to the dark side

Gwayne Hightower x Witch!reader

pt.1 pt.2

Tonight you are mine - The Technicolors

warnings: sub!gwayne, clueless gwayne!, reader is a witch that got into his head to corrupt him(or did she?), oral fem receiving, pussy drunk gwayne!, p in v, riding gwayne on the cold stone floor!!!, choking, light spit play(come on it's me of course i had to), gwayne calls her my liege a few times <3

The heavy oak door creaked shut behind Gwayne’s back as you led him into your dimly lit study. The room was warm, almost suffocating for his already feverish skin. The heavy scent of candle smoke and lavender enveloped him, making him feel strangely safe. You stood with your back against your stone table while he waited patiently at the door for your command.He looked so eager to let go and finally be free of all the obligations society had placed on him, to give himself over to you and let you ruin him in ways he had never even dared to dream of.Ever since you foresaw his coming to Harrenhal, you knew that Gwayne was the one thing missing from your enclosed life—a man of virtue who would do anything for his maiden and never make you feel small or weak in your bond. Such warmth and security you had never known in all your years.A familiar heat was brewing up in the pit of your stomach as you were looking at him, so ruined already awaiting your command, he wouldn’t dare move, not until you commanded and what made your thrill greater was that it wasn’t your doing, had completely surrendered himself to you out of his own volition. Slowly you pushed yourself off the cold stone table, his dark eyes tracked your every step with a desperate anticipation.When you finally stopped in front of him, his armor clad chest rose and fell with his heavy breaths and his pulde was hammering agains his throat, a cold sweat breaking out in his brow.Was he so anxious about bedding a woman for the first time? The thought sent shivers down your spine.The sheer sight of this honorable, strong knight being entirely at your mercy sent thrills through your veins. You reached out, letting your cool fingers brush along his jawline,a soft shiver ran through him. It was intoxicating, knowing you held the power to either soothe his fever or burn him whole. “Undress for me,” you commanded softly, keeping your eyes on his, waiting for a signal that he did not want this after all—that he had changed his mind. But it never came. His gaze remained locked onto yours as hesitant hands began to undo the leather straps at his shoulders, each buckle making a metallic sound that echoed in the silence. The heavy shoulder guards slid off, hitting the floor with a dull thud. When he made a move for his arms, you reached out as well, unable to keep your hands off him any longer. With gentle fingers, you unbuckled the forearm guards, revealing the quilted fabric of the padded doublet underneath. The hardest part was the breastplate. Stepping behind him with slow, calculated steps, you began untying the laces that kept the steel anchored to his torso. With a careful tug, the breastplate unlatched and was pulled away. You stepped back to stand in front of him, your hand never leaving his body, the two of you drawn together like magnets. His doublet was stained with the dust of the road and the pressure of battle.He caught both your hands, bringing them to his chest, right where his heart beat strongly beneath the fabric. There was no longer any barrier between you. “I am all yours, my heart’s queen,” he whispered, with such serenity in his voice that it almost moved you to tears. “Your humble servant, lead me.” The weight of his words was like that of an oath. “Then rise,” you replied softly, closing the final inch of distance between you. “No longer a servant, no longer at war… but as mine. Just mine.”

The kiss was intense, mouths colliding in a desperate attempt to drink each other in. You could feel Gwayne’s inhibitions collapsing, letting himself get completely lost in your dark, yet comforting presence. Threading your fingers through his fine locks gives you a sense of stability you desperately crave, gripping and tugging at his hair feels entirely new, yet somehow familiar. The soft, breathless moans escaping his lips directly into yours make you never want to let go. The firm hold on his hair helps you guide his head exactly where you want it. You can feel his hesitation, his inexperience holding him back from exploring you as if he is terrified of doing the wrong thing. It is exciting, to say the least. Here is a man of status and duty, utterly crumbling at your feet, desperately afraid of hurting or offending you. Exciting indeed. You slowly begin tugging him backwards, the back of your legs hitting the stone table. Without breaking the kiss, you hop up onto the edge, gasping straight into Gwayne's mouth as the cold sensation of the stone seeps even through your robes.

The unexpected movement startles him, causing him to break the kiss. He looks at you desperately, searching your eyes for approval.

