#otto hightower smut

[just-some-random-blogger]

Observant

Being the Hand's young, second wife came with a lot of responsibilities, one of which was mellowing the frustrations of your husband.

Otto Hightower x Reader | 1k+ | cw: fem!reader, wife!reader, age difference/age gap, smut (piv, slight dub con, degradation kink, breeding kink, overstimulation, anal fingering, dacryphilia, sadism, praise kink) fluff I guess, typos, etc.

A/N: so i made a poll on what to write and fluff won and this is literally pwp but it has a fluffy ending (???) so it counts HAHAHAH IDK OTTO BRAIN ROT. LOBOTOMY ME IDC I HAVE TO GO TO WORK NOW BYE. A great day to be an otto fucker amirite HAHAHAH cross posted on ao3

You take in a breath the moment you reach the Hand's office. A chill runs down your spine as the night air seeps through your robe and night dress.

In truth, you figured your husband would have appreciated not being interrupted by you, though his pointed instruction otherwise, but there was another truth you answered to: that is, the ache between your legs that your fingers could not quell.

Even now, there was a heat that spread, which only intensified at the thoughts you knew would come to life the moment you knocked on your husband's office door. So you do.

"Who is it?" the deep voice snapped with as much intensity as a rabid dog.

Your belly instantly rolls. You rub is as you tighten your robe with one hand. The other, which was holding your lamp, shivers under its weight. You weakly manage to muster, "tis I, my lord."

A beat of silence.

You stiffen at the sound of heavy footsteps marching your way. A soft gasp leaves your lips when the door swings open and the face of the Lord Hand was glares at you.

"What is it, girl?" Otto hisses, both his hands resting on the sides of the door opening. His frame overwhelms you. His eyes are tired and his jaw is tense. 

Yes, you did always feel like some petulant little girl under the scrutiny of your much older husband. You lick your lips and exhale deeply to calm yourself. Simply, you remind him of his own words from earlier today, "tis the hour of the owl."

Lord Hightower is unmoved.

"I've come to fetch you."

A vein at the side of his neck threatens to pop. He pulls away and heads to his desk, "I have much to do, thanks to the fucking king."

You purse your lips at his words, thinking about the said man. Aegon was around your age, if not a bit younger, and at some point you had been friends, until you were promised to his grandfather.

You walk up to Otto's side and he rather instantly makes a spectacle of his abundant papers. He rants heatedly about it for a good moment, before turning to you. His face is worn and his shoulders squared, "I will not waste my time further by explaining this to you. Leave."

Otto places a hand on your bum and pushes you off. You budge, for after all, he was a man much bigger than you, even if no longer in his prime. Your hand darts to his desk to keep yourself upright, and the hand holding your lamp grips it firmly so that it would not slip. You return to your previous position as the man continues with his work.

"L e a v e," he drags out with audible vexation, "now."

"No."

He freezes.

"You will leave," you correct "—this room. Tis the hour of the owl."

Otto turns to you, offended, "you command me?"

You clench you jaw, "you command yourself. I am simply your obedient servant, lord husband."

Your lord husband stands. He towers over you and presses close, so close that he takes your lamp and puts it out, leaving it ignored on his desk, "am I not commanding you now?"

Your heart races when he takes your neck, thumb pressing on your throat as he rubs it. He can feel your raging pulse and it excites him, but not as much as your next words do, "you are you unkind when you are exhausted."

"To whom?" 

"To everyone," you mutter, "you must retire."

Otto releases your neck and heads for the door, "I will not."

Your brows furrow as you watch him storm off.

You realize only what he meant after following him into your shared chambers.

He grabs you from behind and sinks his face into your neck. You feel his beard against your skin and his hands eagerly clawing down your body. He pushes you into bed and you manage to look over your shoulder for the few seconds as he undoes his breeches. Not a second later, he pushes you on the sheets and pulls your skirt up.

You whimper into the cushion, bringing your face to the side as he rests his weight between your shoulders. He clenches his jaw as he grabs your hip. You obediently shift on your knees and gasp when he rubs his groin into yours. He sighs out a string of profanities when he feels your wetness. He pulls back and looks at the softness of your thighs, inspecting the pooling lust on your cunt. He rubs your clit, "my cherubic wife, so ready to be taken by her aged husband."

Your belly trembles as he uses your warm slick to flick your sensitive nub, leaving you to do nothing but curl your toes and whine into the sheets.

"Body so eager to be molded by my cock," he mutters. He slowly sinks two fingers into your weeping folds. He stretches you with his fingers and sinks deep, relishing the warm stickiness coating his digits, "so pretty like this. More so with my seed mixed with your arousal, dripping down your puckered cunt."

He continues to serve you with his fingers until pressure builds in your stomach. Then, with no warning and little care, Otto replaces his fingers with his hardened cock and fucks you thoroughly from behind. The hand he hand by your shoulder blades tingle into your hair. His other hand tirelessly works on your clit, expertly rubbing them that your body writhes under his weight.

You are trapped beneath him, however. He need only push on your head and lock your legs with his; you can do nothing else to do but take his cock and his fingers.

The sound of wet slapping skin and your uncontrollable whimpers dampen out the creaking and thudding of your bed against the stone wall. Quickly, your breathing began to grow strained and Otto gave no indication of slowing, especially not when he merited a scream from your lips from the pleasure building hotly in your stomach.

"Otto, Otto-" you begin to whine, nails ripping into the sheets, "w-wait— I-"

He furrows his brows at your words, offended that you would instruct him grant your reprieve. Just as he felt your slick building against his clothes? Even if he wanted to stop to catch his breath, he would not.

Alas, mortal man still was he, and his plowing had to slow. Slow, not stop. Though his arm began to tire, his fingers did not relent their assault on your swollen clit. He made up for any delays with slower but harsh flicks of his hip.

Your peak caught both of you off guard, and you came around his cock with a ghastly noise that made him stab your womb roughly in surprise. He stops moving altogether soon after.

Upon realizing the absolute bliss that seized your form, he puts all of his focus on your clit, wanting nothing but to make you shake and tighten around his wet cock as much as he possibly can.

The wind is knocked out if your lungs and your eyes water at the intensity of it all. And soon, it was all too much for you. It was all far too much, and yet he did not stop.

"Otto," your voice is hoarse as you sob into the dampened sheets, dampened with your tears and saliva.

He does not acknowledge you at all. He continues rubbing your pulsing clit with his fingers no matter how much your belly shook or your thighs trembled. He adores your mousy noises. He pulls your head back by your hair bit and slowly begins to thrust into you until the bed begins to creak at the intensity again.

It's too much, and the noise that rips out of you is nothing but further indication of this.

Your body struggles beneath him, your parted thighs that turned to putty were now shifting frantically in the hope to be free of this overwhelming sensation. You clench and unclench around him, hips pushing forward and back in an attempt to break away, but it, in fact, only makes your heady husband double down on his efforts to keep you in place.

His fingers only then finally leave your abused clit, but any form of recuperation you could get is stolen by the way both his veiny hands grip your hips and his manhood invades your cunny, intent on staking its claim.

He grunts as he looks down at your helpless form. He does nothing but use you for his pleasure and he cares little of whether or not your pretty pussy will tighten and quiver around him again.

Otto rubs your bum then coats his thumb with your slick before pushing it into your vacant rear, enough to hook into you and to make you squeal.

Soon enough, he can feel his legs ache and his belly burn. He ignores the former and his energy is sustained by the promise of filling his shaking bride with his come and watching it drip out of her.

Otto is silent while you noisily protest beneath him. Just as he begins to feel his balls tighten, he feels your cunt squeeze him again. Your neck strains as he bends down to lean into you, "take it, come slut. You know want you want to."

"S't-too much," you whine, tears rolling down your face.

Otto could not care less and begins to rub your clit again. You scream out in response and it's enough to make him reach his peak.

He slams into you with no steady tempo. He cares only for the pleasure raging on his cock and wants only to empty his balls into his warm, raggedly bride. As he does just that, feeling come and sweat drip from your garment to the sheet, he takes a few more thrusts, shallow ones where he does not move out of you very much, to ensure he thoroughly stuff all his heated lust into you.

And ever the dutiful husband, he plays with your clit for as long as it takes to make you scream and spasm into another pretty peak

Your nose is running as you sob, but the twist of your expression tells him that you were enjoying every second of it. He laughs, deeply, contentedly, pinning you against him and the bed. He doesn't listen to you until he is more than assured every bit of pleasure is wrung out of your darling body.

You begin to whine again like the tearful babe you were. You whisper an exhausted plea, "please, no more, Otto. Please."

He shushes you and pinches your clit, just to see you flinch and hear you beg some more. And beg you do, "n-no more, please," through sniffles.

He grips your jaw and kisses your salty cheek. He pulls you both to your sides, unwilling to pull out just yet. He has to ascertain his seed catches in your snug womb. He massages your breasts, imagining them get bigger for the babe he fucked into you. He pinches your nipples, making you whine again.

"O-Otto-"

"All is well, wife," he mutters, releasing his hold, only because you pushed his hand away. You lean into him as he rubs your belly. He rubs your nape with his nose, "good girl."

[written-in-flowers]

The Last Night: Otto x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Otto Hightower x Tyrell!Reader

Word Count: 3k

Genre: smut, fluff, and more smut

Summary: Otto comes to his Rosebud's bedchamber the night before their wedding with one last couple activity.

Tags: older man/younger female relationship, virgin!reader, vaginal fingering, oral sex (f and m receiving/giving), spanking, edging, reading while being fucked, vaginal penetration, breast and nipple play, two horny people finally getting it on.

Part 1 to this

***

The final day of the Harvest Moon Festival came on the fifth day of the month. The following day would be your wedding. Your parents hosted a fabulous ball to celebrate the upcoming ceremonies. Full of entertainment, dancing, drinking and feasting, it was a ball said to rival last year's festival. You returned to your chambers, feet aching and light headed from sweet wine, and eager to get into your bed. Handmaidens peeling you out of your orange and yellow gown, you sighed with relief as you removed the flowers and leaves from your hair and massaged your own scalp. Your festival dress, a gown covered with painted fall leaves and flowers, might have been a masterpiece of fabric but it’d weighed you down considerably. The headpiece itself ached your scalp towards the end of the night. 

Wishing your handmaidens good night, you blew out the last of your candles and climbed into bed. The realization hit you right then. This time tomorrow, you’ll be a married woman. You’ll be Lady YN Hightower, wife to Ser Otto Hightower, Hand of the King. The King himself announced it at the final feast. He told the entire room how there’d been no finer man for the position than Otto. You’d congratulated him with a smile, and a glimpse down the front of your dress. He’d told you the tease might’ve been risky with so many eyes watching you both, but you couldn’t resist it. You liked how pink his cheeks became whenever you hinted at it. Ever since your time in the garden the first night, you and Otto had grown closer. You enjoyed his company above most you knew; he truly listened when you spoke and he remained perfectly respectful. 

Until he caught you alone. Then his hands and lips rarely left yours. 

Laying on your back, you pictured the last time you’d gone into the garden with him. Underneath the grove of citrus trees, the two of you took tea together to enjoy the autumn air. It started out simple enough: stories of the previous night, tales of King’s Landing and reminiscing about both your families together. You could be honest with Otto. Nothing you said fazed or upset him. He told you he’d heard worse things in The Red Keep. But, when you went to one of the trees for a fresh orange, he’d come up right behind you. Even thinking of it now gives you chills. 

‘I wish I could peel all these layers off you…’ 

He nearly did. You bit your lower lip as you pictured it in your head. Your back against the tree, fingers digging into the hard bark as you balanced yourself on one foot for him. Otto on his knees, he’d put your thigh over his shoulder and his face buried under your skirt. The memory of his tongue lightly flicking your bud made your insides throb. He’d driven you half-mad from the motion alone; he did not swirl or caress his tongue against it. He only held your lips open and attacked your hard clit. You begged him to put his cock inside you. You needed to feel more of him, but he denied you this. He said you’d have him with time. Instead, he placed you on his lap at the table and let you grind against it. You made a mess on his cock while he made one on his shirt and your gown. 

But tomorrow night, he will be all yours. 

Spreading your legs apart, you knew the perfect way to end your night. You tugged down the loose neckline of your nightgown underneath your breasts, and envisioned Otto’s mouth on them. You loved how his beard prickled the supple flesh, and the way he gently sucked and licked them. A part of you wished you didn’t give into him so easily, but after having a bite of the plum, you hungered for the rest. Rubbing your nipples, you thought of his hands replacing yours. He’d lay on top of you, cock pushing out your folds to tease your center. Your breathing labored as you rocked your hips into the sheets covering you. You held onto the memory of his warmth and touch. You concentrated on the image of his tongue swatting at your nipples as you grinded into his thick length. The length you wanted stretching and filling you; the length you wanted spraying your womb with his seed and impregnating you. You thought of the last time you’d put him in your mouth. It’d been in the library where he caught you reading quietly. It started with talking of the eastern cultures of the world and ended with your head bobbing up and down in his lap. 

You’d lifted your dress up your thighs, thinking of Otto’s long fingers touching your bare flesh, when the door opened. You let out a yelp and sat up, ready to scold whichever servant interrupted you, but the fire immediately died. 

“Ser-Ser Otto,” you breathed, pushing hair from your face, “What brings you here this-this late?”

Otto closed the door, and by the dim light of his candlestick you saw he wore only a shirt and breeches now. “You, my lady,” he said, coming to your bed. You noticed he held something in his bed, “I was enjoying a late night read and I came upon a story I thought you might like.” 

“Could it not, um, wait until the morrow?” 

“I’m afraid not.”

He used his candle to light the ones near your bed. With each candle, more light came into your corner of the room. With more light, came to sight of your half-naked body under your sheets. Otto’s eyes swept over you in the glowing lights, and you saw him gulp thickly. 

“May I?” he asked, gesturing to the empty space beside you. 

“Otto…” you didn’t bother hiding your bare chest from him or the placement of your hands on your thighs, “I must warn you, ser, if you climb into this bed, we may do something The Seven wouldn’t approve of.”

“I think they can shut their eyes this one time.”

He sat beside you, putting his arm around your shoulders and bringing the book between you. A book bound in brown leather, you opened it to the first page. On it, you saw ‘Tales of the Flesh’ printed in red and gold lettering above the picture of a naked couple. They both laid on their sides with their heads facing each other’s groins, legs painted to indicate they’d been spread and tongue painted to show the action taking place. 

“I’ve never read this one,” you told him, the fire in your loins relighting. “Where did you find it?”

“I’d brought it with me,” he admitted, tucking hair behind your ear. “I’d been perusing it  when I came across a story I thought you might enjoy.” 

He flipped the pages to a middle section of the book. “The Maiden and the King,” you read out loud. 

The picture underneath was set in a bedroom. On a bed of scarlet sheets and gold curtains was an older man with a gold and ruby crown on his head, twirling his thick blue mustache. Across from him was a young woman, wearing nothing but a harness of gold chains with thick black curls cascading down her back. She posed her arms above her head, exposing most of her body to the king, who seemed to approve. 

“What is it about?” you asked, already picturing yourself in the maiden’s position. 

“Exactly what the title implies,” he said, “A young maiden pleasuring her king. Read it to me, pet. My eyes are quite tired from this evening’s festivities.”

You turned the page and did as he asked. A nervousness settled in your stomach when you realized the gravity of the situation. Someone might come any moment and find him in your bed. You thanked the Maiden for bringing Otto to you on this particularly heated night, the man whose body you craved constantly. But, you knew if anyone found you they’d tell your parents. 

Well, you are getting married tomorrow. In all honesty, did it truly matter?

As you went further into the story, you described to Otto how the king bought the maiden at auction and planned to deflower her under a full moon. Otto’s hands pulled down your gown. You only shifted to let it fall to your waist, then continued reading as he gently caressed and kissed you. 

“Faeyesha disrobed in front of His Excellency,” you read, “The gold chains glinting against her copper skin. Dark eyes dared him to come closer, to taste her sweet honey and fill her with his seed. His Excellency watched the young beauty dance before him. Faeyesha’s form enticed Nakyros to begin pleasuring himself to her body. Never before had His Excellency seen a thing of such stunning beauty-”

“-He is not the only one-” interrupted Otto, one hand grabbing your breast while the other slid between your legs. 

“-And the sight of Faeyesha’s bare breasts entranced him greatly. When he came to full hardness, he beckoned the girl forward. On the bed, King Nakryos examined the maiden. He spread the girl’s lips and slid a finger into her we-we-wet-ness,” your voice wavered as you felt warm fingers reach your lips, “Pushing and pulling until the girl squealed with ecstasy.” 

“Sit here, sweetling.”

Otto guided you between his legs, entrapping you in his embrace. Your bodies flushed together, every sensation heightened. Otto kept your legs apart with his own, and lifted your dress over your thighs. 

“This way I can touch you better,” he said, kissing your neck. 

“Otto, please,” you whimpered, wriggling against the hand on your sex, “If you keep touching me there…”

“Yes?”

“I’m going to take more than your fingers and tongue.”

He turned your head from the book, cupping your jaw gently. “That is my intention tonight,” he said. “Forgive me, but gods, YN…I cannot resist you anymore. I have done everything within me to keep myself from taking you as I truly wish. I did not wish to dishonor or disgrace you, but tonight…” he went back to circling your center, “You looked so enticing, so alluring and arousing.”

“Otto,” you giggled bashfully. 

“I cannot restrain myself any longer,” he continued, rolling your nipple in time with his other hand. “You’ve bewitched me, YN. I must have you tonight. I cannot wait any longer.” 

You pushed his hand deeper into your sex, grinding into his fingers on your own, “Then have me. Please, Otto, please.” 

Gingerly, he slid a finger inside your pussy. You jumped at the sudden intrusion, but easily settled into it as he continued. “Keep reading for me, darling.”

“-His Excellency slipped a second finger to ensure the auctioneer had not been false with him. The maiden writhed with pleasure as her new master explored her sex…”

Reading became more difficult once Otto explored you himself. It was a sensation you took a minute to adjust to, but once you did, you melted in his arms. A second finger joined the first and went deeper; the palm of his hand lightly rubbed against your clit each time he went inwards, bringing about more teasing that made you dizzy. 

“...His Excellency then took Faeyresha fiercely…His girth and length opened her sex, bringing him…him…”

“Full pleasure,” Otto finished, curling his fingers inside you. “Nakryos fucks his slave quite well, don’t you think so?” 

“Ye-Y-Yes.”

“Fortunately, my love,” he quickly untied his trousers for you, “I promise not to be so hasty. Lean forward for me.”

You moved forward between your legs, adjusting yourself to the strange position and keeping the book in front of you. “Turn the page,” Otto said, “Keep going.” 

Turning the page, you continued reading about the positions Nakryos took Faeyresha. Otto changed his hand’s position and began fingering you from behind, his thumb between entrance and anus. Teasing your nipple yourself, you pushed into his hand as you read about Nakryos’s and Faeyresha’s tale out loud. You’d been describing how Nakryos bent Faeyresha over the windowsill and took her underneath the night sky when that familiar tightness built in your gut. You chased your climax by riding Otto’s fingers, eyes rolling back at the thumb teasing your hole. But, right when you reached the threshold of your orgasm, Otto withdrew his fingers completely. 

“Otto,” you whined, shaking your hips in frustration, “Put them back.”

He chuckled at your demand, and you felt something longer and hotter rest on your ass. “With time, precious,” he insisted, rubbing your buttocks with both hands, “With time.” He gently squeezed both sides, pushing the cheeks apart and lifting them slightly. You trembled as warm kisses dotted up one side to your tailbone, “Does this arouse you?”

When you nodded, he continued massassing your ass until he reached your sex again. Sliding two fingers back inside you, that delicious sensitivity returned and you went back to meeting his hand. Otto brought you close to the edge with a few more pumps of his hand before pulling away again. You did your best to quiet your frustrated whining, but the sensations coursing through you forced your face into the sheets. Legs and thighs trembling, you stayed still as Otto’s fingers went back into you a third time. His free hand caressing between your thigh and ass added tingles of pleasure to your torture. You continued rutting against him, clenching the sheets and biting into them as you let the arousal take over. 

“Roll over for me.”

You maneuvered yourself enough to spread yourself on your back for him. Your body quaked when you watched him trickle spit right onto your sex. Cupping your breasts, you pinched your nipples in front of him as he whirled his thumb around your sex. When he kneeled in front of you, you drooled at his hardened cock. You reached down to grab him. His shaft pulsated at your touch, the hardness making it hot and throbbing. 

“Let me have it,” you pleaded, using the droplets of precum to coat him. “I need it.” 

He removed your hand from him and lifted your knees upwards. The cock you so desperately desired rubbed against your soaked cunt. He rolled the head of it there over and over until you were pushing him towards your entrance. By the time he pushed the head into your heat, you were clutching the pillow under your head and whimpering desperately. A twinge of pain did burn through you as he slipped further inside; the stretch distracted you from the pleasure for mere seconds before he fully entered you. The both of you released sighs of relief at finally being connected. Your eyes met his, full of lust and desire as he slowly began moving his hips. His hands roamed up your torso, palming your breasts while he dotted kisses on your neck. The pubic bone above his cock brushed into your clitoris, and you gyrated against the hairs tickling your sex. 

“So beautiful,” he groaned, holding himself deep inside you, “And all mine.”

“Yes…Yes, I’m yours.”

“Say that again,” he growled, picking up the pace. You felt him only withdrawing an inch or so each time, so you both stayed locked together. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you whined, “I’m yours.” 

You continued saying this, your nails digging into the pillow under your head. Widening your legs further, you started meeting him halfway to let him know you wanted more. The bed let out soft creaks as he knelt up, grabbed your thighs and pounded you. If anyone heard you, it didn't matter to you. You’d been longing for this moment for days, maybe even weeks. Having Otto fill your pussy over and over, his hips slapping against your bottom from the position, it was everything you dreamed of. Grabbing both his hands, you put them on your breasts to make him squeeze and tease them while he fucked into you. Every touch he laid on you added to the pleasure rising up in you. 

“Otto, Otto,” you breathed his name into the air, head tilting back into the pillow, “Please, don’t stop. Please, keep going.”

And he did keep going. His body started trembling when yours did. The tightness of your walls gripping him, his tip hitting the spot making you see stars, your orgsams flooded both your senses. You became numb to everything but the climax Otto worked out of you by toying with your clit and sucking your nipples. His own grunts vibrated against your breasts, his thrusting becoming more erratic as a distinct warmth spilled inside. You loved it, you realized. Even as you grew sensitive during the afterglow, you kept pushing against him. Your pussy milked out every drop he could give you. 

Otto pulled out of you and collapsed onto the bed. You yearned to have him close to you, but the chill of the room cooled down your hot skin. A hand started moving between your thighs, fingers lazily circling your hardening bud again. You squirm at the shots of sensitivity hitting it, but you did not stop him. 

He chuckled at your movements. Rolling onto his side, Otto lifted one of your legs over his as he rubbed your soaked pussy. “I only wish to make sure it stays in there long enough, petal,” he said in your ear, kissing you deeply. You tasted yourself on his tongue, and you slid yours into his mouth for more. “I also quite enjoy touching your sweet cunt. I love the sounds you make when I tease you.”

You reached down to his cock, stroking it languidly from your position on the bed, “And I love playing with your cock. It’s so thick and makes me wet right away. Will you stay with me a bit longer?” you pouted, batting your lashes, “Let me touch it for a while more?”

“Anything for you,” he kissed underneath your ear and nuzzled your neck, “My sweet Rosebud. I think we’re going to enjoy our married life together, don’t you?”

“Oh yes,” you sighed as his fingers dipped back into your pussy, “Yes, completely.” 

