Gwayne X Reader - Tumblr Posts
Gwayne Hightower corrupting his sweet Targaryen niece!
His young niece is sent to Oldtown with her younger brother Daeron, much to Gwayne’s delight.
Though she’s a Targaryen, she looks so much like her mother and Gwayne is simply infatuated with her. His niece was Helaena’s twin, the girl much more lucid and rooted in the earth than her sister.
Gwayne who takes her under his wing, allowing the pair to form a strong bond as she learns more about Oldtown and the history of the Hightower’s.
Gwayne watches as his sweet niece seems to grow even more beautiful as she’s older. He notices the attention she draws and the leering gazes men level at her. It makes something in his chest burn.
His niece was expected to return to Kings Landing when she became of age, and yet the time has passed and her mother and father have not sent for her yet. Gwayne comforts his sweet niece though he’s secretly happy and enjoying her presence remaining longer.
Gwayne finds it more and more difficult to resist his niece as she clings to him more in her sadness, his body growing warm at the idea of taking her for himself. He reasons with himself: if her mother married her other daughter to her full-blooded brother then surely an uncle is a less egregious pairing. Gwayne’s been influenced too much by the Targaryen views at this point.
Gwayne seizes the opportunity to corrupt his niece once and for all when she cries desperately in her arms. She’s sobbing about how no man will ever want her as a wife if she never returns to the capital, how her family do not love her, how her mother sent away.
He’s taking her teary face in his hands softly, brushing her hair back from her face as he looks into her wide eyes. The heavy kiss he places on her lips has her momentarily shocked before she tentatively responds. Gwayne’s slowly guiding her lips in the way he likes, revelling in the feeling as her fingers begin threading through his hair.
Gwayne doesn’t fuck her straight away, no, he waits and waits until his niece is so dependant on him, hanging off his every word. She’s visiting the sept with him each day, dining with him and letting him kiss her as much as he wants.
But once he does, there is no one in the world that he would let take her away from him. He would show Otto the bloodied sheets from their coupling and watch his face fall in horror, disgusted at the sullying of a proper Targaryen princess. Otto didn’t think he had it in him, not to do something so vile.
Gwayne gets his way and soon his pretty little niece is standing in front of him in the Sept at Oldtown, exchanging vows with him.
Alicent is beside herself. Her sweet daughter corrupted and defiled by her own uncle, someone she trusted her with.
Gwayne and his new wife are the picture of marital bliss, always giggling and mumbling to each other. The maids in the keep at Oldtown are always giggling as they walk past their chambers; the gasps and groans escaping enough to make a grown man blush.
Gwayne fucks his wife good. I said it. He’s a munch too and 100% makes his wife cum at least once before getting into the main action. He’s got his niece wrapped around his finger and anytime he wants her, he has her.
It’s no surprise when the Red Keep receives a raven announcing the pregnancy of the Targaryen princess, a babe expected no more than 9 months after their wedding (they got down to business right away!).
(Aegon’s giggling at the rage colouring his mothers expression. He loves seeing her so unsettled and makes a note to tease her AS MUCH as possible.)
Headcanons: Gwayne Hightower
(written with wife!reader, but with no physical descriptors)
No doubt about it, that man loves to eat pussy. He enjoys the act itself but it’s really about getting to watch his wife writhe and whimper under his tongue, his ministrations having her hips jerking off the bed. He has to hold her down with his forearms so he can keep enjoy his meal. He loves to slowly add in a slender finger one at a time, curling them up against the spongy sensitive walls to push against that special spot.
Gwayne enjoys getting head, but only once he’s trained up his wife to his standards. He has to coach her to not gag, to let his heavy cock sit in her throat. He doesn’t like to make his pretty wife cry though, and he’s always letting her take his cock at her own pace. Oh he’d be crazy for eye contact too, always having to lock gazes as he cums.
If he’s on top, he either chooses missionary (again, eye contact) or he mounts his wife like a stallion and fucks her from behind. Gwayne loves to press his entire body weight up against her, chest pressed against her back. He presses her body into the bed until she can’t move, only able to let him thrust into her hard and deep. He’d probably get a kick out of it if his wife begins to try and escape from the pleasure, and he can just press into her further.
