cersei going to sansa's bedchambers after she leaves maegor's holdfast during the battle of the blackwater, only to find sandor's stained white cloak already on the bed and thinking he raped her. she talks about how sansa is such a slut, how no one could truly care about her without wanting to get up her skirt, and when sansa stars to sob, trying to explain that it wasn't like that, that he "might've" kissed her but that was only it, that she was still proper, still a maiden, and cersei tells her to shut up, that she know the truth, that sansa is lucky she's bleeding and that the queen is above dirtying her hands, otherwise she would check her maidenhood herself to prove how much of a filthy liar she is, as filthy as her traitor's blood. and when sansa can't stop crying, curled up in her bed, barely able to speak, to beg for cersei's forgiveness, she simply... stops, sits next to sansa and caresses her hair for a while in total silence, until she gets up and leaves like nothing ever happened.
now let's talk about cersansa, or how i like to call them... the original book rhaenicent.
for me, the most interesting ships involving cersei are always the ones where her partner is a distorted mirrored version of herself and she HATES it [which is why i find cersei x tyrion far more fascinating than cersei x jaime], and that's why cersansa slaps.
cersei and sansa have very different temperaments, and yet is clear, in the way cersei talks to her, that she sees a little of herself in sansa:
"Joffrey will show you no such devotion, I fear. You could thank your sister for that, if she weren't dead. He's never been able to forget that day on the Trident when you saw her shame him, so he shames you in turn. You're stronger than you seem, though. I expect you'll survive a bit of humiliation. I did. You may never love the king, but you'll love his children."
specifically, she sees her own victimhood in sansa. she sees her own marriage and abuse reflected on sansa and joffrey, and she pities her. not enough to stop the abuse, not enough to help her, but she does pities that version of her own innocence she sees in sansa.
that's why she tries to teach her [help her] the ways of the world:
"Certain things are expected of a queen. They will be expected of you should you ever wed Joffrey. Best learn."
she's not kind to sansa once the nice act in agot is over, but she does tries to impart some wisdom. several times, she advices sansa to open the eyes to the cruelty of the world.
so there's resentment [she hates the version of herself she projects on sansa], but there's also a desire to take sansa under her wing, to teach her the way a woman in her position should act.
it's strange, because in affc we discover that cersei lives terrified of the "younger, more beautiful queen" that will take her place, yet she doesn't seem to want to get rid of sansa like she wants margaery gone. this might very well be because george hadn't thought of that prophecy writing acok, but from a watsonian perspective, the most logical explanation is that cersei didn't see sansa as a threat, so she was willing to marry her to joffrey.
maybe sansa was her solution for the "younger, more beautiful queen". from her perspective, sansa was too meek to ever become a problem. she wanted her married to joffrey and as future queen because she wanted sansa as a possesion. because she believed she could control her.
now, we all know sansa. we all know that underneath her courtesies, she's raging. she's planning her escape while everyone believes her dumb and feeble. she's wishing for the dead of every lannister she's ever met as she smiles through the pain. she let cersei fool her once and never again.
one thing about sansa is that she's stubborn. not outwardly (that wouldn't be ladylike) but in her heart. that twelve-year-old girl has a more unshakable spirit that most adults around her. she remains herself, the little girl her parents raised her to be, despite the many horrors in her life.
[even in affc, as alayne stone, she's very much still still sansa.]
so there's a very delicious dynamic here, where cersei believes herself capable of controlling sansa and groom her into her perfect little pawn, only for sansa to never truly bend to cersei's will.
cersei, too late, coming to the realization that sansa is not a lesser version of her, but her own person, one she cannot control. one that will bring her demise.
18+, 4k words, smut, dubcon, noncon, watersports, wine, piss, strap on, oral, dom cersei, wlw
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Boredom occupied Cersei's evening. Her handmaid had annoyed her thoroughly all night, so had been sent away before the whining could burrow any deeper into Cersei's throbbing skull. And then, with no one to watch or judge her, she'd poured another cup of wine, and then another, until she'd drained the last of the Dornish red she kept in her bedchamber. It made her tongue feel heavy in her mouth, lazy and dry.