Otto stayed in your bed the rest of the night. You admitted that you couldn’t get enough of him. You loved his warmth, his mouth, his tongue and cock. Your favorite part had been when you rode him for the first time, your ass bouncing in front of him so he could grab and slap it. You’d never cummed harder than right then. You could have gone all night if you both hadn’t passed out after the third round. 

****

“May I ask why Otto was in your bed this morning, darling?”

Out of all the people in the castle, your mother had been the one to find you. Jalissa Tyrell did not appear at all surprised or appalled at the sight of your future husband nude in your bed. She actually expected it. Apparently, your handmaidens whispered about your escapades with Otto in the Tyrell gardens. 

“He visited me in the night,” you admitted, letting her braid your hair for you. “We hadn’t intended to go as far as we did. It happened naturally.”

“You should have been more cautious,” she said, adding a crown of fake flowers and feathers to your head, “The maids heard you.”

“I didn’t think about it at the time,” you said, hiding your smile in the mirror. 

You felt her eyes on you, and pretended to be busy with a perfume powder. Thankfully, your mother arrived right after Otto had finished waking you with his tongue. 

“Did you enjoy it?” she suddenly asked, her curiosity getting the better of her. “Was he gentle the first time?”

“Very, and yes I did enjoy it. He was…thorough with me.” 

She stifled a laugh, “Pious men like Otto tend to have extreme sexual appetites. He can normally contain himself, but I think your ability to match his desires broke him.” She grinned, “I always knew what a little temptress you could be, yet I never imagined it like this. You could not have waited one more night?”

“As I said, it merely happened. We were reading a book together-”

“-Ah yes, I saw the book on your bed. You must be more careful when you go to Oldtown. People there aren’t as open minded as us.”

“I understand, Mother. I’ll try to…restrain myself.”

She laughed, “As if Otto will be able to do such a thing. If you two disappear during the feast, I’ll keep your father occupied until the bedding.” She finished your hair, and grinned pleased with herself. “Just try not to ruin your wedding gown, my love. It was rather costly and I’d hate to see it ripped or stained.”

You both laughed, and you promised to keep it intact for her. 

Though, you’re sure Otto made no such promise. 

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Would That I

Pairing: Otto Hightower x f!reader Warnings: Smut, age gap, keeping it in the family. Word count: ~1.1k Summary: Otto makes sure his pretty, young wife has absolutely everything she desires. Based on this request.

She is smitten with Otto the moment she lays eyes on him. Arriving in King’s Landing she anticipates a week of uninteresting jousts and tedious formalities, but as she sits in the stands, thoroughly uninterested by the spectacle of the two knights charging towards each other on horseback, her eye is drawn to the Hand of the King. He is older than her by at least three decades, but he is refined, tall and ruggedly handsome. While the potential suitors within the capital are seemingly endless, none of them compare to Otto Hightower

Using every excuse within her arsenal over the coming days, she seizes all opportunities to see and speak to him, and is delighted to find he is every bit as charming as he is handsome. He titters at her jokes and she is enamoured by the way his eyes crinkle as he smiles, the green of his iris appearing to sparkle as he does so. His voice is deep, yet velvety smooth and she hangs on his every word. He is intelligent, diplomatic and sharp as Valyrian steel.

Her desire for him intensifies as the days press on, and emboldened by one too many cups of Dornish red following a feast one evening, she leans forward and presses her lips to his, her heart fluttering as she feels the warmth of his large palm cup her cheek as he returns the gesture.

“I have not felt like this about a woman in years,” He tells her.

She smiles at his words. She has not felt like this about a man ever.

There is no need for her to leave come the end of the week, King’s Landing is now her home, and after a hastily put together ceremony in the Sept, Otto Hightower is her husband.

He surprises her with his virility on their wedding night, wringing peak after peak from her pliant body, leaving her exhausted but with a satisfying ache between her thighs the following morning. Otto spoils her beyond comprehension, she wants for nothing and has the finest of everything; jewels from Lys, gowns of Myrish silk and lace, wines from the Arbor. He is diligent in keeping her sated in every aspect of their marriage.

It is obvious his daughter, Alicent, does not approve, though she does not say it, and who can blame her? She has to admit that she’d be annoyed too if her father chose to marry someone younger than his own daughter.

It is not Alicent’s silent disapproval that bothers her, however, it is how the ladies of the court love to gossip. It is not unusual in Westeros for men to wed women much younger than themselves, yet she finds herself at the center of all manner of prying questions regarding the nature of her marriage to Otto. She supposes it is because of the responsibility he holds as the King’s Hand.

“What is it you see in him?” One bold lady dares to ask.

She bites her lip, considering her answer. She longs to say that it sends a thrill through her body to wait upon her knees for him, gazing up at him as he presses the head of himself past her lips. Such talk would cause a scandal, however, so she gives a tight smile and says that he is tall.

“Surely that can’t be all?”

“No, he is handsome too,” She says wistfully, thinking about how he gazes up at her from between her thighs, the softness of his beard tickling her soft flesh, the sensation causing her to clench around nothing.

“Is he kind to you?”

“Oh, yes, Otto is extraordinarily generous!” There is a particular necklace that Otto insists she wears, with nothing else to accompany it, whenever they are alone in their marital chambers. It sits tight against her throat, adorned with emeralds that gleam in the same shade of green as the Hightower house colours. It likely cost a small fortune, but in his eyes nothing is too good for her, not when he is buried to the hilt inside of her.

“Is that your favourite quality of his?”

“No,” She muses. “I adore his dedication to his family.”

The combined heat from the fireplace and lit candles that sit upon every surface of the bedchamber make the room stiflingly hot. She feels sweat trickle down her neck, disappearing beneath the emerald choker that sits snugly around her neck, every green gemstone glittering in the dim light as she rolls her hips against Otto’s.

His grip on her waist is vice-like, every sensation heightened by warmth, as the length of him nudges against a spot inside of her that makes her tense with every undulation of her body. She feels taut, pulled tighter than a bow string until it eventually snaps, sending her headlong into oblivion, waves of ecstasy rolling through her as she collapses against her husband’s chest, triggering his own release.

His fingers stroke gently over her dampened skin as he holds her close. Already, renewed desire throbs between her legs.

“Are you satisfied, my dear?” Otto asks softly.

“I will never have enough of you, my love,” Comes her playful response.

“That is not quite what I had in mind.”

“Oh?” She lifts her head, eyeing him curiously.

“I have seen the way that you and Aemond look at each other, I am no fool.”

She laughs softly, shaking her head. “It is nothing, I can assure you.”

“I do not mind,” He rises from the bed, pulling on a robe. “I wish for my darling wife to be satisfied, to have everything she desires, so I shall make it so.”

He opens the chamber door, uttering “you can come in now” and her eyes widen in disbelief when she sees Otto’s second oldest grandson hovering in the doorway. It seems outrageous to her that he would suggest such a thing, yet she cannot deny the way it makes her pulse race.

“I shall be back in an hour.” Otto informs them both, before leaving.

She is too stunned to speak at first as she takes in the sight of Aemond. He seems stoic and unaffected in his demeanour, until she studies him more carefully. She takes in how his pupil is dilated with lust, the prominent bulge that presses against the lacings of his trousers, and the slight parting of his lips as he struggles to control his excited breaths.

Arranging herself atop the bedspread, she relaxes knowing that he desires her just as much as she desires him. She beckons him to her with a crook of her finger. “Come now, don’t be shy.” He goes to her eagerly.

It is just one of the many perks of being Otto Hightower’s wife. He is nothing if not generous in every aspect of their marriage, and so dedicated to his family.

[writingjourney]

forget // otto hightower // f!reader, 700 words, filth, piv, mild breeding, established marriage, MDNI 18+

You can tell by his posture just how tense he is – the way his hair is disheveled, no doubt by his frustrated fingers repeatedly pushing it back, his shoulders drawn up to his ears, the deep furrow of his brow. He stalks over to the table, reaching for the carafe of wine to pour himself a generous glass. For a moment he stares into the deep red liquid, then he downs it so fast that a drop rolls down his chin.

"The council meeting did not go well, I take it?" you ask, standing in front of him and wiping at the red stain in his beard.

"Fools," he says. "Each and every one of them."

You reach for his doublet, hand pressed flatly to his chest and his much larger one comes to rest on top of yours. His gaze soften when he takes you in, the very image of the Mother, a wife any man could only dream of with the wits to match his, the understanding behind your eyes so genuine that it is the only comfort that never feels hollow. Without you he surely would have lost his mind already.

"Hm, perhaps it is best not to dwell on it," you suggest, opening the buttons. "The hour is late and I have missed you, husband."

Before you can fully undress him his arm snakes around your waist and he roughly pulls you close, pressing you so tightly to his chest that the wind is squeezed from your lungs. You gasp and his mouth urgently covers yours, an insistent kiss in which he unloads all of his stowed up frustration.

"Have you, my girl?" He mouths at your neck, beard and teeth scraping over your skin in an intoxicating combination of pleasure and pain. "Perhaps you can help me forget, then."

He hoists you up onto the table, the remaining glasses clinking in their effort not to fall, and then he is already hiking up your skirts, fingers hot as they grope at your thighs. Otto Hightower is a man who does not hesitate to take what he wants and before you manage to properly undress him his fingers already push inside of you. You gasp and he swallows the sound with his mouth, eagerly kissing you as he lures even more sweet whimpers from between your lips.

"So eager," he chides, removing his fingers from your cunt to push firmer against you, placing himself between your legs that you promptly wrap around his waist. "Have you been waiting for this as well, sweet girl?"

You nod and his fingers tangle in your pinned-up hair, pulling until your whole neck is revealed to him. You are not sure when exactly he frees himself from his constraints but when you suddenly feel his cock pressing against your entrance you give a surprised squeal. Otto chuckles against the soft skin that covers your jugular, his tongue leaving a trail up to your chin as he kisses and sucks at his leisure.

"Perhaps I must instruct the council members to vex you even more, my husband, if it entices you to have me every night," you whisper.

His reply is a firm thrust that makes you cling to his shoulders, the whole table shaking underneath you. You sigh at the welcome stretch, at the feeling of finally being filled by the man who fills your thoughts day and night.

"Oh my love, they are very capable of doing so without your instructions. And besides," he says between strained breaths, "no one vexes quite me like you do."

You smile and he sets a steady but rough pace, his pants and soft moans tickling your ears with every quake of the table underneath you. It is always special when you get to have him like this, unrestrained, pent-up, willing to use you without clinging to his distinct sense of propriety. When you clench around him a moment later he spills inside of you, pushing the evidence deeper into your cunt with a few more sloppy thrusts.

"A bath, my darling?" he eventually asks, reluctantly removing himself, sweat clinging to his brow and breathing still laboured.

You feel his seed dripping onto the wooden tabletop and nod. "A bath sounds delightful, my love."

short fic collection

[adarkandmagicalforest]

An Irritation p. 2

pairing: Otto Hightower/Targaryen Reader (twin to Daemon)

tags: explicit sexual content, hate fucking, mentions of incest, otto hightower talking about sin

Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight, Part Nine, Epilogue

She had not thought to do it again.

But then, Daemon had been expelled from his short term as Master of Laws and had been in an especially instigative mood since then. He'd dragged her from her bath, complaining all the while, demanding they fly together.

When she refused, as it was Winter and a storm was pouring rain over Kings Landing outside, he prodded her, viciously trying to get her to rise up to his fire. But Daemon was poor company when in such a mood, so his pushing only served to make her furious. She'd bit out some response and dressed in a mere robe before leaving through one of Maegor's tunnels, her brother glaring after her as she left.

She ended up at the Tower of the Hand soon enough.

But to her utter disappointment, Otto Hightower was nowhere to be found in his chambers.

But never one to suffer disappointment for long, the Princess began to help herself. He had not been here to stop her after all, and what did it matter if she wished to ruffle around in his things? He was their servant after all, it should have pleased him that his possessions could entertain her for a time, she mused as she explored the chest of drawers against the wall, the nightstand that held a pair of gloves and the desk with his papers. She even exchanged her robe for a pair of his trousers, loose and far too long for her much shorter legs, but an interesting sight nonetheless. She wished she could have found his pin, but the blasted man seemed to never take it off.

She had begun humming when she went through the rest of his clothes, the stale mass of dark grey, black and emerald green uninspiring until she found a pair of thick, woven ties inside. 

They were clearly meant for holding, perhaps to fasten against his belt or some other mundane purpose, but she as a dragonrider thought them to be rather similar to reins .

And so the Princess took them, laying herself back on the Hand's neat belt, hoping dearly she would not need to wait long. 

She counted near a half hour before her ears caught the sound of doors opening beyond the bedroom. 

Pleased, her pale hand rose up and pushed her half-dry, ivory curls up in an artful array and arranged herself into a more comfortable position on her stomach, though the mix of his trousers, her long hair and the dark green ties that were idly wrapped around her wrists like bracelets was an odd one, but she liked the way it felt.

Minutes were all it took then for the door to creak open - it halted of course, halfway upon opening. The Princess ignored it, instead twirling the fabric about as her heart thudded in her chest, curious to see if Otto would play.

More heartbeats followed, but words were not uttered. 

She could only hear his footsteps, stepping over the floor and to the rug beneath his large bed. 

"I did not think I would receive a visit from you, Princess. I did not receive a missive nor warning of it." Otto finally said, not as negative as he could have been. For the past week, the Lord Hand had been thoroughly avoiding her, which was an interesting development, especially with Daemon's horrible attitude of late. Normally the old man would've started lashing criticisms of her and Daemon both, no matter which twin had earned his ire, always lumping the two together. But even with her brother wrecking havoc, she hadn't heard Viserys grousing once about hearing of her from his Hand.

So the dragon turned onto her back, her pale hair covering her breasts but hardly as a fine act of modesty, what with the curve of her small breasts and her soft pink nipples being well on display. 

The movement caused the Hand's breath to hitch, just slightly, which made her lips turn up into a pleased grin. That would surely bother Otto, who's immediate twitch of his brow told her that his action had been an accidental one. "I thought you were a servant of my House, Otto - I did not think a servant required prior warning before I had need of him." She replied, lifting herself up onto her arms, peering up at him expectantly.

"Of course. Yet it would only be polite. Then, I should have expected that to be something that was beyond your worries, Princess." He said then, drifting closer now and placing his hands on the sturdy wooden footboard of his bed. He always kept such neat hands, she noticed blithely. Clean hands with clean fingers and clean fingernails. Only days ago, those fingers had been rubbing at her cunt til she came. Daemon would have taken this man apart piece by piece, slowly feeding each limb to Caraxes if he ever found out. 

"Mmm. The worries of a Princess are more important than such things." She agreed. She squirmed slightly then, rubbing her thighs together. The texture of the trousers that she was wearing was rubbing against her, heat looming within her at the motion.

This action caught the Hand's attention instantly. "It seems though, you've been here for sometime." He said darkly, finally approaching her properly, now looking down at her as if he could frighten her. 

"I have." 

Finally, Otto reached for her, looking rather frustrated but also aroused in her opinion, especially as his hand smoothed over her pale stomach. His fingers pushed her loose hair out of the way of his path as his touch traversed her torso, moving carefully along her delicate ribcage and then up the curve of her pale breast, the warmth of his hand pleasant, especially as his thumb moved over her nipple. The Princess moved slightly, pressing herself up against this touch, encouraging him to stroke and pet her. Cannibal liked the same. 

"You've been going through my possessions." He stated, disgruntled and yet still touching her. He was still roaming over her flesh, but now his hand was touching the trousers she'd stolen, perhaps noting after ducking them down an inch, that she wore nothing beneath them.

"I was bored." 

This, he didn't like, because then his fingers began digging into her, his nails raking over her until she gasped and red marks raised up through her soft skin. She was soaking through his trousers, she knew, and was tempted to grab at his wrist and escort it down between her legs - but she was fascinated where he was going with this. How odd it was to think him an interesting lover. 

"To think, a woman of your privileges, to be blessed by the Gods to rule - and yet to be damned by such sin." Otto finally said, an edge to him that made her ache. So this is how he wanted to play? Very well, she thought, ecstatic. 

"Oh yes, I forgot how pious you are, Otto. It must have slipped my mind the last time you were wetting your cock with my whorish little cunt." The Princess almost purred back.

That flash of pissed off and starving came over his face, and then he climbed over her in the bed. His hand gruffly moved underneath her hair, grasping at her nape with force as he kissed her. She kissed him back hungrily, her hands reaching for him and yanking at his clothes, fantasizing for a moment about putting on his doublet with the gilded hand of the King pin, perhaps with him putting his mouth to good use at her cunt while she wore it. 

But Otto had another thought, it seemed. 

Because her hands, having been making work of the ties on his doublet, were suddenly seized with an iron grip and roughly pinned above her head. And those ties, which she had been wearing as bracelets, were now her reins - as they were now being tied against the headboard with such swift action that by the time she thought to struggle and wriggle and fight, it was already done. 

She shouted her frustration, wriggling against the ties, but to no avail.

"So much fire and yet two little straps can keep you bound so tightly..." The Hand said, looking down at how she struggled. 

If it wasn't for the fact that he was still touching her, his fingers rubbing over her sides and then up to her breasts, massaging at them near worshipfully, she might have made a stronger effort of it. She could escape, if she so wished.

Otto lowered his head then, kissing at her rib cage slowly. "If you were not born a Targaryen, a girl with your appetites would have been punished by the Seven already." He said, his wiry beard tickling her as he mouthed along her sternum and then up the curve of her breast. His mouth was warm, but the tantalizing thought that he was visiting her body as he might a Sept while also murmuring of punishment could dazzle her mind. "A girl with such a mind - " The Hand continued, kissing one pink nipple while his hand plucked at the other. " - one no better than a slut... If you were named anything else, even just a bastard perhaps, you would have been stripped down and paraded through the streets to atone for the whorish desires within you."

Hot arousal bloomed in her, needy and aching at his words. House Hightower had always been tied to the Faith, but she'd never believed religion to be anything more than lies told to shame children to behave. Now, devilishly, she wondered if she should have learned more of it - if just so she could combat old Otto more properly. 

"And what does that make you, Otto? Touching your slut Princess like this, as I'm sure your dirty old Septons fantasize about too. Some faithful man you are... I wonder, what would your wife think if she could look upon you now, hm?" She mused back, glad to not be so breathless when his fingers began roughly unlacing her from her trousers. The laces rubbed against her flesh so quickly as he pulled them away, as he'd done so with such harshness that they left tiny rope burns on her stomach. The trousers were ripped away just as quickly, and her legs were pushed up, bending them against her chest.

The look on his face was dark and outraged, just as he usually looked whenever her or Daemon's lips ever quirked a smile or pushed the Hand to his limit.

This she was fine with, pleased to see some fire, but instead of receiving a cock, she got a rough hit. Otto's hand spanded over the softest part of her arse, just where her thigh met it, and even over her cunt. The smack stung unbelievably, and the sensation actually made her yelp in pain.

But that didn't stop the Hand's hand, who smacked her again. And again. Smack. Smack. Smack. Smack. 

Seven times, she realized once her arse was burning hot and stinging painfully. He'd hit her once for each of his stupid gods. Her core was weeping, the contact from his smacks not enough to satisfy, just to torture her. Perhaps he hadn't meant these to arouse her, but the evidence was surely hard to ignore.

"You really are no better than a common whore, aren't you, Princess? Look at you - " Otto opened her cunt lips with his thumb, a wet sound joining it. "Pink, pulsing and soaking wet after I've just struck you. I should bring you to the King and have him look upon you. You would bring shame to him, no matter white hair graces your head or dragon you straddle between your legs that make you believe you are outside of the will of the Gods."

"Oh is that what you desire, Lord Hand? If you wished for an early - well, earlier, death, I could introduce you to my Cannibal. It would be my pleasure." She assured, feeling indeed to her pleasure when the older man took his time stroking her.

The petting she liked, but when he did not add to her neddling, she immediately began to push at him, needing so badly to be ridden.

"Gūrogon aōha jēda sir, Otto? Tolī uēpa naejot qogralbar nyke rhinka?" Taking your time today, Otto? Too old now to fuck me roughly? She murmured coyly, knowing just how to annoy him with her tone and use of High Valyrian, which had never failed her before.

His thumb pressed punishingly upon her clit then, making her hiss and raise her legs up high as if that would make him relent.

"You will cease to speak your foreign language at once if you expect a response." Otto commanded, his voice strict and heady even as his free hand snatched at her leg, placing it high over his shoulder while he forced his fingers inside of her - they slipped inside of her easily, wetly, before beginning to thrust them within her, his speed not enough - she needed him angrier.

"Kostilus istia gūrēñagon ziry pār, ser." Perhaps you should learn it then, ser. She replied, mirth in her voice. And that was enough, she saw, with just a sharp twitch of the Hand's brow.

Her cunt received another sharp smack of his hand, the strike over her clit now, making her yelp. A second came over her wet lips. And then, with no warning, Otto took her by her hips and flipped her onto her belly. His body followed, straddling the back of her thighs as he forced his lips along her back, moving her pale hair out of the way so he might kiss along her neck, even grazing his teeth over her shoulders and then down her spine while his hands roamed her lithe body with a worshipping touch. He was so unlike Daemon or her other past lovers - the dragon princess never quite knew what he would do next, especially as she was under his mercy. What did a would-be jumped-cut second born son want to do with his Princess? He had yet to suckle at her as he did their influence, this she was disappointed she had yet to experience to it's heights. But then, Otto grasped at her rear, spreading her arse so he might run his knuckle along her cunt and even her arsehole. Every part of her came alive as he did, awareness and thrill raising her blood with excitement.

A knock came. 

To any other, this would have been the moment they stopped - almost getting caught the tipping of the glass that would have shattered the moment.

But not to a dragon.

She was Cannibal in a woman's form - and above all, she hungered. Wantonly, selfishly.

"If you do not fuck me right now, Otto Hightower, I will scream for all to hear." She threatened, turning her head to witness his face.

He did not disappoint. Fury crackled through the air, and he very nearly looked to scowl before reaching for the front of his breeches and taking out his cock. "What is it?" He called out coldly to whomever dared to interrupt.

The head of his manhood slipped inside of her, lingering for only a moment before being removed - and then roughly thrust back within her until he was fully sheathed in her, almost making her yelp if not for his hand slapping over her mouth to keep her quiet.

"The Small Council has been called, my Lord Hand, and are awaiting your arrival." A servant replied from behind the door.

Otto slammed his hips against her, his cockhead hitting that place within her cunt that she knew with enough attention would make her peak if he fucked her hard enough. She thrust backwards against him, needing more, but his fingers had dug into her soft hips tightly, forcing her still while he controlled the pace. 

"What topic has the meeting been called for?" He questioned gruffly. The Hand pulled out of her again, lingering with just the head rubbing through her folds, before thrusting within her again.

"I believe it is - Prince Daemon, my Lord." Pain came through her hips then - Otto's fingernails had dug so hard into her flesh that he'd surely drawn up her blood. "He has landed the Blood Wyrm over a tavern in Fleabottom - with the storm this eve, there was much damage to the area, including the death of a local tavern owner." 

There was no more teasing to be had now.

Her brother's Hand had finally begun doing as she wanted most - he'd roughly slammed his cock inside her, as deep as it could go, nearly taking her breath away at the force. 

"I - will be along - shortly." He growled, punctuating each word with a thrust, not even waiting to hear a response for the poor fellow who had given along the message before beginning to fuck her with true earnest.

If she had a mind to, she might've wondered if he would not worry of throwing his back out with this action - but there were no thoughts to be had, let alone a mind left to her as she lowered herself onto her elbows as Otto rammed himself inside her, fury ruling his body as well as his lust as he fucked her. There was a loud, wet noise echoing throughout the room, with their shared grunts and her muffled whimpers joining it. Over and over again, he drove into her body, until she felt him bruising her hips and his cock repeatedly hit upon her cervix. 