"Did I do something to offend you, my lady? My apologies, I just hav—"

You cut his rambling short by placing a finger against his soft, glistening lips.

“Kneel.” You didn't need to tell him twice. Hypnotized by you, he slowly sank to his knees on the cold stone floor without once breaking eye contact, his lust filled eyes taking your breath away in the warm candlelight.

"I don't know how to do this…" The confession leaves his chest with absolute sincerity. "In your presence, I feel so fragile. I am afraid that I will ruin this."

Your heart aches for him even more now. How lucky you are to have found a man like him in this bleak existence. You reach out, cold fingers touching his tense jaw, your warm magic soothing him softly. "You won't ruin anything, my sweet knight. There is no war here, no vows to uphold just us."

You do not rush him. Your cold hands gently cover his warm ones, guiding him as he pushes your dark robes up until they pool at your waist, leaving your core completely exposed to him. Lacing your hand once again through his hair, you tug him closer to where you want him, the anticipation making you oh so wet.

"Let yourself get lost in the moment, Gwayne," you murmur. "There is no right or wrong, I will guide you. Start here."

You guide his head firmly forward. His hands finally wrap around your thighs to steady himself. Then he presses a first, hesitant kiss to the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, your eyes involuntarily closing to the sensation. He lingers there, his lips soft and warm, pressing sver feather light kisses on the area before sliding a hot, wet stripe of his tongue upward.

You let out a quiet gasp, the sound of your pleasure seems to excite him as he brushes more kisses, this time more desperate along the soft curve of your thighs, slowly working his way higher, but just as he gets agonizingly close to your heat, you pull back his hair roughly, stopping him just short.

He lets out a soft whimper, his eyes looking up at you in desperation.

"Do not think," you command softly, your fingers tightening hard in his locks as you look down at his flushed, handsome face. "Just feel me."

With a firm, guiding pressure, you press his face forward, bringing his mouth directly against your aching heat. Gwayne lets out a muffled, breathless gasp against your skin as the overwhelming scent and taste of you completely fill his senses. The sudden vulnerability of his position makes his entire body shudder. You begin to tilt your hips, guiding his head in a slow, demanding rhythm where you need him most. He completely surrenders to your dark presence, his hands gripping your thighs tightly as his tongue eagerly eaxplores you. It's mesy, desperate and sloppy, wet sounds and breathy moans from both of you fill the dim space. "Yes, that's so good… You're doing so good, Gwayne right there, my love. You can let your tongue explore inside of me."

The sound leaving his lips is unlike anything you have heard before, heavy and thick with desperate, hot lust. His tongue hesitatingly licks at your entrance a few times before slowly sliding inside, parting you so deliciously.

The sensation is so overwhelming that you have to lean back, bracing your hands flat against the cold stone to steady yourself lest you collapse completely. Beneath you, Gwayne's hot, wet tongue moves with a desperate passion you have never felt before, claiming you in his devoted worship.A loud, broken cry echoes through the quiet room as your hips jerk upward, riding the waves of a sudden, shattering climax, all you can feel is the hot pressure of Gwayne’s mouth refusing to let you go, drinking in every drop of your sweet release. A breathless sob escapes your lips as waves of pleasure keep washing over you, leaving you entirely spent and shaking. As the tremors slowly begin to fade, Gwayne slowly pulls back, his lips wet and glistening in the candlelight, his face flushed with lust and admiration for you. He looks up, eyes wide, silently asking if he did well. "My sweet knight," you breathe, reaching down to weakly stroke his cheek. "You did beautifully."

Gwayne let a small smile form on his lips as he started to press feather-light kisses starting from the bottom of your feet up to your still trembling thighs, his breath still coming out labored. His hands slide up to rest on your hips, his palms holding you still as he looks up the length of your body.

His eyes are dark and filled with submission. So intoxicating. He is hovering right on the edge, waiting for your permission, your hand in his hair, or a single whispered word to command him to climb the rest of the way and claim your lips. You hook a finger under, pulling him upward, forcing him to look you directly in the eyes.

"Do not keep me waiting, Gwayne. Kiss me."

