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#sub rook
frenchfrywrites · 9 months
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Was reading your obey me master list and your mating press ask for the boys and sides made me wonder about perhaps pressing the Twst third years?
Mating press with the TWST third years
MINORS DNI
Cater really loves the position! He looves that it forces you to pay such close attention to him. Oh you'd never be able to tell if he likes it more than any other position though. Cater is dumb and drooling just from having your tip pop inside of him, and having you push him into a mating press generates the same reaction lol. No matter what position you fuck in, he's gonna be drunk on your dick all the same. He'll brag to other people about you being able to fuck him in the position btw.
Trey looooves the mating press position. Part of his infatuation with it comes from the name of the position alone, for he has a massive breeding kink imo. Part of it though, is due to the fact that you’re so close to him, and he can see you better when he doesn’t have his glasses on <3 he loves being able to see your face and cling to you when you fuck him! Even if he can’t see you as well as he’d like, the sound of your balls and thighs hitting his skin is fuel to the fire cooking in his loins.
The mating press is easily Leona’s favorite position to do when you want to take him on his back. Typically I think he leans more towards being fucked doggy style or on his side, so his tail isn’t put in an awkward or uncomfortable position. But when you’re fucking him in a mating press he’s so lost in pleasure that he’s hardly paying attention to the feeling of his tail being pinned against the bed. All he can do is claw your back and beg you to fuck him full of some cubs. 
Rook has more favored positions, but he has absolutely no complaints when it comes to the mating press. He likes that he can cling to you and show off how flexible he is! He likes that he can kiss you while you cum. He especially loves the way that your cock reaches so deeply inside of him. However he certainly doesn’t need to be fucked in this position every night to be satisfied. If you maneuver him into it every once in a while, it’ll the do the trick of getting him real worked up and seeing stars. 
Vil will probably claim indifference towards the position, but he loooves it! He’s greedy for your cock, and loves having it feel like you’re churning up his guts with how deep you’re reaching. He likes that you’d have to be focused on him and his pretty face while fucking him. And he especially loves how it feels to have you cumming deep inside of him, making sure there’s not a drop that escapes him. He’s more than flexible enough to do the position nearly every night too.
Idia “hates” the position. He’ll tell you it’s embarrassing, and that it hurts but really he loves it so much. All it takes is one thrust in the position and all excuses die on his tongue. The first time you try it he cums so quick. That isn’t to say that it isn’t a bit embarrassing for him, being so exposed for you, or that it doesn’t hurt a bit (because we all know boy is NOT doing his stretches lmao). It's just that Being Seen a little by someone he loves and trusts, and the subsequent burn in his legs the following morning (that remind him of said fucking) are hardly "negatives". So really, he won’t complain much. 
Malleus enjoys the position a lot! When you explained it to him, I think he really liked the implications coming with the name. He gets all flustered and excited thinking about you being his mate and filling him with babies. He loves having you manhandle him into the position, and the weight of you on top of him more than anything. When he’s deep into subspace having you so close is an incredibly comforting thing. Being the romantic that he is, he also adores being able to see your face while in the position. 
I actually can’t see Lilia being wildly into the position. The things he’d love about it is being so small under you (the size kink goes wild with this position), and having you so close to him. However… I see Lilia as being a very active and squirm-y man. I think he’d much much rather ride you than be put in a mating press. He’s like the opposite of a pillow princess to me dkshgkah. BUT! If you did hypno with him, or maybe somno, he’s very into it and very pliant. He may be old as dust, but he can still stretch and bend like any other twink.
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kingschclar · 1 year
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cw: sub!rook, blowjobs/cunnilingus/rimming (depends on ur biological sex or whatever u want), gn!reader (genitalia isn’t specificed)
rook would be the KING of oral. i can’t explain why but it makes sense. he’s so good with his mouth and he absolutely lives to serve and please you. he’d have such a passionate gaze as he looks up at your face, scrunched up with pleasure. his tongue moves almost expertly and if you looked into his eyes, you could practically see how smitten he was with you.
he wants to make his love feel good! he wants you to be so happy! he’ll obey any commands you give him, even if its telling him to stop and pull away. he’d be a little disappointed, since you taste so sweet, afterall. he wouldn’t even touch himself as he gets you off, though he could probably cum just from giving you head alone.
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snowshail · 2 years
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Rook is so into pred/prey ~
Rook loves when you surprise him by coming up behind him and putting your hand over his mouth and breathing on his neck.
Rook loves when you chase him around like a rabbit.
Rook loves when the tables are being turned on him.
Rook loves being prey ~
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love0bssesed · 10 months
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Vice dormheads react to having a female reader with a mommy kink!(very much nsfw under the cut)
This is pt. 2 from the first part with the dormheads.
Trey Clover:
"Ready to spit it out Trey?♡"
Trey always likes being a dom in bed, it's difficult and different adjusting to this. He likes it but he wants to be stubborn. Your hands glides and swept up and down his c0ck as your thumb brushed and fumbled with the, pre cum leaking, pretty, bright red, tip. You kissed the tip, giving it tiny kitty licks as Trey bucked his hips for more, a harsh slap to his thigh made him yelp out as his tip leaked faster.
"What are the magic words Trey?~♡"
"..nmm..please mommy..~"
Ruggie Bucchi:
I headcannon Ruggie to be very kinky, so he currently has a dog collar on him that has a bright and shiny front that says SLUT on it. He has a bunch of marks and hickeys on his as he has tears coming out of his eyes as his hands are up like how a dog would
"Mommy please I can't, s'too much!!~"
Ruggie is currently getting his mind fuck3d out by you as you shove a dildo up in ass at a fast pace,you do it as a punishment because Ruggie has been acting like a brat lately..
"Well brats don't deserve mercy. All they can do is lay down and take their punishment like the little sluts they are~♡"
Jade Leech:
When it comes to being a sub, Floyd would be the bratty one and Jade would be the whiny one. Jade has had his on and off days but today just seemed to be a mix for him, but you were here to fix that ♡
"M-mommy.."
"Hm?~ What is it baby boy?♡"
"Need you please..need you inside of me..to make me feel good..need it so fucking bad, please mommy please..~" Jade started squirming as his hips tried to meet your hand and you happily caught him.
"Aww, my poor baby, mommy is gonna make you feel nice and good until you see stars ♡"
Rook Hunt:
Normally Rook can be dominant, but even the hunter has his very tiring days, and when he does, he let's you take control, he likes it alot anyway. Nobody knows why he doesn't let you take control often.
"Mommy~" He dralled out the word
"Yes my prince?♡"
"Can you please give me you cock mommy? I will be a good boy..~"
"Since you asked so nicely ♡"
Jamil Viper:
Jamil is quite the brat at first when he is a sub. But the power you hold and his love for you is strong, he just gives everything up. If you hit the rught spot and stimulate him for long enough, he can get whiny and a bit loud too. So now his hands are currently tied, eyes are crossed, and you are fuck1ng your boyfriend numb.
"Mommy please, I can't anymore!~ s'too much s'too good, can't take it, can't take it, m'gonna fucking cum!~ H-ah~ ah!~ Oh fuck!!~ MMM~ R-right there mommy, right fucking there!~ HAH!!~ MHM~"
"Such a fucking whiny, moaning, bitch in heat! You're gonna fucking take it and you're not gonna fucking cum until I say so got it wh0re?~♡"
"M-mhm!~ y-yes mommy, yes mommy, whatever you fucking say mommy, fuck!!~"
Lilia Vanrouge:
Lilia is very loud as a sub. So loud he doesn't know how to keep his fucking mouth shut so you have to gag him. Show him a lesson until his is crying.
"Such a fuck1ng whore for mommy huh? Shoving my cock, balls deep inside you, I haven't even started moving yet and your moaning like a little bratty bitch. Want me to fuck you dumb with my cock, huh? Wanna squirt on mommy?♡"
"MHM! MHM!! WANFA SQUIF ON MOMMY~ WANNA SCREAM FOR HER~ HAHH~ HAH~"
"Naughty fucking wh0re ♡"
♡♡ Next up are first years babes ♡♡
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dddomenstarstwst1 · 1 month
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HIIIIII!!! I don’t know if you did this already but can I please request those breeding hcs but with pomefiore!!??
Me when always thinking about breeding anyone–
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Breeding Pomefiore (ft.vil, rook and epel)
Warnings: amab!reader
a/n: all characters are depicted as 18+ y/o
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Vil Schoenheit
° now, don't get me wrong, but I don't think Vil would enjoy breeding so much. Like, yes, he can tolerate you cumming on him and in him sometimes. But he's just not a big fan
° you can convince him, sure. Say, dedicating a whole evening to decorating the room in rose petals, candles, maybe so romantic music thrown in too. Then I can see him being more open and relaxed to that
° he doesn't like filthy stuff, like feeling sperm of his loved one dripping down his thighs?.. Yeah, okay, he can see how it would be hot
° still, he's more of a do it with a condom guy, besides cleaning it up is a mess, don't even start him
Epel Felmier
° yes, one hundred percent this babe wants to be filled with your cum to the brim, while he chants about how he's gonna be such a good momma for your babies
° tho if you ever mention it to him the other day, he's gonna rip your throat open and feed you to the dogs, don't try him. Or do, especially with his friends just to embarrass him
° anyways, would definitely ride you just to feel you shoot your semen in his and how it drips out of his ass. Also teases you while stuffing it inside like "oh no! Now I lost some of it, I won't become your baby momma! Gotta give me more, quick!"
° he's an ass in private, he knows it. Also lets you take pics of his stuffed hole, then sents them to you while you're busy
Rook Hunt
° mm, yeah, I can see that. Maybe more to file you up rather than genuinely liking this stuff. Kinda conflicted on him liking the children part, he's def into being stuffed full of cum, sure
° will jokingly ask you in the middle of the day if you'll finally make him a mother to your children. With a poker face, followed by his signature smile. He's a menace
° aside from that, he also likes when you take pictures of your cum leaking from his hole and then show it to him
° ooh, don't get me started on butt plugs, stuff him full and make him wear a butt plug all day, he's gonna come crawling to you begging for more
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moraysoiree · 1 year
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heels
Awestruck, Rook wraps his arms around your body, enjoying every second of you looking down onto him from above, just like you should. Perhaps he would very much prefer to be at your feet at all times, conquered, vanquished, and powerless.