Her thoughts drifted, bouncing from pride and satisfaction at Robert's long-deserved demise, frustration that her twin had left her side for the time being, and when she needed him most, no less. She thought of Ned Stark, of Joffrey too, and bile rose in her throat. The execution had been a messy affair, and while she struggled to regret it, she knew it had been mishandled.
It was too hot in her bedchamber. Moonlight was all that illuminated her, she'd snuffed the candles long ago, and she stood by the window to catch her breath. The sticky-hot breeze caught in her hair, blowing it gently away from her neck, soft as a kind lover's kiss. The lights across the bay were a spattering of yellow and red hues, twinkling faintly beyond the lapping shores. Cersei groaned when she still didn't cool, and unlaced her nightgown. When it was loose around her, dipping too low in spots, she found some relief, though not nearly enough. The night's chill did find her; she felt cooler on her arms and around her neck, though heat seemed only to build in her gut, across her chest, and around her thighs.
She tried to place her anger somewhere suitable, her mind drifted on the roaring seas churning inside her, until it settled at Sansa Stark's shores. Sansa. Such a sweet little dove, Cersei hated her. At first, it had been because she was an insipid little wretch brought to court for the purpose of annoying her and stealing away her son. But, as time stretched on, Sansa had proved more clever than she seemed at first glance and was insistent on receiving every insult with a straight back and a courteous nod. Gods, Cersei couldn't stand her. Such a pretty, polite little girl. And everyone loved her. Except Joffrey, Cersei was glad of that small mercy, as lovely as Sansa was, Joffrey hadn't liked her now that Ned Stark was dead and gone.
Cersei sauntered away from the window, swayed slightly as she made her way to the door, and instructed a servant outside to go and fetch her another bottle of wine, and Sansa Stark. She wasn't sure why she wanted the pup's company. Maybe she was more drunk and bored than she realised.
Cersei fussed at herself in the looking glass, displeased at how flushed the wine had made her. She combed a few errant tangles out of her hair, wiped the droplet of wine that had dried around the corner of her lips, and sighed in frustration at the dour, tired look around her eyes. In a hurry to look presentable, she discarded the faded and comfortable nightgown, in favour of a long and loose robe in a crimson silk, trimmed with Myrish lace. Regal enough to intimidate a little girl, she thought.
Sprawled upon a low couch in the centre of her bedchamber, she waited as patiently as a queen could possibly manage for Sansa to come to her.
The girl was virtuously hasty in coming to her, always so eager to please, so scared of making a mistake. The door creaked open finally, the servant stood in the doorway, a bottle of red wine in their grip, and then next to them, so sweet and sleep-rumpled, was Sansa Stark.
"Give the girl the wine, and begone with you," Cersei ordered, her eyes burned as she stared into Sansa.
With shaking hands, Sansa took the bottle and stepped into the room. The door closed with a soft thud and made Sansa shiver. She was staring back at Cersei, her bright blue eyes so worried and tired, the corners unmarked by wrinkles. Her auburn hair was unbound yet perfectly in place and she wore a soft linen white gown of the purest white. A little dove or snow angel fluttered into Cersei's bedchamber.
"Your Grace," she curtsied, eyes flitting about the room.
Cersei scowled as she watched her. She hated her. Her youth screamed insults in the quiet of the room, it was unfair how lovely she could look on such short notice, even though she'd hurried to please her queen.
She sat up on the couch. "Place the wine on the table and sit with me."
Sansa walked over gracefully, as though she floated on the air, and set down the wine before Cersei. She was hesitant in taking up her perch beside the queen and sat as close to the end as she could manage, just out of the scope of heat radiating from Cersei's wine-flushed body.
The queen poured two goblets of wine and slid one towards Sansa. "Drink, little one."
Her pretty eyes had grown wider when she looked up at Cersei, grasping the goblet tightly. "What is it, your Grace? Was there news from the Riverlands? Did something happen to Robb? Or my mother?"
Cersei only stared at her for a moment. She blinked slowly. Frankly, it had not crossed her mind that the pup might think she'd been summoned for some political excuse. Cersei felt her cheeks redden with embarrassment.
"What? No, of course not." She looked down at Sansa's cup. "I said to drink, girl," she snapped.
Sansa furrowed her brow, confused but without daring to question her further, and sipped the wine.
"Not in meek little sips," Cersei scoffed and rolled her eyes. She leaned back slightly, rested her head on her hand, drumming fingertips against her temple. "You're a big girl, take a proper drink."