You pull him down by his hair, meeting his mouth with excitement. Gwayne lets out a soft whimper against your lips, instantly parting them for you. You claim him completely, sliding your tongue past his teeth to dominate the kiss, setting a demanding pace that leaves him breathless.

The kiss quickly grows deep and slick. He clings to you, his hands resting on your waist, squeezing tight as if you are his goddess. He tries his best to keep up, but your dominance overwhelms him, his breath coming in ragged, desperate gasps.

As you pull back just a fraction to breathe, a thin thread of saliva stretches between your parted lips in the warm candlelight. He looks down at you, dazed and completely ruined, his lips wet, swollen, and shining from your kiss. Before he can even catch his breath, you grip his hair again, pulling him right back down to do it all over again. You gather a pool of warm saliva in your mouth as Gwayne watches you, his eyes almost entirely black, his chest heaving with anticipation. The sheer submission in his expression is oh so intoxicating.

"Open," you murmur, the word a soft command against his wet lips.

His jaw drops instantly, his mouth parting in obedience.

You tilt your head slightly and let a hot string of your spit drop directly onto his waiting tongue. Gwayne lets out a choked gasp, his throat bobbing heavily as he swallows it down, savoring the taste of your ownership of him.

With a slow, deliberate movement, you let your hand slide down his cheek, tracing his jawline before pressing your palm flat against his chest, right over his racing heart.

"Let's get you out of that tunic, shall we?"

Breaking eye contact for even a second feels out of the question as you decide to take pity on his trembling hands. A smile plays on your lips as you shift your weight forward, taking over the task of stripping away his remaining cloth. You hook your fingers into the laces at his collar and with a sharp tug, you loosen the strings, exposing his glistening chest. You slide your hands underneath the linen, forcing the fabric up and off his arms. He lifts his limbs obediently, eyes locked on yours. You slide your hands down to the waistband of his breeches—you don’t ask, you simply push the heavy fabric down over his hips.

When he is completely undone, you grip his ankles to help him kick the discarded clothing away, leaving him entirely exposed. You press warm, heavy kisses to his knees and his tense thighs.

With every kiss, you let out a soft, approving hum against his skin, letting him know that his obedience has pleased you. Feeling your warm breath on his bare skin is enough to replace his anxiety with anticipation. You slide your hands up his arms, tracing his broad shoulders before cupping the back of his neck, physically cradling his head while still holding him in place.

"You did so well for me, Gwayne. You are entirely mine. Now let's make this fair."

His hands twitch on his sides, desperately wanting to reach up and help, but he restrains himself, waiting for your command.

"Watch me, Gwayne."

With a fluid shrug of your shoulders, you let the heavy fabric slip. It falls down your arms, pooling around your hips with a soft thud. Gwayne lets out a soft gasp. His chest heaves, his gaze worshiping every single inch of your bare skin. He looks as if he is staring at a deity, overwhelmed by your beauty. But he cannot reach out without permission. You lean forward, pressing your bare chest against his. The heat of his skin against yours is intoxicating. You cup his jaw, giving him a tender kiss for reassurance, ready to show your sweet knight exactly what his obedience has earned him.

"Down, Gwayne," you murmur.

He blinks, his breath catching in his throat. "My liege?"

You slide your hands from his jaw down to his shoulders, applying a firm pressure.

"On the floor," you command softly, holding his gaze to ensure he understands completely. "Lie flat on your back for me. Right there."

"Yes, my liege," he whispers, his voice a trembling rasp.

Without a single moment of hesitation, he settles himself down slowly, deliberately, keeping his eyes locked on yours the entire time as he lays down on the stone floor, the coldness surprisingly welcoming on his feverish skin. Completely bare, vulnerable, and entirely exposed beneath you, he looks up from the floor, his chest rising and falling heavily in the candlelight as he waits to see how you will claim him.

Looking down at Gwayne from your position above him, the sheer power of your position almost makes you lose control. Slowly, you begin to lower yourself on him, sliding your hands down to his chest, pressing your palms flat against his skin, feeling his heartbeat—it helps ground you. Holding his gaze, you slowly tilt your pelvis and guide him into your glistening heat.

