Fire Emblem: Fates Fan-fiction || Corrin/Camilla/Felicia – bondage, dominance
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Description: Doesn’t Felicia realize?! Surely she must know!
All those feelings, sealed up for all those years… it was inevitable, what happened.
“Lady Corrin, oh my gods, I’m SO sorry!”
On an otherwise peaceful night in the Northern Fortress, a fateful mid-corridor collision led to the ever-hapless Felicia depositing a state-room’s-worth of scalding tea and cold milk directly upon her Mistress’s new dress!
Fortunately, a dragon’s skin was not easily damaged… would that the same could be said for her attire, Corrin lamented, as her dutiful-if-clumsy maid dashed to her aid, dabbing anxiously at the spreading stains upon her garment.
“That’s… quite all right, Felicia.” Oh, she was late for the dinner already, and now…! “I wasn’t watching where I w-was—”
Corrin’s heart froze with a stutter. Felicia, in her aggressive blotting of the spreading stain, inadvertently tickled the soft silk of her handkerchief along the bare skin of her neck and sternum.
“I’ll fix it!” Felicia said with paradoxical assurance. “I’ll make it all better, just a moment! Just a mo—”
A quiver ran through her, at Felicia’s enthusiastic touch. And Corrin realized how exposed she felt, even with just this mild hint of décolletage—it was a dress Camilla had chosen for her; ordinarily she’d never wear something so… so… revealing!
As the next brush of silk traced her skin, Corrin’s hand, quite on its own, fell gently upon Felicia’s hip.
“…L-lady Corrin?” Blinking, Felicia wrung her lower lip between her teeth.
Corrin shuddered as a cool wash of breath folded over her face—the Ice Tribe were known for these odd variances in body temperature. The flush on Felicia’s cheeks contrasted pleasingly with the slight chill.
The handkerchief slipped from Felicia’s grasp, and the weight of her fingers drew a passive route along the curve of Corrin’s breasts. Corrin flinched with nascent excitement, when Felicia’s hand fell upon hers. The mute tremble of Felicia’s touch guiding her, Corrin’s hand squeezed around her Felicia’s hip.
Her parted lips were close enough to steal…
“Felicia!” came Jakob’s voice down the corridor. “Where’d you get off too?”
The bark of Felicia’s superior ably shattered their enchantment. Felicia scurried to collect the scattered saucers in her skirts and Corrin, dizzied and fretful, retreated down the hall and back to her chambers, apparently having decided she’d pass on attending tonight’s fete.
An few hours hence, Corrin sprung from her chambers with a fresh gown and a fresher mind, having… managed whatever bodily iniquities her near-brush with Felicia might’ve summoned.
It’s time you stop stoking this childish crush, Corrin held her head high, off on her mission to find Felicia, feeling quite firm in her resolve—as one often does, relishing in the mental clarity that washes over the self following a frantic bout of bodily relief. You’re better than that.
A sly, panther-tease of a voice slunk along the castle masonry.”Well, at least there’s SOMETHING you can hold without bruising it…”
Of course it’s only natural you’d feel this way about her, she’s been your confidant since you were both young. Corrin encouraged herself, bare feet striking the cool stone with each purposeful step. But it’s quite another thing to believe your feelings are reciprocated.
“Don’t you ever crave a Mistress you can touch?” the voice continued. “All you do is break her plates.”
So you’ll go, and you’ll apologize for your behavior, and you’ll promise to never make any such advances again. She’s your maid, after all. She’s bathed you, for Naga’s sake! It would be foolish to think she harbored any such feelings—
A shadow loomed over Felicia, close enough that its lilac tresses could tickle along her face. Its gloved hand rested on the wall beside her head. Felicia’s eyes were rapt in attention, and her pale skin flush with color.
Corrin let out a gasp despite herself.
Ever attuned to the needs of her Mistress, Felicia flicked her gaze unconsciously to the sound. When she realized she and Camilla were no longer alone, her lips trembled, only slightly, and her eyes shone with deep concern.