Sansa blushed prettily at the chastisement and lifted the cup again to have a steady gulp of the wine. She struggled to swallow down the bitter taste, then looked to Cersei for approval.
Cersei reached over and tucked a strand of Sansa's hair behind her ear. "Good girl," she crooned softly. "Keep going."
She looked unsure for a moment, then diligently drained the goblet.
"Do you like it, little one?" Cersei practically purred. "Does it taste nice?"
Sansa shook her head. "I… I do not think so," she mumbled. "It is sort of bitter."
Cersei chuckled and leaned in closer, breathing in the pure scent of cleanliness and innocence that clung to the young lady's skin. "Poor thing. I thought you were grown up enough to have a drink with me. Was I wrong? You don't want any more?"
She shook her head immediately. "No, no! I can drink it. Thank you, your Grace, it's lovely."
"Hm," Cersei tried not to chuckle at her change of heart. "Very well, little one, another cup for you." She refilled the goblet, finally drinking her own as well. Her hand stroked Sansa's hair gently, carding auburn silk, glowing like embers, between her fingers, as they drank in silence for a few moments.
Sansa hiccuped, then delicately covered her mouth with her hand. "Pardons, your Grace," she mumbled as she went for another gulp of wine.
"It's alright," Cersei murmured soothingly. "Are you enjoying it a little more?"
Sansa nodded, her soft, pink lips still cupping the goblet's rim. Cersei was staring, unabashedly.
"Why is that? It hasn't improved in taste, you know," she chuckled and let her fingertips dance over the line of Sansa's neck, across her collarbone until she found the edge of the nightgown's neckline. "Does it make your little head feel nice?"
She swallowed and looked up at Cersei with a smile, her pupils were blown and she seemed rather relaxed, instead of the anxious little thing she'd been when she came in. A drop of wine dripped from her bottom lip to her chin, and Cersei reached out to catch it with her thumb, making Sansa giggle as she swiped it away. "Yes, my head feels like it might float away."
"Oh? You're light-headed, little one?"
She nodded again. "And a little bit dizzy, I think."
"Oh, poor thing. Can you be a very brave girl and manage another cup or two?" Cersei coaxed her slowly, steadying Sansa's arm to lift and top up the goblet again.
Sansa nodded and drank from her cup, leaning back against the couch and watching Cersei. Sansa's eyes stayed trained on Cersei's lips, watching the queen lick between sips. Then she watched the way her throat bobbed with each swallow, and her gaze slid further down, to where the robe stubbornly gaped open, giving a hint of a view of Cersei's breast.
Cersei took notice and chuckled. "You look distracted, sweetling. Or have your thoughts abandoned you?"
The girl nodded slowly, gulping down her wine eagerly.
When Cersei's arm slid around Sansa's narrow-set shoulders, she went soft and limp in Cersei's grip. Boneless the moment she didn't need to hold herself up. Cersei was warm, and Sansa leaned her head against the patch of soft, heated skin the red robe exposed.
"Are you getting tired?" Cersei purred, winding her fingers through the shining curls of Sansa's hair.
The only response Sansa could muster was a little nod, and a tired sort of whine. Not petulant or bratty, but weary and confused.
With a touch far gentler than Cersei wanted to use, she pried the near-empty goblet from Sansa's hand to set it back down on the table, her own cup soon joined it. Murmuring soft reassurances, she helped Sansa to her feet and guided her the short distance across her bedroom, positioning her to lie on her back on the queen's spacious bed. Sansa sighed in abject pleasure at the feeling of such luxurious softness under her.
"You rest your sweet head now, little one," she whispered and knelt on the end of the bed, looking down at the girl sprawled across her sheets.
Sansa was lovely in that pure and gentle way only young maidens raised on songs could be. She wasn't as trusting now, of course, she shied away from Cersei typically. But there was still a delicious naivety to her. Her eyes were shut, and breathy little sighs escaped her as drunkenness settled over her like a heavy blanket. She squirmed too, her legs shifted and pressed together under white linen.
Cersei could not help herself. She was a pretty peach, ripe and fresh, desperate to be plucked, tasted, and ultimately discarded.