Ok but truly I believe Gwayne would love if his wife is on top. She’s not in charge though, but he enjoys having her above him. He’s a bit lazy sometimes and enjoys the reprieve. He’s got his pretty wife riding him slowly, his hands dragging her hips up and down and back and forth. He’s still in control and he guides her movements, and he just loves to sit up and be face to face with his girl, mouthing at her full breasts as she begins to tremble in his grasp.
Gwayne won’t leave his girl unsatisfied. Minimum of two orgasms each round. I don’t make the rules, sorry. He just loves to hear the sweet, sweet sounds as his wife reaches her climax, her body clinging to him.
Breeding kink!!! Man loves the thought of his little wife carrying his child and having little red-headed babes running around Oldtown. He’s pushing his cum back inside of her with his cock, staying inside all night to seal her up.
I don’t think he’s into exhibitionist stuff or doing it in public. He respects his wife too much and doesn’t really want any scandals tbh. The maids getting to hear the noises from their chambers is enough.
The only time he decides to make a point is when he and his wife visit the red keep. His nephew’s gazes linger for too long on his wife, their eyes shining with lust. Aegon even tries to approach her, but Gwayne intervenes. That night he leaves their chamber door slightly ajar, knowing the boys reside down the hall. He’s got his wife squealing and thrashing in pleasure as he makes her cum over and over again, never giving her a moment of calm. He knows without a doubt that the Princes will hear, and he bares a smug grin the next morning as he sees his nephews as they break their fast. Aemond can’t even look at him properly, but Aegon just grins and raises his glass to his uncle.
Blessing in Disguise
Abstract: A war-torn Gwayne is presented with an opportunity when the dragon of a Targaryen Princess is shot down near his camp. A once devout follower of his Knight's oath, Gwayne no longer sees much point when Criston Cole gifts him Princess, his only requirement being to keep her alive. The Hightower Knight has suppressed his own urges for so long, but now, he no longer wishes to, not when he's been given a sweet Princess just for himself.
Warnings: Gwyane is not nice in this, future dub-con/non-con, abuse of power, prisoner/captor dynamics, manky Criston Cole, future 18+ (Not proof read)
Part 2: here
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Fighting on the front lines of a war was incredibly taxing, more so for a highborn knight with expectations placed on him that felt insurmountable, and a self-deprecating Hand of the King as a companion. Gwayne found spending each day with Ser Criston Cole brought him closer to understanding just why and how the former commander had ended up in such an illustrious position, for no one but his rotten nephew could find a kindred spirit in such a person. The Hightower rode with the army as they acquired more allies, his spirit withering until one day, he was presented with a gift. He thinks he must be dreaming when one day, a princess falls from the sky.
He doesn’t recognise the girl at first, her body a crumped heap on top of a blistered and broken dragon, but it seems the Hand beside him does.
“Seize the princess immediately,” Cole barks, “restrain her and slay the beast of hers.”
Gwayne recalls the ear-splitting screech that her dragon had let out just moments ago as it was hit by the scorpion, the silver body falling rapidly to the ground with its rider still attached. A dragon was a sacred creature and yet, in times of war, nothing could be protected in such a way any longer. The true prize for the army wasn’t the death of the dragon, but the capture of its rider. The only daughter of the Pretender Queen was more valuable to the Greens than the entirety of the Crownlands, for nothing was more precious to Rhaenyra than her daughter.
Gwayne watches as the soldiers handle the Princess, her frame grappled and manoeuvred in ways unbecoming of a lady. The girl doesn't even fight back, still unconscious as her body is slung over the back of a horse. The Hightower wishes to wipe the smug smile off Cole's face as he takes stock of his newest prize, but says nothing as the party ride back to their camp. Gwayne watches her frame jostle with each movement from the horse, not missing the leering gazes sent to the Princess from the other riders.
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"Here lies the daughter of the whore of dragonstone! Her mother is a traitor to the realm and her daughter shall receive the full force of our army, as our rightful King wishes," Criston Cole cries, his voice echoing across the camp. Low mumbles echo across the still soldiers, various expressions crossing their faces. "The Princess shall remain here in our camp as our prisoner until the whore heels to our forces." At his decree, Gwayne takes stock of the soldiers exchanging worried glances - to take the Princess prisoner would incite the fury of the Black's dragons. And yet, he witnesses men smirk and mutter to their companions, believing the Princess would be passed around like a common whore for their pleasure.