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characters: Rook Hunt x gn!reader tags: smut, dom!reader, reader is shorter than Rook, gn!reader ('reine' – french for 'queen' is used), clothed sex, heels, biting, mentions of blood, slight humiliation word count: 1354
Halloween is the busiest time of year, and most important in terms of boosting the prestige of your alma mater, too. All the more reason to spare no effort in preparation. And so you do, making sure to look your best in the vampire getup Pomefiore have chosen this year. The last touch to your look being the highest heels you could find in Vil’s wardrobe, the deadly and imposing creature of the night image is designed to inspire the basest of fears in the onlooker and pin them to the ground for the taking. And you get the chance to see it in action rather quickly, with your lover as lab rabbit, no less.
As you enter the still empty Hall of Mirrors, the first one to notice you is Rook. He freezes completely right in the midst of a conversation, staring at your form as you approach him, making it more and more obvious that your heels give the usually much shorter you a rare opportunity to tower over him. His conversation partner long gone (everybody knows how insufferable you two are together and prefers to avoid those displays to the best of their ability), Rook comes closer to you, admiration written all over his face as plain as black ink on white paper. ‘Mon amour,’ he takes your hand to his lips and presses a kiss, looking up at you in reverence, ‘Your radiance is most blinding today.’ His eyes travel up and down your body, soaking in this new position you two find yourselves in. ‘Had I known high heels would impress you so, I would’ve worn them much sooner,’ you giggle. ‘Nothing is ever to escape your attention, as expected of the possessor of my heart,’ he laments at being discovered so easily, but you stop him with a finger to his lips. ‘Meet me in the sideroom in an hour,’ and you’re gone with a quick kiss on his cheek, leaving him longing and yearning for your withdrawing presence.
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Awestruck, Rook wraps his arms around your body, enjoying every second of you looking down onto him from above, just like you should. Perhaps he would very much prefer to be at your feet at all times, conquered, vanquished, and powerless. ‘You are positively enchanting today, mon amour. I feel like I would do anything under this mesmeric gaze.’
You are stricken with a curious idea at that declaration. ‘Anything at all?’ you question, all but baring your teeth in a carnivorous smile. ‘Anything, ma reine’, he echoes and kisses a lock of your hair gently, as if to underscore his intent. It takes you a lot not to let out a chuckle of anticipation for what’s to come next.
‘Kneel,’ your voice is firm and leaves no room for debate. Not that there would be any, really, with the way Rook’s eyes widen a bit, laying his emotions to you out on a plate. He processes the order, his eyes crease in delight. Without a word, he complies, slowly descending before you as his hand finds the slit of your dress and slides up your leg. His gaze unfalteringly fixed on yours, Rook kisses your thigh time after time, leaving black lipstick marks all over. His eyes are deep and hungry, you’ve ever seen him look like that at you – as if you are the most fascinating and delicate songbird an archer could lay his gaze upon. And this archer, as of now, is caught in the headlights and at the edge of the arrow you are pointing at him.
With a smile, you tangle your fingers in his hair and tug, making him fall back a little in surprise. It’s painfully obvious how much this little game of cat and mouse is affecting him. Rook’s expression becomes a tiny bit frenzied in agitation, you know this look to emerge a short moment before he loses control. ‘Uh-huh,’ you chide. ‘Was it not you who said he would do anything for sa reine?’ His face falls theatrically and he throws his hands in the air in defeat, ‘I beg you to pardon my frivolities, but however am I expected to stay still when overwhelmed with such all-consuming beauty? Will you grace this lowly servant with your forgiveness, votre majesté?’ You giggle. ‘I will, for I am a kind ruler,’ you catch yourself thinking that that just now has sounded like a very poor impression of Crowley, but throw this annoying face (or mask, actually) out of your head immediately. ‘Now, how shall my chevalier repent, I wonder,’ you hum. Then your eyes sparkle, and you put your heel onto Rook’s chest, making him fall back even further as he caresses your calf and lowers his head to leave kisses there, too. The way he holds your shin is nothing short of a person holding the most exquisite of treasures, worshipping every inch of your skin with his lips.
His face is thoroughly flushed, and the hooded eyes, fixed on yours with an overflowing desire, leave little to imagination. ‘My, what a peculiar hunter! How he enjoys being driven into the corner,’ you drawl as you slide your leg down to a very telling bulge in his pants. ‘What an unusual display.’ His breath hitches when you press down, fingers tightening around your ankle. ‘Ma reine claims to be merciful, only to mock her poor servant so’, he sighs and shakes his head in fake dejection. You ignore his jests, silently lower onto his lap and push him down by the shoulders, still meeting no resistance whatsoever. You feel Rook grasp your waist with his hands desperately, but don’t break eye contact even for a moment, as you know that your prey will leap onto you the second you lose vigilance. You wrap your hand around his neck and close the distance between your faces, kissing his jawline. ‘Look at you, completely at my mercy now.’ ‘And wouldn’t have it any other way, mon amour,’ Rook whispers, not even trying to hide how he revels in this defeat. You tighten your hand on his neck, and snake the other one between you to cup his dick through the clothes. ‘Tell me?’, you urge him playfully. ‘You are the most fascinating creature to ever grace the lands of this world,’ he manages in a shaky voice as you continue stroking him through the velvety fabric of the fancy vampire costume. He looks the most breathtaking like this, elegant and strong yet still overpowered and bound to your will of his own volition. ‘Were you a wild savannah beast, I would gladly be devoured by your razor-sharp canines and torn by your knife-like claws, if only to surrender to your majestic beauty one last time and quench your bloodthirst,’ white-hot wave engulfs your mind and you clutch his dick harder, letting go of the neck just to yank his head back by the hair and clamp your teeth down on the tender skin so hard as if drawing blood is truly what you intend to do. He comes with a moan, and you keep stroking him through the aftershocks without unclenching your jaws. Only after you feel Rook still do you stop and raise your head to look at him.
The sight awaiting you is gratifying: ragged breaths escaping his chest, parted lips with smudged black lipstick, and, all the more thrilling, the delirious and disoriented look in his half-lidded eyes – it satisfies your hunger better than any hearty meal ever could. You leave a tender kiss on his forehead and get up, leaving Rook down on the floor beneath you, motionless and utterly ruined. You plant your heels on both sides of his head and look down, making sure to commit this sight to memory. ‘Come on, mon petit lapin, it’s high time we got back to work,’ your right shoe nudges his cheek softly and you leave, the clacking of your heels thinning out as you exit the room. Paralyzed, Rook moves no muscle in his body, his glassy eyes just boring the ceiling with a thousand-yard stare.
‘Beauté…’
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applesaucethatsme · 3 months
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i NEED more pathetic rook, its a craving that i have to search the more... interesting parts of the fandom for (if that even makes sense) anyways, i absolutely love him hes so silly but it would be nice to see him so utterly obsessed with his s/o
like maybe all of his crushes rejected him because they thought he was weird due to his weird ass habits 😭 not me though
heart eyes rook staring lovingly at his s/o without them knowing 💀💀 this man is submissive and ready to do anything for his s/o 🤗
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sister-lucifer · 1 year
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So, it seems that Catboy Idia will forever have residence in my brain. 
featuring: trans idia, afab he/she vil, Rook being a pervert
Imagine, if you will:
Catboy Idia as Vil and Rook’s new pet. He’s very shy, of course, always hiding in his baggy sweaters and wrapping his fiery blue tail around himself. He would warm up eventually, but that sheepish nature would never completely go away.
That’s what makes him so fun to tease. 
Rook is most definitely the worst offender. Always tugging on his sensitive little tail, making him mewl and whine, tugging up his shirt to expose his tummy, always toying with the fabric of his shorts. 
But i’d imagine Vil would want in on it too. He’d be more subtle with it, though. Planting himself on Idia’s lap even when there’s plenty of room on the couch, mindlessly messing with his hair, brushing up against him and letting her warm breath fan over his neck. 
Although, Rook would be the one to up the ante the first time Idia went into heat. 
It would be a full week of nothing but a red faced Idia, the house(re:mansion) almost constantly ringing with his desperate moans. 
Rook insists that he should wear as little as possible; it’s more comfortable that way, but really he just enjoys having access to his cunt whenever he likes. Idia can’t stand still for two seconds without Rook lifting his oversized sweater, making him cover his face in embarrassment. It’s true that this made things easier, and that Idia’s heat was making him desperately horny, but so many of these “precautions” Rook insisted on were just so embarrassing, like how he insists that Idia keep a toy stuffed deep in his cunt whenever he’s home alone with no one to take care of him. And, if Rook comes home to find Idia’s removed it OR tried to make himself cum without permission, a punishment will certainly be in order.
It’d be even worse once Vil got in on it. For one week every month, her strap on sees more work than you could even imagine. He’d sit on the couch with it on, commanding Idia to come sit down on his lap, merely chuckling at his embarrassment as he hides in her neck when Rook walks in. He simply sits next to Vil as if nothing is wrong, giving her a quick kiss and carrying on with a casual conversation. What’s not so casual, though, is the way his hand slides up Idia’s back, eventually finding his tail; a perfect little toy to tug on.
Rook demands that Idia always has his cunt ready for them, that he never ever tries to hide from them. Idia obeys, even if he goes red hot when Rook stares at his bare pussy, going on and on about how beautiful it is, how wet it is for him. 
I think Idia would be the kind of pet you’d want a collar for. That way Vil can control him, control his pleasure, even though he rarely ever has to when he’s so well behaved. It’s merely for her own entertainment, to watch him whimper as she pulls him closer. 
For one week a month, Idia turns into the perfect, pliant little toy. For one week a month, no matter how humiliating a task, Idia will do it. For one week a month Idia gladly presents his cunt to Vil and Rook, showing off the way it drips and soaks his thighs.
For one week a month, they have a personal catboy to use however they see fit. 
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rkvils · 5 months
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if only rook existed and he was a vampire and he drank my blood through my wrist as he looks up at me
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lanshappycorner · 1 year
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Rollo is also French but he looks at Rook and is like ‘you’re the scum of the earth why are you exaggerating your accent’
In other words I want Rollo to say “Je’taime” to Yuu and Yuu needing to ask Rook what it means
ain't rook like...fake french lol hes from afterglow savanna right💀💀 cater, vil, and jack are the real french kids.....
but i think that would be really funny rollo just looks at rook like "u fake bitch🤨". and yuu having to ask rook what that meant is kinda cute ngl but rollo would probs get so embarrassed that yuu went to go ask rook sjfjsd
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frenchfrywrites · 1 year
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Kinktober Day 11: Pet play + panty sniffing
MINORS DNI
Warnings: dom bottom afab gn reader, sub top Rook Hunt, pet play, panty sniffing, degradation, masochism, humilation, premature ejaculation, praise, heavy dumbification, google translate french lmao
terms used for reader: entrance, hole
You don't have to say a thing when you open the door, revealing Rook with his face pressed into a pair of your underwear. He made eye contact with you as soon as you'd entered (he wanted to be caught so of course he was on high alert waiting for you). All you have to do is give him a look and he removes the garments from his face with a whine.