She grasped at Sansa's ankle and with a whisper of a touch, pried off her slipper, and dragged down one of her stockings. When that small foot was freed of its confines, she rubbed and massaged little circles into the sole and undressed Sansa's other foot.
"Your Grace?" Sansa slurred, her thoughts syrupy and her tongue struggling to form the sounds just right. "What are you doing?"
Cersei bent and pressed kisses against one of Sansa's dainty soles. "Hush, little one, shh… just lie back and let your mind drift away," she said softly, kissing the inside of her ankle.
Sansa quickly acquiesced, her auburn hair fanned out over Cersei's pillows, and she seemed lost in tracing the shape of each and every tile on the intricate ceiling.
The queen became bolder in her touch, sliding one warm palm up the length of her leg, underneath the pure, soft nightgown, to where Sansa's blood burned through the tender flesh of her thigh. Cersei longed to bite into that softness, to tear and maul, to make ruin of this pretty girl laid before her.
She lifted up the skirt, hitching up the nightgown around Sansa's slender hips. She was wearing small clothes, a similar unadorned linen to the nightgown.
"Lift your hips, sweetling," Cersei whispered, rubbing a gentle circle against Sansa's hip and brushing an innocent kiss against her thigh.
Sansa barely stirred, but her voice became high-pitched and breathy. "What? Why?" There was a current of confused panic in her voice, an unease that made Cersei's belly coil with desire.
"Oh, it's nothing to be scared of, little one. Proper ladies do this with the more experienced girls all the time. You want to be ready for your future husband, don't you?" Cersei lied sweetly, her next kiss brushed low on Sansa's belly. "I'll show what to expect. You can be a brave girl and let me show you, can't you?"
Sansa sniffed and tried to press her thighs together. Cersei didn't let her, pinning her legs slightly apart. "It'll make me a better lady?" She asked softly.
Cersei grinned against Sansa's skin, her thumb pressed a little harder into her hip. "Yes, little one. You'll be the perfect lady if you listen to me."
With a tremulous sigh, Sansa lifted her hips high enough for Cersei to take her small clothes down her thighs. The queen threw them aside, crumpled and forgotten on the cool stone floor.
Then, finally, Cersei spread Sansa's thighs and reached her hand forward to touch the girl's core. Her thumb dragged soft as a whisper through the spattering of copper curls between her legs. Be it from the drink or the unexpected intimacy of the night, Cersei found her wet, pretty pink folds dripping with moisture like morning dew on a rose. The pad of her thumb pressed against the little bud at Sansa's apex, and the girl inhaled sharply, a quick gasp that turned to a breathy moan.
"Shh… such a brave girl. You're all right, sweetling, just breathe, just feel," Cersei reassured her. She leaned forward and slanted her mouth against Sansa's heated sex, tongue darting out immediately to taste along her slit. She was as sweet and soft as Cersei had expected, each innocent whine or moan that slipped from Sansa's lips was a beautiful harmony of innocence against the wet, lewd sounds between her legs.
Cersei gripped her thighs tightly, palming at the slender limbs as she devoured her with all the ferocious hunger of a lioness upon a fresh kill. Her lips locked around Sansa's clit and she sucked until she heard the girl cry out in reluctant pleasure.
"Your Grace, I cannot—" Sansa had begun to cry, clutching fistfuls of the bedding under her.
"Oh, but you can and will," Cersei said firmly when she came up for breath. She admired Sansa's pleasured writhing for a moment before sinking back down to feast on the girl again.
Sansa lay under her, moaning and bucking her hips under Cersei's mouth, then suddenly cried out and pushed the queen's head away.
"Stop! Stop!" She was sobbing and sat up frantically, squeezing her thighs together. "I need to pee," she whined.
"Do you now, little one?" Cersei forced her back down onto the bed, lying on her back again, and leaned over her. "You need it?"
Sansa nodded, squiring under her. "Please, let me up, please—"
Cersei shook her head and pushed down her palm against Sansa's belly, pressing down on the girl's too-full bladder. "Did you drink too much?" She smiled wide and wolfish, adding a little more pressure.
"Ah!" Sansa cried. "Yes, yes, your Grace, I had too much, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, please… Please let me go and relieve myself."