His hand suddenly removed itself from her mouth. It reached for her ties and undid them deftly before grasping at her throat. Her body was pulled up until she was pressed solidly against his chest, his cock still deep within her even as his lips brushed along her ear.

"Did you come here as a distraction then, Princess?" Otto inquired dangerously, the rumble of his voice making her shiver with delight. "So your brother might do as he wish through the city?"

She moaned softly, especially as his fingers wracked up her side, the pain whirling with the pleasure. She wanted to finish so badly, she could feel his cock throb within her - the talk of Daemon though had made him violent.

"Daemon does as he pleases whether or not if his twin sister knows or cares." The Princess replied restlessly. She rolled her hips back against him, but his grip was like iron.

"Does he?" He countered, accusation in his voice. 

She shoved herself against his back, enough to free herself. Otto was still in a fury over Daemon's recklessness, and once her feet hit the floor, her hair was captured - and then her lips. 

The kiss was fierce and mean, teeth clashing and his tongue demanding the submissiveness of hers, which he would never receive. She kissed him back hotly, gasping when he pulled her back onto the bed, her scalp stinging as he threw her onto her back.

When he finally did leave her, he did so with his cock still wet, and the dragon wondered idly if her brothers would be able to smell it on him. 

[asa-do-your-thing]

Not me getting excited with your prospective fics, adding them like i'm carrying a shopping cart 💀😂

- Otto with a corruption kink finds out his object of desire is Married and has severe cognitive dissonance (this sounds so interesting)

- Criston x F Reader but ancient Greek mythology (i stan one problematic misogynist)

- Jace fucking reader in the rain (outdoors?!?! F yeah)

- Cregan tries to gift you a direwolf only to find out that the direwolf has separation anxiety (uwu time! 🥺)

Haha thank you for your enthusiasm! I cannot write all at once (so just keep an eye out for the rest ;) ) but here is your Gilf ficlet:

"My Marble Statue "

Otto Hightower x F! Reader - 18+ MINORS DNI

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: Sex/Smut, fellatio, fingering, big age gap, power imbalance, otto is the main character so automatic misogyny warning, implied violence, religion, abuse of power, dubcon, alcohol

Otto Hightower, the King’s Hand, was a man in his sixties, whose days were normally spent at court, advising the King and, essentially, ruling the country on his behalf. He had been appointed to his post for many years and was respected and feared by all who knew him.

At court, Otto was accustomed to being surrounded by beautiful ladies, draped in luxurious fabrics and vying for the Princes’ attention. Although he had grown used to life as a widower and taking a new bride had never truly been on his mind; most young women would seemingly resist his ideal of a perfect, modest and religious wife. But one day, Otto's gaze locked with that of an unfamiliar woman. She seemed to be of a lower station than the others, possibly a lady-in-waiting or courtier’s daughter. She was much younger than the other ladies, yet her features were aglow with an innocent beauty that left Otto utterly captivated.

He felt himself drawn to her, as if an unseen force were pulling him closer and closer. He watched with rapt attention as she moved around the court, her every movement bewitching in its grace and elegance. Her conversations were polite yet restrained, her eyes flitting quickly away whenever a man drew close to her. In the light of day, she stood in the sept like a marble statue - a beautiful image of piety and modesty. His breath caught as he noticed that her eyes were dark like coal, her hair even darker as it ran down her back like ink spilled from a quill. Every fiber of his being yearned for her, but she was beyond reach; it stirred something inside him - a fire that had been smoldering for ages, pulsing through every vein in his body until it all rushed at once to his loins and pressed urgently against the fabric of his breeches.

He felt the irresistible pull of attraction towards her as he saw her in court. He knew it was wrong—she was so young and innocent, and he was the King’s Hand sworn to serve justice with a calm impartiality. Yet despite knowing that their relationship would be difficult, if not impossible, Otto could not deny his hunger for her. The days that followed brought him more difficulty than ever before, as Otto found himself continually yearning for her and made every effort to speak with her without letting his desires take over. With each conversation, he did his best to keep his thoughts on virtuous matters, though he still noticed the curves of her body as she moved.

He was amazed at how quickly she seemed to take to him, and all too soon, his heart felt like it was taking flight. He had not expected to find himself in a situation such as this, but his feelings for her were too strong for him to ignore. He continued to fight against his feelings, knowing that he must remain a loyal subject to the King, but he could not deny the deep love and lust he felt for the woman he had only just met.

One night, after years of unspoken desire, Otto could no longer contain his urge to propose. Yet when he arrived at the young woman's chambers, he found her intoxicated with other ladies of the court. His heart was heavy as he swept her away from imminent danger and carried her into her bedroom, quickly dismissing the other young girls. The moment they entered, his breath was taken away by the room - a star-studded ceiling depicting heavenly scenes; walls adorned with tapestries of legendary battles and mythical creatures; a giant bed draped in velvet curtains of blue and green. Otto couldn't help but feel an undeniable tension between them as he set her on her feet with tenderness.

He was enthralled by her beauty, his heart racing as he took in every exquisite detail - from her porcelain skin that looked like polished ivory, to her lips that were like perfect rosebuds. "Thank you so much, Ser Otto...," she whispered sweetly and flashed him a small smile, before kicking off her slippers and laying down on the bed. All thoughts of proposing had been forgotten, replaced with an uncontrollable desire to take her right then and there. "May... may I help you with anything, my Lord?", she asked shyly, looking at him with the most tantalizing doe-eyed gaze he had ever seen.

Giving in to his primal urge, he stepped closer and grabbed her head between his hands, pulling her into a passionate kiss. "Lay down, I need you. I need your eyes to look at me like your sweetheart; I need your whispers to call out my name, I need you..." he growled hungrily, pushing up her dress to expose her pale hips which he kissed fervently, leaving thick red marks as evidence of his hunger.

Otto spread her trembling legs wider and hissed in pleasure as his fingers slid easily into her slick sweetness. He murmured into her mouth, "It seems you need me too...", his voice deep and urgent. With a steady rhythm his tongue explored her eager lips while his fingers stroked her deeper, faster. His breathing grew ragged as he savored every moan that escaped from her. "Gods, you are so tight...my innocent, beautiful girl," he murmured between desperate kisses, delighting in the way she melted for him.

He felt her powers pulling him in as she tugged him onto the bed, next to her. There was no hesitation, no room for doubt. "Otto, please don't stop.." She purred and enveloped him in a tight embrace. Quickly undoing his breeches, he nodded at her. "Strip down, my Lady, I must feast my eyes on your perfect body..."

With one fluid motion, the dress was off her shoulders and she lay flat on the bed beside him, being pulled inexorably towards his throbbing manhood. His voice quavered as he murmured in her ear "I need to feel your soft lips encase me." Unable to answer with words, he simply nodded as she tenderly took him into her hands and gazed up at him with searching eyes. "Can I?", she asked softly while tracing circles around his moist tip. Even now she was kind and humble...

In this moment, Otto felt like a god among gods. His body hummed with pleasure as the young woman beneath him looked up with wide eyes begging for more. He could feel her mouth around his manhood and the soft wetness of her tongue - he wanted to stay in this bliss forever. He tightened his grip on her head and deepened the penetration while she let out a loud moan that shivered through every inch of his aroused body. His pleasure surged and threatened to overwhelm him but he wouldn't give in just yet.

He tightly gripped her soft hips with his hands and dragged her body against his hard warmth. His eyes seared into her, smoldering with hunger as he breathed the words "Do you want me inside you?" against her lips. She shuddered in desire and nodded eagerly, arching herself up to meet him. With a deep guttural moan, Otto positioned himself between her quivering legs and thrust himself into her tightness. The pleasure was almost unbearable but they both felt it course through their veins as he slowly moved back and forth. His voice was low and commanding now: "Take me, my little dove, I know you can... Be good for me..."

From the moment he entered her, his instinctive desire drove him to move beyond what he thought was possible. Her warmth enveloped him, consuming his mind and shutting out everything else. The only thing that filled his being was her delicate scent and velvet skin, hearing her heavenly moans as she clung tightly to him with each thrust. As his climax grew closer, he knew he should have pulled away to release on the bed, but he could not resist the deep, quivering heat inside her. When his climax arrived, a loud cry of her name burst from him before he collapsed onto her exhausted body, trapping her beneath his own.

Having caught his breath, she gently pushed him to the side and quickly threw on her dress again and grinned. "Husband!", she called towards the other end of the room, where a small door opened and Larys Clubfoot emerged with an even larger smile. "Good evening, Ser Otto."

Otto's post-orgasmic haze quickly cleared as he saw her and Larys together, their hands intertwined with gleaming rings around each of their fingers. Though his mind was still slightly clouded from his encounter, Otto could not help but feel a huge wave of shame as the reality of what had happened sunk in. He had thought she was pure and innocent, but in the end it had been nothing more than a ploy by Larys to get something to hold against him in the future. It seemed she had indeed not been as naive as he'd thought, and this knowledge left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Larys continued smiling at him while the woman who had just moments ago taken his pleasure stood beside him with an air of satisfaction about her. "Congratulations wife, now let us hope that the King's Hand shall be more cautious about his decisions in the future", he said before nodding at Otto and turning away with her on his arm, disappearing again in the hidden caverns below King's Landing. Otto watched them leave, realizing too late that he should have known better than to even consider taking such risks - no matter how tempting they may be. "I shall hang you, you disgusting wretch! Behead you, Clubfoot!", he screamed and buried his face in his hands.

He remained rooted to the spot, his mind in a whirl and an ache in his heart. He had acted so rashly; he was paying the price for his foolishness now. His reputation was fractured, and there was no longer any chance of finding the kind of innocent love that he had always longed for - and yet here he was, feeling nothing but regret at the choices he had made.

Otto promised himself he would never look for love again. He wanted to focus on his own success and reputation, no matter the cost. As he walked away from the room, one thing was certain: what had already happened could not be changed. But despite this vow, thoughts of the mysterious woman lingered in his mind.

[deny-the-issue]

Rainbow Drabble Challenge

Red

Next Chapter -> Orange, Yellow

Overall Summary: This is a short love story about Otto Hightower being a sexy bastard. There WILL be a happy ending. The reader is mid to late twenties in age.

Chapter Summary: Otto Hightower contemplates your company.

beta read by @juniper-sunny <3

AO3 link

Rainbow drabble challenge

[spinster!reader] [Otto Hightower x f!reader] [Masturbation] [450 words]

If there is one thing everyone can say about Otto Hightower, is that he is careful in all aspects of the word. Careful of who to keep company with, what to eat, what to say. Everything is measured, prim, and precise. There is no room for distractions when you’re the Hand of the king.

Except, there you are, filling his chambers with a comforting presence he had only felt with his late wife before. Holding one of the many books from his private library, leaning over the arm of the decadent chair, he can’t help but take in the beauty of your youth illuminated by the vibrant red sky of the dying sun. 

A spinster, by technicality, but that made you all the more alluring. Why have you not been wed? Is it by choice or circumstance? The answers hold no real sway over his life, but his inquisitive mind yearns to know your truth. 

He knows the facts: you’re a daughter of a lower house taken in as a ward by one of the lords within the Red Keep. 

But you never left, did you? You lingered and learned. Read every book in the royal library until you had to come to Otto Hightower himself with your thirst for knowledge. And he indulges your curiosity, often much later in the day than would be deemed proper. 

How easy it would be to latch the door. To lock them inside this scarlet-painted paradise. His hand over your mouth to preserve their secret. Your body pressed against his. The ruby light a perfect complement to the blush on your cheeks. 

The soft clink of his pen against his desk rouses your attention, he watches with well-practiced indifference as you blink the fatigue away from your reading-strained eyes. Your soft smile stokes the fire in his soul, and the way you trail your hand down the length of the page pushes him to the edge of a poor decision. 

“The hour is late, my lady.”

The words, well practiced, come easily. He is no stranger to denying himself the pleasures of life, however hard it may be. You are a distraction; something he cannot afford. 

Does this stop him from palming his growing desire after you leave? From fantasizing about the curve of your body, the shape of your breasts, the feeling of your lips against his?  He grips the desk’s edge with white knuckles, urging, praying, to resist. But it is all for naught; there is only so much he can deny before breaking. There in the last tones of the setting sun, he takes you against his ornate desk in his mind’s eye and finishes in his hand at the thought.

[witchthewriter]

𝑼𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉  𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑨𝒑𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝑻𝒓𝒆𝒆 𝐶𝘩𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝐸𝑖𝑔𝘩𝑡𝑒𝑒𝑛

Personalised story for @leniabranch. Pairing: Otto Hightower x Lenia Branch Word Count: 3k Warnings: Pure smut, don't read if you're under 18!

The room was filled with warm candlelight, making the glow seep into your skin, through your flesh and into your bones. It heated you, along with the wine you had been sipping on throughout the night.

You were hot-blooded, you could say and anticipating the oncoming events. You had daydreamed about this for years, and it was finally coming true.

Your senses were high. As if you could feel every shift in temperature, feel every movement, hear the shuffle of feet and deep intake of breath.  So, when the chamber door shut, it felt like something deep inside you had as well. And yet, at the same time … something in you opened wide and waiting.

The Hand’s chambers had been deep cleaned by the servants, making sure there wasn’t anything that would make it unseemly.

Books had been put back on shelves, and the fireplace was crackling merrily. Inviting, that was the perfect word for the room. The bed was immaculately made, with crisp bed sheets. Without thinking, you ran and jumped onto the bed. It wasn’t just Otto’s anymore.

It now belonged to you too.

-✶-

She was a sight to behold, my wife. Her long dark hair and twinkling eyes made it hard for me not to drop to my knees in front of her. To hold her hand to my cheek and thank her. To thank her for choosing me, for loving me.

I was never a brilliant knight, but I earned my place nonetheless. It was all about strategizing, about anticipating; about putting yourself in your opponents shoes. And I rose to my station, it wasn’t given easily. My father made that plain to see.

And yet, something happened that I hadn’t foreseen.

A love.

And then a new love.

I had no intention of marrying again, my first wife was the love of my life. The one who knew me better than anyone else. She did her duty and bore me children. That was her; dutiful, pleasant, dignified and … obedient.

Lenia reminds me of her some days, but on others; she’s the complete opposite of my first wife.

And I will be forever grateful to the gods who granted me this happiness. For now I had a second chance, a love that would be my last.

If Lenia is to be my last love, I will die a happy man.

Lenia Bran-Hightower, standing before me in her wedding gown and I … I haven’t seen anything as beautiful as this woman.

But there’s one issue. I want her gown off. Now.

-✶-

   The way he walked toward you was invigorating.

You could feel…this heavy tension. Like you had never touched one another and this was the last time you would. Even though it wasn’t true, there was a frenzied look in Otto’s eyes that made your blood run hot.

    “May I?” His voice was husky and heavy.

It took you a moment to realise what he meant.

Your dress.

Nodding, you held out a hand and he took it.

Both hands clasped your outstretched one, one gliding up your arm making goosebumps in their wake. The other held you so softly. He brought your hand to his lips and kissed your palm. Then your wrist, then your forearm, and up until he was face to face with you.

     “Wife,” he whispered, and clasped one hand behind your head, the other around your neck and kissed you deeply.

 Warm.

He was so warm and wanting.

His hands didn’t stay in the same place. They started to roam, and he became more and more curious.

Otto’s hands were tender at first, undressing you slowly and carefully. The dress took some time to get off, but … it was purposeful. Otto wanted to prolong this as much as possible. The first time with his wife. The first time on your wedding night. He wanted to make you remember it.

With the undoing of each strap, button, and string, he kissed the exposed flesh. The white-coloured silk night dress that Sanah had gotten for you, was completely forgotten.

Moving your hair away from your neck, he kissed the pale skin there. His lips were warm and sent a flush throughout your whole body. Like lightning striking a tree. Tingles spread throughout your heated body. This felt borderline torturous. Your core was wet and waiting, and every attempt you made at touching yourself was stopped.

   “Hmmm,” you let out a sigh, and felt Otto’s lips turn into a smile.

Then he let the dress lower, and kissed your shoulder, when your white gown dropped to the floor, his body pressed firmly against your back and could feel the growing hardness pressing against your behind.

-✶-

  Otto had left your underpants on. The only piece of clothing on you. And you knew it was soaked through.

 But once he saw your near-naked form, it was like an animal to food.

Otto turned you around, so you were firmly against his front and his mouth was on yours. One hand was tangled in your hair, and the other was groping your ass, pushing you toward him. You halted the deep kiss because you didn’t want to feel his clothes any longer.

Taking a step back from him, you started undoing the many clasps and buttons on his attire. Nearly as much as yours, if not more, you sighed in frustration, and he let out a chuckle.

   “Here,” he said gruffly. Knowing exactly how to undo his clothes.

Once his own body was stark of any clothes, there was an instinctual pull from your body to his. Your eyes took in every part of his naked body.

  The hair on his chest, the broad shoulders, the slight muscle that he still retained, the v shape that pointed down to his … cock.

    A large, girthy and hard cock.

The wetness between your thighs seemed to seep down your leg at the sight.

  Your nipples were so hard you started to touch them. To ease the pain. Just like with your core, it was starting to hurt. The desire was overwhelming.

“Ah, stop that,” he growled, and stalked over to you. His eyes growing darker and darker as he got closer to you. A shiver ran down your back and your knees nearly gave out.

                 You knew he was going to fuck you all night.

-✶-

His mouth kissed every part of your body. Soft lips matched with a rough beard, kissing behind your ear, your neck and finally, god, finally, your chest. You sighed in relief as his mouth suckled you. The sensation was otherworldly, and one that you decided you would never get used to.

Laying you on your back, Otto knelt at the edge of the bed and let your naked body get comfortable. The now wrinkled sheets were so soft against your bare back. This is what a cloud feels like, you decided in a split second. But your attention wasn’t gone for long.

With peaked nipples, you watched as Otto nudged your legs apart, his face moving closer and closer to the core of you. His lips, tongue, and hands, moved from the bottom of your feet, trailing your legs, knees, and thighs.

Without breaking eye contact, he moved your thighs far apart and then licked the wet silk fabric that covered your sex.

Propped up on your forearms, you watched as he slowly, god, ever so fucking slowly swiped a finger over your wet underwear and admired it. You were so wet that your fluid was dripping down his fingers, and he hadn’t even touched your bare cunt yet.

   “Otto-“ you groaned and moved your hips forward.

“Wait, my pet,” he was so close to your core that you could feel his breath there.

You let out a whine and it was like a siren’s call.

  Otto stroked his nose up and down your silk covered cunt, smelling you, letting you know that he was ready to do the most filthy things to you.

-✶-

Fingers, he started with his fingers first. Dipping each in, making you sob with anticipation.

    “Just fuck me!” You cried out, but he didn’t move from his spot on the floor.

His tongue was next, swiping the folds, lapping up every part of that between your legs. You couldn’t help but run your fingers through his hair and grip tight. Otto didn’t seem to mind. In fact, it made him even more eager to keep you waiting.

At times you pushed his tongue in further by driving his face forward. Whenever you did this, Otto laughed. He knew the tension he was building. It was purposeful.

And then he slipped two fingers inside you and started sucking at that one sweet spot every woman has. Your clit throbbed with the action, and tears streaked your face.

  Otto pumped his fingers in and out. You moaned, and cried, “harder!”

He obeyed and got up. His cock, precum already covering the tip, rubbed against your folds. Teasing, teasing, continuously teasing. But you knew you would get your revenge.

When he slowly entered you, a gasp emitted from your throat. Instinctually, you wrapped your legs around his waist, and he was completely inside of you.

You felt so full. For a moment he let you feel the whole size of him, to let you get used to him. Bending over you, his face buried itself in the crook of your neck and rested there as his hips pumped in and out.

It was slow at first, then before you knew it, he was fucking you so hard and fast that you couldn’t help the noises that came from your mouth.

     “Louder,” he groaned, and moved the hair from your face.

“Fuck!” You yelled as he went particularly deep. The moans were unending, but you could feel your orgasm building.

It was like an orchestra, suspense, anticipation, tension, it was all building inside of you. And then you said it, “I’m – I’m going to-“ and nodded.

Squeezing around his waist and pushing yourself down onto him, you came.

-✶-

You breathed in and out, quickly. It was one of the best orgasms you had ever had. Better than when you were by yourself. Better than the first time with Otto. He was holding back before.

    When Otto came, the noises he made were heavenly. You didn’t think he could make those type of sounds; deep and needy. A noise specifically emitting the feelings he had felt for years. A yearning that was finally reached.

When he finished inside you, then slid himself out, you smiled at him. He mirrored it. Both of you were flushed. Exhausted from the lead up to the wedding, the ceremony, the reception and this. You were shattered.

  The world was still dark. The stars still shone and you looked at your husband for what would happen next.

  You could go again and again but you saw a slight weariness to Otto and you didn’t want to push him. With a little rest, you knew exactly what you wanted to do next.

-✶-

You feel asleep in his arms. Both of you naked and covered in each other. It was only a few hours of sleep before you awoke. At first you didn’t know where you were, but the fire and the arms helped you figure it out.

   For a few moments, you watched Otto sleep. His face was much younger in slumber, the worries of the world were far away in his dreamworld.

You smiled, contented.

And then figured out what your husband was dreaming about.

    His cock had hardened in sleep, and you gasped.

“Touch it,” he mumbled, slowly opening his eyes. Butterflies erupted in your stomach.

   “Well, I certainly do want to return the favour,” you said with an innocent tone to your voice.

 Shifting on the bed, Otto sat against the headboard, while you laid on your stomach, in front of his crotch.

His swollen cock was heavy in your hands. You had no idea how to do this, but you had overheard many things throughout your life. And … sucking cock was supposedly one of men’s favourite things.

Your hands gripped the long cock of your husband and gently moved upwards and down, and he groaned with the movement. Otto’s eyes closed and, his hands gripped the soiled sheets.

Then you licked the tip, which had a clear liquid almost like your own wetness. An idea popped into your head, and you moved your fingers to swipe some of your own and smoothed it over his dick.

He watched as you did so, and tears nearly ran down his cheeks.

   “Gods,” was all he could say, and then his hips moved so his cock was closer to your face.

Running  your tongue from the base of his cock to the tip, you felt your husband shudder. You smirked, knowing this was going to be the perfect reprisal.

You kept licking him, ever so lightly. Knowing it was driving him insane. Serves him right.

You didn’t need your hands to keep his cock upright, it was hard enough on its own. So one hand cupped his balls, while the other traced the tip of his cock and smoothed the liquid over your lips.

   “Be reasonable,” he uttered, a gleam in his eye as you looked at him.

“Absolutely not,” you replied and then opened your mouth wide.

     You gagged on his cock, spit sticking to the girthy phallus. The grip he had on the sheets had moved to your head, and he was doing his best not to move your head further downward and fuck your mouth.

But he let you lead.

Let you make the decisions, no matter how irritating it was becoming.

  You made sure to hold eye contact with him while his dick was in your mouth. Your other hand still massaging his balls, and like a warning, he growled at you.

“Fuck,” he said it like a threat and a shiver ran down your spine.

   “Okay, I will.”

Getting up, you sat right ontop of his cock and let it slide inside of you.

   “Like this?” You said and cocked your head to the side, letting your body move in a fluid motion. Your nipples were hard, and Otto moved to attend to them, but you denied him.

     “No,” you said and clasped his hands together and moved down hard on his cock.

He smirked, and you wanted to fuck that smirk right off his fucking face.

Your blood was hot, so hot that you moved with a fierce ferocity. Bucking forwards and backwards, your tits bouncing with the movement, inches from your husbands face. He grumbled a string of swear words, and you smiled.

“Don’t make me wait," he pleaded.

     “Please,” you commanded.