"Naughty bunny," you tut as you close and lock the door behind you. Rook is practically vibrating under your gaze. 
"Really," you start, crossing the space between you, "you're acting more like a pig than a good bunny." Of course you’re only mildly shocked to find him like this, but the growing heat and wetness between your legs reveals how much you like it.
"Non," Rook whispers, but his eyes are lit up with excitement at your degradation.
"No? You are my good bunny?" You ask, taking the underwear from his hands. Rook nods his head and you smile, "then show me," he knows exactly what your command means.
Obediently he turns back to your dresser, taking his bunny ears out, along with his fluffy white tail butt plug and lube. He undresses himself quickly while still making sure he doesn’t wrinkle his clothes (being the perfect vice housewarden of Pomefiore that he is), looking at you occasionally to make sure you’re still watching him.
He attaches his ears to his head and lays on your bed, slicking up his fingers then hastily pressing them inside himself. Rook makes quick work of opening himself up, letting out the sweetest moans and whimpers as he does so. 
“You’re stretched enough,” you tell him after a moment, not because Rook would get off on his fingers without your permission, but because you’re eager to move on. 
“Yes master,” he agrees quietly, carefully removing his fingers from himself and slides in his tail. Rook then pulls himself off the bed, standing in front of you, bowing his head in submission. 
Again you close the space between the two of you, reaching up to adjust his ears- they weren’t sloppy, you just want to hear the way his breathing quickens when you reach out to touch him. 
“Turn around,” you tell him softly, not even sparing a glance at his hard, red cock. Rook does as he’s told, turning so you can see his ass and the fluffy tail now settled between his cheeks. You let a hand come down to squeeze his ass, grinning when Rook lets out a choked sound at the sensation. You’d bet money that his hole is fluttering around his plug right now. 
“I know you weren’t trying to be naughty,” you run your hand from his ass up his back, “you’re just a silly bunny” Rook whines softly when you tug on the back of his hair, “who doesn't know any better, isn’t that right?”
“Oui,” he gasps out. You manhandle him around, so he’s facing you again. His cheeks are flushed now, his normally sharp and attentive green eyes lidded as he looks at you through his lashes.
“My horny, dumb bunny,” you coo, leaning in to kiss him. Rook, who is desperate for affection and attention at this point, tries to deepen the kiss. You pull away before he can,
“If I ask you a question will you have enough brains to answer?” you ask, running your hands down his chest and towards his groin. 
“Oui master,” he mumbles softly, his eyes flicking down in anticipation to where your hands will go.
“Do you want me to fuck your slutty bunny hole,” he squeezes his eyes closed, and lets out a guttural moan when you finally take a hold of his neglected cock. “Or,” you begin stroking him slowly, “do you want to fuck me, and give me your litter?” He gasps, leaning into your touch, his cock twitching at your words.
You continue to stroke him, but when you don’t receive an answer after a few minutes, you pinch at the head of his cock. 
“Merde,” he gasps, his hips rutting up involuntarily,
“I need an answer, dumb bunny,” you remind him, pecking his lips as you go back to stroking him.
“Ah,” he licks his lips after you kiss him, “s'il vous plaît, may I please fuck you master,” he asks so sweetly. 
“Good bunny,” you praise, kissing him again, and granting him the privilege of your tongue inside his mouth. When you pull away he’s breathless already, his pupils dilated. “Sit on the bed,” you command, pushing him gently back. 
Rook tries (and fails) to muffle the sound that comes out of him when he sits on the bed, pushing the plug deeper into his hole. You leave your shirt on- enjoying the imbalance of him being fully nude while you’re clothed- and take off your pants. The next to come off are your freshly soaked panties, which you unceremoniously toss at him. Rook catches them, and brings them to his face, moaning loudly as he inhales like a drowning man coming up for air. 
While he’s preoccupied with that you straddle his lap, taking the lube and quickly doing the bare minimum of prep work to your entrance. When your fingers leave your body and you instead turn your attention to coating Rook’s cock, he peeks out from behind your underwear. 
“Barely had to prep myself for your tiny bunny cock,” you tease, squeezing his base gently. Rook moans, but it’s muffled by the panties. 
Stabilizing yourself by placing your hands on his chest you carefully hoist yourself up, lining his dick with your hole. 
Both of you groan as you sink down on his dick. With the amount of lube you used and how wet you are combined, it doesn’t take long for you to be fully seated on top of him. You take Rook’s hands in yours, lowering the underwear from his face. 
“Show me how good of a bunny you can be,” you murmur softly. Rook discards your underwear, wrapping his arms around you instead. He holds you close as he begins to frantically rut his hips up into you. “Oh there we go,” you praise, shakily tucking his hair behind his ear, then playing with his faux bunny ones. 
It’s not often that Rook fucks you, and it’s even less often for him to do so in this headspace, so you nearly forget how wild he gets. You’d nearly mistake him for a beastman with the way he ruts into you like an animal, keening and whimpering, nuzzling his face into your skin and inhaling deeply. 
“Good,” you groan out breathlessly, “good boy Rook, fuck-fucking me so well,” you praise, curling your fingers in his hair and tugging. Rook babbles something incoherent, something that’s probably a mix of French and English that you can’t be bothered with deciphering as his cock fills and leaves you at an inconsistent pace. 
He humps his dick into you like a good bunny, drawing all sorts of praise and noise from you, until his hands are grasping frantically at your skin- a telltale sign that he’s going to cum soon. 
“Hah- cumming,” he gasps, and you’re surprised he’s speaking at all, nevertheless speaking in English. 
“Mngh, gonna cum bunny?” he nods, his ears bunny flopping around cutely. “That’s okay, ah, you can cum, fuh-fill me up,” he lets out a cry that sounds almost like your name, snapping his hips up into you roughly as he cums with your permission. You groan, your hands tightening into fists at the sensation. 
“Master,” he whines softly when he finally catches his breath, looking up at you with pleading eyes. 
“Oh I know bunny,” you cup one of his cheeks gently, “you feel bad getting off before me, huh?” he nods, leaning into your touch. “It’s okay, my dumb little bunny, you’ll make me cum, won’t you?” Rook nods again, more enthusiastically, “good. At least you know how to do that.”
Rook gives you a pleased grin, and for lack of better words, you know the two of you are going to be fucking like rabbits all night long.
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pixieberry992 · 1 year
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My art for the Nevermoor Big Bang! I was paired with @frayro-called-frey and you can read their fic with the link!
@nevermoorcentral @nevermoorbigbang
[IMAGE ID: A digital drawing of Rook Rosenfeld and Lambeth Amara from Nevermoor. They are sitting in front of a large, ornately engraved fireplace, talking. There is a roaring fire which is projecting orange light on the characters and the ground before it. Lam is sitting on the left, with her legs crossed, staring at the fire and Rook is on the right with one leg before her talking to Lam directly. Lam is wearing the Wunsoc uniform and Rook is wearing a dark purplish grey dress. Apart from the fire the background is mostly dark. IMAGE ID END]
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benjimarii · 2 years
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He’s waiting for your answer
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dddomenstarstwst1 · 1 month
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can i request a fic with rook and a sadistic amab reader fulfilling his masochistic fantasies? literally just them going ROUGH
Hi, of course! Hope you like, I'm not sadistic dom myself, more of a soft one, but I tries my best!
Hunt a Prey (ft.rook)
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Warnings: sub!rook, dom!amab!reader, slight s/m dynamics, spanking, degradation, blowjob, deep throat, face fucking, riding, kinda clothed sex, biting, mentions of blood play(?) nothing too serious
a/n: character is depicted as 18+ y/o
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A sharp sound resonated across the dark room. Your palm hurt from how much it made contact with Rook's skin. His ass was a mess, littered with red shapes of what once resembled your hand.
"Have you learned your lesson now? Or should I spank your filthy ass another twenty times?" You were met with nothing more than a broken whine that turned into chokes as you brought your hand to Rook's butt. Massaging sensitive cheeks, you tilted his head to look at you.
His eyes were hazy, glossed with lust, a dumb smile played on his lips. He was enjoying himself too much, it seems, "Goodness, what a dumb bitch you are! Can't even answer a simple 'yes or no' question. I'm disappointed."
Rook drops his gaze, before he slowly places a hand over your clothed crotch. His silent question is met with your nod of approval. Freeing your dick of its restraints, Rook lets his tongue slide from your base to the tip. His eyes close at the taste of precum, as his lips wrap around the head, bobbing a bit.
"Is that all you can give me? Really pathetic, y'know?" You say, before grabbing a handful of Rook's messy blond locks. His eyes widen and practically roll to the back of his skull, as you use his mouth as a fleshlight. He gags, hands flying up to grab your thighs, but you continue abusing his throat like there's no tomorrow.
"Don't make that face, I know you love it rough. You're a stupid whore after all," Rook feels tears build in his eyes, wetting his cheeks. His jaws went slack, drool spilling from the corners of his mouth. "Shit, slut! Your throat is so tight."
You can almost feel your climax already, – the feeling of cumming in Rook's mouth, making him gag and choke on your load, then watching him struggle as he swallows it all, and finishing it by kissing him, tasting yourself on your own tongue. You have to stop yourself from cumming just from your fantasies.
You tug Rook off of your cock, earning a choked whine. He pants, dumb expression on his face. You pull him on your lap, not giving him anytime to prepare as your dick enters him halfway in one go. Rook swears in French, at least you think it's French with how slurred the words come out.
"Ride me," He nods, lifting his weight off your length, before slamming it down to the base. Sounds of skin-to-skin fill your room, as Rook struggles to keep his pace even. What's worse is how you left him to do all the work himself.
Oh, how cruel you were.
"Why so slow? Can't go any faster, hm? Too dumb and useless to do even that?" You scoff and slam your hips against his, your hands already around his waist, as you pick up the pace. Thanks to position you had him in, it was easier to hit deeper.
Nails drag across your spine, teeth dig in your shoulder, breaking skin and drawing blood. You hiss at sudden pain, pulling his hair to make him look at you. His lips are covered in a thin layer of your blood.
"Fucker," You kiss him, licking blood from his bottom lip, before darting your tongue in his open mouth. Metallic taste spreads on your taste buds, drawing a groan from you. Your hips snap at his, hand still in his hair, you grip Rook's hip till it's bruised. One more addition to his already bruise littered body, something he'll cherish until they disappear and he asks for more.
