Paring: Ser Gawyne Hightower x Female!Reader
Word Count: 1.7k+
Warnings: AFAB Reader, the newest Hightower serving cunt, dom flare perhaps?, oral (m receiving), p in v, edging, masturbation with a sprinkle of voyeurism
Author’s Note: This is a slight alternative of Baela not noticing them, so Gwayne and his merry men could tell Crispy to fuck off and they found that place off of Rosby Road.
Thank you my Tumblr kindred spirits who helps me brainstorm, and a huge thank you to my beloved @aemondsbabe who beta read and helped me make sense of this smutty smut.
You awaited in a row with the other girls who had been called down by your Madam for review. It was often on behalf of some big bellied lord who was traveling along Rosby Road, who would choose which one he would take his pleasure from with sweaty grunts and moans, but tonight was different.
The honorable guest in question was Ser Gwayne Hightower; he walked the line with a smirk playing on his lips and his eyebrow arched with his scrutiny that came in-hand with his privilege. He was undeniably handsome though, with copper tones against alabaster skin and a dusting of freckles you only noticed when he finally paused in front of you.
You straightened enough, poised for display, burning as his gaze relished over your figure. The murky cobalt blue of his eyes darkened with his smile.
“I want her.”
Tonight you are the envy of the other girls. You can feel your thighs tensing with your anticipation as you follow him into the room. You remained by the door, watching as he pulled his tunic over his head; your eyes washed over him, admiring the muss of his red hair to the pale planes of his chiseled chest.
He caught you staring, another smirk on his pink lips. “You should undress,” he said, more a command than a request.
You burned under his heady stare, your fingers quick to unlace your gown and allowing it to puddle at your feet. Your cream chemise underneath was sheer with the candlelight of the room, an amber glow that poured over you both.
He moved closer towards you, his hand moving to cup your cunt and feeling through the cloth that covered it; you were bare beneath, your heat already pooling into his touch, and he hummed his satisfaction. He leaned closer, his breath hot in the shell of your ear. “This as well, pretty girl,” he said and his words bolted through you; you removed it, completely bare before him.
“Now on your knees,” he gave the husky command and you sank to the floor at once, looking up at him through your lashes. “Good girl.”
Your eyes fell to his waist and you could truly understand his arrogance that was heavy between his thighs. He wore his breeches low on his hips with a tease of golden hair that dipped towards the thick outline that pressed from his crotch. Your fingers trembled to touch, but he gave another hum of encouragement which emboldened you to loosen the laces and pull out his cock.
Ser Gwayne was kinder than most. His virtue was his patience as he watched your wonder. You gave a tentative lick and a kiss at the base; he throbbed as your tongue curled underneath, following up towards his swollen cockhead. You could taste the salt of him and you shifted, moving slowly to take him inch-by-inch until your nose pressed against his lower abdomen.
He groaned, something that vibrated through you, and his hand rested on the nape of your neck, not forcing you but also keeping you in place. His hips bucked and your fingers bit into his thighs, your eyes watering from the lack of air, and only then does he release his hold.
You coughed, tears streaming down your cheeks, and you saw his satisfaction blatant on his beautiful face; your thighs clenched, your body betraying you. You spit on your palm and your fingers wrapped around the base of his cock again as your mouth moved to reclaim his length, your wet gag mixing with another guttural groan from him. His hips rutted against your face as you slurped and sucked; you were quick to find a tandem with his thrusts, his cock throbbing against your tongue.
He pulled away from you. “Get on the bed.”
Another command that you are eager to follow, a slick already spilling between your thighs. You sat yourself on the edge, your thighs plush and your arms rigid at your sides, waiting.
He moved towards you with deliberate steps that gave a lewd sway to his cock, shining with your spit. Your mouth watered, eyes blown, and you looked up when he chuckled. His finger curled under your chin, tilting your head back further to meet with his heady gaze. “You seem almost desperate for more,” he observed with another smile.
Before you could answer him, he pushed you back, his hands wrapping around your ankles and propping your feet against his chest, folding you in half into the mattress.
You tucked your chin to your chest, watching his hand guide himself, following your silken slit before he slowly sank into you. You moaned and your hands moved under your hips, canting to try and accommodate his size that was splitting you in half.
He paused once he was fully sheathed, a low groan pulling from the back of his throat with how you fit around him. He was flushed, rose and golden in the lighting, a lustful black swallowing the color of his eyes when he looked down at you. He moved, his hands pressing into the back of your knees to balance himself as he began to fuck you into the bed.
You were panting with his brutal pace, your hands knotting into the sheets. His hips snapped against you, filling you with a passion that builds in your core. You dared to lift your hand, your fingers flitting to touch the bloom of nerves above your entrance; it was a trill of pleasure before being stopped suddenly.
“Did I say you could touch yourself?”
You felt cold with his words. He pulled away, perched at the end of the bed, his cock red and glistening as he watched you. You clenched around nothing, spilling and staining into the linen from the tease of pleasure that now aching through your bones. “Please, ser, I did not mean to offend–”
His hand wrapped around your ankle and he pulled you back towards the edge. It does not take much for him to move you until your torso was pressed against the mattress, your knees touching the floor. You felt his weight pressed to your back with a heat that had you squirming, and he chuckled. “You have not earned that yet,” he said, blowing softly in your ear.