“Don’t make me wait, please-“ He cried out, his hands nearly breaking free of your grip. He could have easily done so, but he wanted to play along. Now, now he was ready to take over. But you didn’t want him to. So, he wouldn’t.

  You grinned at the submission, it was all you needed and let him release. Both his hands grabbed at your tits, his fingers pinching and pulling. Making you groan very, loudly.

Surely the whole castle would hear the both of you. In fact, some had. And they shared knowing smiles to one another. A man and his bride.

-✶-

I couldn’t have asked for more than this. She was, is, perfect.

I wanted to memorise every curve of her body, every part of her flesh. Lenia was a gift that I would cherish until my dying breath.

Now asleep, I cradled her in my arms. I hadn’t held a woman like this since my wife.

I had slept alone for those years. Not interested in the flesh of a random woman. Not like so many other men in King’s Landing.

Man and woman need to be wed before lying together. And I had broken that oath. At least I am now wed to her.

Shifting in her sleep, she moved closer to my chest. Reaching out, I stroked her hair and smiled down at her.

I made another oath right then. That nothing bad would ever happen to her. That I would protect her always, no matter what happened between us. Lenia was a star amongst these people, and I had to make sure she would thrive.

Stroking her hair, her shoulder, her arm, I couldn’t help but admire her skin. The freckles and moles that littered here and there.

I would know this body. Know it better than my own.

-✶-

You watched as your husband left the warmth of the bed and stoked the fire, making sure the flames were burning well and surely. His bare body made you blush. Made you remember everything you had done together. The way you had both moaned in delight. It made you a tad embarrassed. But why should you be? He was your husband. It was … exactly what everyone else did. Everywhere in the world.  

   “Are you hungry?” Early light was seeping through the windows, and you couldn’t believe how quickly the time had passed. You had napped in between fucking, touching and making each other moan.

You were going to say no, but your gurgling stomach betrayed you. All this movement had taken it out of you.

   “I’ll see to it,” Otto replied with a chuckle. He put on a fresh pair of pants and a white shirt, then a long robe. Even now, with his hair mussed, he looked so handsome. So…regal.

     “Husband?” You called out and sat up in bed, loving that you were able to say the word to the man you loved.

“Yes, wife?” Otto said with a hand on the doorhandle. He smiled at you, a ghost of the same smirk he wore all night.

    “Don’t take too long,” you said sweetly, and then let the sheets which covered your body, drop.

[just-some-random-blogger]

I want Otto to spit in my mouth then call me a good girl as he proceeds to wrap his hand around my throat as he ruins me until I’m a bimbo cumdump and tells me that I’m his breedable little slut 😇 daddy kink is most included

A fic like this would be so amazing if you have any spare time 😭 daddy kink is up to you if you’re comfortable

My Lord

You adore getting in trouble, knowing what awaits you. But you fear you may have gone too far for roping in his son, Gwayne.

Otto Hightower x Reader | 1k+ | cw: fem!reader, sorry gwayne girlies he's only mentioned, age gap, you saw the ask this is just filth, smut (drunk sex, piv, degradation, choking, creampie), typos, etc.

A/N: anon be honest did you read my tywin fic and say 'yah, now do otto' cos HAHAHAHH

I feel like the room is closing in on me, and the ceiling was about to come into my face. There was no balance in my body, and yet somehow I was still upright.

"You stupid little girl."

I feel a pull on my arm, and the next thing I know I'm felled on the bed. I moan, happy to be on a soft surface. A few moments pass and I feel the bed dip in front of me. A hand comes to my nape and shoulder. Soon, I am sitting upright.

I smile when I see the beard and worry lines before me, "my loooove."

Otto pulls his face away when I reach for it. He pushes them down and brings a cup to my lips, "drink."

I do so ardently. I finish the whole cup of water. I gaze dotingly upon him when he pulls the cup away and wipes the corner of my lips. He sets the cup on the bedside table and I slide onto his lap. I press my face into his neck, "you smell good."

He recoils, trying to push me off, "and you smell like cheap mead."

It is a halfhearted attempt, which is why I manage to rake my fingers up his shoulders and tug at his collar. I pepper kisses on his neck, "smell so good."

Otto cannot keep his hands to himself; he brings his hands to my hips. He sighs, looking at me. He pulls his face back enough that I have to stop my ministrations. I whine in return. His brows tighten, "if you wanted me why waste my coin indulging debauchery with my son?"

I lick my lips and shift on his lap. I pull my skirt up and press my groin against his. He groans as I scratch my nails on his cheeks before cupping them, "I want to give you a son."

His expression immediately shifts. He stiffens, in more ways than one.

I roll my hips, "or 10."

With a heavy huff, I am pushed on my back and his legs knock mine open. I release a deep sigh as I pull my legs to my chest and reach into his coat, "Otto."

His response is pushing my skirt up and pulling my smallclothes down. My stomach drops when he presses his hot hands into the back of my thighs. His eyes are down turned, eyeing the glistening heat of my core. I look down at him but throw my head back when he rubs circles into my folds.

He moans at the sound, "you are a desperate harlot, aren't you?"

Before I can retort, he pushes his fingers into my mouth. I grab his wrist in surprise but suck them nonetheless. A line forms between his brows as I swirl my tongue around his digits. I nod to his question and he pulls his fingers away.

I prop myself on my elbows and watch as he frees himself from his breeches. He takes his half-hard cock and presses it against me, thrusting against my slick until it is coated and he's fully erect.

I try to grab him to guide him in, but he takes my hands and forces them by the side of my head. He looks down at me as he grinds, "you forget yourself. I should punish you for it."

I whimper and shake my head, "no, please. I'm a good girl."

"You are a stupid, fucking whore who does not listen to her lord liege," he stops grinding to grab my throat and the back of my knee. He pushes my head back and leans into my ear, "perhaps I should finish in your mouth, make you the true whore you are."

I feel my core flutter at the idea. I knew he would not let me peak though, and I so badly wanted to.

He begins to roll his hips, "mmm, I'm sure such a depraved act excites you."

"Please," I mumble.

"Please what, foolish thing?"

"Want you to fill me."

He takes a moment then sighs. I moan when he enters me and plays with my clit. His hand comes up to muffle my mouth and I happily whine into it. He pushes my thigh down again when he starts slowly bucking into me, "does my filthy come slut want me to breed an heir into her?"

I whine and grab his coat, knuckles turning white as I pull him into me.

He begins to thrust faster, "maybe then you'll stay away from my heir now that you have something better to do."

The flicking of his hips grows more intense with every stroke. The friction of his movements stimulates my sensitive nub, making me arch my back and groan.

He frees my mouth of his hand, only to bring it back down to my throat. He pushes himself up a bit and maneuvers more roughly, "I'll fuck you every night, watch my seed spill from your cunt-"

I cry out his name.

"-and once your belly swells, you'll remember the debauchery that made it so."

All the sounds that remained were that of fucking and my whining. Soon, the heat in my stomach burned hotter and hotter and I was dying for release. Otto rubs the sides of my neck and pants, "will you give me a babe like a dutiful come slut?"

I nod rapidly and whimper. His name falls desperately from my lips a couple times before I am overcome with my mind fogging peak. My body shakes in satisfaction and my body melts in hot passion. Soon, Otto grunts and releases into me. He makes sure to chase every bit of pleasure before slowly coming to a halt. He sighs and looks down at me.

He rubs my thighs a few times before pulling out. He watches me quiver as his seed seeps out of me, molten and thick. Otto tilts his head, "clean yourself up, whore. When I return, you better be asleep."

[written-in-flowers]

Can we have more Otto Hightower x Rosebud smut or is that off the table? Cause that would be devastating to my mental health 🥲

Absolutely not! Rosebud x Otto is my favorite smut series lol I'd never stop writing for them!

Pairing: otto x fem!reader

Tags: pretty vanilla compared to what they normally do lol creampie, foreplay, fingering, sex while standing, doggystyle position, both of them being absolutely horny for each other. clothed male/naked female sex, sex with clothes on(?)

A Quick One

He came up behind you when you'd stripped for your bath. You turned to greet him, but that familiar dark glint in his eyes made you pause. Warmth built up in your cheeks as he removed his cloak and approached you.

"Lady Wife," he said in his deep voice, the implication sitting right behind his low tone.

"Lord Husband," you replied, giving a playful curtsy even when fully nude.

His eyes swept over your naked form in front of the fireplace. The slight evening chill made your nipples harden, and the sight of him coming closer aroused you. Lifting your chin to meet his eyes, the smooth leather of his gloves sent shivers down to your core. Otto said nothing as he placed a chaste kiss on your lips, his beard and mustache tickling your mouth briefly. You held back the whimper in your throat from the light touch alone.

"You look beautiful this evening, love," he said, kissing you again. "Enchanting."

"Because I'm nude?" you grinned, putting your hands on his chest. Finger tracing the hand brooch on his breast, you forced yourself to keep from brushing into him right away. You felt tempted to push your breasts against him, so you could feel the smooth fabric on your sensitive nipples.

"It's when I find you the most beautiful," he smirked.

He pulled you into his arms. You trembled when his gloved hands smoothed over your waist and hips to your bottom, where he gave both cheeks a squeeze. Seeing the reaction, Otto continued groping them as he kissed you deeply. It had been too long since your husband touched you this way. With your son, his duties as Hand of the King, and general court life, moments with Otto became scarce as of late. Locking your lips with his, you slid your tongue into his mouth. Your arousal burned the longer he groped and kissed you; you gently pushed yourself to his clothed body, the mixture of fabrics sparking more sensitivity.

"I've missed you," you whispered, breaking from his lips and sliding your hands up his neck, "I've been so lonely without you."

"Forgive me, darling," he breathed, cupping one of your breasts. You whined at the thumb grazing your nipple. "It was not by my doing but-"

"-But The King's," you finished for him. "Must he always keep your from me?"

He chuckled in the next kiss. Bringing you away from the tub, Otto guided you over to the bed. Excitement flourished in your stomach once your knees hit the edge. You turned around so your body molded perfectly to his, and gave his hands further access to you. He didn't remove a stitch of clothing. Not even his gloves. You whimpered when he slid his hands up your sides to your tits.

"I am his Hand, Rosebud," he groaned in your ear. Grabbing both of them, the black leather of his gloves teased your naked breasts. "It is my duty to serve His Grace and the realm."

"And me?" you pouted, grinding into his groin. The slightest bit of hardness had you pushing against them. "I am part of the realm, am I not?"

He pressed a kiss to your neck, beard prickling your bare skin, and laughed. "You are."

"Which means you must serve me as well, does it not?"

"It does." He pinched both of your nipples, whining with you when you sqiurmed in his arms. "How may I serve you, Lady Hightower?"

You turned your head, craning your neck to reach his ear. He lowered it further to press kisses to the curve of your throat. "I'd like you to fuck me," you said, the filth from your lips making him groan, "Hard. Fill me with more of your cum, and get me pregnant again."

"As you wish, my lady."

He continued squeezing your breasts with one hand as he slipped the other between your thighs. The cool leather against your heat had you whining once again. You felt the padded fingers swirl around your throbbing clitoris, deftly touching all the spots that made you weak in his hands. Middle finger rubbing up and down your swelling clit, you could feel your entrance already clenching. Each time his fingers came slightly close, it tightened in hopes of catching them. You moaned louder when those fingers rubbed you from side to side rapidly, keeping the brushes light and quick over your dampening sex. His fingers thicker due to the gloves, Otto only slid one finger inside you. Propping one leg on the bed, you kept hold of him as he fingered you in gentle pumps at first.

"My sweet Rosebud," he moaned when you reached a hand behind you for his cock. His length already pressed into his trousers, making a large bulge you cupped easily. "Always so eager for me," he stuffed his finger further inside you and making you arch your back, "Ever since we met."

"It's hard to control it sometimes," you confessed. Expertly, you untied his breeches and pulled them down just enough to withdraw him. Having his hard length in your hand only aroused you further. "Is it wrong for a wife to want to please her husband?"

"Not at all," he moaned, pushing forward into your hand in time with his finger.

The two of you touched for a while longer before he bent you over the bed. Your body already so accustomed to his size, you took it easily. Gripping the bed sheets, keeping your legs spread apart, you stayed still as Otto feverishly pounded into you. As always, one of his hands cupped your breast to pinch your nipple while you rubbed your aching clitoris for him. You made your fingers go in time with his thrusts, the need for an orgasm becoming hotter and hotter.

You both came quicker than usual. All the tension built up over time exploded into a hard, body-quaking orgasm that had you muffling your cries. He kept himself deep inside you for several minutes, doing his usual routine of pushing his seed further. Cedric already growing into a toddler, you'd told Otto you wished for another and he gladly agreed. When he finally pulled out, you stood up on aching and wobbly knees.

"Let's bathe together," he said in your ear, and you knew he was far from done with you.

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Fire on the Mountain - Masterlist

Pairing: Otto Hightower (House of the Dragon) x OFC (Lia Costayne) Warnings: Canon typical sexism, canon typical violence, angst, smut, age gap, power imbalance. Individual warnings will be applied to each chapter.

Summary: Lia Costayne, childhood friend of Rhaenyra Targaryen and Alicent Hightower, has always had lofty ambitions, and is all too happy to use Alicent's father to advance her position at court. Otto sees greatness in Lia too, however, their visions of what success looks like for her could not be more different.

Author's note: Header image by @vampire-exgirlfriend. No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

Act One

Chapter one

Chapter two - coming soon!

[adarkandmagicalforest]

An Irritation

pairing: Otto Hightower/Targaryen reader (twin to Daemon)

warnings: Mildly Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Smut

contains: Explicit Smut, Hate Sex, BItter Sex, Cunnilingus, Brief Cock Warming

whenever her twin brother ended up inevitably irritating her in some way, she always had the same threat for him

'well, perhaps the lord hand might enjoy my company tonight'

until one day her threat becomes realized

Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight, Part Nine, Epilogue

It normally got her what she wanted.

Just the threat alone had always been enough to rankle Daemon, his utter dislike of that cunt Otto Hightower and the thought of her going to him over either of her own brothers enough to bother him into submission, or, more usually, at least into compromise. 

But not today.

Today, her threat was treated with a mere bob of his brows and a daring look. "Do as you will, sister dear." Her twin replied. It seemed that she had used this threat one too many times, to the point that her brother no longer believed her capable of it at all.

But she was a dragon - and she would show him exactly what she could do.

So the ivory-haired princess turned her back on her brother, slamming the door behind her as she stormed off to locate the Hand of the King. She did not look back to see if Daemon had followed her - she knew he hadn't. But he would hear of her exploits soon enough, she would make it quite certain.

The small council chambers were empty, so she went to the Tower of the Hand next.

Sure enough, there were men guarding the door, men who opened the door for her after she demanded to be let inside. 

The Hand's chambers were decorated with emerald curtains and held a tower motif that the princess always thought was rather boring. But then, this did fit Otto to a tee, whom she always saw as an equally boring man whose singular desire was to linger with very powerful people. She and Daemon both found him to be a dour cunt, and had in the past (as well as to this day) made sport of infuriating him, as that was the only time he was interesting to them.

Otto Hightower had a rather dull look to him as well. He was tall, but not mountainous. His features were plain, but not so much as to be called ugly. And yet Viserys kept his uninteresting council and his uninteresting presence about him, despite the opportunities to choose any other. She thought it queer. Daemon thought it an insult.

"Princess." The Hand had been sitting in front of his hearth when she stormed in. He'd stood immediately at the sight of her, and she noticed that even while lounging in supposed relaxation, the man still wore his tight doublet and golden pin. He even still had his boots on. "By what reason do you force your way into my chambers?" He demanded of her, as if he had any authority.

The Princess turned her head to his guards. "Leave." She commanded them. 

They did, albeit with a large amount of hesitation – but she was their Princess, whom were they to argue?

"What is the meaning of this?" Otto repeated himself, quite irritated now and coming closer as if he might take her by her arm and drag her out.

If only he could be so daring, she thought with bemusement.

Instead of answering him, (his voice was a low, grating thing) she merely grabbed hold of the front of his doublet and yanked him down, ignoring his grunt of surprise even while her lips captured his in a silencing kiss.

His shock lasted enough time for her to pull him even more into the embrace, her lips dominating his until her tongue finally enterred his mouth, moving against his own hotly as his wiry beard tickled her. It was surprisingly pleasant, with him tasting of bitter tea and saltwater, the wrongness of it all lighting her lust all ablaze - at least until his hands gripped her biceps and he yanked himself away.

"What," Otto nearly growled, low, fury clashing in his eyes. "Do you think you are doing, Princess?" 

Finding his fury to be rather exciting, the dragon was not deterred. Her hands released his collar and instead went to the garnet-studded belt on her gown, making short work of it. "I'm sure you're familiar with the procedure, Otto." She said impishly, dropping the belt to the rug below them as her hands then went to the laces of her gown, vastly enjoying the way his face grew somewhat panicked as she did so.

"You will stop this!" He hissed, his hands reaching for her arms so as to stop her from dropping the red silk to the floor, but to do so he had to get close to her again, which the princess took full advantage of.

This time, when she kissed him she bit him as well - sinking her teeth into his lower lip, just hard enough to hurt, the boring old Hand nearly snarled back. But then, she had always angered him as Daemon had. It was him who had convinced Viserys to marry their brother off to another woman rather than her. It was Otto who had encouraged Viserys to wait to betroth her to a new man, one of good Valyrian stock. Corlys Velaryon's younger brother had been courting her for what felt like years now, but only from his spit of rock and far from court. But then, Vaemond bored her also. 

Otto's blood leaked from where her teeth had sunk in, like iron and salt, and she hummed with satisfaction at the taste, pressing herself firmly against his body as her hands continued their work on her dress. She'd done the hardest part before she had ever arrived in his chambers, and so when her dress fell, it was her naked body that was revealed, all pale milky flesh and pebbled nipples as the cool air washed over her. The only scraps left to her were her black stockings on her legs, embroidered with roaming red dragons around her thighs. She was an erotic sight, and even Otto Hightower could not deny such a fact. 

She felt the moment she got her way from him. It was in his sneer, in the raise of his lip she felt before suddenly his hands were on her waist, grasping her pretty body roughly as the typically quite boring man became even more interesting to her as he suddenly began devouring her.

The princess moaned as Otto yanked her backwards, towards his bedchamber she presumed, his kisses growing deeper and wetter as he hungrily moved against her. He was pulling her so roughly that her steps stumbled and dragged, and soon, he had all but lifted her up into his arms before carrying her to his bed.

"Is this what you came here for?" Otto demanded of her coarsely after dropping her onto the mattress, his shaking anger blowing out the pupils in his eyes and giving him the look of a mad dog. The princess found it rather an attractive look for him, especially coupled with the aggressive way he knelt over her. "You want to be treated this way? By me?" 

"Who else would I be, Otto?"  She asked with a toothy grin, propping herself up by her arms, spreading her pale thighs open to him as if she was a lovely dessert. From what she'd heard, she was one. 

Oh he was pissed beyond all belief, she thought with thrilled delight. She could feel the neediness spread within her, arousal making her cunt wet, so wet that she knew he could see it.

And when he had? 

That was the moment she saw his resolve truly break. The very sight was a fascinating one. 

And so, the previously quite boring man (and hers and Daemons largest detractor) knelt forward onto the bed and yanked her harshly by the back of her knees, spreading her legs wide and a bit painfully before he delved his face there. The touch felt punishing and delicious. His tongue was strong and forceful, though too unpracticed, but that was no matter when she gripped at his hair and began grinding against his mouth - his gruff moan made her gasp with pleasure as she felt it through her cunt.

Otto was better at serving as a tool than a practitioner of the craft. She knew how she wanted to be touched more intimately than he did, and she moved him by his hair in the way that she’d learned years ago that she liked most. A few times from Daemon, when she could stand his company. Once from Otto’s own son. Those memories made her soaking wet upon the Hand’s tongue, more erotic than they should have been while this man was between her legs. What would he think if he was to learn that his son had been where he was now, licking and sucking at her cunt? 

She could not help but moan breathlessly at the thought.

But it seemed he only had a certain amount of patience from her grip on his hair - soon enough, he was ripping himself away from her again, kissing her of his own volition now, the flavor of her core on his tongue, tart like wine. 

His urgency made her laugh - but that only seemed to anger him, as if her giggle was an insult. 

"Cease that at once," Otto demanded against her lips, his hands beginning to roam her again, their course grasping and painful and intense, only softening when they reached her breasts, though the way his thumb rubbed purposefully at her pink nipple made her arch her back and sigh with pleasure. "Do you enjoy that?" He asked gruffly, capturing her nipple between his knuckles, pulling at them. 

"I'd enjoy it far more if you kept on." She breathed, unable to keep her smirk away as his eyes flashed again. He was still fully dressed, but this did not bother her. She almost preferred it, rather enjoying the look of her naked body against his dark clothes and layers of fine wool. The fabric of his trousers rubbing against her inner thighs almost like the coarse body of Cannibal when she rode him.

Otto's hand kneaded at her small breasts, until her nipples were stiff and sensitive. "Pretty," He murmured quietly, the comment somehow sounding unkind. She wished he would have put his lips back to good work – she needed more from him. 

For once serving her eldest brother's comment of he being a fine and thoughtful servant (though if Viserys saw them now, this comment would be never spoken again – at best, Otto Hightower would lose his position and at worse, she’d be married off to him) the older man lodged his leg between her thighs, giving her something firm to grind against while he lowered himself to kiss her again, gentler than she expected, while his free hand reaching up to grasp her by the back of her neck. But soon his kiss was beginning to grow more hungry, especially when she grew tired of his softness and pushed herself forward demandingly, wanting him rough, wanting him cruel. 

The Hand did not fail her in this - his kiss soon broke away, moving against her neck where his coarse beard rubbed against her sensitive skin, his teeth joining against her flesh when she incessantly yanked on his body, looking for more. 

Soon, his hands were punishing, his thigh rocking against her cunt until she ached, her eagerness soaking through the fabric until she was sure it would stain. 

And then he bit her. A proper bite, not the grazing of his teeth against her neck as he had been. No, he bit her, hard, on her shoulder, as if to leave proof of their coupling marred on her skin - this made her gasp loudly and then for her laugh of surprised delight to follow. 

Then, the princess had enough. 

She was a dragon at heart, and if Otto wanted to ride her, then he would have to give an appropriate fight for it. 

It only took a single shove to put the Hand off course and a single push to put him on his back. And so she straddled him as she had once straddled Cannibal, her hands batting his away as she went for his trousers, undoing the laces with skilled fingers as she took in his enraged expression. But by the time he had thought to grasp for her again, she had already taken his cock in hand - not quite a tower, but long enough for her use. The Princess lifted herself up, rubbing the blunt head of his member against her before sinking down upon him in one strong motion. 

"Fuck fuck!" Otto grunted, an amusing thing from such a man who so rarely cursed. The last time she remembered, she had just broken one of her suitors fingers. The suitor had been too familiar and grabby, what did it matter if he was some fancy lord from Highgarden? If one wanted to ride a dragon, they had to be prepared to suffer what would happen to them should they fail. Otto had gruffly cursed her, accusing her of the same mercurial violence that Daemon had, not listening to a single word she said until Viserys had forced him to listen to the truth. And now here he was, between her thighs as she grasped at his hands, leading one between her legs, where she had his cock deep inside of her. 

"Do you know how I claimed Cannibal, Otto?" The princess asked him suddenly, her voice airy with pleasure as she moved, pressing his hand against her so she might grind her clit against it, the ecstasy dazzling. 

"I - no, princess." The older man seemed to be having trouble paying much attention to her words, his eyes were traveling sharply from where the base of his cock was being revealed, soaking wet, whenever his princess lifted her hips as she moved - and then to her face, as was polite when speaking to a member of the royal family, whom Otto had always desired to suck at the teat of. 