And you'll be glad to paint his skin purple, for as long as he begs for it.
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scary-wizard-tower · 3 months
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characters: king, rook
nsfw
special kinks: bondage, overstimulation, degradation, sadism/masochism
length: 2.6k
minors dni
It was dark.
Chains dug into the plating on King’s wrists, holding him just high enough off the ground that he could barely stand flat-footed. Only one light shone overhead. His exposed plating only let the cold air get to him faster, his clothes off somewhere out of sight.
Heavy footsteps. He could see two glowing pinpricks of light, accompanied by the harshness of a power core.
“Hello, King.” Rook’s voice purred. “I am so glad we could finally conduct our business.”
King shuddered at the sound of his speech. As his eyes got used to the darkness beyond his yellow halo, he could see Rook’s massive outline standing before him.
“Rook.” King squeaked. Rook chuckled, putting a finger to King’s lips.
“You do not need to speak.” he said. “You will have all of the time in the world to give me your pathetic mewling. Why waste your breath now?”
Rook slowly began circling him, each of his steps intentional and patient. Calculated. His gaze was almost analytical, looking over every plating seam and joint. Perhaps it was more predatory, as if he were finding his prey’s weaknesses.
King could see Rook's plating crisscrossed by the thick leather straps of the harness he wore. It only accentuated his strong, powerful form, and King found himself short of breath.
Rook completed his circle and stopped in front of King again, reaching forward and putting a hand ever so gently on his cheek.
“You poor little thing.” he cooed. “I cannot wait to watch you fall apart in front of me.”
Before King could answer, Rook stepped away, out of sight. King pulled against his chains, but they held fast. He looked up, but he couldn't see where they ended.
Then, Rook reappeared, this time stepping into the light.
“I want to hear you beg for mercy, King.” he said coolly. He came even closer, and King could only keep his eyes up on his face. “But even so…it will never arrive.”
King could feel Rook’s hands on his stomach, slowly descending as he traced the lines in his plating, until finally, he stopped. King then gasped as Rook slowly slipped a toy into King’s waiting slit before stepping back again.
“Rook, what are you–”
He wasn't allowed to finish his sentence. King gasped again as he felt the toy inside him begin to buzz.
“Now…” Rook said. “How far can I take you?”
King whined, shuddering again. The chains held his weight even as his trembling legs threatened to give out. Rook resumed his circling.
“You were made for my entertainment, King. I must always remind you of that. We cannot afford you forgetting, can we?”
“I-I can't forget, Rook!” King answered, the desperation already creeping into his voice. “You-you won't…you won't let me!”
Rook laughed.
“I know. What do you think all this is for?”
King hadn't caught his breath. How he wanted to be ravaged, completely and utterly obliterated, but Rook was ever methodical and ever calculating. King wasn't going to get what he wanted.
“You are powerless, King. Give up your inhibitions now. It will only save you time.” he said. “Or perhaps not. It is not up to you, is it?”
A moan escaped King’s throat. He looked up at Rook with half-lidded eyes, trying desperately not to lose his composure. His fluids dripped onto the floor below him, drool pooling in his mouth. Rook chuckled.
“I know everything that makes you tick. You will not last very long, will you, King?”
How badly King wanted to prove him wrong. He had a stronger will than that! This had turned into a show of constitution, of just how long King could handle Rook’s tirade.
“You-you’re…you're–fuck, you're dead wrong.” King managed to sputter. “I-I’m not gonna let you win.”
“Always so headstrong, aren't you, King?”
King whimpered in response, the heat between his legs continuing to grow. And Rook hadn't even touched him yet! He involuntarily began to twitch his hips, the toy’s relentless stimulation not letting up.
Rook snorted.
“You are always so willing to get on your knees or open your legs for anybody that is willing to take you.” he said. “This is your punishment for being a little slut.”
The word hissed past Rook’s mouth like venom. It was jarring coming from him. King shuddered once more.
“Who do you belong to, King?”
King drew in a shaky breath, still trying to keep his composure. He looked up at Rook with half-lidded eyes, trying to will his mouth to form words, but another moan left his lips.
“I asked you a question, King. Do not make me ask again.”
King’s entire body had begun to tremble like a lost kitten on the street.
“I-I b-belong to-to you!” he managed to squeak.
Rook narrowed his eyes.
“I cannot understand you when you are blubbering like a toddler.”
King gritted his teeth, squirming in his place against his binds. The toy stuck in his sensitive loins did not let up, and he was certain Rook would ensure it wouldn't in the future.
“Now. Answer me.”
King’s breath came in short gasps. There was growing tension in his nethers as Rook pushed him ever closer to the edge.
“Rook–Rook, please, I-I can't…I c-can't…”
“You cannot what?”
Rook grabbed King's chin, their faces inches apart from each other.
“Your little whore mouth is hardly good for speech, anyway.” he growled, parting King’s jaws with his thumb. “It is such a pity you are hanging where you are. Your punishment keeps me from filling the empty space with my cock.”
King could only imagine it. More than anything he wanted to taste Rook as his mouth was completely overstuffed, to be hardly anything more than an object for his pleasure.
God, he was getting delirious.
“Rook, I-I’m g-gonna–” he stammered. Rook interrupted him.
“Do you really think you are deserving of such a thing?”
King didn't know how long he'd be able to hold himself back. He just whined pathetically in response. Rook let go of his chin, continuing his circle.
“Who do you belong to, King?”
King’s breathing became more ragged. He clenched his hands into fists, tightly enough he was certain he'd break something in his fingers.
“I-I belong to you! I always have!” he managed to splutter. Rook chuckled.
“I knew you were capable.”
King couldn't handle it anymore. His stomach tensed and his eyes nearly rolled back into his head, and he cried out without any regard as to how loud he was as he finally came, more of his fluids dripping down his legs.
The toy didn't stop.
King looked wearily up at him.
“R-Rook, gi-give me a second, I–”
It wasn't the word. Rook stepped off into the darkness again.
“No.”
Suddenly, King felt the vibration of the toy grow more intense, and he gasped roughly again.
This thing had multiple settings?
He writhed against his chains, but they didn't budge.
“I do not think you are truly bearing the weight of your punishment.” Rook mused. “After all, why should we stop here? Someone as constantly, pathetically horny as you must suffer the adequate consequences.”
King watched Rook as he picked something up from a table that was just out of sight. He could hear the rattle of more chains, and suddenly felt a new wave of energy wash over him.
As Rook began his circling again, King saw the chain in question dragging on the floor behind him, the metallic scraping sound filling the room more than the toy.
“I should not have to share my pets with other people.” Rook growled. “Letting you roam free is a generous act of kindness, King. To think you would take advantage of such a thing…it simply makes my blood boil.”
Rook stood behind King, drawing back and suddenly lashing his bare plating with the chain. King cried out when he did, tears forming in the corners of his eyes.
God, he looked pathetic. Rook couldn't help but stand there for a moment and take in the scene he’d created; the pathetic beast in front of him, willing to follow his every beck and call, hopelessly powerless in front of him. The tight leather pants he wore had grown considerably tighter.
“Rook…Rook, please…” King struggled.
“Please, what?”
Rook pulled back and gave King another lash, earning yet another meaningless cry.
He circled back around in front of King, gently putting a hand on his shoulder. King nodded in response, as best as he could, anyway, and Rook returned to his place behind him.
“I want to hear you beg, King.” Rook snarled. King squirmed against his binds again, even though he fully knew they still wouldn't give way.
Rook gave him another lash.
King’s mouth hung open as he panted, pleasure and pain blending together in his mind. He couldn't hold back his moaning, long having given up what little composure he had to begin with, only succumbing to Rook’s relentless torture.
“Please, I-I…f-fuck, I…I c-can't…”
Rook just laughed.
“Look at how gorgeous you are, King.” he purred. “Oh, if only I had a mirror. Then you would see just how much of a laughable little bastard you are.”
King braced himself just in time for another lash from the chain. There were tears streaming down his face, but god, he didn't want to stop. The toy in his slit still hummed away, ever resilient in his tender loins. He was already close to another orgasm.
Rook walked another circle around him, and King could see the bulge pressing against the crotch of his pants. He swallowed the spit that had collected in his mouth.
“I treat you so well, King. Unfortunately, you truly did bring this upon yourself.” Rook said. “You cannot even speak to me.”
It was beginning to become too much.
The stings from the lashes only made the stimulation from the toy much stronger, and vice versa. King looked up at Rook's face again, shaking.
“What is it you want, King? Freedom? Absolution from the consequences of your actions?” Rook questioned, idly toying with the chain in his hands. “Mercy? Oh, did I not tell you in the beginning that you would not find it here?”
“Rook, I-I…p-please, I j-just…I just need a m-minute–”
“No. I want to see your undoing, King. How many more times can I make you cum for me? How much longer will it take for you to unravel at the seams?”
“God, fuck!” King shouted. “Please, Rook!”
Rook swung the chain back and forth in front of him, as if to tease him.
“What a thing of beauty you are.” he sneered. “An object only for my use. Is that not true?”
“It-it’s true, R-Rook!”
“Finally. A real answer from you.”
King continued to gasp and pant like an overheated dog, writhing and thrashing against his binds again, until finally, he once again reached his climax.
King's head tilted back as he screamed upward toward the ceiling, another deluge of his fluids dripping from his slit. His body spasmed as he did, his knees threatening to give out beneath him.
He looked up pleasingly at Rook, who folded his arms across his chest.
The toy didn't stop.
“My turn.” Rook said. He walked up to King, reaching up and releasing the binds that held him, only to use his chain to tie King’s wrists together behind him.
“Get on your knees.”
Without question, King dropped to his knees on the floor, bucking his hips around the toy, biting his lip as he did. He looked up at Rook, almost in a sort of daze, watching him as he stepped back.
Rook ran his thumb along the waistband of his own pants, unclasping the leather belt that held them up. He let them fall slightly, his cock finally freed from its hiding place beneath the tight material.
King swallowed more saliva as he watched.
“You truly are a perfect pet, King.” Rook purred, using one of his hands to gently pump his length. “You have a chance to redeem yourself.”
King couldn't take his eyes off of Rook, but he didn't necessarily want to. He was tired, he was weary, but despite it, the massive, impossibly perfect man before him gave him whatever little strength he still had. The impressive member before him was dripping pre, just waiting to be plunged into whatever hole Rook chose for it.
“Open your mouth.”
There it was.
King parted his jaws, and Rook wasted no time pushing the tip of his cock inside. King's desperate mouth took as much of it as he could possibly muster, and then a bit more, saliva running down his chin. Rook slowly started moving himself in and out, putting a hand on the back of King's head.
