WoT Fic: Sleep Snare
Feb. 28th, 2026 10:22 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kat_lair***
Title: Sleep Snare
Author:kat_lair
Fandom: Wheel of Time (books & TV)
Pairing: Egwene al'Vere/Lanfear | Cyndane
Tags: Lucid Dreaming, Non-Consensual Touching, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Painplay, Power Dynamics, Forced Orgasm, Humiliation, these tags make this sound way more explicit than it actually is
Rating: E because...
Warning: Rape/Non-Con
Word count: 1,138
Summary: She falls asleep like a stone dropped into a river, straight through the silt at the bottom and onto the other side. She opens her eyes in Tel’aran’rhiod, and there’s a moment between realising where she is and who has her that she could reach for control, but by the time the shape above her solidifies into Lanfear’s smiling face, it’s too late.
Author notes: Response toelasticella's prompt of 'Egwene/Lanfear, somnophilia/nightmare sex/painplay/etc.' over at fiachairecht's Bring Her Bleeding Heart to Me { a dark femslash commentfic meme for femslash february }. This is unbetaed so if you spot a typo/mistake, please let me know.
Sleep Snare on AO3
One day, hopefully before the Final Battle, Egwene will be a mistress of Tel’aran’rhiod. She will weave dreams like yarn on a skein, skilled and sure and untrappable. But that’s not today. Not tonight.
She falls asleep like a stone dropped into a river, straight through the silt at the bottom and onto the other side. She opens her eyes in Tel’aran’rhiod, and there’s a moment between realising where she is and who has her that she could reach for control, but by the time the shape above her solidifies into Lanfear’s smiling face, it’s too late.
“Hello little bird.” Lanfear’s voice is as beautiful as the rest of her, a dagger covered with bloodied silk.
Egwene gasps, straining. She can move but there are invisible bonds keeping her tied to a bed far more luxurious than the thin pad she went to asleep on in the Aiel tent.
Lanfear laughs, sitting back. She’s dressed in blue, black lace draped over her cleavage, leaving little to the imagination, her hair spilling out in waves. Egwene meanwhile…
She gasps again when she realises that she’s naked. Clothes in Tel’aran’rhiod are a matter of focus, of belief, but Lanfear has taken her control as easily as plucking a ripe plum from a tree. If Egwene can’t get out of the binds, back to the waking world, she won’t be able to do anything about her state of dress either. She knows that. And in the grand scheme of things, that’s nowhere near the top of her problems at the moment. She knows that too.
And yet, right now, the humiliation of it outweighs even the threat of death, her whole body cringing away, flush travelling down.
“How pretty,” Lanfear says. She touches a single finger to the middle of Egwene’s chest, right between her breasts. It’s cool against her heated skin.
Lanfear trails the tip of her nail around, leaving goosebumps in her wake. Egwene feels her nipples tighten, growing painfully hard and starting to ache like they sometimes do in the winter when the cold steals under the clothes no matter how many layers you wear.
“What do you want?” she asks, partly to distract Lanfear but mostly to distract herself. “I won’t tell you anything.”
Lanfear’s face softens and she looks at Egwene as if she’s a small animal, something to be pitied. It terrifies her more than anything else so far.
“I don’t need you to tell me anything,” she says. This time, her fingers circle her nipples on purpose. It punches a breath out of Egwene, the pleasure of it unwanted but unavoidable.
“Then why are you doing this?” Egwene hisses from between clenched teeth. “What possible reason do you have—?” The question gets swallowed by a cry when Lanfear traps one of Egwene’s nipples between the nails of her thumb and forefinger and twists. The pain shoots through her like a burning arrow except ice cold somehow and her hips jerk up, instinctual.
Humiliating.
“Because I can.” Lanfear’s eyes glitter like the night sky and when she leans over Egwene her hair drags across her bare skin in a caress that makes Egwene’s mouth drop open in a wordless moan. “Because I want to,” Lanfear says, gentle as if explaining the colour of the sky to a blind woman.
That may all be true, but Egwene isn’t stupid enough to think it’s the whole of it. A woman like Lanfear will disguise the truth with another truth and tie a ribbon of lies on it just as a pretty distraction. She doesn’t say anything though. Because there is nothing to say.
A flick of Lanfear’s fingers and Egwene can feel her limbs stretch open until she’s spreadeagled on the sheets, exposed, the air cool against the gathering wetness between her legs. She can feel the way flush travels down her torso, embarrassment and anticipation that is mostly fear, but… Not wholly.