"I was naught but a young girl at the time." She explained, moving herself faster now, leaning forward and putting her hand against his shoulder to brace herself as she spread her knees. This gave her more power to fuck herself on his cock, a thing that made Otto's hand reach up to grasp her by her nape, as if he could keep her locked in place. "At Dragonstone, he was the most vicious of dragons. The most hungry - and the flesh he craved most of all was that of other dragons." A moan stopped her then, as she found that spot inside herself, that deep rooted ache that she knew would send her to her peak.

"A dangerous, violent creature. He is well suited to you, princess." Otto commented with no lack of difficulty as he thrust upwards to her, attempting to fuck her rather than be fucked himself. His voice was dark and heady, a well-suited change in her opinion, but she would not allow him the pleasure of riding her, not yet. She hadn't finished her story.

"I went to the caves of the volcano f-first." She breathed, stuttering when the Hand's hand decided to make her story as hard to tell as it was for him to listen to, his deft thumb rubbing harshly over her delicate folds, toying with her clit until he found a motion that pleasured her to the point of trembling. She must give this to Otto Hightower - once he found something that worked, he did not cease nor change his tune. "I... I went with a wheelbarrow full of meat, goats,  cattle and little cakes from the castle kitchens... I even burnt them first." 

She had to close her eyes then, her hand forming a fist against his doublet as she felt herself grow closer and closer to a peak. "And then he came from behind me.. I hadn't noticed him, he was a fright." 

"And he chose you." Otto said, his voice regaining some decorum even balls deep in her, as she'd stopped rocking now. His cock was merely being kept nice and warm inside her cunt while his fingers made her burn hot and wet. 

"By the time I had climbed upon his back, the wheelbarrow was empty and my Cannibal had a new rider... Nyke ivestretan zirȳla naejot dohaeragon issa, naejot rȳbagon naejot issa se ziry gōntan. Issa merbugon valonqar iksos nēdenka, sīr olvie sīr bona ziry daor sagon ōregion isse se zaldrīzes ripo. Jāhor ao dohaeragon se rȳbagon naejot issa hae issa zaldrīzes, Otto?" I told him to serve me, to listen to me and he did. My Cannibal is fierce, so much so that he cannot be held in the Dragon pit. Will you serve and listen to me as my dragon has, Otto?

Her use of High Valyrian fell upon non-understanding ears, but her coy rumble of the foreign language appeared to create a fierce desire in Otto.

As suddenly, he had enough toying - he hated Valyrian. Hated that the royal family could converse in a way that he could not know, even in the same room as he was. That they were above him, that they were more than a common people as he was. Their language was another way they became otherworldly. And the Hand craved this otherworldliness, craved their power, craved their dragons and fire - and now, it seemed he had a craving for her too, as much as he also resented her.

Because then as she had done to him, Otto grabbed onto her hips roughly, his fingers digging into her in a way that would surely leave bruises upon her flesh, and he shoved his cock inside of her again with a single motion - her legs wrapped around his waist, her black stocking-covered limbs digging deeply into his thighs to encourage his action. His kisses returned, harsh and hungry and yet worshiping over her lips, her neck, her chest as he thrust forcefully inside of her. He fucked her like she was the power he craved, the motion making her gasp and grab at him, pulling on his trousers so he was moving as hard as he possibly could - they would both ache in the morning, hopefully. It would please her to no end to still feel what he had done to her while sitting in both of her brothers company at breakfast. 

"Lo - Lo ao keligon, kesan ipradagon ao glaesagon!" If you stop, I'll eat you alive. She threatened weakly, desperately, her head falling back as he forced her peak to come over her, the pleasure making her moan loudly as she came over his cock, especially when he grasped at the back of her head, tangling his fingers in her white hair as he forced her to look up into his angry eyes while he too took his pleasure of her. The princess felt him inside her, filling her with his spend as he grunted another, "Fuck," into her ear.

Satisfaction weighed her limbs like stones as Otto pulled himself from her, his cock pulling from her full cunt with an amusing squelching noise, making her giggle with a bit of a drunken daze to her. 

The Hand didn't appear as bothered at her laughter as he had been earlier as he laid himself beside her, his chest still heaving from the effort it took for him to fuck her. He was hardly a young man, especially compared to her mere three-and-twenty, but at least their fuck had been a rather interesting one. 

"Se hembar jēda ao vēdros nyke sīr, kostan emagon naejot emagon iā tȳne urnēptre, ñuha āeksio." I may require another show the next time i am infuriated with you. The princess murmured softly, turning to use his arm as a cushion, not caring that his cum was leaking out of her and onto his bedclothes, the Valyrian easier to speak for her just then than the Common Tongue. 

"Do you often revert to High Valyrian while intimate, Princess?" Otto finally said, making her smirk into his doublet. His irritation was back and palpable, even as his right arm moved up and draped around her waist, his long fingers smoothing over her hip and down her backside. In an almost delightfully dirty move, his digits ducked between her arsecheeks and down to the petals of her cunt, where his seed was dripping down her thigh. He was annoyed with her for not making motion to avoid making a mess on his bed. She didn't care. 

" Mirri jēdi. " Sometimes.

His hand gripped her arse. His claws dug into her flesh as he lifted her cheek. His left hand brought over a handkerchief from his pocket and swiped over her cunt, rubbing through her sensitive flesh until she was clean, the action less courteous than it was the action of a disgruntled servant.

This thought, the princess enjoyed, and she wiggled her hips slightly, enjoying a brief fantasy of making another mess that he might have to tidy. 

But for this, she received a sharp swat on her bottom. 

"You are an irritation." Otto Hightower accused humorlessly, putting his soiled handkerchief away before lying himself back. She returned to using him as a cushion, and he did not argue against this usage. He was a servant to House Targaryen, after all. 

[asa-do-your-thing]

I know I have like 5 open Fics (which I am working on, I promise!) but here are ideas I had that I'd love to write or read:

(if you like on of these send me an ask)

18+ NSFW Zone

Edit: I crossed out the ones I've already done or been tagged in

Aegon realizing he loves (like full on butterflies in stomach) Aemond's fiancee

Alicent rediscovers her Lust for women when Helaena gets a new lady-in-waiting

Aemond falls in love with a female Ghost

Otto with a corruption kink finds out his object of desire is Married and has severe cognitive dissonance

Criston x F Reader but ancient Greek mythology

Jace fucking reader in the rain

What starts as a cute afternoon baking turns into a bit of food play with Helaena

Cregan tries to gift you a direwolf only to find out that the direwolf has separation anxiety

Rhaenyra pregnancy play with a daughter in law

Rewrite Goethe's Erlkönig with Laenor or Harwin and Luke

And most obviously Rhaenyra x Reader x Alicent (SFW and NSFW)

[wholoveseggs]

I’m so upset with the lack of Daemon requests so I wanted to give you a challenge.

Reader x Daemon on a dragon. That is all :)

Ride the Sky

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

{Daemon Targaryen X Hightower!Reader} As the eldest daughter of Otto Hightower, your own life feels completely out of your control. But a chance encounter with Prince Daemon gives you the opportunity to step out of your cage and touch the sky.

♡♡ ahhhh I love you @elijahstwink, this was such a fun idea & I 100% believe Daemon would do this... ♡♡

4.8k words - Warnings: smut, hightower!reader, fingering, sex on dragon back, daemon being a flirt & hating Otto, kinda mentions of marital rape? tyland lannister {ew} && caraxes being the best noodle boi...

♡♡ Tag-List ♡♡

{Daemon Targaryen Tag-List}

@elijahstwink @starshipcookie @absolutemarveltrash @odairtrqsh @darkened-writer @cheneyq @fallout-girl219

The tower of the hand was always such a foreboding place for you. It never meant good news when you were summoned and this time was no different. You stood there, shifting from foot to foot, and finally, the man you were supposed to call father, turned around from the window. He had been watching the city below, and now his gaze was on you.

"I've heard rumors," he said and you flinched. This wasn't the first time he had accused you of doing something inappropriate. In his mind, a lady was a lady, and she should act accordingly. But it seemed no matter how hard you tried to please him, nothing you ever did was good enough.

You opened your mouth to respond, but he waved you away. "I don't want to hear your excu-”

"I wish to know what I've been accused of, then," you snapped back, your own temper getting the better of you. You knew you would pay for that later, but right now, you wanted to hear what it was.

"That you've been imbibing in too much wine and games, not focusing on your duties as a lady of the court," he said sharply, looking back down at his papers. He began writing and you stood there, seething.

"So?" you finally asked, and he looked back up at you.

"It's unbecoming," he replied, his tone laced with condescension, "Especially when you are here at court, looking for a husband. Any potential suitors do not wish to have a drunken wife. It will not look good for him."

You sighed. It was always about men, what would please them, what would make them happy. Never you. And the way Otto looked at you, the disdain in his eyes, you knew what was coming. He had been making the same noises for a while, that he needed to find a match for you, and it seemed as if he had finally found one.

"Lord Lannister is a powerful ally," he began, and you immediately felt your temper rise again. You bit back the urge to yell at him.

"And you think I'll be a perfect wife for him? A boring drunkard whose bed I'll have to warm?" you asked, and you could feel the tears welling up.

Otto's expression was hard. "I would think him being a drunkard would be something you have in common," he replied.

He could see the distress on your face and his voice softened just a little. "We must look to the future of House Hightower, and Lord Tyland would make a fine match for you."

You shook your head, tears spilling over. "I don't want him-”

"And what is it that you want?" Otto snapped.

You stared at him. You wanted so much, and none of it was the life he would choose for you. You couldn't stand it anymore, and you spun on your heel, heading for the door.

He didn't try to stop you, and you didn't care.

You didn't want to go back to your chambers, because Alicent would be there, and you couldn't face her either. So, instead, you went outside to the garden, trying to find a quiet spot where you could cry and hopefully not be found.

You found a stone bench, tucked away in a quiet corner and sat down. The tears flowed freely, and you cried and cried, wondering what would happen now, what would become of your life.

You felt as if it had been planned out without any input from you, and now you were going to have to marry a man who was full and passionless. All because it was what was good for the family, and what was best for House Hightower.

It wasn't fair.

You let out a sob and stood up, looking for something to throw, to break, just to let out the anger and frustration that was coursing through you.

Your eyes fell on a statue.

It was one of the Kings, long dead, but you couldn't remember which one. You glared at it and then, without a second thought, gave it a shove.

It didn't fall over, but it teetered a little, and then settled back.

"Is that how we honor our kings now, by toppling their statues?" "A voice said, and you whirled around. Prince Daemon was standing there, looking at the statue, and then you, a small smirk on his face.

"I-I didn't mean," you stammered, wiping your tears, but he held up his hand.

He didn't say a word, just walked over to the bench. He motioned for you to sit, and you did. The two of you sat in silence for a moment, and you tried to control your tears.

Your father loathed the prince, and therefore you were expected to avoid him. You had seen him only once or twice, and the first time you had seen him, you were a girl of ten, and he had just turned seventeen.

You remembered seeing him, and being amazed by the beauty of him. He was the most handsome man you had ever seen, and the fact that he was a prince just made him all the more alluring.

You remembered asking your father if you could marry the prince. Your father had laughed, and told you no, he was not suited for you.

Of course, that hadn't stopped you from having the occasional daydream about the two of you, and here he was, sitting next to you, while you were crying over the thought of your father giving you to an old man.

"What is it like," you asked him, sniffling slightly, "To have the freedom to do what you wish?"

He gave a slight chuckle. "Freedom is an illusion," he replied, his voice quiet, "We are all prisoners in one way or another, even kings,"

"Then I wish for my prison to have a dragon," you muttered bitterly, immediately regretting the words. It wasn't proper to speak to him like that, but he only laughed.

"Perhaps one day," he said, his gaze settling on your face. You could feel his eyes on you, and you blushed, ducking your head.

"Why do you ask about freedom, Lady Hightower," he said in an almost teasing tone, "Is your life not everything a lady could want?"

You didn't meet his gaze, and he observed you thoughtfully, you were a mystery to him as much as he was to you.

"Or perhaps, it is not," he said, his eyes narrowing, "Perhaps you want more than what your father will allow,"

There was a bitterness in his tone when he mentioned your father, the disdain they had for each other was no secret. You didn't wish to add to it, but you couldn't stop the words from spilling out.

"My father is marrying me off to Tyland Lannister," you said, and his lips curved into a small smile.

"And I assume that is why you're here, hiding in the garden," he replied, and you nodded.

He was still watching you, and his gaze made you feel uncomfortable, but in a good way. "I don't want some dull drunkard in my bed, I want..."

You trailed off. It was an improper thing to say, he was the prince, your better. You shouldn't be speaking this way.

"Say it," he said, his voice soft, yet commanding.

"I want my husband to be able to bring me pleasure," you said, the words falling from your lips.

He chuckled, a deep rumble that came from within his chest. You felt even more ashamed by his response, here was the prince laughing at you, thinking you foolish and stupid.

You stood, trying to hide the fresh tears threatening to spill. "I should return to the keep," you said, "Thank you for the company, your grace,"

You took a step, and then suddenly his hand was around your wrist. His touch made your skin feel hot and a strange sensation spread between your legs. You gasped softly, and he stood up, stepping closer.

He towered over you, his blonde hair gleaming in the sun, and his violet eyes were dark and intense, his lips were still curved in a smile, and he was close enough for you to smell him, the scent of smoke, leather and musk.

"Would you like a taste of freedom?" he asked, his voice low. "Before your cage closes,"

"I-I-Yes," you stammered.

He pulled you with him, and you followed.

He led you down the paths and out the gate, along the long stone road to the dragon pit. The guards bowed, and let him pass, and then, to your amazement, he led you into the pit itself.

"My Prince-” you gasped, but he held up his hand again, silencing you.

In the dark of the cave, you could hear them stirring, the great beasts of his house. There was a deep rumble, a sound that felt ancient and primal, and a shadow fell over the both of you.

You stepped back, fear making your heart race. He turned, and you saw the amusement in his face. "Don't worry," he said, "He won't hurt you, unless I tell him to,"

You heard the sounds of his dragon moving forward, and a large snout appeared from the darkness.

"Lady Hightower, meet Caraxes," Daemon said, gesturing to the beast with a wide smile on his face.

You could only stare as the dragon came forward. His body was covered in red scales, and the wings were enormous, his claws scraped against the stone floor, his neck long like that of a snake, and he had a crown of horns on his head.

You have never seen one up close before, only ever far away and up high in the sky. But now, here, in front of you, he was a sight to behold.

Daemon reached out his hand and the dragon nuzzled it, his large, golden eyes fixing on you. He whispered something to the beast, in the language of Valyria, and then turned to you, beckoning you closer.

You hesitated, and he smiled. "It's alright," he said, holding out his hand.

Tentatively, you reached out and touched his palm, letting him take your hand in his. It was soft and warm, and his long fingers curled around yours. He raised it, and pressed it to the dragon's snout.

His scales were smooth and hot to the touch, and the dragon exhaled a deep breath, the sound like a purr. You could feel his breath on your face, and it smelled of sulfur and heat, and underneath that, the metallic scent of blood.

He nuzzled you, his eyes half closing. Daemon smiled and let go of your hand, and you stroked the dragon, amazed.

"He's beautiful," you said softly, admiring the red of his scales and the gold of his eyes.

"Yes," Daemon replied, his gaze fixed on you.

Caraxes pulled away and then, to your astonishment, the dragon lay down on the ground. You looked at Daemon, not understanding, and his smile grew.

"I promised you a taste of freedom, didn't I," he said, and suddenly you realized what he meant.

You watched, amazed as he climbed onto the dragon's back, and held out his hand to you. "Come," he said.

You stared up at him. His hand outstretched, waiting for you to take it. You didn't know what to do. Your father would be furious if he found out. But this was an opportunity you might not get again.

Without hesitation, you put your hand in his, and let him pull you up, settling you in front of him. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you tightly. Your skirts were in the way, and you struggled to find a comfortable position. You were suddenly very aware of the heat of his body behind you.

"Here," he said softly, his hands moving up your thighs, and then, you felt his hands bunching up your skirt, until the material was up around your hips.

The dragon raised his head, and stretched his wings, a deafening screech filling the air. You could feel him move, the muscles in his shoulders shifting, his body flexing.

With one last scream, he began to move forward, at a speed faster than anything you had ever seen, and suddenly, with a running leap, his body was rising. Daemon had his arms wrapped around you, holding on to the reins as Caraxes' wings beat against the air.

He rose, higher and higher, and suddenly the ground was falling away below you, and the sky opened up before you. You could feel the dragon's strength as he climbed, the power in his body, and the heat and the wind and the roar of his wings.

The sky was a beautiful mix of reds, oranges and pinks as the sun began to set. You could see the Red Keep and the city below, the winding streets and the river and the ocean beyond. It was a breathtaking sight.

Daemon said something in Valyrian, and the dragon gave a cry and suddenly he was moving forward, gliding along the air, his wings spread.

The horizon was endless, the clouds were around you, and the world seemed small and insignificant, all your problems forgotten, at least for a moment.

"Does it feel like freedom, lady Hightower," he murmured, his lips against your ear.

You flushed at his closeness, the warmth of his body and his voice. "Yes," you whispered.

He took your hands, placing them on the reins. You held tight, feeling the dragon move beneath you, the muscles and tendons rippling, the scales smooth and hot.

"Hold them tightly, and pull on them, to turn him," he said.

You did as he instructed, and Caraxes changed course, heading north. The dragon rumbled and roared, a loud squeaking sound that made you laugh.

You felt Daemon smile against your neck, his hands winded around your waist, one hand pressing into your stomach, and the other resting on your thigh, his long fingers curling around the hem of your skirt, the fabric flapping in the wind.

He held you like that, his grip strong and steady. You didn't want it to end, this freedom, the feeling of his arms around you and the dragon flying beneath you.

The hand that was pressed against your stomach moved lower, his fingertips brushing the inside of your thigh. You wanted him to continue, but you also wanted him to stop. It was not appropriate, and you were unsure of what to do.

"My Prince," you said softly, a hot flush coming over you. He was touching you in a way no one ever had, and the feeling was overwhelming.

"You are far too beautiful to marry some dull Lannister cunt," he said, his voice low, his lips grazing your neck. His hand slid up your thigh, pushing the hem of your dress with it. Your breath hitched as his fingers moved underneath the linen shift you wore, brushing the soft, wet flesh between your legs.

"This isn't proper, my Prince," you said, trying to focus on the reins and not the way his hand was making you feel.

"And who is here to see? Or to hear?" he murmured, his breath hot against your skin, "Only my dragon, and I don't think he'll care,"

He pressed a kiss to the spot where your neck met your shoulder, his teeth grazing your skin, and you inhaled sharply, your body arching into his. He smiled, his fingers finding the small nub of pleasure between your legs, brushing over it softly. Your hips jerked and you gasped, your head falling back against his chest.

"A woman like you should be in control of who she gives her maidenhead to," he whispered, sucking little marks onto the delicate skin of your neck, "Who gives you that pleasure you crave."

The wind was cool on your skin, but inside you burned. He was igniting a fire deep within you and you were powerless to stop it.

His fingers moved faster, circling the little bud and then stroking it. He knew exactly how to touch you, and you were helpless under his hands.

You knew that you were being indecent, letting him fuck you with his hand, your skirts shoved up, the dragon soaring through the sky. Your father would kill you if he knew. But the thought of it made you only wetter, and you began to push harder against his hand.

"That's it, chase the feeling," he breathed, his fingers moving faster, his other hand gripping your waist, pulling you back against him. You could feel the hardness of his cock, pressing against your back, and the knowledge that he was aroused by you, only made the sensation stronger.

Your hands let go of the reins and Daemon quickly grabbed them with his free hand, keeping the dragon steady. You clutched his arm, your body shaking, the pressure building inside you, your legs trembling.

You let out a cry, and then stars were exploding behind your eyes and he was whispering to you, soft and low, encouraging you as you felt yourself fall apart, coming undone.

You slumped against him, the tension leaving your body, and he was there, holding you. You felt his chest rumble with a laugh and you managed to get yourself upright.

You looked at him, his violet eyes, the smirk on his face. You reached out and touched his cheek, and then pulled him towards you, kissing him.

His lips were soft and warm, and he kissed you back, his tongue parting your lips and entering your mouth. It was a deep, passionate kiss, and when he finally pulled away, you were breathing hard.

He smiled, his eyes darting from your lips down your chest. "Perhaps we should return to the keep, my Lady," he said, his tone amused, "before we get carried away,"

You looked down, and saw the sprawling countryside, a sea of green dotted with little villages and the faint outlines of crops and farmland.

"Where are we?" you asked.

"Near Duskendale," he said, his eyes boring into you. He gave you a smile, and in that moment, you lost yourself completely, mesmerized by him and everything that had just happened.

Daemon pulled on the reins, yelling something in Valyrian. The dragon gave a loud screech, and began to descend. He guided Caraxes lower, heading for a field near a small village.

The dragon landed gracefully, his wings folding against his body. The trees and grass bent in the wind from his wings, and the few animals nearby scattered. You could feel the rumble as his belly hit the ground, and then he was still, his breathing deep and steady.

Daemon hopped off the dragon and held his arms out to you. You let him help you down, his hands sliding around your waist. As your feet touched the ground you stumbled, your legs were weak and shaky, and you had to cling to his arm to keep from falling.

His eyes met yours and he leaned in and kissed you. His lips were soft and firm, and you melted into the kiss, your fingers reaching up to tangle in his hair. He pressed you into Caraxes side, the dragon curled around the two of you protectively, his tail flicking lazily.

The beast was warm against your back, you could feel its chest expand with each deep breath, a gentle rattling sound coming from it.

Daemon broke the kiss, nuzzling into your neck. Your whole body was on fire, and you could feel the heat of him pressed against you.

"Would you like me to make you come again, lady Hightower," he whispered, his teeth grazing your skin.

"My Prince... I've never...," you managed to get out, looking up at him with wide eyes.

"Better me than a Lannister, yes?" he said, a smirk on his face.

You blushed furiously, unable to respond. He was right. You didn't want to give your maidenhead to some Lannister bore. You wanted it to be him.

Caraxes curled tighter around the two of you, warm and surprisingly still, his long neck and head outstretched, surveying the area around you. His eyes were lazy, and he was making a strange rumbling sound, almost content, like a big cat.

Daemon looked up at him, smiling at the beast, then back to you, his hands moving up to cradle your face. He leaned in and captured your lips in a hot, searing kiss that had you clinging to him.

His hands dropped to your hips, pulling you closer. You could feel the hard length of him against your belly, and a hot ache settled between your legs. You had never felt like this before, so hungry, so desperate.

He broke the kiss, his lips trailing down your neck. His hands moved down, pushing the skirt of your dress up and bunching the fabric around your waist. He lifted your thigh, hooking it around his hip.

With his other hand he unlaced his trousers, freeing his hard cock. You had never seen a man's cock before, and the sight of his had you blushing even deeper. It was thick and long, the tip pink and leaking a clear fluid.

He smiled, seeing the look on your face, "go on, touch it," he said, his voice low.

Tentatively, you reached out, your hand wrapping around his shaft. He was hot and hard in your palm, the skin smooth and velvety. You moved your hand up and down, marveling at the way he grew harder and thicker.

Your eyes flickered back up to his face. He had a satisfied smile on his lips, his violet eyes dark and intense.

"Like this," he said, placing his hand over yours and guiding you. He showed you how to stroke him, the pressure and speed. When he let go, you continued, enjoying the way his eyes closed and his head tilted back, his lips parting as he breathed heavily.

You watched him, entranced by the sight of him, his pleasure growing. He placed his hand back over yours, stilling you.

He took your other thigh and hoisted you up. You clung to him, your arms wrapping around his neck. His hard cock rubbed against the soft flesh of your cunt, and you moaned softly, the ache inside you growing.