The toy inside King still tirelessly buzzed away. He whined around Rook’s cock, but got no meaningful answer.
“You continue to impress me with the way you can take so much. Perhaps you are learning from your punishment, after all.”
Rook increased his pace, his package slamming into King's chin each time he moved his girth inside. He ran his fingers through King's hair, electing to hold onto his horn as they went.
King felt each time Rook's cock struck the back of his throat. The relentless pounding continued on and on, with King desperately moving his own hips back and forth with the toy still inside his fleshy interior.
He was already close again, and beyond that, he didn't know if he could handle another. Rook moaned softly, and King couldn't help but feel another burst of energy at the sound. King was made only to serve Rook, wasn't he?
Rook’s thrusts grew more intense. His pleasured moaning soon turned into primal grunts, his teeth clenched in anticipation as he finally got the stimulation he so deserved. The heat in King's loins once again grew. Now it was a race between the two of them to see who would cum first.
Then, finally, Rook pushed his cock as far inside King’s mouth as it would go, roaring as his massive load of hot seed shot its way down King’s throat. He gave a few more heavy thrusts, until he sat there at rest for a moment.
King whined and squirmed. His mind begun to cloud as he made it to the edge once more, his entire body shaking as a third orgasm overtook him, making a further mess of the floor below him.
Rook chuckled as he pulled himself out, a strand of cum mixed with saliva connecting his cock to King's lips.
Finally, Rook turned the toy off.
King groaned.
Rook gently knelt down in front of him, stuffing himself back into his pants.
“Are you alright?”
King fought to catch his breath, shakily nodding. Rook reached around and untied the chains from around King's wrists, then gently took him up into his arms and stood up. He wiped King's face with his thumb.
“Jeez…” King breathed. Rook chuckled as he carefully set him down in a chair, finding their bathrobes where they hung on the wall and handing King’s to him.
“Did you enjoy yourself?”
King rested his head back on the chair after pulling his robe on, giving Rook a tired thumbs up in response.
“I need water.” he mumbled. “And food.”
“Of course.” Rook replied, tying the belt on his own robe. He knelt down next to King's chair, and they both leaned into a nice, tender kiss. “I will be back in a moment.”
He stood up and started heading for the door, stopping when King spoke.
“Rook?”
“Yes?”
“I…I love you.”
Rook’s face was soft in a way it was only when he looked at King.
“I love you too.”
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barbieaemond · 5 months
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A curse for a curse
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Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x wife!Reader
Warnings: angst, sub!Aemond, smut, oral sex (f and m receiving), overstimulation, orgasm denial, p in v, chains kink (idk if that’s even a thing but it’s there)
Word count: 8.5K
Author’s note: PLEASE READ THIS ->There's a little canon divergenge as in Rook's Rest is not happened yet, so Aegon is King and Aemond went to Harrenhal. Based on a request I got for sub!Aemond by the lovely @valeskafics.
I hope you'll like it, lovely Bel! 🫶🏻💖💖💖💖
Taglist: @zae5 @multyfangirl @ashovertheriver (y’all i can’t remember the others, I had my taglist in my old blog so…sorry 🫠)
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Harrenhal tastes like curse and smoke when she enters the blackened and ruined walls.
She is sure, as she is sure that dragons are real, that this place has been cursed over and over since Balerion and Aegon the Conqueror proved that not even stone was safe against dragonfire.
The air is heavy in her lungs, as breathing through a thick layer of wool and her steps echo down the corridors in a strange way; it seems like a never ending sound, echoing through the walls and many lost ages.
But her stride is steady, her eyes fixed on the doors of the Hall of One Hundred Hearths where she is sure to find him, where she will end this thing for which she has no name, and yet it is draining her, wearing her out like a starved leech.
“When is Aemond coming back?” the Queen Mother asks, and then little Jaehaera asks the same question, even Helaena, in those rare moments of clarity, wonders about her brother. And each time, she doesn’t know what to say. Her lip grows stiff, her jaw clenches and she wonders obsessively from dawn till dusk. What is he doing there?
Why has he not returned now that Harrenhal has been taken?
What is he doing with that bastard woman? 
“They say she’s a witch.” King Aegon says with his glassy eyes, putting down his cup as he looks around to choose a target on which to pour his anger. Wine seems to not work anymore, it is not enough to quench his thirst for revenge, and unfortunately, she happens to be the easiest mark.
“He killed everyone in that gods-forsaken place. Everyone except the witch.” He leans forward, watching her with amused anticipation just like a child who waits for his favorite toy to break. “Why did he not do it, sweet good-sister?”
He wants her to snap, and surely something does snap inside her, but she refuses to be humiliated like this.
“I do not know, your Grace. Perhaps my husband learned the Gods’ mercy and decided to spare a woman.”
His chest shakes violently as he laughs, and there’s nothing more humiliating than his laugh, not even the whispers traveling all the way from the Riverlands.
He’s taken her as his prisoner, keeps her in his chambers.
She has utterly bewitched him.
Every word is a stab to her heart and every time his word reaches her through a raven, the wound splits more open and festers.
He does not mention the bastard witch. He says nothing on the matter. He informs her of the war progressing, tells her he will come back soon.
Soon.
Soon was two moons ago and he’s still there.
It doesn’t matter anymore, she thinks as she reaches the doors of Harrenhal. Soon is now.
The look on Ser Criston Cole is almost comical as two soldiers open the doors of the Hall of the Hundred Hearths. “Princess?”
She immediately looks around, but there’s no silver in that huge black hall.
“What are you doing here?” the Hand asks, walking to her “It is not safe for you—”
“Where is the Prince?” she cuts him off, her tongue hitting her teeth like a blade cleaving the air.
Ser Criston looks puzzled for a moment, and even if she doesn’t show it, anguish twists her gut. But then he says “The Prince is not here, your Grace. He’s out, on the battle camp.”
She looks at the soldiers in the room, watching her like some kind of weird creature—a lamb in a den of wolves. That is no place for a princess, no place for a woman. And yet, it is precisely her place.
She belongs to his side. As he belongs to hers. It’s what she’s been telling herself for two moons of sleepless nights.
She should have come here with him in the first place, war be damned.
“Leave, please.” She orders the men “All of you. I need a word with the Hand.”
They may not be used to taking orders from a woman, but they immediately leave the Hall like a pack of unruly children.
The thud of the doors is like some kind of curtain falling and she is finally free of this act, free to snap.
“What is going on here, Ser Criston?”
He shifts on his feet, looking down, looking utterly incapable to answer her question. “The situation in the Riverlands is quite delicate at the moment—”
“I don’t give a shit about the war, Ser Criston.” She almost hisses “You are perfectly aware of what I’m asking.”
His mouth shuts and she resists the urge to use her hands as talons to part his lips and grab the truth from his throat.
“What is going on between Aemond and the witch.” she states, she is not asking.
The Hand sighs deeply and takes a step closer. His whole demeanor changes, becomes confidential, almost fatherly. “My Princess, you must not believe the foul whispers that have been spread.”
She feels a glimmer of relief blooming in her heart, but not strong enough to relinquish the leeches sucking at her bones. “What should I believe then?”
“It’s true. The Prince spared her life.”
“Does he keep her in his chambers?”
“What? Seven Hells, no. She has her own chamber. A little room in the wing intended for servants.”
“Did she ever visit his rooms? Alone?”
Ser Criston looks down for a moment, his lips contracting. “You must understand, my Princess. There are no servants here.”
The wound between her ribs cracks open.
There are no servants here. Did she help him dress? Did she help him bathe? Did she do all the things she used to do? All the things only she was entitled to do?
“I want to see her.”
“Princess, it is not wise.”
“I believe it is very much wise, Ser Criston, since my marriage is at stake here.”
 Ser Cole sighs again. “She’s…dangerous, my Princess. She’s eerily persuasive.”
“So, you think it’s true? That she’s a witch?”
“I’m not sure about her powers, my Princess. All I know is that…one of our soldiers spat in her face when she was still a captive by order of the Rogue Prince and she just…murmured something to this man.” He swallows lowering his gaze and takes a deep breath. “The next day he ripped out his own tongue with his bare hands, bleeding to death.”
Disturbing as these words can be, she keeps a steady and cold face.  
“She claims she can read the flames. That they speak to her, that she saw all of this happening—the Prince coming here. She claims she saw the fate of the war.”
A long silence stretches between them, but however right the Hand’s reasoning may be, she is not keen to let magic and superstitions take what she has come here to retrieve. “Take me to her.”
Ser Cole stalls for a moment, trying to make her give up by merely looking at her. But at last, he caves. “As you wish, my Princess.”
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Her room is completely bare, save for a hearth and a bundle of dirty covers and a pillow thrown on the ground.
She enters and the air feels even heavier, more cursed. She feels it like something weighing on her shoulders, drying her throat.
There’s a woman sitting before the fire, clad in rags with long black hair falling down her back. She seems to register the door opening and closing only minutes later, as if she was too focused on her fire staring. But then she turns her head and looks at the woman before her with a strange smile.
“Alas, you have come.”
The Princess blinks quickly, watching the woman stand up and walk closely to her, chains on her feet and hands. She feels something unsettling under her skin, behind her eyes, as if she can’t stop looking straight into the green eyes of the witch, not even if she wanted to.
“You must be Alys.” She says, quickly scanning the witch before returning, inevitably, like a magnet, into her bright green eyes.
The woman, whose age is impossible to determine, keeps her smile as she looks at the Princess from head to toe. “You are exactly as I saw you in the flames.”
“That will save us some time, then. No need for introductions.”
“No. I know who you are.” The witch says, curling her cracked lips some more “I can see his mark on you.”
“His mark?”
“Yes.” She says, unnaturally widening her eyes. “He leaves a mark on everything. Things, places, people. Much like me, I’d say.” From her throat gushes a high-pitched laugh, jarring and spiteful. “We have much in common, the Kinslayer and I.”
The way she utters the last words makes the Princess grind her teeth, as if they were…what? Friends? Allies?
Lovers?
“Have you been in his chambers all this time?” she finally asks and the witch has the boldness to roll her eyes. “Is that the only reason you’re here? To know if he cheated on you?”
“Answer my question.” The Princess orders.
“Darling, If I wanted to fuck him, I would’ve done it ages ago.” She starts laughing again, grinning mischievously and then she sighs. “You left your mark on him as well. I can feel you in his head. And you are so heavy.”
She doesn't know what to make of that. There is not a single reason why she should trust her word. And it's not just the alleged powers this woman may possess. It's her whole demeanor. Haughty, even though she is a bastard. Mocking, as if she looks at the young woman before her, and sees much, much more.
