingerie in his fingers as he parted from the kiss with a string of saliva. "But you'd look even better in this little number."

You rose to your feet with his help, yelping as he pushed you towards the bathroom with a curt smack to your ass, his demeanor rapidly changing back to the comedic man you knew.

"I'll be waiting in the bedroom!"

The sheer material of the skimpy lace seemed to be woven from frosted moonlight itself, a subtle iridescence dancing along intricate handiwork. Its hem, a cascade of diaphanous layers, swirled underneath your bust to perk up your cleavage while maintaining a semblance of humility. You couldn't deny that it slipped on easily, fitting to your figure to flatter your breasts elegantly—who knows how much measuring Nikolai had to do to find the perfect size.

Your newfound confidence made it easier to slip out of the bathroom with a click, but your treacherous journey down the hall brought back your bout of nerves. You knew Nikolai was unexpected and kinky—two of his fondest traits—but you had not expected any of this in the slightest. With a deep breath, you peeked into your shared bedroom, mentally preparing yourself to enter a den of sin. However, your jaw dropped as your eyes adjusted to the dimly lit room, hysterical laughter leaving your lips.

"Y-You look so—"

The white-haired man had splayed himself on the bed in his whole naked glory, stiffened cock and all; a rose bit between his teeth and petals crumbled beneath the weight of his body, condensed into a huge pool in the center of the sheets.

"Don't be mean," he pouted between bitten teeth, swiping the flower and petals away from the bed. "I did this all for you."

"S-Sorry, sorry," you stumbled through shattered breaths, not apologetic in the slightest. He was absolutely ridiculous, but that only added to his peculiar charm. You placed a peck on his cheek, striking the sulky jester with a fond smile. "You know I love you, right?"

Nikolai's frown melted back down into that same airheaded expression from earlier, like that of a dorky puppy. His hands cupped over your own as your fingers traced his lashline, heart rate skyrocketing as he cooed at the sheer difference in size between your fingers. It would take a couple of your fingers to even—

"Hmm. You're just the sweetest little thing, aren't you?"

He pressed kisses along the wrinkles of your palms before dropping your hands from his grasp, his saccharine eyes hardening into a predatory stare. You froze as he circled around your body like a vulture, oogling at how the lingerie cupped your figure perfectly—he knew it would; you always looked beautiful in anything in his eyes. His eyes scanned you from head to toe, fists clenched as his mind raced with the dirtiest of thoughts. He hadn't planned this far ahead, but his body and cock acted before his mind.

"You're so beautiful, dove. Do you even realize how gorgeous you are?" he whispered, tipping you back until you were pressed flush to his chest. You tried to ignore the way his cock curved against your ass as if already prepared to take you, but it was too early. There was always some kind of game to play first.

"Can you feel what you do to me?"

"Коля—"

His breath prickled your skin, the hair on the back of your neck rising. "Fuck, dove." He trailed brisk kisses along your shoulder blades, a hand brushing up your cleavage to wrap around your delicate throat, making light squeezes that had your thighs clenching. "I'll be makin' you scream my name in a minute."

"A small quiz for you, sweet one." You shuddered as he nipped at your skin. "How many times can I make you cream on these toys until you begin to cry for my cock?"

The low timber of his voice made you shudder. "К-Коля."

You groaned out into the open air as he latched onto your throat. "Quiet, dove." His finger raised your chin, creating a sweet ache as you craned your head to peer into his striking, mismatched eyes.

Fuck. This had to be one of his favorite views. You stared up at him between hooded lashes; your lips parted as your chest rose between tense breaths, eyes blown out with lust as you hung onto his every word.

So fuckin' sweet.

"Only good sluts get dicked down." You gulped down your nerves as his grasp on your throat tightened. "So you better behave and lie down on the bed. Legs spread."

Without a moment of hesitation, you obeyed his request, lying on your back with your legs spread against the soft blankets. His mouth watered as he peered down at the wet patch evident through the fabric of your panties, beads of slick dripping down your thighs and the underside of your ass.

"Wider."