You wrapped your legs around his waist and he thrust against you. You gasped at the feeling of his hard cock sliding against your clit, the head bumping against your entrance.

You looked up at him, pleading. He was looking down at you, his eyes dark, his hair falling across his forehead. He was so handsome, so strong.

"Please, my prince," you breathed, desperate.

He smirked, his eyes flashing, and then he was guiding himself inside you, the tip of his cock parting the soft, wet flesh.

He pushed slowly into you, and you felt a sharp pain as his cock tore through your maidenhead. You cried out, and he kissed you, swallowing your gasp.

He hummed against your lips, a soothing, comforting sound. His hands squeezed your bottom, holding you steady. He moved slowly, rocking his hips, pulling you into him with each thrust.

"I've got you," he said, his voice rough, his breath hot against your skin.

The pain slowly subsided, replaced by a delicious, aching pleasure. You clung to him, your eyes closing, lost in the sensation of him filling you.

You could hear the sound of the wind, and the rustle of the trees. The deep gentle sounds of Caraxes' breathing. And the sound of your heart pounding, and Daemon's labored breaths.

He slowed his thrusts, drawing it out, pushing hard and deep, slamming your body back against the beast with each motion. You clutched at his shirt, nails digging into the soft material, gasps and sighs and half-formed moans fell from your lips. He picked up the pace, faster now, and you both lost yourselves in it, your pleasure was all that mattered.

His face was a picture, pleasure and devotion and tension and complete and total ecstasy. Your name was on his lips, a litany of beautiful profanities fell from them, a mix of Valerian and common that made the redness in your face grow deeper. You began to grind your hips against him, rolling them as he moved with you, his movements becoming erratic. His hand came down to cup the back of your neck, holding you steady as he leaned in and captured your lips in a messy kiss.

He stilled, letting out a low groan as he pressed himself deep, holding your hips in place as he filled you with his seed. Your body shuddered and twitched and you whimpered against his mouth, clenching down on him. It was too much, and you followed him over the edge, a bright burst of light going off behind your eyes as you succumbed to the feeling.

He rested his forehead against yours as you both caught your breath, his eyes closed and a look of pure bliss on his face. You giggled, running your hands through his hair, and he managed a lazy smile.

"Think of me when Tyland is trying to stick his cock in you on your wedding night," he said, his words warm and breathy against your lips.

You chuckled, then turned sad, remembering that your wedding would take place soon, and you would never see Daemon again.

He seemed to sense your sadness, his hands cupping your face, his eyes full of promises he could not keep. He said nothing, just kissed you again and held you, pressing you back against the dragon.

Caraxes purred, you could hear a faint rattling, like old armor, and the dragon's chest expanded and deflated slowly, the rhythm soothing.

You stayed there for what seemed like an eternity, Daemon wrapped around you, his hand tracing gentle circles on the exposed skin of your thigh.

You sighed, content and warm and happy, but knowing that the spell was soon to be broken, and you would have to return to the reality of the life that had been laid out before you.

"We should be getting back," you said, frowning. You didn't want the moment to end, but you had been gone for far too long, and your maids would be wondering where you were.

Daemon nodded, reluctantly pulling away. He laced up his pants and then helped you straighten your dress. You tried to flatten the wrinkles with your hands, but there was no helping it. You had been flying, and then you had been fucked, thoroughly, by the heir to the throne, and there was no hiding that.

He grabbed your hand and brought it to his lips, his eyes full of promise and heat. You blushed, and he grinned, pulling you back to the dragon.

The ride back was slower, the dragon gliding gently through the sky, and you had the urge to cry. You wanted this feeling, of freedom and warmth and safety, to last forever.

You sat back against Daemon's chest, his arms tight around you, the wind whipping through your hair.

Caraxes flew lazily through the sky, and you could see the Red Keep getting closer, the massive walls looming large. The dragon descended, the air rushing around you, and then the beast landed in the center of the courtyard near the dragon pit, his wings beating wildly, sending clouds of dust and dirt swirling around him.

He roared, a great and terrible sound, his long neck twisting and his wings stretching. The beast was restless, and he seemed unhappy to be back in the confines of the castle.

Daemon leapt off the dragon, landing gracefully, and then turned and helped you down, his hands lingering on your waist. He gave you a wicked smile, and you blushed, unable to meet his eyes.

"I swear," he said, lifting your hand and pressing another kiss to your knuckles, "I'll burn down Casterly Rock just to get a taste of you again."

You chuckled, a blush coloring your cheeks, then you looked him in the eyes.

"And I will gladly watch it burn," you said, grinning.

He leaned in and pressed a kiss to your cheek, and then he was gone, climbing back onto Caraxes and taking to the sky. You watched them disappear, the great, crimson beast disappearing into the clouds.

You stood there, alone in the courtyard, watching the sky long after he had disappeared. Your heart was heavy, despite his promises, you knew that you would never see him again.

You turned and walked back to the keep, your mind filled with memories of your time together. It was a small moment, a stolen moment, but you knew you would hold on to it…

And be reminded of it every time you looked to the sky.

[witchthewriter]

𝑼𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑨𝒑𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝑻𝒓𝒆𝒆 𝐶𝘩𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝐹𝑖𝑓𝑡𝑒𝑒𝑛

Personalised story for @leniabranch Pairing: Otto Hightower x Lenia Branch Word Count: 2k Warnings: Things get a lil heated towards the end (sexually speaking)

You stood there shocked, well for a better word, dumbfounded.

The Hand of the King, arguably the most important man in Westeros, was down on one knee for you.

You could see the tinge of his skin; sailing did not become him. But he still looked handsome with his windswept hair and unkept beard (he had tried to make himself look as presentable as possible, but he could barely stand in front of the mirror on the rocking boat).

A crowd was already gathering, murmurs that the Hand of the King was proposing on the docks ran quickly throughout the dockyards. It wasn't until Alicent coughed that you were pulled back into reality. Tears sprung to your eyes you didn't know how they got there but you knew they came from a place of joy. Throwing yourself down at him your hands found their way to his cheeks, and you planted a firm kiss on Otto’s lips.

   “You have yet to answer, Lady Lenia,” Otto murmured with a small smile.

Your answer came out in a jumbled mess of yesses.

He kissed you back with just as much fervour, pulling away from your lips for only a second to say, “I wished to propose underneath the apple tree, but I couldn’t wait any longer.” And then his lips found yours once again.

The next few days went by in a blur. You first went to your parent’s to tell them the good news. However, your father had already known as Otto asked for his permission. During the Hand’s journey, he was waiting just as anxiously as you. Your mother on the other hand, did not know, and was over the moon with joy. Though she did slap your father’s arm for not telling her.

  “It was a surprise!” was his response.

Otto had never been this proud, not since the birth of his children. So, he gladly welcomed the congratulatory remarks and compliments. Although as he recounted the story, he did like to leave out the part where he was still sea-sick during the proposal.

Alicent too was happy. Not just happy for her father and future stepmother but also because the attention was no longer on her. King Viserys was more than jovial. Keeping this secret was difficult for him. Happy secrets were his downfall. He was so happy in fact, that he said, “there shall be no expense spared for this wedding,” and then the Master of Coin nearly choked on his wine.

Elrie was over the moon to be involved in another wedding. Darrick too, was ecstatic for you, the only person who was not was little Lucieth, who was sick of weddings.

And when you asked why, he blurted “because I HATE dressing up!”

Weeks had passed and the wedding plans were in full motion. Your mother was busy fussing over your dress with Sanah, who wanted to make it by hand. While your mother wanted you to wear her own wedding gown. And then you had family traditions to consider; every Branch woman wore some sort of homage to the House. May it be a leaf, a stem, a … branch, stitched in the gown, a piece of jewellery or make up. It was your choice to make.

The invitations soon went out as well.

Otto was quite particular with how he wanted them written, but you had the creative control. Both your House sigils were drawn, appearing on the corners of the parchment. A representation of your Houses bond.

Soon Branches from all over Westeros would soon be swarming the Capitol, giving a new feeling to King’s Landing. Your mother's side of the family were invited as well and although not as openly as creative as House Branch, they were well known for their musical abilities.

It had only been a month since your proposal and Sanah was becoming insufferable. In the best way. Once she heard the news, she apologised for her future actions, “I am going to be intolerable at times, but I just want this to be perfect for you.”

This was one of the most stressful times in your life, but … in such a positive way. Used to the spotlight, you didn’t mind the attention, especially the talk of the future with Otto.

    “And you’ll give him even more children, hopefully more sons!” Said a lady at court, whose name you didn’t care to remember. The last part stung, and you frowned (for the first time in a month).

“Any child is a blessing,” you replied, trying to keep the bite out of your voice. “Girls have just as much to offer as boys do.”

It was a curt response, and it made you up and leave the room.

You could feel your teeth grinding and you had to remind yourself to stop. Now being the Hand’s future wife, you worried that every word you spoke could hurt his position somehow. But a topic such as this; you knew where you stood on the matter.

The castle’s hallways had become well-known to you. The smoothed edges of the stone walls, cold to the touch, with it’s sudden openings of light and sunshine. On days like this, it filtered through the open gaps, some paned, some completely open. One had to be careful with the latter, there were rumours that many had … fallen from those openings.

Resting your back against the cool of the wall, you sighed and massaged your temple. It was safe to say that in this period of your life, you felt frazzled. It didn’t help that you were on your periods and the cramps were quite terrible. Hopefully, you wouldn’t have them during your wedding. Maybe that was another question for Sanah…

Lost in thought, you didn’t register the form that had stopped to stand next to you.

   “Having second thoughts?” Ormund’s deep voice made you jump, and in turn brought on a wave of embarrassment with a tinge of anger.

      “Don’t sneak up on people like that! It’s … it’s rude.” You said breathlessly.

Ormund chuckled and rested a hand on the hilt of his sword. “Well, I give my deepest apologies,” he said mockingly, bowing low. “I mustn’t upset the Hand’s wife.”

  “Future, wife,” you corrected.

“Yes,” he said with faint sincerity, “future wife.”

                                                       -✶-

The interaction with Ormund left you somewhat confused, what was he trying to say? And why was there an establishment between wife and future wife? These words danced in your head until you came to your chamber doors and gleefully opened them.

Rising from the bed, Otto gave you a slight bow as you entered the room.

  “Please excuse my boldness, but I needed to talk to you. Alone.”

His tone caused an eruption of butterflies in your stomach. A reddening of your cheeks as well.

“It’s, fine. I think we’re past the rules of formality.” And your mind instantly went to the nights spent with each other, naked, with body parts wrapped around one another. The thought made your blush deepen.

  “Well, you’re right about that,” Otto’s tall frame seemed to tower over your own. You noted his neatly trimmed beard and brushed hair. But some part of you missed the adventure-met Otto.

He guided you over to your sitting area, hot tea waiting for you. The sun had begun to set, emitting rays of orange, pink and purple across the sky. A beautiful sight, but one that you gladly ignored. Your focus was utterly on Otto.

   “I just wanted to have some time by ourselves,” he started, moving to take his hand in yours. “And to give you an opportunity to refuse the proposal.” His voice hardened at the end of the sentence, but when you looked into his eyes, all you saw was love.

 “Why would I refuse?” You said aghast. “Have I shown any reason I wouldn’t want to marry?”

There was a long pause.

And questions flooded your head, swarming your stomach, making your body tingle with anxiety.

  “No, you have not.”

His words gave you such relief that you let out a sigh. The breath that you had unknowingly held in was released and Otto actually saw the worries escape you.

 “Then why? Why ask this?”

How could Otto explain this deep-rooted insecurity of not being enough. Being too old, too unliked, having a job that requires questionable morals. Having to lie to those he loves in favour of the King, or to keep important information from coming to light. To push for things that other people do not want nor agree with.

For Otto, it just goes deeper and deeper. More intricate that one could ever explain perfectly.

So, the only thing that he could come out with was, “I-I’m not enough. For you. You deserve better. Someone younger, at least.”

Your grip on his hand tightened, and you stared straight into his eyes, “I want to marry you Otto Hightower. I see the good, I see the bad; I see all of you. And I still want to marry you.”  

The intensity in which you spoke felt foreign, as was the power that seemed to radiate from you. But in this moment it felt right. Unbeknownst to you, it wasn’t as if Otto didn’t see your devotion. He did. And he admired it greatly. It’s one of the reasons why he loves you so dearly. His late wife had the same devout nature.

Any doubts he had for this marriage were based on himself; his own self-reservations. Truly, they had nothing to do with you. Not even your status, which had been brought up by the small council, didn’t make him think any less of you. He had stopped the slanderous talk immediately. Everyone knew not to talk ill of Lenia Branch in the presence of Otto Hightower. And it helped greatly that the King thought your family was brilliant. Your position at court was favoured, as were you. Your future, no matter what, was bright.

 “I truly cannot explain how I feel inside. Only know this: there is nothing that can make me stop loving you.”

 You seemed to move without realising it, because in an instant you were in his lap, one hand tangled in his hair and the other moving down his chest. Your lips were connected in such deep passion that you knew they would be bruised in a few hours.

Otto’s hands wrapped around your body, pulling you closer to him. His mouth reciprocated the movements, biting your bottom lip, nipping at your tongue. Then he moved you, so your legs were either side of him. The position making it easier to rub your most sensitive parts against one another. Otto moaned, pushing you harder against himself, kissing down the nape of your neck and moving to your chest. He was about to unlace your bodice when a knock sounded at the door.

   “J-just a moment!” You breathed out, doing your best to get off of Otto and fix yourself up. Standing there awkward for a moment, Otto motioned for you to sit down on your chair and take a sip of your now cold, tea.

   “Enter,” you said after gulping. You realised Otto had brought over your favourite herbal blend.

“Oh, apologies,” said Darrick, whose eyes darted between you and Otto. You could see your brother conclude that you were alone with another man, but only having tea.

   “How are you, Darrick?” Otto asked, in a completely neutral tone.

“Fine, thank you for asking,” Darrick bowed politely and then handed you a piece of rolled up parchment.

Departing quickly, you could see the tinge of red on his cheeks and you frowned. Although you realised that it wasn’t because of any indecency, but because of what he had brought you.

It was the finished wedding invitations, with your design and Otto’s words. Together in black ink with gold and silver accents made it look absolutely beautiful. You slid the paper over to Otto and he nodded his head in approval.

[swordgrace]

𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐘 — 𝐈.

⠀ཾ༵ 𑁍┆ daemon targaryen x otto’s wife!reader x otto hightower.

synopsis: as the young wife of otto hightower, your joy is threadbare, and your husband is absent. when you have a chance encounter with the rogue prince at the heir’s tournament, you become entangled in a web of desire that you cannot get out of.

SERIES — 1/?

༺ FORMAT: one-shot — not requested, part of a series.

༺ WORD COUNT: 11.5K.

༺ WARNINGS: SMUT!, dubious consent / mild coercion, infidelity, cheating (on otto), legal age gap (for reader/otto and reader/daemon), inexperienced reader, otto is an absent husband, seduction, sexual tension & yearning, reader is sexually repressed, loss of virginity, risk of getting caught, choking, biting / marking, begging, groping, scratching, oral sex (f!receiving), fingering, finger-fucking, p in v sex (unprotected), multiple positions, possessive daemon, mention of child death.

༺ AUTHOR’S NOTE: I am so incredibly excited for this fic series, I feel like it could be a good one! I really appreciate all of the support I’ve been getting on the Aemond fic, another one will be coming up soon! Hello to all of my new followers, I am so excited to have you all here! Please enjoy this part, it’s a big one, but it sets the stage for future parts!

𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 — you often saw inklings of it in Alicent’s eyes whenever you held her gaze, and noticed the subtle twitch of her mouth with any attempt at conversation. It always fell short, a relationship that had no ounce of potential, nothing to kindle it.

Sometimes, you wished that you could hold her hands, cuticles raw, and tell her that you were one and the same. It always made you uncomfortable to contemplate the closeness in age between you and Alicent, and the longer you dwelled on it, the more bitter you felt.

You were only three years her senior — one-and-twenty, married to her father, Otto Hightower — the hand of the King. Marriage was a concept that you were groomed for, and to be wed to a man of such stature and importance was a great victory for your house.

Otto was an absent husband, at best. His proceedings as Hand left him occupied, and whenever he did return to you, he was often burying himself in whatever business the King had assigned him to. Otto often took much of it on himself, with little time left for you.

You were nothing more than an accessory — a beautiful accessory, at that.

Otto had little desire for another child, and for that, you were eternally grateful to the Gods for allowing such a thing. It was a rarity for a man of his station to take up a wife with no intention of children. In all actuality, he simply missed his wife and yearned for her presence.

Whatever you were, you partially filled the void, but it would never be the same.

There was an emptiness within you that intensified as each day passed, a gaping hole in your body that simply collected dust. You were nothing more than a shimmering jewel for Otto to reveal in the public eye, but put away when it was all said and done.

It wasn’t a horrible existence, but you were unfulfilled. Life felt mundane, and despite the lavish and privileged setting you dwelled within, everything seemed gray, as if you were simply gazing out of a window, seeing the happiness of everyone else.

The more time you spent toiling over your woes and steeping yourself into self-resentment and hopelessness, the more restless you became. You didn’t want to keep pushing yourself into that fray of unhappiness, not when it weighed upon you so heavily already.

Appearances were sacred to Otto, who insisted you join him at the Heir’s Tournament, a celebration to usher in King Viserys and Queen Aemma’s newborn child. A joust and seven days of feasting and revelry were upon you, a routine affair whenever royal children were born.

In the Tower of the Hand, surrounded by a flock of fussing handmaidens, you smoothed your palms across the deep emerald gown, silk soft underneath your fingertips. Your beauty was unmatched — the rare jewel from the North that Otto Hightower had stolen for himself.

It would be a long day, yet the sun shimmered down upon King’s Landing and the Red Keep — a good sign of the festivities to come. You were the picture of a true maiden, not an imperfection in-sight, thanks to the handiwork of your numerous handmaidens.

A knock at your chamber door alerted you to your husband’s presence — it was always stern and rigid.

“Come!” You called, peering at yourself through the large mirror of an upright vanity. The only thing that happened to be missing was a stone around your neck, but you had an impressive array to choose from.

Otto stood within your doorway, always so formal and calculating. He was a difficult man to read — you had been wed for a handful of months, and he was still that way after all this time. “Hm.” He appraised you with a stoic gaze, unwavering and indiscernible.

Sheepishly, you turned for him to see, folding your hands together. “Is this suitable for the Tournament?” You inquired, the colors of your regalia that of House Hightower — emerald with gold embellishments.

In Otto Hightower’s eyes, you would never measure up to his first wife, his true love — but you were perfectly adequate, and that was all you needed to be. He stepped forward, staring down at you with an inkling of warmth within his eyes, tracing a finger across the soft slope of your jaw. “You look resplendent.”

That singular grain of warmth was something you would hold onto, and you mustered up enough of a smile to press a chaste kiss against Otto’s cheek. The gesture was brief, yet even the Hand himself seemed perplexed by it. You wanted to show affection, but Otto never seemed interested in reciprocating.

His kind words were enough to appease you, prompting you to smile as you bowed your head. “Thank you, husband.” Pleased by this, you made sure to string a necklace of peridot around your neck before Otto offered you his arm. It was a courtly procedure — nothing inherently affectionate about it, as you expected.

The walk to the tournament grounds was a lengthy one, but it gave you time to admire the buzz of the Red Keep. The excitement for the birth of a new Targaryen heir was palpable, felt by all you passed. Otto was always stalwart, with a pensive and unreadable expression.

Both you and Otto joined Alicent and Rhaenyra in the stands above the jousting grounds, with crowds of common folk and nobles alike joining in the rancor. Alicent seemed less than thrilled to see you, but you weren’t met with her usual icy indifference.

“Lady Hightower,” King Viserys greeted you with a kindly smile, prompting you to drop into a curtsy. “I am surprised to see that Otto brought you along. It is good to have you here.”

“It is a beautiful day, my King — I certainly hope this favor shines down upon you and your family.” You replied, offering the King a pleasant smile. Admittedly, you were rather excited to see a joust — it was good to be outside amongst your peers, not hidden away within the Tower of the Hand.

Your manners and pleasantries, the eloquent way in which you spoke to others, was a quality that Otto did admire about you. You were soft and kindhearted, possessing all of the gentle traits of a young maiden, a Lady in the making. If it weren’t for such qualities, he might’ve favored you a little less.

As you sat beside Otto, he remained rigid, gazing down upon the field. His eldest son, Gwayne, was amongst the many competitors preparing for the Joust. You had met Gwayne on a handful of occasions, and whilst he did not harbor as much bitterness as Alicent might’ve, he was still rather obtuse about your presence.

You had learned to develop a thick skin — as much as you desired to be friends to both Alicent and Gwayne, you were not their mother. You never wanted that role, either. Motherhood, especially at your young age, sounded most undesirable.

Admittedly, you were enamored with the horses, too — the beautiful beasts that carried their riders to glory, or otherwise. Your love of animals was well-known, something that Otto occasionally treated you to.

Prince Daemon Targaryen, brother to the King, rode out upon a steed as black as the dusk, bearing the Targaryen crest upon his shield. The draconic motif of his armor and helmet had made him appear fierce — a most intimidating competitor.

Otto seemed less than pleased — you knew that your husband despised the Prince, and the feeling was mutual. In your brief encounters with Daemon, often in Otto’s presence, their disdain was palpable. It was all vitriol and hatred, a constant battle for who could obtain the upper hand.

Knowing that Daemon chose Gwayne to joust to spite your husband made you somewhat apprehensive, but admittedly, sometimes you felt that Otto deserved to have his skin crawl at times. You didn’t like it for Alicent’s sake, her brother in harm’s way, but you had to stake in it.

The Prince rode forward, parading around the length of the field before he approached the royal stand, jousting lance held high. His lips curled into a lopsided smirk, and suddenly, you found that he was looking directly at you — those violet hues of his held your bashful stare.

“Lady Hightower,” He called, loud enough for those to hear it. Alicent began to stand, but Daemon shook his head. “Not you, my Lady.” He gestured toward you with his lance, sneer subtle and his eyes full of intrigue and the desire to make Otto Hightower squirm.

Visibly surprised, you looked to Otto, who seemed entirely displeased — but he wasn’t one to make his weakness known. “Otto, should I …” You trailed off, glancing toward the small table with your favor sitting atop it.

“I am fairly certain that I can win these games with ease, by having your favor, Lady Hightower.” Daemon spoke loud enough for all around to hear, inviting an audience — in all actuality, he simply wanted Otto to bear witness to charming you. “Would you do me the great pleasure of granting me your favor?”

Otto grimaced, countenance beginning to simmer with anger, deep below the surface. He bristled, jaw unnaturally tight. His fingers curled into a fist, yet he had no intention of denying you such an act, if you so desired. This was a tournament, after all — and any reaction that he gave, Daemon would indulge himself in.

Startled, you looked to Otto for approval, yet he offered you none. Reluctantly, you rose to your feet, retrieving a wreath of beautiful blossoms — gold, ochre, and shades of pink. You stepped toward the terrace’s edge, meeting the handsome visage of Daemon Targaryen, with his lance ready to receive your favor.

“Where has your husband been keeping you all this time, my Lady?” Daemon questioned, loud enough for only you to hear. Your breath hitched within your throat at his brashness, lips parting slightly as you cradled your favor between your hands.

Instead, you dipped down, offering the Prince a sheepish smile, wrought with some confusion as you tossed it onto his lance. “Good luck, my Prince. I hope to see your victory in this joust.” You nodded, keeping your formalities intact before you curtsied, swiftly clamoring to find your place beside Otto.

Daemon smirked, his gaze hot enough to melt right through you, if you let it. It never left you, even when you ascended the steps to sit beside your husband, the Rogue Prince ensured that you writhed beneath his watchful eyes.