The stretch of his thick member is intoxicating; he fills you deeper and deeper as you sink down on him, feeling every ridge, every pulse of his blood dragging against your sensitive walls as you force your body to stretch open and accommodate him. Gwayne is entirely at your mercy, forced to endure the torment of your slow descent. You watch his face closely as you sink further, his jaw tight, low, fractured groans and small whimpers escaping his throat, his knuckles white against the floor as he throbs deep inside you, completely overwhelmed and ruined by your possession. He looks up at you, his face completely flushed, his chest heaving as he trembles beneath you.

"M-my liege..." he rasps, his voice a breathless whisper. He swallows hard as he forces the words out through his shallow pants. "Please... use me however you wish. I am entirely yours to ruin."

"Then let me show you what ruin feels like, Gwayne."

Placing your palms firmly on his chest, you shift your weight on your thighs and begin to slowly slide up and down his length. Gwayne lets out a loud gasp, his head snapping back against the hard stone as his hips instinctively twitch upward.

"Stay still," you command, your voice sharp and breathless. "Or I will stop."

Instantly, he forces his hips back down, his knuckles white as he grips your full hips tightly.

"My queen... please," he gasps, his voice breaking as he swallows a desperate groan. "I-I am nothing but your servant. Break me... I don't care, as long as it's you."

His desperate pleas ignite a fire deep within you.

"That is exactly what you are," you whisper, leaning down so close your breath fans over his wet lips. "My perfect, obedient knight."

With a sharp shift of your hips, you grind down against him, hard and deep. Gwayne lets out a loud, broken cry, his head arching back as his entire body surrenders to your possession.

Without breaking the rhythm of your hips, you lift one hand from his shoulder and bring it up to his neck. Your fingers splay wide, wrapping firmly around his throat. Gwayne’s breath hitches sharply as you apply a steady, dominant pressure. You don't squeeze to hurt—just enough to restrict his air, letting him feel the intoxicating weight of your hand controlling his very breath. Pinning him to the hard floor by his neck while you aggressively ride him drives him straight over the edge.

"M-my... queen..." the words are barely a vibration against your fingers. He tilts his head back into your grip, offering his neck up to you even more, completely submitting to your mercy.

The loud, slick slap of skin against skin fills the room as your fingers remain firmly around Gwayne’s throat. Every hard hit of your pelvis tears a muffled gasp from his parted lips. He can barely swallow, his throat moving desperately against your palm as he stares up at you with wide, worshipful eyes.

He is trembling violently beneath you, thighs shaking, hips twitching upward in a desperate urge to find relief. Yet, true to his vow, he forces himself to stay pinned, refusing to let go without your command. He looks up at you through a haze of tears and sweat, his face flushed, lips parted and wet.

"My queen... please," he whimpers, "I'm right there... I'm going to spill for you."

You pause your relentless rhythm for a second, sitting heavy and deep on his length. You tighten your grip on his throat just a second.

"Do it, Gwayne," you command. "Spill everything you have inside me. Let me feel how completely you belong to me."

The permission breaks him. He twitches deeply inside you, hot cum filling your core. With your hand still on his neck, he can't even arch his back to escape the intensity of the sensation, forced to lie completely flat, enduring the overwhelming waves of his release while staring directly into your eyes. He is sobbing quietly beneath your palm, completely undone, his knuckles gripping you so hard that bruises have already started to form on your delicate skin. Feeling his hot release deep inside your core sends violent shivers up your spine.

You clamp down hard around his throbbing length.

"Ah... Gwayne," you gasp, your voice breaking as your control completely shatters.

The hand you have wrapped around his throat tightens just a fraction more. You arch your back, your hips grinding down flat against his a final time as your own climax runs through you.

For a moment, the room falls strangely silent save for Gwayne's shallow breath against your palm and your own small moans of sensitivity.

You slowly let your head fall forward, resting your forehead against his shoulder. Your hand finally softens around his neck, your fingers sliding down to caress his flushed collarbone as you both slowly drift down from the high. Beneath you, Gwayne lets out a long, trembling sigh of absolute devotion, his body still twitching with the fading tremors of his release. Sweat glues a stray lock of his fine hair to his temple, and you brush it away with a tender touch.

"Look at you," you whisper. "Completely ruined."