“Just as you, I’d say, since he’s forsaken his family and his wife to do whatever you’re making him do it with your witchcraft.”
She bursts out laughing, so loud that the Princess flinches and takes a step back.
“I’m not making him doing anything. I can’t play with his head. He’s too stubborn. I did not curse him, sweetheart. Your beloved prince is already accursed.”
“Then what do you want? Gold? Lands?”
“I do what the flames command. I serve no God, no King, no Lord. And neither does your husband. It was his choice to see.”
“To see what?”
“What the flames choose to show. I know how this war will end. I know which color will stain the other for good. I know who will sit on the Iron Throne.”
The Princess furrows her brow, confused and puzzled, apparently pleasing the witch who smiles again and nods. “Oh yes, he will make a sight to behold wearing the Conqueror’s Crown.”
Who? Aemond? On the Iron Throne?
“So that’s how you’re keeping him here. With visions and fantasies.”
“He asked me to. At the moment I’m more valuable to him than all his generals and soldiers put together. Besides, I know how to deal with him.”
The Princess almost laughs at this. “I see. You think you can handle him, don’t you? A wild dragon for you to tame, is that what he is for you?”
“Well, I’m not denying he’s handsome enough to please my eyes.”
“And once you have tamed him, what will you do? How will you handle him when you scratch the surface, and you see the neglected son? Lonely, misunderstood, maimed. The boy no one cared for.”
It is the first time the witch does not have a quick biting answer. It makes the Princess rejoice.
“All your witchcraft won’t be enough to handle him.”
The witch falls silent. There is a distant look in her eyes as she observes the Princess and the more she stares, the more the younger woman feels dreadfully uncomfortable. She starts to feel something in the back of her mind, like a gentle abstract push.
“Ser Criston." she says suddenly, swallowing but keeping a collected mask. "The keys, please."
“Your Grace, Prince Aemond will not be ha—”
“I’ll deal with Prince Aemond.” She says, looking straight at the witch and the ghost of a superb smile hovers on her lips “I know how to handle him.”
The Knight slides the keys from his armor and hands them to the Princess. She is ready to free the witch’s wrists, but she stops, locking her eyes on Alys. “There is a carriage outside. And some guards who will do whatever Ser Criston will order them. Take it and go wherever you want, there’s even gold in the—"
“I told you, I don’t want—”
“I don’t care of what you want!” The Princess snaps, raising her voice, and the pushing dissolves. “You live to serve the flames? Fine. Do it elsewhere, far away from us.”
Alys shuts her parched mouth, and simply nods. “As you wish, Princess.”
She removes the shackles from her feet, and then from her hands, holding the chains between her fingers. Alys touches her hurting wrists, before tilting her head down in some kind of bow, or maybe a mocking gesture. The Princess cannot bring herself to care.
The witch makes her way past the younger woman but at last, she stops for a moment, leaning back her head of dark curls to say “I did touch him, just once. He put a knife to my throat.”
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Vhagar likes to nestle on the burned blackened towers of Harrenhal, like some kind of dreadful reminder of the legacy of ruins and ashes Balerion the Dread has unleashed on this cursed land.
Aemond enters the castle walls with his circle of counselors and generals. They crowd on him like bees with honey and he knows why. He knows that most of the time they don’t have a clue what they’re talking about. They hang on his lips and jump like little good soldiers, jostling with one another in the hope of gaining something more when the war ends. A land, a title, one of them had even had the guts to offer a daughter to marry.
“I am not sure of what you are implying, my Lord.” He had said to the Lord with a dangerous black glint in his eye, as the fool thought it was wise to remind the Kinslayer that he and his wife had had no children yet. “Whether you are insulting me or my wife. I am sure of one thing, though. You will shut your hole before I take your tongue and feed it to my dragon.”
There were no more talks of unwed daughters between those walls.
“My Prince, if you allow me—” one of them says as they enter the Hall of the Hundred Hearths “We should give the lords who pledged for the Blacks more time to consider—”
“I gave them enough.” He says turning with a glare, looking even taller than he is, with his silver armor streaked with gold and the long green cloak. “They will pledge to my brother before dawn or I will bring dragonfire to their lands. Then we shall see where their loyalty lies while they burn to the crisp.”
They all shush and Aemond almost thanks the Gods for this brief blessed moment of peace. He ponders for a moment and then looks at a young soldier behind him.
“Summon the witch.” He orders “Bring her to me.”
He looks down to remove his riding gloves but out of the corner of his eye, he sees that the boy is still there.
“Uhm, my Prince, the witch is not here anymore.”
“What do you mean she’s not here?”
“S-she left, your Grace.”
The last word does not even leave his mouth the poor soldier feels a hand around his neck and the Prince is easily lifting him from the ground as if made of feathers. “You let her flee?!” he rages with his eye blown wide.
“I-I did—not your Grace!” the boy manages to croak while he’s choking, legs kicking like a chicken in the butcher’s hands.
“He’s right. I did.” Her voice cuts through the air and Aemond turns his head in a blink, looking positively stunned to hear his wife, to see her there.
He lets the soldier boy go and stares at her on the threshold of the huge Hall. He blinks with disbelief, as if he’s finally able to see after days and nights spent in a cloud of fog. Something shifts inside him him—something that has been wandering ceaselessly day and night, lifting the weight from his shoulders, from his black heart. Not Harrenhal’s weight, not Alys’. A weight far darker, a curse far more dangerous.
“Out.” he orders the Lords “All of you.”
They obey at once, scattering down the Hall only to stop for a moment before the Princess, to pay their respect.
The doors close but she stays on the threshold. His eye roams on her figure, once and then twice. He has never seen her wearing such a simple dress, easy to disguise her noble roots, her royal ones. And even though the mere sight stokes almost three moons of ugly and burning desire, it only makes him angry. It only makes him ashamed.
“What in the name of the Seven are you doing here?”
She walks to him and without uttering a single word or even sparing a glance to him, she begins removing the heavy armor plates from his body.
“What are you doing?” he asks with deep wrinkles on his forehead.
“My duty as wife.” She replies sternly, holding his arm “Or did you forget you had one?” she looks at him and sees rage blazing behind his eye—rage and maybe a tinge of hurt.  
“Am I doing it right?” she asks removing the armor plate from his forearm “Was your witch friend better than me?”
The metal clatters on the ground as he grabs her arm, hard, pulling her close. “I asked you a question. We’re at war and you go strolling around the continent? Have you lost your mind?”
She tries to wriggle herself out of his iron grip, unsuccessfully as always. “How strange, that is a question I should ask you.”
“Enough.” He says grinding his teeth, digging his fingertips into her skin until her mouth twists with pain.
“Enough was two moons ago, Aemond. When you were supposed to come home, to your family, to me.”
“In case you didn’t notice, we’re at war, my dear wife. Things in war don’t go exactly as you planned them—”
“Oh spare me!” she cuts him off, freeing herself “Spare me the war talk, that’s all I’ve been hearing from you.”
“What did you expect exactly? Love letters?”
“I expected what I deserved. To know the truth. You have not mentioned her. Ever, not even once. Do you have the faintest idea of what I’ve been through all this time? Of all the dirt they have been spreading behind my back?”
“I don’t want to hear about it.” He says turning his back on her, as if he had not done that enough.
“No, you will.” She promises, circling him to look straight at him again. “They said you were so besotted with her to deny her leaving your chambers.”
“I don’t want to hear about it.” He says again, closing his eye for a moment.
“They said, and this was from the wretched mouth of your beloved brother, that you put a child in her womb since I was not able to give you an heir.”
“I don’t want to hear about it!” he shouts, and she knows she hit a nerve there, because he never shouts.
“Why? Does it make you ashamed? It should. I had to hear all of it. I had to endure it while you stayed here playing fortune teller with your witch whore.”
His nostrils flare as he takes a deep breath and raises his gaze to look at her, dead serious. “You know nothing about her powers. She saw many things, happened precisely as she predicted. I needed her. I needed her powers and you had no right to send her away.”
“You needed her?” she repeats, pale with utter disbelief. “You needed her for what? For her to tell you how good you’ll look wearing the Conqueror’s Crown? To feed you with fairy tales while we risk our lives staying in the capital, unprotected because Dreamfyre can’t fight and Tessarion is still in Oldtown. What if the Blacks decide to attack us now? They have a dozen of dragons, we have only Sunfyre.”
“The Blacks will not attack.”
“Did she tell you this? Did she see this in the flames?” she can’t fight back the contempt curling her lips “Are you listening to yourself? Flames and visions to win a war? You poor fool.”
“Watch your mouth, woman.” he seethes “You don’t talk to me like this.”
“Or what? Are you going to chain me up? I kept her chains, you know? I thought you’d like a token of your time with the witch.”
“Did you come here for this? To make a scene like some common girl who feels threatened by another woman?” his lips turn upwards, curling and twisting with ugly deprecation “What do you think you know about the war? What is your contribution while you lie around in a lavish castle waiting for me to come back and fuck you? I’ll tell you. None. You can’t even perform your duty to give me an heir. And you come here to lecture me?”
The wound is rotting from the inside and he’s pouring salt on it.
“I came here for my dignity. As a woman, I have nothing else. I came here for your mother, who I fear will go mad with worry just as your sister. And lastly, to tell you that I’m with child.”
Aemond stills completely, so much that she thinks the witch’s curse is hitting him right now, no matter how far she is, turning him into stone.
“But it seems utterly irrelevant to me right now. So, go. Hurry! You might still find her.”
She moves to leave the room and he does it at the same time, trying to reach her, to stop her, but she flinches as he tries to touch her, battling his hands away.
Aemond utters her name, softly, and it makes her stomach turn.
“I will leave at dawn.” She informs him with a blank face “I won’t disturb you and your precious war any further. Fret not, husband. I will stay in my lavish castle like the good soldier I am, waiting for you to come back and fuck me.”
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This is place is not only cursed, but it is also so freezing cold that she wishes for one of those direwolf furs the Northerners use to wear as she sits before the hearth in what she assumed to be Aemond’s chambers. The room is large, even larger than the ones they share in the Red Keep, but it’s completely bare and almost ominous with its black walls that stink of ash and smoke.
A cursed place, fitting for a cursed woman.
She has been for quite some time. Because she chose to stay by his side, because she chose to love him.
“We could turn to a Septon. Annulments are rare but possible. You cannot remain married to a Kinslayer, it is the highest of sins.” Her father had said in the aftermath of Lucerys’ death. She had looked at him like he was some kind of lunatic.
As if she could leave him, as if she could turn her back on him and marry another man.