You spread them more, but it didn't seem to be enough as he tutted down at you with a mischievous grin. "Not wide enough, love." He smirked. "But don't worry. Let me help."

You eyed him carefully as he fished through the box of toys, eyes widening as he pulled out some of the silk restraints, testing their strength with a teasing tug. His fingers caressed the soft skin of your thighs, nails tracing down towards your ankles as he pried your legs apart, gleeful to feel you tremble beneath his slightest touch as he tied you to the bedposts. He copied the same actions with your hands, binding your wrists together over your head.

"Stay still," he muttered as a reminder, lifting your head to tie another strip around your eyes, forcing you into complete and utter darkness. You moved your fingers, your sensitivity heightened to compensate for your lack of sight. His nails traced the divots of your waist, drawing circles against the exposed areas of your breasts, hips, and thighs, adoring the meek whimpers that remained lodged in your throat.

He landed a harsh slap to your thigh, chuckling as you shuddered underneath him. "Be good, кохана. Be nice and sweet for me."

The sensation of his lips tingled your skin, caressing every part as if he was admiring a glorious Renaissance painting. He tongued and teased your flesh in torturous strokes, swathing your body in bruises as he took his time reaching your sweet center. The impatient part of you wanted to snap at him, to tell him to fuck you already, but that would only prolong the suffering, so you endured—the best rewards always came to those who held out the longest. He pressed his fingertips against your soaked panties, palming your pussy as he pushed them aside, musing at your honeyed whines.

Your heart echoed inside your chest as the room went still, those same heated hands drifting away from your skin, away from the place you so desperately wanted them to be. But then, through the thickened fog of panted breaths and subtle arousal, was a faint buzz, followed by the return of one of the hands pinning down your thighs.

"I need you to remain completely still, dove. If you can sit there and be quiet, you'll come closer to getting what you want. Understand me?"

You nodded quickly, head hovering up despite the blindfold as if to peer at the object between your legs, only to slam your head back against the bed, suppressing a moan as a rabbit vibrator circled your clit, collecting your slick on its silicon surface. It was pure torture as he repeatedly drew it away from your aching pussy, instead teasing the outside of your folds.

You were ready for him to fuck you already. You needed him to—but he never gave in to demands or pleas despite enjoying those desperate cries for more. You'd have to play his games. So you sat there and took it.

He hummed a gentle tune as he worked the toy around your clit in rhythmic, circular motions, occasionally messing with the speed before turning it back down. You let out a huff of confusion as it left your clit at the cusp of release, too hot and bothered to connect the dots as your mouth opened to question him—

"A-Ahn–! Коля, fu-fuck–!"

"Shut your mouth."

He shoved the vibrator completely inside, twisting it onto its highest setting as he worked it in-and-out of your weeping pussy, cackling as you sputtered and pulled against your restraints. Your thighs trembled under his bruising grip, slick leaking from your cunt as the dizzying sensation of bliss started to overtake your brain.

You choked down a cry as he smacked your thigh hard. "Have some self-restraint, slut," he murmured with a devilish coo, soothing your inflamed skin with a harsh grope. "I won't fuck you if you move again, so behave."

It took every part of your willpower not to buck your hips against the deliberately slow tempo of the vibrator, your muscles taut as you tightened your grip on your restraints, saliva slipping from the corner of your lips. You wore your bottom lip between your teeth, tasting metallic on your tongue to stifle your cries as you came on the toy. Without a moment to lose as you tried to breathe, your panties were pulled from their place nestled against your cunt, landing on the floor on the opposite end of the room as your pussy greeted the cold air, dribbles of cum spilling from your folds and staining the sheets.

Nikolai hated the idea of wasting even a single drop, his own body twitching as pre-cum spilled out from his throbbing cock, which he briefly palmed in his hand. His mouth attached to your clit like a starved man, feasting on your cum as he attempted to drink every last drop. You panted as his tongue dipped into your folds, teeth teasing your clit.

"Move. Fuck my mouth, sweet girl. Let me taste you."

He slurped at every last drop, relishing in the salacious swivel of your hips as you bucked into his mouth. "N-Niko—, please—p-please." Broken moans spilled out from your lips, begging him for more. "N-Need you, I need you—God, Коля–p-please–!"