Egwene sees the moment Lanfear notices, the subtle quirk of her lips, the way she makes sure to catch Egwene’s eye just to let her know that she knows…
“And I think you want it too,” Lanfear says. “Even if you pretend otherwise.”
Lanfear’s hand drifts down, fingers skimming over Egwene’s stomach, scratching over her hipbones, the skin stretched thin over them, the hurt brief but bright like a lightning.
“I can take pleasure from you,” she says and at the back of her mind Egwene notes the word choice – take, not give – and how harrowingly right it is, just as Lanfear’s fingers dip between her folds, spreading wetness over her clit in one slow sweep that pulls Egwene’s spine up, arched like a bow, a high-pitched whine spilling from her mouth.
“Pain too,” Lanfear continues, calm and focused as if delivering a lesson. Her nails dig down to the tender flesh of Egwene’s inner thigh, a hurt that is as crude as it is effective.
But Egwene is no strangers to pain, no stranger to being forced to endure it either, and if Falme and Renna have taught her anything it’s that there’s nothing to be gained from holding back her cries.
Something about that surprises Lanfear, Egwene can see it.
Good.
“By now you know that if you die in Tel’aran’rhiod, you’ll die in the waking world too,” Lanfear continues. Her gaze is sharp, and her fingers even sharper, wringing a surprised sob of pain-pleasure from Egwene by pinching her clit. She jerks, breath hitching, but can’t get far. “This too will carry over,” Lanfear promises. “Your tears, your soaked sex, every scream, every desperate twist of your hips here replicated in a tent full of onlookers, watching your sleeping body played like a gleeman’s fiddle.”
Egwene can imagine it. They’ll try to wake her. They’ll call for Bair and the other Wise Ones, who might even try to come find her even though they know the futility of it. And the humiliation of it is not just because of the violation of her body but because of the proof that Egwene has not been able to protect herself as she should’ve done.
But these are things Egwene is already familiar with. And every mistake is an opportunity to learn.
Lanfear is someone to learn from. So Egwene lets the tears come, lets the pain and the pleasure and the burning, hazy mix of both wash over her as Lanfear takes her to the edge and pushes her over again and again and again. She takes notes, pays attention, bides her time, gripping tight to the knowledge that this night will pass and others will come, and then…
Egwene will remember.
Because even eagles look like little birds when viewed behind the clouds of misconception. And some day Lanfear is going to see more clearly who she once caught in her snare.
***
Title: Sleep Snare
Author:
kat_lair Fandom: Wheel of Time (books & TV)
Pairing: Egwene al'Vere/Lanfear | Cyndane
Tags: Lucid Dreaming, Non-Consensual Touching, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Painplay, Power Dynamics, Forced Orgasm, Humiliation, these tags make this sound way more explicit than it actually is
Rating: E because...
Warning: Rape/Non-Con
Word count: 1,138
Summary: She falls asleep like a stone dropped into a river, straight through the silt at the bottom and onto the other side. She opens her eyes in Tel’aran’rhiod, and there’s a moment between realising where she is and who has her that she could reach for control, but by the time the shape above her solidifies into Lanfear’s smiling face, it’s too late.
Author notes: Response to
elasticella's prompt of 'Egwene/Lanfear, somnophilia/nightmare sex/painplay/etc.' over at fiachairecht's Bring Her Bleeding Heart to Me { a dark femslash commentfic meme for femslash february }. This is unbetaed so if you spot a typo/mistake, please let me know.Sleep Snare on AO3
One day, hopefully before the Final Battle, Egwene will be a mistress of Tel’aran’rhiod. She will weave dreams like yarn on a skein, skilled and sure and untrappable. But that’s not today. Not tonight.
She falls asleep like a stone dropped into a river, straight through the silt at the bottom and onto the other side. She opens her eyes in Tel’aran’rhiod, and there’s a moment between realising where she is and who has her that she could reach for control, but by the time the shape above her solidifies into Lanfear’s smiling face, it’s too late.
“Hello little bird.” Lanfear’s voice is as beautiful as the rest of her, a dagger covered with bloodied silk.
Egwene gasps, straining. She can move but there are invisible bonds keeping her tied to a bed far more luxurious than the thin pad she went to asleep on in the Aiel tent.
Lanfear laughs, sitting back. She’s dressed in blue, black lace draped over her cleavage, leaving little to the imagination, her hair spilling out in waves. Egwene meanwhile…
She gasps again when she realises that she’s naked. Clothes in Tel’aran’rhiod are a matter of focus, of belief, but Lanfear has taken her control as easily as plucking a ripe plum from a tree. If Egwene can’t get out of the binds, back to the waking world, she won’t be able to do anything about her state of dress either. She knows that. And in the grand scheme of things, that’s nowhere near the top of her problems at the moment. She knows that too.