Gwayne Hightower x Witch!reader

pt.1 pt.2

Unsainted- Slipknot

warnings: sub!gwayne can i get an applause, corruption of pious knight, no smut in this part cause i've been getting carried away

She appears to him in a dream..

From the first moment he set foot in Harrenhal, he felt something inside him was about to change forever. The castle was foreboding and bleak, igniting a sense of dread he had never felt before and yet, something within told him not to fear.

Gwayne lay in one of the damp, dark rooms of the fortress, unable to let his guard down even at this late hour. Something was terribly wrong with this place, he felt. He was utterly exhausted, drained by the ongoing war, and questioning whether there was any hope left for his brothers-in-arms or if they had completely succumbed to the darkness and violence of the world around them. Nightly, he prayed to the Seven to guide him and give him the strength to carry on this cause, one he had embarked on entirely out of loyalty to his family and their values. Duty.

Tonight, Gwayne chose to pray specifically to the Mother, begging for peace and mercy. He begged her to spare his nephew Daeron above all, a most innocent child caught in a conflict he did not choose, or even understand, for that matter.

Feeling relieved after his prayers, he drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

In his dream, the figure of a woman with full hips and auburn hair appeared. She seemed to be performing some kind of ritual below an old tree in the glow of the full moon, chanting words he did not understand. He felt as though he were intruding on something sacred, and that he should look away yet he remained transfixed by the figure, unable to take his eyes from her.

Suddenly, the woman in his dream stopped chanting. In the silence of the moonlight, she slowly began to lift her eyes from the ground. Before her gaze could land on him, Gwayne gasped himself awake, drenched in a cold sweat. The fire in his chambers had died down, leaving the room in cold darkness. His heart beat fast against his ribcage, the comfort he had felt after his prayers had vanished into thin air.

Sleep did not come easily the following night again, but when it did, Gwayne found himself once more in the presence of the mysterious woman. Tonight, however, something had changed.

As she chanted, her eyes were no longer on the earth below. Her gaze was cast upward, her eyes locked directly onto Gwayne. He froze, a cold dread rising in his chest. She knew he was there. She was no longer just performing a ritual, she was performing it for him.

A strange, heavy warmth began to seep through the dream’s chill. The rhythmic sway of her hips grew more pronounced as she began to untie her garments, letting the fabric slide down her curves to reveal the full, soft lines of her body. Gwayne tried to peel his eyes away, his mind screaming that this was a temptation, a trick of some dark entity. Yet he remained paralyzed, his gaze locked onto her bare form in the moonlight. She was beautiful, entirely unbothered by his watching eyes. The image of her bare silhouette against the ancient bark burned into his mind and then, just as quickly as she had appeared, she was gone.

Gwayne woke in absolute silence. He lay perfectly still in the dim light of early morning, staring up at the dragonfire-burned ruins of Harrenhal. His room was freezing, yet his skin felt strangely warm.

In the late morning, while patrolling, he found small footprints, unlike those of the soldiers surrounding him, leading down a small path away from the castle grounds.

Was it perhaps a trick from the Blacks? he thought, gripping the hilt of his sword tight.

Instead, he found her.

She was sitting on the root of a massive, ancient tree whose branches blocked out the midday sun. She wore a simple dark cloak, her hair catching stray rays of sunshine filtering through the leaves. Gwayne stopped in his tracks, his breath hitching in his throat as a cold sweat broke out over his skin. He knew the exact shape of her body. Her dark, familiar eyes stared back at him.

"Who are you?" he demanded, not letting go of his sword. "Or... what are you?" he asked in a lower tone.

Slowly, she closed the leather-bound notebook in her lap and looked at him, her expression calm and understanding.

"You look tired, Ser Gwayne," she said, her voice smooth and sweet like honey. Hearing her speak in real life, rather than in some anxious fever dream, sent shivers down his spine.

"You're real," he breathed, his knees nearly giving out as the horrifying truth settled in his mind. "It wasn't a fever, or a demon testing my vows and my faith. It was you. You've been inside my head."

He took a hesitant step forward, his heavy armor clanking softly in the silent morning.

"Why?" he uttered, his eyes wide with frantic desperation. "What have you done to me?"