As if he hadn’t left his mark on her.
She thought the Gods had cursed her for good, that was why, however much they tried, she couldn’t bear his child.
“A child is the highest of the blessings from the Gods.” Her mother had said during one of her last visits to the capital “How can they bless your union with a man so accursed?”
And yet.
She is impatiently waiting for the sun to set. Even if her limbs have never been so heavy, as much as her heart, she finds no reason to stay here, not when she can’t stand even the sight of him. But of course, how can there be peace in such a cursed place?
She hears the door opening. She knows his gait. She wished to hear it for two moons as she lied alone in their bed.
She hears him approach until he is beside her, but she does not look at him. She only sees his arm holding out a small tray.
“Eat.” An order, not an invitation.
She doesn’t even bother to look at the food, keeping her cold gaze on the fire. “I’m afraid I lost my appetite, dear husband. You can thank yourself for that.”
She can feel his eye piercing, burning her skin, the air coming from his nose short and harsh.
“Eat or I’ll feed you myself.”
She doesn’t bother to even answer this time.
Aemond stares at her, waits for her to look at him, he needs for her to look at him. “Is it true?”
“What?”
“That you’re with child.”
“In my husband’s lovely words, I lie around all day so I guess I’m capable enough to notice if I miss my moonblood.”
He leaves the tray on the stone mantelpiece, noticing a pair of chains lying there, and then looks down at her.  “You will stay here with me.” Another order.
Another rejection. “I will not.”
“Yes, you will. You are not going anywhere, not in your condition.”
“I see. Now I’m worth something to you, am I not?” and finally she looks up “My duty is fulfilled, my womb is finally swollen. It’s a shame your witch left, we could have asked her to look in the flames and tell us if it’s a boy or a girl.”
Aemond lowers his shoulders and grabs her chin with the same cruelty he is used to brandish his sword, tightening her cheeks to prevent her from uttering another word. “I said enough.”
He watches as she tries to escape his grip, pushing his shoulders as her eyes grow more and more scornful, and he knows he deserves it. But that ugly thing breaks, snaps like a thin rope pulled too tight.
His mouth is on hers, fingers squeezing her cheeks to force her to take his kiss, which is not really a kiss, but more of an act of war, a relentless and rather quick siege, because she was already starving. She opens his mouth and this alone makes him whine with relief as his tongue slides between her teeth. Her hands grab his doublet collar, knuckles turning white and she angles her head, only to bite his lip hard enough to draw blood.
He winces as he pulls his head back and sees her licking her lips, a dead distant look in her eyes. But her hands move, gently, through his silver strands. "My words are but blunt knives on you. I must hurt you in the only way I can."
“I did not touch her.” He says like an oath “Ever.”
“I know you didn’t.” she reassures him, but her eyes stay distant, as if even being this close now, they are also miles and miles apart. “Maybe it would’ve been better if you had.”
“Did you want me to fuck her now?”
“I wanted you to need me, not her.”
His eye is on flame, rage and shame dancing together, but it’s not aimed at her. He finds that the only person on the receiving end is none other than himself.
Something dies in his eye, his shoulders slump and his head falls forward, hiding what no one would dare even think of seeing on the stern, cruel face of Aemond One Eye.
He kneels before her and lays his head on her belly, catching her off guard. She can't see his face, and yet she has it before her eyes, clear and indisputable as something carved into stone.
The surface has never been so frail. She doesn’t even need to scratch it, she only has to lift it.
No man is so accursed as the Kinslayer.
She had thought it true enough, but what about Aemond’s curse?
“I know you feel guilty.” She says, or rather whispers, as if she’s being blasphemous by accosting such a word to such a man. “I know you feel guilty for Jaehaerys. For Helaena.”
His answer is mute, but it’s the loudest confession she could get.
He fists the fabric of her gown between his hands, knuckles turning white on the verge of breaking. She feels him nestling further inside her, like a child, and she closes her eyes for a moment, placing a hand on her wound to stop the bleeding, and leans over him, sliding her hands on his back, softly but firmly, as if helping him to stay whole, as if preventing him from breaking into pieces.
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Aemond didn’t believe in curses.
He did not regret, not even for a moment, the murder of Lucerys. He did not care that the Gods had turned their backs on him. They had done it a long time before. He did not care of how people called him, of how they would baptize him in the annals of his lineage.
He had started to care, to feel guilt, after he actually killed his kin.
For he had killed Jaehaerys, he had killed Helaena.
Kinslayer. Kinslayer. Kinslayer.
In his head, he heard that word with his mother’s voice, with Aegon’s, Helaena’s.
He found some kind of peace, of solace, only in his wife. But then the war was calling and he fled to Harrenhal. It was his duty, it was his way to try to make things better, to get revenge. 
He had taken Harrehanl back and he knew he should have come home. But then the witch, the very same who had forced a man to rip out his own tongue, had spoken to him, talking about visions and flames, of predictions that happened to be alarmingly accurate, of him sitting on the Iron Throne with the Conqueror’s Crown on his silver head.
And he saw an opportunity, however blurry, to set things right, as they should have been in the beginning. He saw a way to get the upper hand in this war. And furthermore, as much as he did not realize it, he had found a way to stay away from the Keep. He would rather dare with witchcraft than return home and hear Helaena's wails cutting through doors and walls, and through his heart.
But next to the guilt had come the shame, for he had turned his back on his wife, for he could imagine the filth their enemies and non would spread, like shit flowing in the sewers.
He had tried to confine her to the back of his mind, but she became heavier and heavier as the days passed, along with the scarce letters in which he never mentioned the Rivers bastard.
She, of course, had sensed it immediately.
“You can’t win this war if your mind is elsewhere.” She had said one night, on one of his visits to her room.
He always stayed on the threshold, arms laced behind and poorly disguised distrust stretching his features.
“I told you to stay out of my fucking head.”
“You need not worry, my Prince.” She retorted with a chilling smile “I can’t play with your head. It’s too heavy…and ugly. And this woman…oh, she’s eating you alive.”
The witch is gone now, and yet she is still there.
She lingers on the walls of his chambers like a ghost, she imposes a wall between him and his wife and perhaps neither of them is strong enough to climb it. So, for days they just circle one another like wounded animals.
The Princess is staying with him of course. He has forbidden her to leave his side and she has caved, on one condition though. She has given him three days to deal with the Riverlands and then they will go home, together, where they are needed, where the mighty dreadful Vhagar is needed.
The day before their departure, Aemond returns victorious from the Riverlands. He has gained the allegiance of the lords in a way Visenya Targaryen would be proud of.
He will never forget the Lords' faces draining of color, probably pissing themselves, as Vhagar roared a war chant in the sky, and tongues of fire brushed the lands as warning.
He enters the chambers quietly and sees her crouched on the floor as her hands dig into a drawer, pulling out papers that she carelessly drops to the ground. Aemond closes the door firmly, announcing his presence, and she looks at him for a single moment before sighing in defeat, closing the drawer.
“Looking for my love letters?” he teases, for the first time after days of loud silence.
“I was looking for ink, actually.” she says looking below a paper left on the table. “Besides…love letters from you? Ghastly.” 
He can’t fight back the smirk curling his mouth as she walks close to him and begins removing the armor. He looks at her face and she’s stern, almost rigid in her gestures, in the way she touches him, as if she despises doing it and yet she can’t help herself.
He doesn’t have a clue.
He doesn’t know that her stiffness has nothing to do with contempt. He doesn’t have a clue of how much she aches for him. Of how much she wants for him to take her, fast and rough, as he often used to do, because she can’t stand to be treated like some porcelain doll to be cocooned thanks to his child growing inside her belly. She wants to be more than that, she demands to be his wife again.
“Have you eaten?” he asks her, gently, and she wants to break something.
She can’t stand it anymore. She can’t stand all the questions.
Did you eat? Did you rest? Did you sleep?
“Is this how is going to be from now on?” she asks looking up “You acting as if you are my maid?”
He clenches his jaw and his face turns stern just like hers.
“First you accuse me to have forsaken you and now you don’t want my attention. Make peace with your mind, wife.”
“I want you to be my husband.” She says getting close to him until she smells dragon and ashes.
She wants to bathe in it. “I want to be your wife.”
Aemond’s eye lingers down on her throat, on her constricted chest, and his lips part. “You are.” He vows, locking his eye on her.
“Prove it.” She whispers tilting her head with a challenge dancing on her parted lips, hovering against his.
He is one breath away from swallowing her whole but he stops, melding their breaths in one, and he grins. “Are you going to bite me again?”
“As if you didn’t like that.”
A moment later his teeth sink into the soft flesh of her lip, her neck. His hands are everywhere, frantic and needy. She can feel he’s restraining from holding her too tight, but she wants, no, she needs more. She wants him in her bones.
They move without logic, clinging to each other, trying to assert dominance on one another. He grabs her wrists and forces her down on the chaise beside the hearth. He is looking at her in the same old way, as if he’s blind to anything else. She aches so much for him that she’s breathing hard, the word please climbs her throat, slides on her tongue, but she will not beg for him.
In all truth, she doesn’t have to.
He kneels on the ground like a pious man at the altar, and she hikes up her skirts, spreading her legs to place them on his shoulders, heels pressing on his back to bring him close.
“You know what you want, don’t you?” He teases with a feral grin.
“Curse you and your hideous smirk.” She says sliding on the chair to bring her apex close to his overly talkative mouth.
“You love my smirk.” He says grabbing her thighs to secure them around his face. “Besides, I’m already cursed.” He leaves a red mark biting on the soft skin of her thigh, looking straight at her and how she startles, whining in half pain half pleasure.
She catches a glimpse of the sapphire glinting between her thighs before her eyes fall shut and she moans unnaturally loud as he licks a stripe along her wet folds and up to her apex.
She is trembling with anticipation, with arousal that pools from her, glistening his mouth and nose. Her hips begin bucking against him and he moans contentedly as he buries his tongue inside her, lapping and tasting like a starved beast.
Her breath grows shorter and shorter for how close she is already, so much that he stops to look at her with a spiteful grin. “Already? Gods, you must have missed me terribly.”
“Shut up.” She whispers hoarsely and pulls herself up just enough to grab his head, pulling his hair to force him to take where he left off. Her hips are rocking on their own against his face, nails scratching his scalp harder and harder as she comes undone in his mouth, while he hums with pleasure, drinking of all her. Eye fixed on her as he watches her throw her head back, spasming and trembling with a loud moan.
Her back hits the back of the chaise as she catches her breath and looks at the black ceiling in a moment of pure bliss. Two moons of anguish are but a distant memory, her mind is foggy, she doesn’t even remember the face of the witch.