Swallowing the growing lump within your throat, Daemon’s incendiary stare was something that you were so unaccustomed to — Otto never looked at you that way, as if you were a treasure, something to be coveted. It left you to mull over your thoughts for the entirety of the tournament.

The carnage that ensued was typical for a joust, especially one with so many warring factions. Men tore one another from their horses, dueled in the dirt, bashed skulls in. The tangy scent of copper filled the air, one that had unfortunately become ingrained in you.

It brought you back to your youth, as you recalled your sister falling from her steed, head crushed to nothingness upon the rocks. The scent of blood would always loom over you like a black cloud for as long as you lived.

Otto glanced toward you, reaching for your hand as he gave it a subtle squeeze. He did not offer any words of reassurance, lips a thin, pensive line before one of the Maesters stepped in behind him, whispering news into his ear. His expression changed instantaneously.

Something was wrong — you could feel it in your marrow.

Alicent looked to you and Otto, and you saw her fingers, picked bloody and raw, and you felt nothing but sympathy. When Otto immediately stood, letting go of your hand, you watched with a furrowed brow as he momentarily disappeared — King Viserys was long gone, absent for a majority of the Tournament.

It was only when Daemon Targaryen and Criston Cole began to duel, that your attention went elsewhere. You watched in subtle awe as Daemon fought, clad in black armor and crimson scales, the colors of House Targaryen. Dark Sister in his right hand, thrusting at the Dornish Knight with an unholy vengeance.

At last, when it ended with Daemon haughtily retreating from the field, you wondered where your husband had gone, disappearing altogether. He had left behind guards to escort you back to the Red Keep, but his absence left you feeling more afraid of the walk back.

Nonetheless, you gathered your skirts, knowing that Alicent had long since left with Rhaenyra. You didn’t worry for her safety — as long as she was with the Princess, no harm would befall her.

“The Hand advised that we take you back to the Keep at once, Lady Hightower.” One of your guards prompted, ushering you towards the stands as the pair assisted you in getting back down. There was a sense of urgency in their steps, but you were confused by it. Had something happened that required Otto’s immediate attention?

You descended the steps from the stand, finding yourself in a sea of nobles and commoners alike, attempting to return to their homes and daily lives. Your guards remained vigilant, assisting you in pushing through towards the stables. There was a quieter path there, a shorter way to the Red Keep.

“This way, my Lady.” One guard made way, allowing you to go first as you made it to the tournament stables. Many of the Knights, those that still drew breath, were collecting their coin and saddling their horses, preparing to make an exit. There was one horse in particular that caught your eye — Daemon’s steed, as black as night.

The Prince himself appeared from the obscured view of the tent, and you nearly scuttled away at the insistence of your protectors, but Daemon saw you first.

“Lady Hightower,” Daemon greeted you, voice often tinged with something sly, a hint of arrogance. Those violet eyes of his bore down upon you as he approached, still clad in his armor. There were smears of dirt upon his face, flecks of crimson, yet it did not detract from his beauty. “Have you come to praise my victory?”

The guards who stood at your flank seemed less than thrilled with this interaction that was forming. They seemed to dislike Daemon as much as Otto did — and you wondered if there was an influence present.

“We are merely passing through, to return to the Red Keep,” Your soft gaze flickered toward Daemon’s horse, admiring its flawless dark coat. “Your horse is beautiful. It served you well through the tournament.”

Daemon noticed that flicker of admiration and happiness within your eyes, coaxing the stallion closer with a mere tug of the reins. He brought it close, close enough for you to touch. “He is yours, if you want him.” His words might’ve struck you as sardonic, but Daemon appeared to be genuine in such an action.

As much as you wanted to, you couldn’t accept such a gift — and when would you have time to ride, anyway? Otto would never let you past the Keep’s gates, let alone into the forests beyond. “That is too kind of you, my Prince. I am afraid that I must decline — it would be unfair to have a horse that I cannot give any attention to.” You sighed, your features somewhat melancholy.

Fascinating — quite the ironic parallel to your own situation. If you did not see the amusement in it, Daemon most certainly did. “How thoughtful of you, Lady Hightower.” He hesitated, lips twitching into a rather mocking smirk at his next words. “Where is that charming husband of yours?”

You should’ve been offended on Otto’s behalf, especially with the Prince’s contemptuous tone, but you felt nothing. You couldn’t retort, mouth becoming dry as you cleared your throat. “My husband found himself preoccupied with duties as Hand, my Prince. He needed to leave.”

Daemon scoffed, lip curling slightly as he glanced toward your guards. “So he left you with this pathetic display of protection?” The Prince immediately drew the ire of the guards, who seemed less than pleased with Daemon’s remarks. “I could gut them before they could draw their swords.”

“Is that a threat, Commander?” One of your guards hissed, grip tightening upon the pommel of his shortsword. The weight of the scenario made you nervous, prompting you to direct your gaze toward Daemon, whose mouth was upturned in an amused smirk.

“Hardly. It is a promise.” Daemon retorted, hands interlocked atop the pommel of Dark Sister — a legendary blade of Valyrian Steel. You knew that your feeble guards were no match to a swordsman of Daemon’s caliber.

Before steel could be brandished, you immediately extended your hand, anxiousness welling within your heart. It frightened you to be so close to potential violence, but you had some station. “Enough — all of you!” You quipped, hands beginning to quiver.

Daemon chuckled, seemingly perplexed by your sudden display of authority. He did not dispute your call for peace, staring at your guards with a narrowed gaze. “If you are seeking better company than these fucking imbeciles, I will gladly escort you to the Red Keep, Lady Hightower.”

You shouldn’t — Otto would be so displeased.

Every fiber of your body screamed at you to turn away Prince Daemon’s proposal. It was improper, and you knew that your Lord husband would become cantankerous if he were to find out that Daemon was near you, let alone providing passage back to the Red Keep.

He could sense your hesitation, born out of loyalty to your withering husband, Daemon assumed. The conflict that danced within your eyes was one that he wholly intended on manipulating — you were much too sweet. The Prince clicked his tongue, awaiting your response.

“It isn’t a difficult question, my Lady.” Perhaps, his tone might’ve put you off just a little bit, but he was confident that you would accept. Daemon regarded you with those lilac hues of his, calculating and sly.

“Yes,” You interjected, much to the disdain of your guards, “but my guards will stay with me.” It was the smartest option — if you were left alone with Daemon, you feared what rumors could be spun from such an action. You were naive at times, but not completely stupid.

Daemon knew this — he knew your intentions, but he also knew his own. With a sardonic laugh, he readied his belongings, gesturing to take your leave onto the cobblestone streets. “Do you have such little trust in your Prince?”

A ripple of heat fluttered over your features, subsiding just as quickly as it came. You twisted your hands together, fingers interlocked as you fell quiet. Daemon’s salacious reputation followed him like a shadow — violent, promiscuous, and arrogant. It was common knowledge that the Prince possessed crude interests.

“It is not that, my Prince. My Lord Husband will wonder why the guards are at the Keep before I am. I do not want him to worry — he has enough to attend to as it is as Hand of the King.” A threadbare excuse, at best, but much to your relief, Daemon let the matter rest, for now.

The violet-eyed Prince let out a scoff at that, yet he elected not to fluster you further. Your announcement of Otto’s station was most amusing, as if he needed reminding. He joined you, walking side-by-side as you made it onto the noble path back to the Red Keep. It was a safer trek than taking the commoner’s route.

Silence filled the gap between you both, with your guards tailing you and Daemon, ensuring that no one interfered with such royal affairs. He was growing quite bored with the lack of conversation — especially with someone like you. You were interesting and new, something to be inspected.

“Isn’t it the duty of a husband to attend to his wife?” Daemon questioned, attempting to toy with you. He thoroughly enjoyed getting under Otto Hightower’s skin, but admittedly, he did want to know more about you. You were beautiful — a pretty maiden hanging upon the Hand’s arm; he wondered how that came to be.

Your jaw tightened, causing your frustration to brew as you held your skirts within one hand, continuing to make your way up the steps. “Why are you not in the Vale with Lady Royce, if that is what you truly think?” You quipped, somewhat unnerved with how he picked apart your marriage.

Otto wasn’t attentive — if anything, he only became attentive when appearances mattered most. There was no desire nor genuine interaction outside of that. You lived a very lonely life, even if it seemed so wonderful and lavish on the outside.

Daemon chuckled, bemused by your fiery retort. You became so flustered whenever he successfully managed to poke and prod at you. “I’ve no interest in my Bronze Bitch,” He replied, his tone dripping with an underlying venom, “The sheep in the Vale are prettier.”

You huffed, brows furrowing together. This seemed like a horrible idea, allowing Daemon to escort you back to the Keep. He was crass and unpredictable, yet you couldn’t help but find some merit in his examination of your relationship with Otto.

“I am sure that there are plenty of worthwhile subjects in your City to keep you satisfied, my Prince. This isn’t the Vale.” You exhaled, exasperated and agitated that Otto had simply left you at the Tournament grounds.

He could sense it — your repression, the twinge of desperation laced within your voice. Daemon didn’t expect any wife of Otto Hightower to be truly sated and satisfied, but you were the true picture of a jewel locked away in a chest, or hidden beneath mounds of soot. No one had bothered to truly see you as you were.

Emboldened, Daemon knew that tempting you with pretty words could have consequences — fortunately for him, he didn’t care in the slightest. “The only worthwhile subject is standing before me.” He countered, lips twitching into the ghost of a smirk.

A shiver ran down the length of your spine, heart galloping just a little faster when Daemon brazenly showered you in his silver-tongued sayings. You hadn’t been spoken to in such a manner before, and as much as you should’ve countered it, you didn’t.

Heat crept through your features as you kept your head down, chewing at the inside of your cheek. “I do not know what you speak of, my Prince.” Your reply was weak, soft spoken as you continued on your path back to the Red Keep. You didn’t want to reveal just how warm it made you feel.

“I believe you do,” Daemon mused, stepping close enough to you to ensure that the guards wouldn’t eavesdrop. “Surely, your Lord Husband has offered you such pleasure before, has he not?” His Valyrian timbre made your breath hitch within your throat.

“Prince Daemon,” You were in disbelief at his brashness, at how forward he was being with you. You didn’t want to indulge him — yet part of you did. “You must stop.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, strained and throaty. The silence became overwhelming as you made it toward the gates of the Red Keep.

When his name rolled from your tongue, Daemon’s lilac hues glistened with something indiscernible. He enjoyed the way you said his name — trembling and uncertain, as if he had revealed some horrible truth to you. Instead, the Prince stared at you, looking toward the gates.

“As you wish,” Daemon’s arrogance wafted from him like a thick haze, enough to permeate your immediate space. The Prince opted to shift the subject matter to something more appropriate — for your own sake, of course. “I suspect that I will have a nephew, soon enough.”

Daemon sounded indifferent, as if the prospect of a nephew wasn’t at all a pleasant idea. It would make him lower in the ranking of succession, you knew this. Otto had made multiple campaigns against Daemon to keep him from reaching the Iron Throne. Their rivalry was petty, as far as you were concerned.

Your steps slowed, keeping pace with Daemon as you made your way to the gates of the Red Keep. “You don’t sound very jovial, for an uncle.” You replied, and your observation seemed to catch his attention. “King Viserys is your brother. Are you not excited?”

A scoff escaped him as he stared at you, violet hues narrowing at your perceptiveness. “Is that how I seem to you, Lady Hightower? Devoid of joy?” Daemon smiled disparagingly, perching a palm atop the pommel of his blade.

Swallowing the slight lump within your throat, you detected his shackled fury, and you did not want to provoke the dragon any further. “My apologies, your Grace. I did not mean to be presumptuous.” You replied, fingers curling into your skirts.

“Of course you didn’t,” Daemon mused, lips twitching into a sardonic smirk. He seemed to believe you — though, part of your line of questioning felt personal, in retaliation for his jabs about your Lord Husband. “Have you been permitted to see the Dragonpit?”

Of the many places in King’s Landing, Daemon often longed to be on the back of Caraxes — or with his blade driven into any that crossed his path. You hadn’t been to see the Dragonpit yourself, considering that a lady of your station could never go many places unaccompanied.

“No, my Prince.” Disappointment danced within your voice, pace slowing again to keep in-step with Daemon. “I would love to see it, if allowed. Dragons are gorgeous creatures, symbols of your strength.” With a soft sigh, you looked to the Red Keep, looming overhead.

Daemon stepped closer, in close quarters as he looked down at you, noticing the subtle hitch within your throat. “Hm,” He glanced at your stalwart escorts, lilac eyes flickering over your pretty countenance. He dipped closer, lips ghosting near the shell of your ear. “Should your husband release you from your shackles, I could show you.”

A strange wave of gooseflesh crawled along the length of your spine, brows furrowing together as you recoiled, as if being scorched. You looked to Daemon with bewilderment, lip curling slightly as you regained your composure. “Your offer is a gracious one, your Grace.” You murmured.

It often shocked you how reckless Daemon was — abrasive and careless with his position. He could bed whomever he wanted, fuck and fight whenever it best suited him. It wasn’t a possibility for you, a noblewoman married to the Hand of the King. Part of you wished you could be afforded the liberties of a man like Daemon, but it was merely a fantasy.

Silence drifted between the both of you, enough to bring you some discomfort as you heard the doors to the Red Keep creak open. Daemon’s incendiary stare never wavered, never faltered as he kept his eyes on you. Your guardsmen were less than thrilled, but kept quiet as the two of you stepped into the hall.

“This is where I bid you farewell, my Prince.” Your voice was shrewd, nothing more than the soft lull of a mouse. Daemon regarded you with the ghost of a smirk, bowing before you as any gentleman would.

“I look forward to our next meeting, Lady Hightower.” Daemon replied, glancing toward a group of Targaryen guards that made their way to him. Your own escorts were happy to take advantage of the gap in attention, whisking you away into the depths of the Red Keep.

The atmosphere had shifted, from jovial and celebratory to eerie and desolate, somber — servants and nobles alike seemed riddled with melancholy, their heads hung low. Whispers of a fallen heir touched your ears, and then you understood why Otto had left in such a hurry.

Queen Aemma and her newborn son were dead.

You remembered what the air smelled like, the day of your sister’s funeral — you recalled the swaying of golden grass against stone, those in-mourning unable to stifle their tears. It was your mother that had wailed the most, draped across the terrace where her body lay, cloaked by a funerary shroud.

Now, the memories seemed to dance along the fringes of your mind, standing within the open plain far from King’s Landing, along the coastline of Blackwater Bay. Salty air peppered your flesh in soft kisses, eyes stinging with the onslaught of tears.

The despondent look on King Viserys’s face had harkened back to your youth, moments that still haunted your steps. You stood beside Otto, who appeared resolute despite the tragedy, but even you could see the wisps of empathy that flickered across his countenance. Stoicism was his forte, but even death could break the strongest man apart.

Daemon appeared somber, violet hues occasionally drifting toward his brother, the King, who let out a muffled sob as Rhaenyra set the funeral pyre ablaze. Dragon’s fire would return dragons to ash, to the great beyond. You admired the strength of the Princess, even through dour moments like this.

Once the burning of Queen Aemma and Baelon had ended, what nobles were left gathered amongst themselves to pay their respects, to the deceased and to the King. Viserys seemed indifferent, so far removed from the moment as his subjects offered their condolences.

Otto’s hand pressed into the small of your back, the first comforting gesture that he’d offered, completely unprovoked. He dipped down, enough to murmur words reserved for you and him. “The King will need my council during these dark times,” He uttered, “Now more than ever.”

You nodded, knowing that it implied Otto would be less present than he already was. His lips briefly graced the crown of your head before he slipped past, stepping towards King Viserys and Rhaenyra.

Standing alone, you opted to wander, venturing away from the melancholy gathering and toward the sea of wheatgrass that danced with the saltwater breeze. The scent of the ocean filled your lungs, made them whole — it was far better than that of King’s Landing.

Rays of a dying sun sparkled down upon you, licking your flesh with a comforting warmth that you savored. It was enough to make you exhale, eyes fluttering shut as you imagined yourself worlds away, or perhaps sailing out to sea, where it was only your hands that guided you.

The evening breeze jostled your tresses, blanketing your face with its softness. The tears that had prickled your eyes no longer made residence there as you hastily wiped them aside, hands wringing together before you.

Footsteps reverberated from your left side, as the shape of Prince Daemon came into your view. Despite the whirlwind of emotions he’d left you with earlier that day, you were inclined to place them aside. His dark tunic, lined in dragonscales, glittered beneath the waning sunlight.

“I am deeply sorry for your loss, Prince Daemon. I cannot imagine the pain of losing two of your family in one day,” You murmured, lips forming a pensive line as you looked at the Targaryen. He was unusually quiet for a spell, which prompted you to fill in the void. “I hope that your brother will recover.”

“He is the Dragon,” Daemon echoed, hands folded in front of him. “He will endure.” As for the Prince, there was some discomfort knowing that such a bloody fate had befallen Aemma. His sister-by-law had always been a devoted wife and good mother, and such a loving woman was difficult to come by. “My sister was a good woman.”

You had met Queen Aemma on multiple occasions, and she was pure — softhearted and kind, with a gentle visage that was sure to put anyone at ease. “She was,” You lamented, echoing Daemon’s sentiments with a threadbare smile. “And a good Queen.”

That was something Daemon could not argue with, violet hues finally shifting away from the horizon and onto you, a picture of beauty. Even in black tapestries, the color of mourning, you were still rather enchanting. Tenderness blossomed from within you, a soft heart — it was enough to temper Daemon, for just a moment.

He searched your visage, able to detect the growing dolour that became etched into your features. Your eyes glistened with unshed tears, many that threatened to spill over as you twisted your fingers together. “The last funeral that I attended was that of my sister,” You uttered, facing Daemon with a bitter smile. “I hoped that I would not have to attend another.”

A sister — Daemon was somewhat inquisitive regarding the finer details of your life, but he did not want to pry at the present. “Unfortunately, you will find that death is constant and unyielding,” He offered little consolation, but it was the hard truth. “Though, I trust that you will endure, just as my brother will.”

Daemon was often harsh and crass, always a realist with little desire to pull the wool over another’s eyes unless it was for personal gain. He knew that you were sweet, too malleable for this world — he hoped to see you blossom into something strong. With Otto Hightower for a husband, any woman would become as tough as steel.

Part of you wished for flowery words of reassurance from Daemon, but you found none — just a stoicism with an inkling of empathy. Though, you weren’t expecting much, and Otto would be of little comfort, too.

“You are more than just a wife, if you choose it. Do not allow yourself to sit underneath his boot forever.” Daemon murmured, boldly stepping inward to get a better look at you. Your subdued nature was partially Otto’s fault — he blamed the Hand for your sheltered demeanor, for your loneliness.

A brief stirring sensation erupted within your chest, and you looked to Daemon, a singular tear spilling across your forlorn features. “I do not have your luxuries, my Prince — I cannot bed whom I want, go wherever I please, abandon my husband — duty is everything. It may not mean anything to you, but it means something to me.” You quipped, your voice hushed yet strained.

Daemon huffed, lips curling slightly, as if to express disdain. Part of him understood your deep-rooted frustration, but perhaps he simply wanted to pass on his recklessness to you. “Quite presumptuous of you to assume that I care little for duty,” He replied, easily crawling beneath your skin. “You can do whatever you please, once you stop being so afraid.”

You nearly recoiled from him, clearly stung by the attack on your character. His assumption of your fear made you bristle, nostrils flaring as you turned your face away to mask the swell of anger. “This is where I leave you, Prince Daemon.” You hissed between gritted teeth, hands curled into fistfuls within your skirts.

He found your irritation to be somewhat perplexing — you were so repressed, tangled within your devotion to Otto and constant desolation. Daemon said nothing, merely watching as you retreated into the shadow of your Lord Husband.

You wouldn’t dare look back at Daemon — even as you felt those lilac hues pierce your defenses, you refused him, and made your way back with Otto.

If it were up to you, you would never see Daemon Targaryen again.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐊𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰, 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 — there was no joy to be found anywhere. With the King’s son and wife deceased, the idea of succession was called into question by the small Council. Part of you felt disgusted by the suddenness of such a meeting, especially while the King was in mourning.

Otto cared little for such things. It was imperative that an heir be chosen — or produced yet again, by means of a new betrothal for the King.

Despite the melancholy atmosphere of the Keep, your thoughts remained disorganized and scattered, preoccupied with Daemon Targaryen — and that was a dangerous thing. After his whispered inquiry of pleasure, his berating of you at the funeral, you could not rid him from your mind no matter how much you tried.

Any attempt to flush the Prince’s brazen advances out of your mind were met with a powerful resistance — the other half of you that had little desire to forget. In all honesty, you wanted to know what it was like to be coveted and sought-after, to feel true pleasure, understand its intricacies.

The other half demanded that you reject him, unleash your shackled wrath upon him. He vexed you like no other had before — he far exceeded that of Otto. Daemon had crawled beneath your flesh and taken up permanent residency there, and he would continue to do so unless you plucked up the courage to put a stop to it.

That night, you couldn’t sleep — Otto was nowhere to be found, meeting within the dead of night with the rest of the small Council. Even if he weren’t caught within a meeting, he seldom came to bed with you. He was often in his study, mulling over books, writing letters, attending to matters that didn’t involve you.

You were never involved in much of anything.

Frustration festered within you, rising like the swell of an encroaching tide. Clad in your evening gown, you retrieved a candlestick, slipping out of the Tower of the Hand and into the corridors of the Red Keep. Midnight strolls were not an uncommon thing for you, but this one proved to be more than just elusive sleep.

Your path led you dangerously close to the Small Council chambers, but as you approached, a figure stood outside of one wall, leering in through the tiny gaps. Light slipped through, providing faint illumination onto the face of Daemon Targaryen.

The Prince had been eavesdropping, curious to know about their intentions for succession. Should Viserys pass, the Iron Throne would fall to Daemon — but they wouldn’t allow it. Otto, in particular, was rather vocal in the push against Daemon as the rightful heir.

Daemon turned, craning to peer over his shoulder. Those shadowed, lilac hues drifted across you, your supple form glad in some lace-laden nightgown. Your hair had been pinned-up when he saw you last, and now, it was freed from its confines. He found you to be a visual feast for the eyes — beautiful beyond compare.

In the background, you listened to the squabbling from the Council members, the infighting over who would become heir. It disgusted you, the manner in which they conducted themselves — the Queen and her son were deceased, and the only thing that preoccupied them were the rights of succession.

The silence that lingered between you and Daemon was necessary, necessary enough for you to hear the numerous slanders that your Lord Husband hurled at the Prince. Their hatred continued to fester, and for as long as Otto Hightower lived and thrived in a position of power, he would plague Daemon’s every step.

At last, Daemon stepped away from his eavesdropping, moving towards you instead. “Looking for your husband, Lady Hightower?” He questioned, his voice rich as it dipped lower, hushed and soft enough for only you to hear. The narrow corridor you stood within was as silent as a crypt, not a guard in-sight.

You shook your head, lowering the candle toward your chest. Warmth brushed across your exposed collarbone, and you glanced at Daemon, lips parting slightly. “I could not sleep,” You confessed, teeth gnawing at your lower lip. “I suspect that you are here for a different reason.”

Concealed within the listless shadows of the corridor, Daemon took a step closer, nearly within arm’s reach. His mouth curled into that familiar, cheshire smirk — and it worried you. “What reason would that be, my Lady?” He questioned, head canting slightly.

The calculated way in which he stalked towards you left you feeling somewhat unnerved, hand cupped around the flickering light of the candle. Whatever look he had in his eyes, it mirrored the one he’d given you at the Tournament earlier that day — incendiary and lascivious.