Corrin was quite familiar with this shadow, of course. It was Camilla.
Seemingly unaware of Corrin’s presence, Camilla trailed her fingers through Felicia’s long, coral ponytail. “It’s high time we see just how badly you wish to serve—don’t you think?”
Her attention drawn away from her Mistress, Felicia stole a deep breath under Camilla’s gaze. Corrin’s heart felt as if a thousand shackles bound it.
And just like that, Felicia set her lips with passion and responded in a resolute nod. All too happy to let Camilla break Corrin’s heart.
For the second time that night, Corrin fled.
The night sky sparkled above, deep rich black studded with shimmering stars, each slightly blurred as Corrin looked upwards. On this visits up north, she rarely found reason to come to the roof of her childhood home—the memories verged on overwhelming, at times—but that night, she found herself staring upwards, knees against her chest, breath caught in her throat, eyes damp.
There MUST have been a reason for it! There must! But every time her mind tried to offer one, her ferocious little dragon-heart snarled, and the woman choked on a sob.
Camilla had so MUCH love, she’d given her so much! Had she not given back enough? Had she become too tame?
She pushed herself up, the flat tiles of the roof cold under her feet, and steeled herself. She’d been through harder!
But FELICIA? Surely, she’d never imagined…
Cease this foolishness, Corrin commanded, forestalling a second sob before it broke her throat. You are better than this petty envy.
Corrin growled her fear away as she stalked back towards the castle halls in retreat to the warmth of her room.
But the memory of Camilla’s fingers, mingling through Felicia’s inviting mess of hair, stirred her gorge once more.
“It was so BRAZEN!” she cried aloud, her yell prompting a small shriek of surprise from a neighboring room, followed by a small explosion, followed by a second shriek. The sound stole some of her fury… she would have to apologize to Ophelia, and probably Soleil, tomorrow.
Robbed of her anger, the ache inside was more plain. What must it be like, to be courted and seduced so? Brazenly, aggressively, devil-may-care?
There was no use hiding from it. She was jealous. Jealous of the clumsy, pretty maid who got to see a Camilla she didn’t, and…
Jealous of a Camilla that got to touch her Felicia.
She blushed, despite her ire.
Arriving at her bedchamber, Corrin decided the matter closed. There was nothing to be done. Camilla had her needs, and Felicia too, of course. If they chose to… share them, then what right had she to interfere?
Thus, Corrin wiped her eyes, darted in, and slammed the door behind her.
First, she heard a bit of a rustle. A strange sound. An animal, maybe? A prowling cat? But who in the…
And why were her candles lit? She hadn’t asked for such; and certainly Felicia would’ve been too busy to tend to…
A squeak, and then another rustle followed, and then… a small whimper.
Corrin was agog. There, trussed up as majestically as all the birthday presents she’d never received, was her friend, her confident, her… maid.
No thoughts ran through Corrin’s mind, paralyzed behind her blinking eyes, as she took in the full view of a Felicia bound from hips to shoulders in soft, satiny ribbon that wound around her wrists and secured her from a hanging truss in the ceiling. That her frilly maid’s bonnet remained pinned in her hair added a bit of levity to the open tableau of her body.
A levity immediately… leavened by how her hips trembled and squirmed, and her stomach flared and flattened with each hastened breath. Camilla was an expert in many things, but few of them more than knots. The pale coral of Felicia’s lips had grown as florid as the satin ribbon between them which all but stifled her anxious breath. The downy hair that capped her sex maintained its coral color in her lips’ stead, glinting with mild dew in the candlelight, as Felicia’s hips swayed restlessly in their bondage.
Perhaps more than all that, however, was Camilla, seated in the velvet armchair beside the bed, in a lilac-colored robe as plush as she, nursing a small snifter of brandy. She brought it to her lips, lacing Corrin with her eyes as if the obstruction of Felicia’s small, exposed breasts between them were of no matter.
“You’ve kept us waiting, love.”