He dismantles her legs from his neck and she looks down at him, cheeks red, watching as he climbs on her, unbuckling his belt.
“No.” she says, and she stops his hands. “Do you think I would make it so easy for you?”
Aemond looks at her, half puzzled half curious, and then she pushes him down, overturning their positions so now she’s sitting on his lap, feeling all of his hard length against her.
“It’s my turn to prove it.” She says raising an arm that goes on the mantelpiece behind them.
“Prove what?”
“That you’re my mine.” She promises, and Aemond hears the distinct sound of metal clinking.
She lowers her arm and he sees a pair of chains between her fingers. He is bold enough to smirk at her. “I thought you were the one who wished to be chained.”
“I’m not the one in need of a lesson.”
She grabs his wrist but he easily pulls away. “What if I don’t want to?” but there’s an intriguing glint in his eye, on the edges of his arched mouth.
“Then who will take care of you?” she asks with fake innocence, grinding on his cock, and she smiles as the air comes out of his mouth in a hiss. “Are you sure your hand will suffice?”
He looks at her with challenge, breathing slowly through his mouth, and he caves.
“Chain me.”
She smiles darkly and grabs his wrists, fastening the chains and then locking them to the sides of the chair. She stands and grabs his legs, sliding his back further down.
She notices his eyebrow rising and she looks at him. "I want you to be comfortable. I'm afraid this will not end so soon."
He swallows with anticipation and watches her as she slowly climbs back on top of him and begins to unbutton his doublet., pushing the fabric aside to reveal his diaphanous pale chest and her hand slides over it, over his ribs, stomach, and navel, halting his breath.
Her lips hover against his, swallowing his shallow breath, but suddenly her head dips down, leaving a trail of little heated kisses on his neck, on the planes of his chest.
He watches as she does that, feeling her lips like burning embers marking his skin. Her eyes lock on him and she opens her mouth engulfing one of his nipples, circling her tongue around it. He tilts his head back, lips parting to let a puff of scorching air out, and then she's grazing her teeth over the soft pink skin.
The chains metal clink as he winces.
She grins pulling herself up and slides a bit down his legs with her bottom, so she has open room to his belt. She begins unbuckling it, looking at him, watching the glare he’s giving her.
“I can’t tell whether you want to kill me or fuck me.”
“I need you to fucking do something.”
“Like what?” she asks, palming his cock through the fabric “Tell me, husband. I may grant your wish.”
He rocks his hips in one slow movement, trying to feel every inch of her hand, but it’s a faint touch that only makes him ache for more. “Move, grind on me.” His voice is imperative as always, but his tone is different—all heated and husky.
She frees him of the constricting belt and breeches and lays on him, releasing a blissful sigh when she feels the hot hard flesh colliding perfectly against her core. The chains clink again as he tries to move and she smiles, caging his snatched waist between her legs.
Aemond is panting quietly, trying to get a grip on his own body but he finds it’s a useless fight when he’s so hard it’s starting to hurt.
But then his wife seems in favour of granting him some mercy. She starts grinding on him and his lips part some more, panting loudly this time, as he feels, and hears, the beautiful obscene sounds her wet flesh is making rubbing on him.
“Lift up your skirts. Let me see.”
She stops grinding and he almost whines with annoyance, moving his chained wrists in a useless attempt to grab her waist and force her to move again.
“I don’t like that tone, husband.” She says, and her voice is husky as well, her breath labored “Ask nicely.”
Aemond is silently starting to regret this whole thing. Patience was never one of his virtues, if he even has virtues. He’s completely at her mercy and cannot do anything but comply.
“Please. Lift your fucking skirts and let me see.”
“Hmm.” She hums smiling. “Better.”
Her skirts turn into a bundle of fabric around her waist and he dips his chin, looking straight at their flesh as she resumes her torture.
“Fuck” he utters, his eye growing heavy but he keeps looking, and he doesn’t have a clue whether it’s the rubbing or the mere sight of her coating his cock that draws a moan out of his throat.
“Do you see how I much I’ve missed you?” she asks hoarsely, grinding more and more firmly.
His head hits the back of the chair as he keeps panting and rocking his hips against her, lifting his waist as if desperately trying to slide inside her.
“I touched myself every morning. I woke up all wet and aching for you. And where were you? Here, plotting with your witch.”
“Enough of that fucking witch.” he croaks, a sheen of sweat is ghosting on his forehead. “Faster.”
She does the opposite. She stops altogether. And this time, he can’t do nothing to muffle the whimper gushing out of his trembling mouth.
The Princess tilts her head, savoring each moment, and soon his piercing glare comes back even sharper. “Once I’m free of these fucking chains, I’m going to fuck you senseless till morning.”
“Unless you are still chained to this chair in the morning.”
He watches as her hands hover on his thighs, a feather touch that drives him mad, that makes his hips buck uselessly. His lips twist, swallowing a plead his pride won’t allow him to let go.
But she hears it nonetheless, in the way his fingers flex and twist, in his chest raising fastly. It may suffice, but it doesn’t.
“Stubborn, are we?” she teases, just like her hands, barely touching down his navel. “Your witch got it right. She said you are too stubborn, that’s why she couldn’t play with your head. She couldn’t handle you.” her fingertips finally dip down and she can see the silent plead in his eye.
“I can, though.” her palm brushes the tip and he whimpers, again.
“Please…” he whispers impossibly low, too low for her liking.
“Louder, my love.”
His mouth twists again but the need, the ache is so heavy that it burns out all the pride numbing his tongue. 
“Please…” he begs freely “Please, touch me.”
A groan rolls out of him as she finally grabs it, squeezing softly before starting a slow rhythm up and down. He pants loudly, hips moving on their own as he tries to fuck her hand with a steadier pace. “Don’t rush it.” she scolds him, placing a firm hand on his waist to stop his frantic movements.
“I can’t take it…let me come…”
“Already? Gods, you must have missed me terribly.”
“You’re cursed, woman.”
“Takes one to know one. A curse for a curse.”
She looks at him, hair all ruffled and sweaty on his forehead, a painful pleading expression twisting his sharp features and she smiles victorious. “I have half a mind to leave you like this.” She says and for a moment, he dreads she’s being serious.
“Luckily for you, I’m just as greedy as you are.”
In a swift moment she nestles between his legs and he’s moaning loudly before he even has time to register anything, except her lips locking around his tip, sucking so harshly he thinks she’s going to utterly drain him.
She starts a steady pace, just as he likes it, taking all of him, down to the base untili it hits the back of her throat. The chains clink and clink against the chair as he twists his wrists, bucking his hips harshly to fuck her mouth as deeper as he can, enthralled by the lewd sounds she’s making.
“Gods, yes…” he moans watching carefully as he slips in and out of her “Yes…just like that, just a little more…”
She feels him tense inside her mouth, she feels him tense all over and she knows he’s dangerously close. She stops for a moment, licking her lips and looks at him. “Don’t tell me you’re going to break the rule.”
Aemond groans with frustration, not having the faintest idea of what she’s talking about. He isn’t even sure he remembers his own name. He is just blood boiling and bones so tense they’re close to snap.
“What was it again?” she asks “Ah, yes. My seed belongs in your cunt.” She leaves a trail of soft kisses on his hard flesh and he whimpers once more. “My ever-romantic husband.”
“Fuck the rule, you’re driving me mad. Let me come.”
“Ask nicely.”
“Please.” He begs “Please let me come in your mouth.”
The Princess is merciful enough to grant his wish. She engulfs him once more and he moans loudly for how sensitive he is. She picks up the pace and pride washes over her, pooling between her legs, as she sees him writhing beneath her, moaning with his mouth open, eye closed shut and the chains clink like a frantic bell while he twists his scratched red wrists.
He curses and mumbles nonsense under his breath until he stills completely letting out a long and loud grunt, spilling abundantly inside her mouth. She swallows to the last drop, gently sucking the pulsing tip.
The chains are finally still and silent. He’s breathing hard and short with his head thrown back, staring at the ceiling without seeing anything.
That is until he winces, feeling her hand on his sensitive skin. He raises his head to look at her, almost puzzled. She smiles slyly, moving her hand up and down. “Did you think it was over?”
If he did not feel so spent, he would be utterly thrilled and definitely flattered.
“Seven Hells, woman, give me a bre—” words die on his tongue wiped out by a hoarse gasp as she takes him in her mouth again. But this time, she sucks so slowly that Aemond actually whines in pain. And she looks straight at him, while her head bobs, relishing every moment, watching as he comes undone beneath her, babbling pleads, begging her to stop and a moment later to keep going. His voice is breaking, cracking as he whines and whimpers, poised between pain and pleasure.
Soon though, she hears more whines of pleasure than pain, as gets harder and harder in the hot haven of her mouth.
Suddenly she stops, and just stares, savoring the sight before her. The cruel Aemond One Eye, chained to a chair in a mess of sweat and sobs.
“Untie me…” he says, trying to make it sound like an order, but it’s a pale imitation of his usual tone. His words are slow, sluggish.
“You are not in charge here, my love.”
“Then quit the act and fuck me.”
Perhaps, if she wasn’t so equally desperate for him, if she wasn’t leaking between her thighs, she would have prolonged this torture, this excruciatingly sweet punishment. But she can’t take it anymore.
She climbs on him, and it takes her the least effort to let him slide inside her. He slips his back further down that chaise so that his hips are angled just enough to thrust into her, fast and steady.
“Oh Gods—yes!” she moans throwing her head back, frantically bouncing on him.
“D’you miss this?” he rasps, with a tinge of his usual infuriating confidence “Did you think of this when you touched yourself? Missed my cock inside you, hmm?”
She clamps a hand on his mouth to shush him and he bites her palm, thrusting even harder, making her whine loudly until her throat goes dry and her sight go white. They fall in a wild frenzy, utterly intoxicated with each other, leaving bites and marks all over, sealing one inside the other with a curse much more dangerous than any kind of witchcraft.  
They come together, as she clutches his head to her chest so tight that he can barely breathe. He rests his head on the chair, slowly catching his breath, and she nestles against him, still sank on him.
He moves his hands to touch her, wincing for his aching wrists.
“Untie me now, would you?” he asks softly on the crown of her head.
“I’m not sure.” She muses against his chest. “I’ve quite enjoyed having you at my mercy.”
“Who said I didn’t?”
She moves her head to look at him, a little smile starting to light up her face and he looks down at her lips, mirroring her.
“Besides, it’s your turn.”
She raises her eyebrows fighting back a smile. “Now?”
“Haven’t you heard? No man is so accursed as me.”  
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