Nothing seemed to be enough as the heated sensation between your legs intensified, your stomach coiling. His fingers dug into your skin, pinning your hips down as he feasted, devouring the sight of your pleasure-filled panic as you attempted to chase your own high, only for him to push against you harder. Your peak was brought about through slow, deliberate strokes of his tongue, a loud sob leaving your lips as he swallowed your second orgasm.

He would take everything you would give him. Everything you could give him.

In those moments of blissed haze, his carnivorous eyes observing as your body attempted to recoup from the ecstasy—fingers twisted in their binds as you hung onto the last threads of reality, breath evening out as you were brought back down to earth, muscles slackening as you regained the remnants of your will—he knew what he wanted to do. Had to do.

You stiffened with a groan as the blindfold was untied from your face, eyes settling in dizzy circles as your arms and legs were unbound. Your arms raised to reach out to him, to touch him, but he beat you to it, fingers intertwining with your own as he pinned them beside your head, his face buried into your neck as he panted, trying to control himself. Soft, desperate kisses seared your skin once more, drawing a yelp from you as he bit down.

"So fuckin' good," he moaned. "God—dove, I'm gonna fuck you so hard. You'll have no choice but to unravel."

Your legs quaked as the head of his cock settled between your folds, teasing your entrance. "I'm gonna break you." He squeezed your hands as your breath quickened. "And you'll cry for me like a dumb whore, unable to move as you cream on my cock."

He buried himself inside with a stuttered groan, heaving at the feeling of your pussy fluttering around him. You were more than soaked; your gushy pussy was practically melting around him. It felt so fucking good. His eyes rolled back as he felt your nails dig into the skin of his back, reddened lines trailing up his spine.

"F-Fuck—too much! T-Too much. Коля!"

He folded your thighs over, slamming you into a mating press, watching with fascination as his cock disappeared into your pussy with each thrust, creating faint divots in your stomach as he bottomed out.

He pressed down against your belly, cooing as you squirmed against his hand. "Look at you, dove." Tears streamed down your cheeks as choked sobs escaped your lips. He kissed some of them up, licking at the salty drops with a pant, cock throbbing at the sound of your cries.

"S-Shit, I'm gonna—!"

"Cum f'r me, pretty." His pace increased, hitting your sweet spot. "Just like that."

He groaned as his thrusts stuttered, spilling his cum inside of you as he brought you back to the peak of bliss one last time, moaning breathlessly into his mouth as he twisted his tongue with yours. His brows furrowed as he settled himself, slipping out of your gushing walls, trying not to harden at the sight of your combined cum. He sighed, lying on top of you with a softened smile.

He pressed his hand to your cheek, eyes adoring your state of love-drunk bliss. Your eyes hazy and glazed over, your hair disheveled and tangled up, your words stuttered and muttered out—his pretty girl. Your body desperately attempted to recover, but unlike last time, it struggled on its own.

Seems like he'd have to put you back together.

He cooed. "You're floating, малятко." His lips pressed cold kisses into your feverish skin. "Come back down to me."

You groaned, tired fingers latching onto his own. "You did so good, dove." He pecked your temple, heart twisting at the small smile that managed to perk up onto your lips. "So fuckin' good. Took me so well."

His hands dipped into his overcoat, which he had set expressly for this occasion. He pulled out a water bottle and a wet cloth, bracing your head as you took small sips. "Sit up, pretty one." You barely managed to drink a drop, eyes fluttering closed as he tried to stir you. "Take a sip. Your throat will be sore tomorrow."

He pulled at the rag, wiping off some of the sweat and cum that coated your skin. "Shhh." He cooed, trying not to overstimulate you even more as he cleaned around your pussy, which was drizzling like a fountain. His hands settled you back onto the bed before swaddling you up in his arms, listening to your sweet babbles as you slipped into slumber as he twisted strands of your hair between his fingers. "Good night, кохана. Sleep well."

коля = kolya моя гарна дівчина = my beautiful girl кохана = dearest малятко = baby

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