His curt voice captures the camp's attention, "And what of their forces, my Lord Hand? Do you think us invincible against the fury of a dragon?" All attention turns to Gwayne, and Criston can barely contain his rage at the clear challenge to his authority.
"If the whore wishes her daughter to live then she will consider her actions," says the Dornish man smugly. The commander is pulled aside harshly by the Hightower knight, avoiding the prying eyes and ears of the camp. The soldiers were all too aware of the discord between the pair, for all had been subject to their quarrels.
"You cannot treat a Princess of the realm as a common prisoner, no matter the situation Cole," Gwayne grits out, tone exasperated as he speaks to the commander like a child. He watches the commander ponder his words silently for a moment. It is only when those brown eyes look up at him sparkling with mischief does Gwayne realise he may have fucked up.
"If you hold the girl in such high regard, then you may take her."
Criston could laugh at the expression that crosses the redheads face, the knight stunned into silence for once in his life. It's his sputtering questioning that prompts the Lord Hand to speak once more.
"She will stay by your side as your ward, your spoil, captive - whatever you wish to call it. Do what you wish with her, have your fun, just keep her alive." The Hightower does not miss the sinister insinuation from the other man, his jaw gritting at the notion, ignoring the twitch of his cock at the idea of the Princess under him. Gwayne goes to rebuke Cole's offer, only to witness him quickly turn and leave. He watches silently as Cole mutters to a soldier guarding the still unconscious Princess, motioning to Gwayne's own tent. Fuck. What was he meant to do with a captive Princess for the remainder of the war, he thinks. Surely her family would come for her.
And yet, the sinister, war-trodden part of Gwayne's psyche begins to consider the opportunity presented to him: a Princess practically given to him. He had been so lonely during their long campaign, so bereft with the losses his army had faced. Each and every day he watched as more men died needlessly for sordid family infighting, their bodies burnt to unrecognisable heaps. With each death, he felt his soul harden, or maybe it was just slowly dissapearing altogether. He felt he cared for little anymore, not truly. He kept his gentlemanly manners and yet, each interaction felt false and like a pantomime. As much as he wished to deny it, the Hightower would be lying to the Seven if he said he had not missed the warmth of female company that he denied when he took his oath. He was still a man.
As Gwayne watches the body of the Princess disappear into his tent, he wonders if the wretched Kingmaker had given him a blessing in disguise : A sweet Princess just for him.
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(Planning on writing a few more parts of this, but this is a longer version of a series of asks I submitted to @writingsofwesteros so please enjoy! Dark Gwayne is so enjoyable to conceptualise and truly I think he has so much potential.)
Blessing in Disguise (2)
Abstract: A war-torn Gwayne is presented with an opportunity when the dragon of a Targaryen Princess is shot down near his camp. A once devout follower of his Knight's oath, Gwayne no longer sees much point when Criston Cole gifts him Princess, his only requirement being to keep her alive. The Hightower Knight has suppressed his own urges for so long, but now, he no longer wishes to, not when he's been given a sweet Princess just for himself.
Warnings: abuse of power, prisoner/captor dynamics, gross men, restraints, Gwayne is growing more delulu, future dubcon/noncon (not proof read)
Author’s Note: this chapter is seriously diving into just how much Gwayne is loosing it, and building up his motives and morals. He thinks of himself as a saviour and all his actions are rooted in this need to keep protecting the Princess.
Tag List: @torchbearerkyle @beautifultacodragon
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Two days had passed since the Princess was captured, and two days had passed since Gwayne had been given the responsibility of keeping her alive. For the first day, he’d faced little trouble as the still unconscious girl slumbered in his tent, her frame draped across his own makeshift bed. The turmoil was rife within the knight however; for he knew little of what to do with the girl. To keep her hidden away in his tent for the rest of the campaign seemed cruel, but letting the Princess roam around the camp was a risk that could bring doom to the army. While he didn’t know for certain of her likely reaction upon waking, Gwayne felt that the Princess would not take kindly to her newfound position as captive.