And yet, right now, the humiliation of it outweighs even the threat of death, her whole body cringing away, flush travelling down.
“How pretty,” Lanfear says. She touches a single finger to the middle of Egwene’s chest, right between her breasts. It’s cool against her heated skin.
Lanfear trails the tip of her nail around, leaving goosebumps in her wake. Egwene feels her nipples tighten, growing painfully hard and starting to ache like they sometimes do in the winter when the cold steals under the clothes no matter how many layers you wear.
“What do you want?” she asks, partly to distract Lanfear but mostly to distract herself. “I won’t tell you anything.”
Lanfear’s face softens and she looks at Egwene as if she’s a small animal, something to be pitied. It terrifies her more than anything else so far.
“I don’t need you to tell me anything,” she says. This time, her fingers circle her nipples on purpose. It punches a breath out of Egwene, the pleasure of it unwanted but unavoidable.
“Then why are you doing this?” Egwene hisses from between clenched teeth. “What possible reason do you have—?” The question gets swallowed by a cry when Lanfear traps one of Egwene’s nipples between the nails of her thumb and forefinger and twists. The pain shoots through her like a burning arrow except ice cold somehow and her hips jerk up, instinctual.
Humiliating.
“Because I can.” Lanfear’s eyes glitter like the night sky and when she leans over Egwene her hair drags across her bare skin in a caress that makes Egwene’s mouth drop open in a wordless moan. “Because I want to,” Lanfear says, gentle as if explaining the colour of the sky to a blind woman.
That may all be true, but Egwene isn’t stupid enough to think it’s the whole of it. A woman like Lanfear will disguise the truth with another truth and tie a ribbon of lies on it just as a pretty distraction. She doesn’t say anything though. Because there is nothing to say.
A flick of Lanfear’s fingers and Egwene can feel her limbs stretch open until she’s spreadeagled on the sheets, exposed, the air cool against the gathering wetness between her legs. She can feel the way flush travels down her torso, embarrassment and anticipation that is mostly fear, but… Not wholly.
Egwene sees the moment Lanfear notices, the subtle quirk of her lips, the way she makes sure to catch Egwene’s eye just to let her know that she knows…
“And I think you want it too,” Lanfear says. “Even if you pretend otherwise.”
Lanfear’s hand drifts down, fingers skimming over Egwene’s stomach, scratching over her hipbones, the skin stretched thin over them, the hurt brief but bright like a lightning.
“I can take pleasure from you,” she says and at the back of her mind Egwene notes the word choice – take, not give – and how harrowingly right it is, just as Lanfear’s fingers dip between her folds, spreading wetness over her clit in one slow sweep that pulls Egwene’s spine up, arched like a bow, a high-pitched whine spilling from her mouth.
“Pain too,” Lanfear continues, calm and focused as if delivering a lesson. Her nails dig down to the tender flesh of Egwene’s inner thigh, a hurt that is as crude as it is effective.
But Egwene is no strangers to pain, no stranger to being forced to endure it either, and if Falme and Renna have taught her anything it’s that there’s nothing to be gained from holding back her cries.
Something about that surprises Lanfear, Egwene can see it.
Good.
“By now you know that if you die in Tel’aran’rhiod, you’ll die in the waking world too,” Lanfear continues. Her gaze is sharp, and her fingers even sharper, wringing a surprised sob of pain-pleasure from Egwene by pinching her clit. She jerks, breath hitching, but can’t get far. “This too will carry over,” Lanfear promises. “Your tears, your soaked sex, every scream, every desperate twist of your hips here replicated in a tent full of onlookers, watching your sleeping body played like a gleeman’s fiddle.”
Egwene can imagine it. They’ll try to wake her. They’ll call for Bair and the other Wise Ones, who might even try to come find her even though they know the futility of it. And the humiliation of it is not just because of the violation of her body but because of the proof that Egwene has not been able to protect herself as she should’ve done.
But these are things Egwene is already familiar with. And every mistake is an opportunity to learn.
Lanfear is someone to learn from. So Egwene lets the tears come, lets the pain and the pleasure and the burning, hazy mix of both wash over her as Lanfear takes her to the edge and pushes her over again and again and again. She takes notes, pays attention, bides her time, gripping tight to the knowledge that this night will pass and others will come, and then…
Egwene will remember.
Because even eagles look like little birds when viewed behind the clouds of misconception. And some day Lanfear is going to see more clearly who she once caught in her snare.
***