The woman looked him up and down, taking in his trembling figure and his shattered composure. Slowly, she stood up from the root, stepped directly into his space, and reached out to touch the hot, flushed skin of his jaw. Her ice cold fingers felt like a welcome relief to Gwayne.

A slow, knowing smile appeared at the corner of her lips. Gwayne flinched but did not pull away, paralyzed by a terrifying urge to drop to his knees right there in the dirt for her.

"I didn't do anything you didn't want, little dove," she whispered, her voice hauntingly hypnotizing. She tilted her head, her eyes holding his captive. "And you have been a very good boy for me in the dark. Now... tell me why you're still standing."

The contrast between his heavy, steel clad reality and her ethereal presence shattered the last of his knightly defenses. Gwayne let out a broken sound somewhere between a sigh and a moan. The sword he had carried for months slipped from his grip, clattering onto the moss-covered ground.

His knees buckled and he fell hard. He didn't try to catch himself or maintain an ounce of pride he simply collapsed to his knees right at her feet.

She looked down at him, her expression one of deep, dark satisfaction. She stepped closer, her dark cloak brushing against his trembling shoulders. The internal war that had tortured Gwayne for months was finally over. The relief of losing was almost intoxicating.

"Look at me," she commanded softly.

He obeyed instantly, as if it were the easiest thing he had ever done, his eyes wide and shining with desperate vulnerability. He was entirely hers now, stripped of his vows.

"Please" he whispered, his voice cracking with the weight of his surrender. "Please, just tell me what to do."

She smiled, resting her hand heavily on top of his head. She threaded her fingers through his long blonde hair and tugged gently.

"You have fought so hard, little dove," she whispered, "But the war is over. Your mind and body belong to me now."

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almost named this what a night for a knight lol

Emma D'arcy x fem!reader

you just really enjoy everything about your partner's mouth, who can blame you?

Ever since you were little, you have been fascinated with kissing. In movies or TV shows, when couples would bring their lips close together and intimately kiss each other, you found yourself transfixed on the action unable to look away, feeling warm and fuzzy inside. When you first got together with your partner, Emma, all you wanted to do was keep kissing them for eternity, their soft lips on yours making you feel safe and wanted. Months later, nothing has changed. You're sitting on the kitchen counter, sipping your morning coffee while reading through the annotations you made last night on your novel. That’s when Emma walks in, their hair an adorable mess, and their oversized shirt still wet around the collar from having just brushed their teeth. "Morning, my sweet," they whisper, giving you a small but firm peck on the lips. "Good morning to you as well, sleepyhead," you say with a teasing tone. "Thought you were going to get an early start on the day today? Do your research for the new play and all?" "Mmm, I was. But then I thought, why not just stay here and annoy you on your day off?" "Sounds perfect to me. Want me to make you a coffee so you have the energy to be as menacing as you want, darling?" "I would be delighted!" they said in exaggerated posh voice that you absolutely hate but love at the same time. Hopping off the counter, you start pulling the shots for Emma's coffee when you hear them snort behind you. "I didn't know novels could get this spicy nowadays, Emma said amused while gesturing to your book. You took a lot of notes on that steamy outdoor scene, didn't you, darling? Got you all hot and bothered last night?"

"Maybe it did. What about it? You were sleeping anyway…" "Come on, don't be shy." Emma said while stepping closer to you, a huge smile on their handsome face.