Gooseflesh rippled over your skin with your pitiful mewled response, your hips wiggling for friction. Ser Gwayne tuts, pulling away, and his one hand gripped onto your hip to hold you still. You tensed as you felt his cockhead dragging through your silken folds, coating himself before he moved to fill you once again.
The new angle sparked something at the bottom of your spine with flames that prickled across your backside as his stroke went deeper and deeper. Your hips bucked back, meeting with his building motion, and his hands bruised into your hips with his brutal pace, the wet smack of skin-to-skin as he fucked you.
You clawed at the sheets, your mouth falling open, a wordless plea for release that was trilling to your nerve endings and teasing you once again. As your velvet walls began to flutter, he hissed, pulling back to pump himself to completion; you could feel his pearly spend spilling on your arse.
You wished to bury your face and cry, your body thrumming for a release that you were denied again. Your palms pressed to wearily push yourself upright, turning to look at him.
Ser Gwayne was standing, already tucking himself away. The brilliant blue of his eyes returned with a shine that looked you over. “Do you feel you have earned it, pet?”
He was teasing you, his lips ticking upwards. Your thighs clenched again, your head nodding. “Then you may now touch yourself.” His tongue clicked at the end, and your eyes widened. You were rooted until he spoke, “I will not tell you again.”
You scrambled to lay back onto the bed, uncaring of how his sticky spend seeped into the sheets. You grabbed for the pillows to lie against and you spread your legs for his show. Ser Gwayne was rapt to watch from the end of the bed, almost stoic as his eyes settled onto you. You do not look away, bringing your fingers to your lips and suckling before they dropped below to touch yourself, just as he commanded.
His jaw ticked with your salacious gesture, which was mostly unneeded as you were still wet and wanting, but it allowed a genial glide for your fingers to find your pearl. Your blood rose to the surface, beckoned by his bold stare and by your precise touch that uprooted the abandoned pleasure that had been pulsing earlier. Your fingers circled to pull a low moan, and his eyes fluttered at the vision you made: so pliant and plush, so very obedient.
“Just like that,” he rasped, his eyes unable to tear away. His hands flexed at his side, blood pouring until his cock was half-hard. “Let me hear you.”
You licked your lips, your moans spilling louder as your fingers continued, returning you back to tip you over that precipice with a honeyed burst of passion, pulsing thick onto your hand. It comes as a sobbed release, your chest heaving to catch your breath with how it shattered throughout; you melt into the mattress, boneless.
“Let me taste you.”
You opened your eyes, wet lashes clumped together, to see the gentleman gone to madness; he kneeled between your thighs, his fingers dimpling with his hold on you. His head dipped, a deep breath and a murmured, “Heavenly,” that tickled your skin. He placed an intimate kiss to the blossomed bundle of nerves. You cried out, your thighs tightening to a vice around his head, and he groaned against your wet cunt.
Ser Gwayne pulled back to look at you, his eyes lust-blown, and moved up to capture your mouth for a first kiss, stained with your tart taste that glossed his soft lips.
“You did so well for me,” he praised, nestling against you for another kiss. It was deeper this time, his tongue curling to your own, and your pulse began to flutter in your veins, your passion renewed. “I have decided that I will be keeping you to myself, all night.”
It’s like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger they were. And sometimes you didn’t want to know the end… because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened? But in the end, it’s only a passing thing… this shadow.
arya stark or sansa stark
catelyn stark or cersei lannister
eddard stark or tywin lannister
jaime lannister or tyrion lannister
robb stark or jon snow
daenerys targaryen or viserys targaryen
joffrey baratheon or ramsay snow
oberyn martell or arianne martell
house lannister or house tyrell
house stark or house baratheon
house bolton or house greyjoy
the dance of dragons or the blackfyre rebellion
the war of the five kings or robert’s rebellion
the others or the children of the forest
the old gods or the faith of the seven
the drowned god or r’hllor
direwolves or dragons
westeros or the free cities
the free folk or the dothraki
We don’t have enough young, female antiheroes. We don’t accept women as antiheroes the way we do the men. Unless there’s a family get-out clause. We accept women being complete c-nts if they’re doing it for a child.
LOTR 30 day challenge: day 7→ colors.
And some things that should not have been forgotten were lost. History became legend. Legend became myth. And for two and a half thousand years, the ring passed out of all knowledge.
Ilúvatar: *thinks*
Ainur: *are created*
Ilúvatar: .. oh. Neat. Do a music.
Ainur: *makes music*
Ilúvatar: Awesome - hey, what’s that one doing.
Melkor: DOO-DE-DOO-DOO
Ilúvatar: He’s ruining the mus—-
Melkor: DUNNA-DUNNA-DUN-DUN-DUN.
Ilúvatar: Okay, just because you have more power than everyone else does not mean you get to be a dick.
Melkor: 2 metal 4 u
Ilúvatar: I did not create you for this.
Melkor: Suck it, dork.
Ilúvatar: Stop it.
Melkor: Sorry. (Not actually sorry)
turnnoffyourmind
yousharknotpass
dededos
areudirty
romaincrisis
origamiaround
titsay