The second day helped the knight make up his mind, for the Princess began to rouse herself from her state. He’d been eating the claggy paste they called oatmeal when movement caught his eye from across the tent. With sluggish movements, the girl pushed her weak and frail body up to a somewhat seated position as her eyes took in her surroundings. Gwayne found the confused expression on her face amusing, but sighed deeply as her eyes widened in alarm upon laying her sights on the Hightower Green of his doublet and the red of his hair. He watches as she begins to sputter and gasp as she tries to speak, but despite her best efforts, her brain fails to deliver a coherent question to the knight.
“You are in no position to run, or much less even argue, so I suggest you still yourself whilst I explain the predicament you’ve found yourself in,” Gwayne’s lilting voice cutting across the tent, his words stilling any movement from the Princess. Though he’s attempted to make his tone lighter, it’s clear that his tone carries a subtle warning.
The Princess nods softly before speaking, her voice hoarse and croaky due to disuse, “Wh-who are you?”
She fears she knows and yet some part of her hopes that perhaps it has been a case of mistaken identity - that this man across from her, whose tent she lays in, is not the brother to the Queen Dowager.
“Ser Gwayne Hightower, Princess.” It’s all he says. Gwayne notices the crestfallen expression on her face deepen, her fingers beginning to play with the threads of the blanket. “Your dragon was slain after it flew above our territory, the scorpion striking it down with great accuracy. It was not expected that Rhaenyra would have sent her only daughter on dragonback and yet, there you were.”
“M-my drag-”
Gwayne doesn’t let her speak and instead continues his recounting. “Criston Cole made the decision that your life should be spared. He wishes to use you as tool to garner your mother’s surrender, and in turn, has granted you the most esteemed opportunity of a true camp experience.”
The sweet Princess can only listen silently and a small twinge strikes at Gwayne’s heart as tears begin to fall down her cheeks. He lets her process his words, scraping the last remnants of his oatmeal from the wooden bowl. When she says no more, the knight moves to leave the tent when a timid voice stops him in his tracks.
“What will you do with me?”
The Princess watches the man freeze, his broad back tense and rigid. He stays near the entrance, arms clutching the fabric of the tent as he seems to ponder his answer. She had heard stories of the honourable Ser Gwayne Hightower and yet, chills crash over her at his next words.
“Whatever I so wish, I suppose, as long as your heart still beats in your chest.”
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That night the princess remains in his bed, her hands bound and tied to the wooden post holding up the tents fabric. He’s given her some tether, at least allowing her to relax her arms and continue to rest. The Princess had almost drifted into an unpeaceful slumber when a rustling sound echoed around the tent, and a disheveled Hightower strode through the entrance. She had little time to process his intentions as the knight flung off his boots and undid his doublet, leaving him only in his trousers and tunic, watching wide-eyed as he stalked over to the makeshift bed.
“What are you doing?!” The princess shrieked as Gwayne lowered his body next to hers, the flimsy material dipping with his body weight.
“I am sleeping, or at least I hope to be.”
“Get away from me! How dare you,” the girl cried, her body tense as she flung her body out of the bed.
“You may struggle to recall this, but this is my tent. You have been sleeping in my bed and as much as it pleases me to see you enjoying it so, I too wish to rest,” Gwayne bites out, his tone laced with sarcasm and thinly veiled contempt. She could’ve been sleeping on the dirt floor and here she still complains.
Gwayne hears her muttering “no, no” and finds little inside of himself to care, instead tugging on the restraints binding her hands. The squeal as she falls back into the bed makes him smirk, pushing the girl into the fabric and covering her with a blanket.
“Sleep. And keep any foolish ideas you may have of escaping to yourself, for you have no dragon or the faintest idea of your location.”
Gwayne rolls away from the Princess, feeling smug with himself at the lack of response he receives, though the rigid frame of the girl seems to be conveying enough to him. She knows her hopes of escape will not come to fruition tonight, not with the Hightower sleeping by her side. She can’t even retaliate when his heavy frame drapes over her own during the night, arms slung across her stomach as he clings to her body heat. Restless, she lies there listening to his languid breaths, her own heart pounding with anxiety.