They place both of their hands on your cheeks, brushing their nose against yours slowly and sweetly, warm breath on your lips. The simple action makes your skin crawl with arousal and an immense wave of affection for your partner. "Want me to show you just how much I love you and your little nerdy quirks?" Emma whispered breathily against your lips. You don't even have time to respond. They reached their hands up into your hair, gently tilting your head back just enough to lock eyes with you before crushing their lips against yours. What starts as a kiss that is somehow both firm and gentle quickly deepens. Emma opens their mouth and guides their tongue inside, licking yours with a slick, warm familiarity that feels incredibly safe. The kiss grows heavier, and the small kitchen quickly fills with the soft, wet sounds of your mouths moving hungrily together. Saliva coats your tongues as they meet and tangle, the sweet taste of coffee lingering on your breath, adding a delicious, familiar heat to the intensity. You can feel their heartbeat through their shirt against your chest, it's driving you oh so crazy. Emma pulls away for a brief second out of breath and eyes darkened with lust. "Open your mouth for me sweet girl" they said with a heavy tone of arousal, your core throbed with the anticipation of what was about to happen, keeping your eyes on Emma you opened your mouth wide letting your tongue fall out slightly, hesitatingly. Emma gripped your chin tightly and slowly, pooling their warm saliva lets it slip directly into your mouth, a slick, intimate slide of moisture that you eagerly swallow down. The erotic sensation of her wetness blending with yours sends a shiver straight down your spine, making your knees go weak against the counter. "You taste… so good…" Emma goes in for another kiss with a quiet, desperate groan, tongue sliding over yours once more to collect the wetness left behind, mouth hot and demanding as they drink you in. With one final taste of your mouth Emma guides you slowly back out of the kitchen and down the short hallway toward the bedroom, your mouths never leaving eachothers for more that a few milliseconds. You stumble slightly against the edge of the bed, letting out a surprised gasp that they immediately catch with their own lips. You fall back on the sheets, pulling them right down on top of you. "The coffee… is definitely going to get cold." Hovering over you, their fingers gently pinning your wrists into the mattress above your head.

Aemond Targaryen x Wife!reader

Just a couple perverts in love I guess <3

Night fell in your chambers. You had not left the comfort of them all day, choosing to immerse yourself in your notebooks to ignore the bleak reality you so deeply wanted to escape. The knowledge that your sweet husband, Aemond, would soon join you for the night filled you with butterflies as you let your mind wander to the events of last night.

You let your hand fall between your thighs as the thought that he would soon be between your legs again, his tongue buried deep inside of you filled your mind. Soft moans escaped your lips you couldn't help it. After all he always had that effect on you. Ever since your first night together you had been insatiable for his touch.

A soft clearing of Aemond's throat startled you out of your trance. He looked so smug leaning against the doorway, a teasing smile on his handsome face.

"Couldn't wait just a little bit longer for me, my love?"

"I am so sorry husband, you know how restless I get without you," you said, with not an ounce of remorse.

"By all means, my sweet, do not let my being here stop you. I want to know how you please yourself when I'm not around."

You didn't need further instructions. Aemond's presence filled you with a thrill you hadn't felt in a while. Most would find the action too raw and vulgar, but you had no such feelings after all, you were performing for your husband's eyes only.

You hiked your deep purple nightgown higher and let your legs fall further open to give him a better view, your heat glistening under the dim candlelight. Your fingers found your swollen clit, drawing lazy circles around it while your other hand hiked up to undo your laces and let your breasts spill out. In your haze, you heard Aemond take a sharp inhale at the sight of them they were his weakness, after all. You didn't hold back your moans as your finger found its way inside of you, already so wet that it made an obscene sound across the room.

"My good wife is hell-bent on torturing me today I see," Aemond said almost out of breath.

"You know that's one of my talents you so love to hate husband," you said in a teasing tone.

You didn't waste any more time and slipped a second finger inside yourself. The sounds coming from your mouth would make even the most pious man blush. Halting your actions, you sat up and adjusted yourself so your back was against your various pillows, a devious idea coming to mind.

"Dearest, you are too far away from me and I cannot bear it. I want you right here with me so you can closely see how I come undone for you only."

He didn't need to be told twice. Slowly, he inched toward the bed while unbuttoning his white shirt letting it fall to the ground. He laid on his stomach right between your legs, so close that you could feel his hot, ragged breath against your heat making you shiver and shake.

You slowly withdrew your fingers and offered them to him. He opened his mouth, ever so eager to please you, and licked your sweet juices like a man starved, his moans almost enough to tip you over the edge. Reluctantly, you retracted your fingers from his mouth and slipped them inside yourself once more. You fucked yourself with an eagerness that surprised even you. The combination of Aemond's hot breath and loud, desperate moans sent you over the edge fast. You gripped his hair hard, pulling him even closer.

"Don't you dare take your eyes off me, husband. I want you to see how hard I come apart for you."

You came harder than ever before—at least by yourself—and before you had time to even process what had happened, Aemond pushed your fingers out and replaced them with his hot mouth. He ate you like a man starved until you couldn't make any more sounds, able only to lay completely still.