“To see if you will ascend the Throne.” Daemon’s ambition was well-known — and sometimes, his ambition drove him to recklessness and ruthlessness. You knew about his displays of violence as Commander of the City Watch, his prowess with a blade.

Daemon scoffed, continuing to press closer to you, looming above you. The candlelight flickered across his sharp visage, basking him in an orange glow that touched his violet hues. His lips remained permanently fixed into a perplexed smirk, his hand reaching to grab your chin.

As if scorched, you jerked away, brows furrowing together as you glowered at him. “I do not want to see you anymore,” You mumbled, shaking your head with an air of defiance. “You’ve angered me.”

A sardonic chuckle escaped him, enough to further your agitation. It pricked away at your flesh, giving way to a layer of perspiration as it crept along your spine. “Angered you, is that it?” Daemon questioned, attempting to make you writhe. “If you truly wish to be rid of me, walk away — go back to the Hand’s bed.” He challenged.

Your heart slammed within your sternum, lip curling in disdain as you shook your head. The tension crackled between the two of you, one charged with a dangerous desire and anger — two overpowering emotions. “All you care for is the throne.” You whispered, yet your words held no merit at all.

It was something Otto would’ve hurled at him, and you were not your husband — you were far from it.

It was a feeble attempt to bait Daemon into anger just as he had so easily baited you. He was not quick to fall to your ploy, and instead, he happened to stare at you as if you were everything he’d ever wanted. It made you shiver — no one had looked at you like that before.

“You think me so singleminded, Lady Hightower,” He uttered, thumb tracing along your jawline. “I have little interest in the Throne.” In an unexpected move, he dipped forward, lips ghosting around the shell of your ear. “I am far more interested in you.”

Goosebumps cascaded down the length of your spine, and fear rippled through you at Daemon’s close quarters. You were terrified of someone seeing you with the Prince, and you stepped back, wrenching yourself free from his grasp. “This is inappropriate, my Prince. I am afraid you are experiencing a severe lapse in judgment.”

As you began to retreat away from the Council chambers and into the darkness of the corridor, Daemon followed, a predator trailing after prey. He cornered you into an alcove, his chuckle bemused and sardonic.

“My judgment is sound — the only judgment that will be called into question is your own,” He challenged, pinning you against the smooth stone of the wall. His hand cupped your hip, keeping you locked into place. “My poor, sweet Lady Hightower, left untouched and without a lick of attention from your dutiful husband.” Daemon clicked his tongue.

You shuddered, attempting to squirm and ward Daemon away, but he simply kept up his pursuit. “Please,” You whispered, fright filling your startled heart. The Prince’s lust had grown astronomically — all for you, this hidden jewel now within his grasp. “We can’t, Prince Daemon. Someone might see.” You urged.

Daemon seemed unconvinced, lips hovering above your own, tempting you in the most unholy way imaginable. That strong hand that held your hip began to knead into the flesh there, desiring to feel your bare skin. “Fuck everyone else.” He uttered, hot breath fanning across your countenance.

A soft whimper escaped you, and every fiber of your being cried out for him — you wanted this, wanted him to show you what true pleasure felt like. You watched as he inclined his head, blowing the candle out with a faint grin, leaving the both of you in darkness, save for the moonlight that pooled within the halls.

“I can’t, I don’t …” You whispered, voice mousy and meek, yet your resolve was crumbling away, revealing your soul, bare and angry. Part of you loathed Otto for never showing you affection, never indulging in desire, yet the other half of you yearned for the Rogue Prince to steal your virtue. “Daemon.”

It was guilt that had consumed you, initially — the guilt of betraying your husband, despite his lack of desire towards you. You never had anything for yourself — perhaps this could be the one thing. A clenched fist pushed against his chest, but you were weak.

“Why continue to wait for something that will never come, hm? Toil over a man that doesn’t want you?” Daemon questioned, his voice dropping to a sultry octave, a purr that raked across your spine. His hand began to gather your gown, bunching it up to allow him easier access.

“You — You vex me,” You whimpered, knowing that you were simply a rabbit trapped within the maw of a dragon, and perhaps, that was where you wanted to be. “You don’t want me.” It was a valiant attempt to talk yourself out of it, to convince yourself that you were unwanted.

Daemon peppered a string of hot kisses along your jaw, grabbing at your chin to tip your head back. “You don’t know what I want.” He murmured, his stare shadowed with lust. He kissed the side of your face, forehead briefly resting against yours as you considered the sin that you were about to commit.

It was liberating when you no longer thought of sin, and simply thought of your own needs and wants.

His unspoken pressure finally broke your carefully-constructed barrier, and you leaned upwards, rocking forward until you crashed into him. You dropped the candlestick, yet it made little noise. Your lips, soft and compliant, melded with his own — domineering and triumphant. Need blistered through, and he kissed you with such blazing passion.

You felt his other hand shamelessly move toward your neck, flexing underneath your jaw as he kissed you over and over again. You hadn’t experienced such passion before — and you never wanted it to end.

Daemon coaxed you closer, countenance one of sheer lust and possessiveness. His thumb traced across your lower lip, hand snug around your throat before he looked elsewhere. “Fucking is a pleasure, for a woman as it is a man,” He uttered, noticing the hitch in your throat. “I am certain your Lord Husband never bothered with it.”

Abashed, you shook your head, reveling in the sensation of his hand firmly kneading into your hip. “No, my Prince. He did not,” You paused, your hand finding its way to his chest, fingers curling into his tunic. “Would you show me?” It was a fine line, a perilous one — but you did not care, not anymore.

You hadn’t felt desire quite like this in your life — but you wanted it, more than anything else. The void within you, repression tangled up into a ball wound so tightly that it might explode — Daemon stoked the fire, and he seemed eager to let you come undone. You wanted Daemon.

In High Valyrian, he spoke one word. “Māzigon.” Come — Daemon’s hand slipped around yours, urging you away from the small Council chambers and into the depths of the Red Keep. Your trek led you to unfamiliar parts of the castle, some left untouched and unused.

The dust-laden doors led you to a small study, sparsely furnished, yet all Daemon truly needed was a surface wide enough to bear your body. There was a chaise lounge, with a thick direwolf’s hide serving as the rug in front of the darkened hearth. The remnants of an old, four-post bed sat off within the room somewhere, just as dour as the rest of the room.

No one would find you here.

Moonlight pooled through the two large windows, enough for you to see his porcelain, perfect features, tinged with silver. His platinum tresses turned to white, violet hues drinking you in with a ravenous hunger. Rapture and lust, a smoldering desire to make you give into him.

Daemon’s hands cupped either side of your neck, thumb pressing into the underside of your jaw at the other flicked against your lower lip. “Tepagon ezīmagon nyke,” He purred, towering over you as he dipped down, kissing along your jaw. “Take off your clothes.” His command was stern yet dripping with carnality.

If it weren’t for the sheer intensity of the moment, you might’ve become flustered, but instead, your hands flew toward the ribbons and ties of your gown. You shrugged the lace-laden shawl aside, allowing the garment to simply drop around your feet.

Your body was perfect — Daemon wanted it all for himself. If the Hand would not indulge in you, then he would. The Prince let out a low hum, admiring your silky flesh and delicate curves, hand skimming from the hollow of your throat to your breasts.

“For this to be hidden away for so long,” Daemon uttered, hand moving to greedily cup your breast. It elicited a sweet gasp from you, unexpected yet exhilarating. “Is a fucking crime.” He growled, and without another word, he moved to kiss you, like fire washing over you, all-consuming and devouring.

Instinct drove you as your hands clamored to the nape of his neck, tugging at the silken crown of pale tresses there. Daemon seemed pleased by this, teeth grazing along your lower lip before he bit down, eliciting a whine from you. He thoroughly enjoyed the feeling of you underneath his palm — as soft as velvet.

His tongue lapped across your lower lip, soothing the ache brought about by the sharp bite of his teeth. He kissed you hard, lips parted, the action warm and wet — he imagined tasting something else, head clouded with the unshakable haze of lust.

“Daemon,” You whimpered, abandoning all titles and formalities. He no longer referred to you as Lady Hightower — that wasn’t who you were anymore, not to him. One of your palms dropped to his chest, hesitantly fiddling with the ties of his tunic. “I want to see you.”

Perplexed, the Prince kissed your throat, head canting to one side. “Have you seen a man before, jorrāelagon?” He questioned, partially bemused yet curious to hear your answer. His affectionate High Valyrian caught your attention, causing a small tremor to roll along the base of your spine.

Sheepishly, you shook your head. Otto had never bothered to bear himself at all, and to some extent, you could understand — he was aging, and the attraction was most certainly slim. “No, I haven’t — but I’d like to.” You shivered when Daemon pulled you close, palm cupping your hip before it brazenly traveled to your haunch.

Any sliver of space between the two of you became nonexistent, replaced with heat and tension, bodies entangled into one. Your digits danced along the collar of his dragonscale tunic, imagining what strength and prowess rested beneath.

Instead, he peered at your wandering fingers, brows briefly lifting as if to encourage you. “Go on, then.” Daemon coaxed, his voice somewhat gravelly and pitched lower, interlaced with a burning desire. He watched with rapture as you slowly unfastened the ties and buckles of his tunic.

Daemon thought about being rough — grabbing your throat and fucking you into the lounge without a second thought, but he wanted to explore you. Your repression wasn’t your fault, and he felt some sense of triumph in fucking the wife of the Hand.

He shrugged his tunic aside, letting the garment fall to join the pool of lace and silk upon the floor. He was pale and well-muscled, a vision of perfection. Your hands began to glide across his broad shoulders, and then to his chest and abdomen.

Admittedly, Daemon savored the sensation of you touching him, exploring him — something about it was sickly sweet. “Have you touched yourself before, my Lady?” Daemon asked, pointed and unwilling to go without a direct answer.

Flustered, you nodded, seemingly embarrassed in regards to such actions. “Yes,” You exhaled, skin hot to the touch. “I know I shouldn’t have, but —“ Daemon stopped you with a kiss, hungry and needy, teeth nipping at your mouth with a subtle growl.

“Afraid that your Lord Husband will admonish you for it?” The Prince smirked, violet eyes glinting with a twinge of humor. Your expression reflected a whirlwind of emotions — from desire, lust, and embarrassment to a flicker of sadness and frustration. Daemon decided to leave it all alone and focus on you.

He coaxed you toward the plush velvet of the chaise lounge, sitting down with an unceremonious thud. Daemon was quick to collect you into his lap, all perfect and spread for him. A lustful silence filled the void between you both as he kissed your neck, calloused hands gripping the swell of your hips.

“Allow me to rectify your husband’s wrongs,” Daemon chided, kissing along the hollow of your throat, teeth sinking into your sensitive flesh. You moaned and whined, writhing atop him, chest pressed against his. “You are beautiful.” He said with such assurance, causing you to shudder.

Daemon’s ring-adorned hand snaked along the length of your body, finding the apex between your thighs, warm and slick with arousal. As soon as his thumb and forefinger slipped past your folds, you lurched forward, letting out a gasp of surprise.

The sensation was foreign yet pleasurable, like an electrifying jolt rolling down your spine. His mouth relentlessly assaulted your sweet flesh, leaving behind a myriad of bites and less than desirable markings. Your scent — a concoction of lavish perfumes and oils — invaded his senses like a thick haze.

His digits deliberately explored your cunt, every touch eliciting some strangled sound from you. You felt his fingers tease your entrance before sliding back towards your clit, flicking across that sensitive clutch of nerves. Your heart pounded within your chest, slamming against your breastbone like a drum.

“Daemon,” You moaned, back arching as you absentmindedly leaned into the Prince’s embrace. One of your palms molded itself to his bicep, the other continued to clutch at the nape of his neck. “Please, don’t stop!” With a needy whine, your hips rolled forward, attempting to gain a lick of friction. You wanted him to keep touching you there — forever, if he could.

His thumb languidly circled your clit, other digits sliding against your cunt. You squirmed and careened forward, insides hot as liquid warmth pooled between your thighs. It felt incredible — it was everything you’d ever wanted and more. Nothing could compare to the bliss that rolled through you.

The Prince continued with assailing your flesh, kissing his way across your collarbone, dipping low enough to find the perfect swell of your breasts. A low rumble resonated through Daemon’s chest, one of clear approval as he took one of your nipples into his mouth, kissing and sucking on the hardened peak.

A strangled whimper escaped you, one of clear delight. You hadn’t experienced any of this before — you wanted more, as much as Daemon was willing to give you. You gasped when his teeth dragged across your breast, causing you to jolt forward.

Ensuring that you would be well tended-to, Daemon sank his fingers forward, vigorously tracing across your cunt as his thumb did a majority of the work. Ripples of bliss rolled across your body in waves, and you rocked forward enough to ride his hand.

“Daemon!” You moaned, feeling his mouth drift away from your chest to the hollow of your throat. His teeth were sudden and sharp, nipping and biting wherever he pleased, one hand steadying you atop his lap. The other began to snake towards your neck, calloused digits able to feel the pounding of your heartbeat.

You whimpered his name as if it were the only word you knew — and for as sinful as it felt, you found yourself abandoning all sense of care and propriety. Daemon made you feel incredible, in ways that you had merely dreamed of.

As Daemon traced two digits along your slick entrance, his lilac hues fell across your visage, searching for any signs of hesitation. You felt the brief pressure, one hand comfortably sitting at the nape of his neck, the other gripping at his shoulder.

Deliberately, he began to sink two fingers inside of you, watching as your countenance blossomed into a look of bliss and startlement. Daemon soothed your worry with a kiss, head canting to one side as to deepen it, and you followed, flesh crawling with warmth.

A soft, smothered moan escaped you as he gingerly eased both digits in and out of your tight cunt, enough to make you gasp. The sensation was foreign yet incredible, enough for you to rock forward, brow furrowed in concentration. Daemon continued to litter your neck in kisses and bites, hand groping the swell of your plush hips.

“There she is,” Daemon growled against the hollow of your throat, lips traveling upward until they collided against yours. It was a messy, hot kiss, one that made your stomach slosh with molten heat. “A woman deprived of pleasure.” He murmured, prompting you to kiss him again, needy and desperate.

Some sliver of you knew how wrong this was — the infidelity, the disloyalty to your Lord husband, the selfishness that weighed upon you — you should’ve been aghast. Yet, in the heat of the moment, you thought little of it, content to let Daemon Targaryen finger-fuck you into a blissful oblivion.

You were lost to your own ecstasy, thoroughly reveling in the myriad of sensations you were now getting to experience. “Daemon,” You sighed against his mouth, feeling his teeth briefly scrape across your lower lip. “I want more.” A groan escaped you as his digits began to still, thumb circling your clit.

As he slowly removed his fingers from your tight heat, Daemon brazenly groped at your breast, pale brows furrowing together as he began to untie the laces of his trousers. You steeled yourself, feeling a brief pang of anxiousness strike at your gut. You knew that it was supposed to hurt, and the very thought frightened you.

“More?” Daemon echoed, the shadow of lust dancing within his eyes as he deposited you onto the lounge, hands seizing your ankles as he dragged you to the precipice. Without pause, he sank to his knees, broad and beautiful between your legs as he kissed your thigh. “You’ll have to beg me for it.”

You exhaled, sharp and excitable as your hand fell to the edge of the chaise lounge, nails digging into the wood and velvet. “Please,” You whispered, shifting atop the cushion as Daemon bit at your soft flesh. “Please, Daemon!” The sound that left you was pathetic — simpering, even.

He enjoyed hearing you whine — it was a stark reminder of what Otto Hightower could never have. Daemon’s mouth maintained the barest hint of a smirk, pressing a string of kisses toward the warmth between your legs. You were silk and saccharine beneath his fingertips, feverishly warm.

The first stroke of his tongue raked hot embers across your cunt, a sensation that set you ablaze. Whimpers turned to ash within your throat, flesh unnaturally hot — you melted beneath Daemon, and that was exactly what he wanted.

A shiver coursed down your spine, hips canting forward toward Daemon’s mouth. His breath was hot, warm wisps of air fanning out across your slit. It was heavenly — you nearly forgot yourself, moaning his name as you fisted the cushions on either side of you.

His hum was satisfactory, tongue dancing along your weeping core, drinking you in like a fine wine. The cool, silver bite of his ring dug into your hips, his grip ironclad, enough to leave bruises behind.

If Daemon had it his way, he would bruise you again — in the light of day, able to see his marks etched into your flesh, knowing that they were his creation. Possessiveness swelled within him, an ugly and festering thing — he wanted you terribly.

Pleasure rippled through you, consuming every fiber of your being. Daemon’s mouth found your clit, suckling at the clutch of fiery nerves. You gasped, nails digging into your palm, thighs attempting to rub together, kept apart by the Prince’s broad shoulders.

“Daemon,” You moaned, your jaw falling slack as you rolled forward into his maw. A soft huff escaped you as his tongue caressed your cunt, returning to assail your clit again. It was bliss overwhelming, prompting you to reach for his shoulders. “Daemon!”

Tension furled within the pit of your stomach, a familiar knot of ecstasy that brought you closer to the edge. Daemon’s mouth sluggishly receded, peppering kisses and love bites along your inner thighs. He licked his lower lip, violet hues threatening to burn through you.

Your chest rose and fell with the throes of excitement, skin prickling with anticipation. Daemon kissed your hip, moving to stand between your legs. He loomed over you, physique eclipsing all inklings of firelight — a shadow of desire.

He stepped back toward the mound of furs, silently gesturing for you to follow. “Lie down.” Daemon purred, his voice more of a lascivious command instead of a question. With a simple pull, he loosened the strings of his smallclothes, gaze hooded.

A whimper nearly erupted from your throat, never coming to fruition as you stood from the lounge, following Daemon’s lead. You slipped down onto the furs, with only the moonlight as your guide. Your legs parted for him, expectant and waiting.

The loss of one’s maidenhead was often rumored to be an intense and bloody affair — it no longer frightened you like it used to. Daemon stepped out of his leather trousers, bare and statuesque before you, a porcelain god come to claim you.

Moonlight bathed his flesh in a sea of silver, pale rays dancing across his ivory complexion. There was something calculating and predatory in the way he moved, a confidence that few possessed. He sank down, crawling between your legs as he reached your mouth.

Lips clashed again, a dance of desire as the head of his cock brazenly brushed along your slick cunt. Daemon was sizable, to be sure, a man with a plethora of experience. You shuddered when he planted a hand beside your head, the other gripping your hip.

Again, the head of his length threatened to split past your folds, oozing with tendrils of precum as he kissed you once more. It was ravenous, with all the ferocity and vigor of a dragon as he prepared to rock his hips forward. His broad physique kept you spread apart, molten heat churning within your belly.

Daemon finally snapped his hips forward, cock sheathing itself inside of you with little resistance. You gasped, the intrusion somewhat painful and discomforting at first, but he made sure to distract you, pressing hot kisses along your neck. He wasn’t gentle, leaving behind evidence of his affections in the form of flourishing marks.

His cock bullied its way into your cunt, stretching you in new ways, a different sensation from his fingers or yours. Daemon grunted, a huff escaping him as he allowed you a moment to adjust, grow used to the feeling.

Your countenance blossomed with pleasure, gaze a touch smoldering as you found Daemon’s visage. Those violet hues continued to devour you, a visual delight to the Rogue Prince as he fucked you. It wasn’t as rough as he typically was, opting to spare you from the brunt of his usual debauchery.

He found a rhythm, each movement succinct and sharp, hips driving forward as his cock buried itself within you with each thrust. You moaned, feeling the occasional dull ache of pain as you surrendered your virtue to Daemon, nails digging haplessly into the muscle of his shoulders.

Part of you forgot about decency and honor, trampling it into the dirt as Daemon speared you with his length. Friction grew between the both of you, flesh against flesh, perspiration building along your brow. Heat openly oozed between you, cunt slick with arousal.

The angry lines of your eager nails raked over Daemon’s shoulders, the remnants of your sin. He seemed to be savoring your roughness, throat reverberating with a myriad of grunts and softer, subtle groans.

“Turn over.” Daemon huffed, able to detect a flicker of confusion within your gaze. Admittedly, seeing your pretty face contort into one of bliss as he fucked you was rather enticing, but he was chasing after his release.

Silent, you did as he asked, turning over onto your stomach. Something about the newfound position made you shiver with anticipation, and you gasped as Daemon grabbed your hips. He lifted half of you from the furs, hips pressing into the swell of your backside.

He guided his cock back to your slit, thrusting inside of you as he assumed a quick, needy pace. Daemon’s palms squeezed at your hips, layering over the already-formed bruises from earlier endeavors. He split you asunder; a clash of lewd noises filled the room, accompanied by your intermingled sighs of passion.

You moaned, hands scraping across the direwolf hide beneath you, gripping at the furs as Daemon plunged himself into you. His motions were repetitive, intensifying in their erratic pace as he grunted. You were perfect — the noises that emerged from you only served to encourage him, unbeknownst to you.

Liquid heat oozed between your thighs, arousal spilling onto Daemon’s cock. You were teetering along the brink of a blissful oblivion, feeling your pleasure mount. Daemon’s hand slithered between your legs, thumb rolling over your clit to give you some stimulation.

It was as if the dam had shattered, consumed by the squall of lust as you whimpered. A myriad of wanton sounds escaped you, followed by a rush of warmth that surged to your cunt. Daemon growled, feeling your slit tighten around him, your release an incredible one.

Daemon followed suit, painting your insides with his milt — a dangerous game, but one that he enjoyed playing. He removed himself halfway through, coating your thighs and cunt in ropes of his seed, enough for you to feel the heat of it.

He huffed, noticing the faint trembling of your thighs, rattling like leaves as you attempted to recuperate. You had little time for composure, knowing that you needed to return to the Tower of the Hand before your Lord husband emerged from his council meeting.

The Prince did not adopt your swiftness, watching with a tempestuous stare as you retrieved your clothing, flesh sparkling with perspiration. You did not want to leave, but you feared discovery — you feared what would happen if Otto were to find out about such nocturnal proclivities.

“Going somewhere?” Daemon questioned, knowing fully well what the answer would be. He happened to redress himself in his smallclothes, observing you with the ghost of a smirk.

“I must return to the Tower of the Hand,” You mumbled, slick between your legs. The combination of Daemon’s spent and your arousal proved to be sticky and uncomfortable, but you would endure the walk and clean yourself up as soon as you could. “I cannot be seen.”

Daemon scoffed, dismissive of your concerns, though he allowed you the courtesy of dressing and preparing to depart. “Still worried for your husband,” He mused, stepping forward to caress your cheek. “How sweet.” It was cajoling, but you cared little.

“Daemon,” You began, but he stopped you with a kiss, eyes twinkling with a semblance of mirth. He held your face between his calloused palms, thumbs gingerly gliding along your cheekbones. “I do not … I do not know when I can see you again.”

A bemused hum escaped him as he cocked his head to one side, feeling your palm press flat atop his muscled chest. “Already thinking of the next time, my Lady?” He purred, pressing a kiss against your jaw. “Perhaps, when next we meet, it will be at the Dragonpit.”

It was far away from prying eyes — what better place to let feelings run hot than the seat of dragonkind at King’s Landing? Even then, Daemon knew that any future trysts would be difficult to achieve, if they were to continue.

You kissed him — a sweet gesture, one that was chaste and ladylike. Daemon could not allow something so brief, seizing your chin to kiss you again. Your head was spinning with so many things, to the point of feeling so very overwhelmed.

“I have to go.” You whispered, squeezing Daemon’s forearm as you passed. Your state of dress was somewhat uncouth, but you had no time. You made sure to keep quiet as you slipped into the gap between doors, stealing another look back at the Rogue Prince.

Violet hues remained indiscernible, though his expression was telling — the very same incendiary look he’d given you at the Tournament. “Until next we meet, Lady Hightower.”

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