The queen tutted. "Naughty girl, overindulging yourself, not being able to keep control of your own body," Cersei played with Sansa's clit again, rolling it under her thumb, a steady hand still on Sansa's bladder. "No, no. Relieving yourself won't teach you a lesson. No, little one, you're going to hold it."
"Hold it?" Sansa looked up at her, her face a picturesque plea for mercy.
Cersei pulled away to reach for a box under the bed frame. "Yes. Stay perfectly still, and hold in your pee."
She found what she was looking for. During a more experimental night with her brother, he'd allowed her to use a carved wooden phallus on him. After an extremely thorough inspection of Sansa's cunt, Cersei had decided the girl would surely be able to take it too. The appendage was fitted with leather straps to secure it over Cersei's hips, and the phallus itself was wide enough to stretch its recipient, but not too much that it would ache for days after.
Cersei unfastened her robe and cast it aside along with Sansa's stockings and small clothes. She watched as Sansa's eyes widened, the girl was awestruck by Cersei's nudity, she didn't look away.
"You're going to behave and be ever so brave for me. Do you understand?" Cersei murmured as she fastened the phallus to her hips. She oiled it and stroked it in her fist as she'd watched men do before taking her.
Sansa bit down on her lip, the nervousness crystal clear in her expression. She was afraid, which pleased Cersei more than her pleasure ever could have. The girl gave a short nod then shyly tried to look anywhere but Cersei's cock.
Cersei began gently, guiding Sansa's legs around her hips, sliding the tip of her cock up and down through the wet slit. Then, somewhat cruelly, she pressed on Sansa's bladder as she pushed the length in slowly, taking her time as she buried the wood to the hilt inside Sansa.
Sansa cried out, tears streaming down her pretty flushed cheeks. She was distraught, weeping for mercy, squirming and trying not to wet herself, though Cersei only took note of how easily her cock had slid in, how quick to yield the girl's cunt had been in swallowing every inch of it.
"Stop weeping, little one," Cersei muttered as she began her shallow thrusts, getting Sansa used to the sensation. "Doesn't that feel good, sweetling? You take it so well, all pretty and full of my cock."
Sansa whimpered and moaned beneath her, little gasps and sighs tumbled from her as Cersei's thrusts became bolder. "Please…" Sansa whined, "Your Grace, I won't be able to hold it in…"
Cersei leaned over her and dug her fingers into Sansa's hair, one hand tugging sharply. "Don't argue, Sansa, it isn't very becoming of a young lady," she punctuated her chastisement with a sharp thrust.
Sansa yelped and reached up, wrapping her arms around Cersei.
Despite her intention to tease and distress the girl, Cersei held her too, grasping her close as she slid the wooden cock in and out of Sansa at an ever-roughening pace.
"Taking me so well, little one," she grumbled against Sansa's ear, burning her face in the auburn curls. Sansa's fingers dug in a little harder against Cersei's back, desperately grounding herself to the queen's sweltering warmth, her iron will. "Such a full little tummy, hm?" Cersei gasped for breath as she fucked her, pushing on her lower belly. "All full of pee, getting speared on my cock. Oh, is it too much, sweetling?" Cersei crooned, soft and mocking.
Sansa nodded, burying her face in the crook of Cersei's neck. "S'too much… I can't…" she whispered between broken sobs. "Your Grace, please…"
The queen was merciless in her taking, however, and her pace did not falter, nor did her cruel pressure against Sansa's bladder.
Sansa sobbed again, whispering half-lost pleas to deaf ears.
It happened all of a sudden. Sansa's cries got louder as Cersei's thrusts fucked her deep and rough, the pressure on her bladder grew and grew, never ceasing, never giving her a moment of reprieve. Then whatever composure she'd had at first shattered, hot piss trickled and then poured, soaking her nightgown, the sheets and blankets below, and worst of all, Cersei's bare legs. Sansa wept, mumbling barely formed apologies.
Cersei stopped, cock buried most of the way inside her. She pulled back to look at the mess, the yellow stains on Sansa's nightgown, the wet sheen on both of their thighs. She looked down at Sansa with a smouldering, angry gaze. "Filthy little pup. You soaked my sheets, little one. I told you that you were to hold it."
She sat back on her knees and pulled out of Sansa, who shivered at the loss, then grasped a handful of Sansa's hair. She dragged the girl up, then forced her head down, rubbing Sansa's nose in the piss stain left on the sheets, like she would with a disobedient puppy.