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The Princess had been in the camp for what felt like months, though her stay had only totalled five days. It seemed that her and her captor had fallen into a somewhat amicable routine: Gwyane would venture down with the Princess to the nearby lake to allow bathe, and the pair would break their fast with the rest of the soldiers. He would then return her to his tent while he talked strategy with Criston, leaving the girl alone, but not unsupervised. He’d given up use of the rope that had attached to her ankle after the first night in the bed, but the knight was still wary of the Princess trying to escape. In the evenings the two would sit by a small fire in the common area of the camp and eat their meager meals, Gwayne even allowing the girl her own cup of mead to wash the bread down. Gwayne couldn’t deny that it felt comforting to have another’s presence as a constant, especially after such long periods of loneliness and isolation. He even begins to warm to his captive, small chuckles leaving his lips more often as they conversed.
And yet their moments of ambivalence seemed to come crashing down as Gwayne left to fetch more mead, only to return and see a common soldier leering over the Princess. His stout body crowded into her space, his hands clutching at her shoulders, the fabric ripping in his harsh grip. From a distance it was difficult for Gwayne to hear the man’s words, though he held strong suspicions of their nature, however as he covered ground his ears picked up more and more.
“Mmm… do you think you could handle the cock of a real man, Princess?” the man muttered sleazily, “I don’t think you could. All you Royal cunts act like you’re above us, but maybe you just need a little demonstration.”
The Princess’s discomfort was plain for all to see, no more so than Gwayne. Her shaking frame and teary eyes look around broadly, pleading for an intervention as her bottom lip trembles in fear. It only takes him a moment to unsheath his sword, raising it to the neck of the soldier.
“Remove your vile hands before I do so for you,” he demands, his tone firm and gaze locked on the scum in front of him. Gwayne revels in the shock that crosses the soldier’s face and his disappearance from his sight shortly after. Common-born folk always aim far above their station, coveting what should never be sullied by them, Gwayne thinks.
The Hightower is caught up in his thoughts as he brings the Princess back to his tent. His chest feels as if it’s filling up with anger, breathing growing heavy at the feeling of the Princess trembling under his grip. Many soldiers had been invited to fight with a great army in the name of the King, and yet here they stood leering and preying on the King’s own niece. Such depravity should be expected of commoners but to dare even suggest of defiling a Princess of the Realm would ordinarily be treason.
It’s only the wide, teary eyes that finally snap Gwayne out of his thoughts. The Princess is clutching his arm, her body pressed into his side as she looks up, lower lip still trembling. The girl had been scared out of her mind, too weak and powerless to stop any advances, and now here she stood a wreck because of it. To see the Princess looking up at him in such a way sends a new series of thoughts running through Gwayne’s mind, tightening his breeches and quickening his breathing.
The men in the camp were only acting in such a depraved way due to a misguided conception that the Princess was not spoken for. They believed that she was free for the taking, for any common man to use and keep. She was his captive though no man seemed to acknowledge his stake of claim over her. She slept in his tent each night, in his bed, by his side. If that would not convince these vile men to back away, then only one thing would. Gwayne was a flawed man, he himself could acknowledge that, but he would protect the Princess as was asked of him, in any way he could. And if that meant he would need to make his position clearer to the camp then he would.
The Princess would understand the actions he needed to take, he thinks, as his hand begins to brush at the exposed skin on her shoulder where her dress had torn. As her breath hitches at the contact, Gwayne can’t help his growing smirk - she’s so responsive to him, not even aware of how she’s pushing her body closer to him unconscionably. He can feel her plush breasts press against his chest and her hips against his own, though she seems unaware of the growing hardness pressing against her stomach.
The Hightower knight assures himself that he won’t enjoy his next actions, for it is only his duty to keep the Princess safe and protected from those who wish to do her harm. He assures himself that the Seven will grant him forgiveness, for he is only acting as any nobleman would. Finally, Gwayne assures himself that the Princess would forgive him for what he was about to do - soon she would understand that becoming his own spoil of war would keep her safe from other men of less valiant intentions. She would thank him sooner or later - she would, he reassures himself over and over again as he begins to lead the Princess over to his makeshift bed. He ignores the thought in the back of his mind telling him that even if she withheld her forgiveness, he wouldn’t mind too much - he would care much less than he should.