"Terrible, naughty girl. Can you not manage a simple instruction?" Cersei raged at her, ignoring Sansa's sobs and pleas, disregarding every word. With Sansa on her knees with her head buried in the stained sheets, Cersei repositioned herself and took Sansa from behind, fucking her with considerably less care.
Her nightgown was hitched up past her arse, and little droplets of pee were dripping across her cheeks and her thighs. Cersei held Sansa's head down with one hand, and pawed at her arse with the other, groping as her thrusts found a rhythm once more.
"I'm sorry—" Sansa hiccuped and sobbed, "I did not mean to, I tried—"
"You didn't try hard enough. Horrid little wretch, awful girl," Cersei snapped.
When Sansa's sobs became interwoven with desperate moans again, Cersei knew the girl was nearing her release.
"I don't think you deserve to feel good, little one," Cersei declared. "I suppose I'll have to hear you beg for it, if you even know what you'd be begging for."
The quiet whimper Sansa gave confirmed she was too innocent to know what the new mounting sensation in her was.
"Come on, sweetling. I told you to beg," Cersei repeated.
Sansa moaned loudly as Cersei changed the angle of her cock. "Please, your Grace… I have been good, I have. I… I… drank all that you said to… and… I didn't complain. I'm sorry I wet myself, it was an accident. Please, please, let me feel good… I… I like it. I like this, I promise.
The girl's begging pleased her enough, and Cersei relented, reaching down to circle Sansa's clit as she took her closer to the edge. "You like it, little one? Does it feel good being under me like this?"
Sansa nodded insistently. "Yes, yes, your Grace."
Cersei circled the bud a few more times while thrusting in and out of Sansa, until Sansa cried out again and Cersei felt another spurt of warm wetness against her hand.
Sansa was shaking, trembling like a leaf in a storm. Cersei pulled out and let Sansa lie back against the sheets. Cersei had done what she meant to. Sansa Stark lay in her bed debauched and ruined, her maiden's blood on Cersei's cock and an unwilling orgasm still running through her in aftershocks. Sansa looked prettier like this, Cersei thought for a moment, all flushed and beautiful and desperate for her. She had an odd urge to gather the girl in her arms and cradle her until any lingering embarrassment faded.
Cold detachment suddenly clawed through Cersei's chest. She wanted nothing more than to be alone, to have clean sheets and an empty room, to forget the night had ever happened.
When she reached down to unfasten the carved wooden phallus, Sansa reached for her. The girl was seeking warmth, seeking intimacy, maybe even reassurance. It sickened her. She swatted away Sansa's small hands and stood up from the bed, towering over her.
"No. None of that," she said coldly. "Dress yourself, find your way back to your own chambers. Speak of this to no one."
Sansa looked like she might cry again, but in her fear of upsetting Cersei again, she gathered up her small clothes, stockings, straightened her nightgown, put on her slippers, and hurried out of the door.
Cersei was alone with her thoughts again. She couldn't bear to lie on her bed, not with the sheets reeking of Sansa. So she sat on the low couch again, and drank a goblet of wine, and another. Until sleep finally began to catch up to her. She hoped her dreams would hold nothing of Sansa or her sweet, nervous expression.
Game of Thrones (TV) ficlet. Cersei/Sansa, ~900 words, Explicit. The Hunger Games AU. For a prompt left in dreamwidth here. Sansa’s first tributes just died. Her fellow victor is of little help.
I wear this crown for myself...but I also wear it for you.
A grin, sharper and more spiteful than she’d like to admit, tugs at Sansa’s lips as this thought crystallizes in her brain. Surely, Cersei would hate to find herself the recipient of the Queen in the North’s graciousness.
(And she’d hate the Queen in the North’s pity even more.)
The Lannister woman is dead now, found in the wreckage of the Red Keep, her lifeless body cradled in her brother’s lifeless arms. She holds no power, no sway...not even the ability to draw breath into her lungs, to feel the pulsing of her own heartbeat...
But a piece of her will live on, nestled in the Northern Queen’s mind and heart and soul, never to be quenched until The Stranger claims Sansa for his own.
#project hail mary
#lana del rey
#free gaza
