✮⋆ MUCH TO SAY, LITTLE WORTH HEARING!
Summary: Being Lord Ormund Hightower's wife was never an easy task. Proud, arrogant and quick to anger, he was not a man known for patience (also: highly unpredictable). But even you had your limits when it came to enduring your husband's antics. The only way to make him fall silent was to step, ever so slightly, on his toes. Warning: Porn without plot. (Well, the plot is you telling him to stfu lol). He even talks shit in the middle of it. I believe this is canon. 18+, MDNI, spanking, fingering, nipple sucking, oral (male receiving), p in v.
You adored the hour of Oldtown when the skies were painted violet at dusk. Torches bloomed across its spires as night approached, the Honeywine black as spilled ink beneath the moon. The Hightower itself groaned softly in the sea wind, yet the city remained untouched in its serenity. Somewhere amid the winding streets, bells tolled the hour from a sept you could not see.
Inside your chamber, however, serenity was nowhere to be found.
Your husband, Ormund Hightower, sat in the copper tub like some conquering king. One arm hung lazily over the rim, long fingers tapping against the metal in a rhythm of their own. He had been there for nearly half an hour, and throughout that time he had spoken—no, he was whining about some lord of the Reach who had earned his displeasure. You had lost track of the man's name somewhere between the third and fourth complaint.
At first, you had listened. Truly, you had. A good, obedient wife must learn the moods of her husband as a sailor learned the moods of the sea, didn’t she? But Ormund had more tides inside him than the Whispering Sound itself. Sometimes even you could not keep up with his waves, no matter how hard you tried to follow them.
Pride was one tide, ambition was another, and wrath was yet another. His wrath tonight, at least, was only the small, bright sort he reserved for lesser men who had offended his greater opinion of himself.
"...and then the fool had the gall to speak of levies," Ormund said, his voice ringing clear across the chamber. "Like he ever mustered anything grander than a score of muddy-booted hedge knights and three boys with spears. I tell you, wife, the man has less sense than a goat and not half so noble a beard."
Suppressing a sigh, you slipped off your shoes, your feet aching for rest. If there was anything you had looked forward to tonight, it was curling up warmly beside Ormund after a long day spent droning through your duties, but your husband seemed to have wholly different plans.
"The sheer audacity of the man!" Ormund barked, splashing water as he gestured wildly with one hand. "He stood there trying to lecture me like he had been blessed with wisdom from the Seven. I have heard better counsel from drunk squires pissing against a stable wall."
Fighting the urge to groan right in his face, you let your fingers work at the ribbons of your gown, unlacing them until the fabric slipped free from your body. You stood in nothing but your undergarments, and for a moment, just a moment, Ormund stopped talking. His eyes wandered over you as you reached for your robe.
But once your figure disappeared beneath the thin cloth, there his mouth went again. "Oh, and have I told you about Lord Tyrell being a pain in the ass lately? As expected, the worm keeps proving himself more witless before half the Reach."
You rolled your eyes so hard you almost thought they might lodge themselves at the back of your brain. You let out a soft, noncommittal "hmm" in response, knowing your patience could unravel at any moment.
He didn't notice your lack of engagement. Too enamored with the sound of his own voice, perhaps. He shifted comfortably in the tub, water sloshing against the copper sides before he continued. "I should have had him removed from the council entirely. I told the steward, I said, 'If that man wishes to play the diplomat, let him do it from the solitude of his own keep—"
Your ears rang, your head pounding as the endless repetition of his vanity finally wore through the last of your patience.
"...but no, the politics of the Reach are a delicate dance, and I am the only one who knows the steps. Everyone else is simply tripping over their own robes—"
Before he could utter another word, you whirled around to face him. "Oh, for the love of the Seven, Ormund! Does that tongue of yours know no rest?!"
Your voice rang through the chamber. "All you do is whine, whine, whine!"
The silence that followed was instantaneous and heavy. The only sounds in the room were the gentle crackling of the logs in the fireplace and the slow drip of water from Ormund's chin. The bath continued to steam, filling the air with a soft, silvery haze. Yet he remained frozen, one arm still half-raised in a gesture of triumph. His blue eyes widened, blinking slowly as he struggled to comprehend a language he had never heard before coming from his own lady wife. From you.
He remained still for several seconds. Gradually, he began to rise. Water cascaded off his muscular form in sheets, the tub groaning under his weight as he stepped out.
The Lord of Hightower now stood before you, dripping and bare, his skin flushed pink from the heat of the bath. He was an imposing figure, chest rising and falling slightly, water pooling around his feet on the polished stone floor.
"What did you just say?" he asked. The previous booming arrogance was replaced by a dangerous rumble.
Instead of recoiling or regretting your words, you sighed and leaned back against the bed, allowing the stress and noise of the evening to dissipate. "I believe I asked if your mouth ever shuts up, husband. Have mercy on my poor ears, will you?"
Though your mind was tangled in annoyance toward your husband, your gaze betrayed you the same. Your eyes slowly traveled down his body, lingering on the heavy weight of his cock that stirred slightly as he stared you down.
Ormund's piercing blue eyes seemed to penetrate so deeply into you that it felt as if they could consume you from the inside out. His jaw tightened, a muscle feathering in his cheek.
Taking a step closer, he left the air between you crackling with electricity, tension drawn taut as a bowstring. Your defiance was the only thing that truly unsettled him, and it always led to the same outcome.
Gripping your chin with his still-damp fingers, he lowered his face to your level. "You have become quite bold, my lady," he murmured, his breath warm against your lips. "Too bold. You seem to forget that although you are my wife, I remain your lord."
Even in this moment, your lord husband was arrogant enough to assert his superiority, and you scoffed, rolling your eyes. "A lord who spends half his day grumbling and feeling threatened by his subjects? How frightening."
That seemed to be the last of his restraint. Before you could turn onto your side, Ormund seized your waist and flipped you onto your front, leaving you draped across the mattress, chest pressed into the cool fabric, hips elevated. The movement was so swift that there was hardly time to process it before his weight pressed down against your back.
"You'd better use that mouth wisely," Ormund said. His tone was heavy with authority. "Before I teach you how to address a lord who is also your husband."
The threat sent a shiver racing down your spine, for you knew well enough what Ormund meant by his "lessons." They were intense, demanding, and always left you breathless.
You felt one of his hands slide lower while the other kept you firmly in place as he lifted the hem of your delicate silk robe and your undergarments, exposing your bare back to him.
"Did the teachings of the Faith leave your mind so quickly? Or should I remind you now, wife?"
The first strike came without warning. The sound of his palm connecting with your skin resonated through the quiet room. You let out a sharp yelp, fingers gripping the bedsheets tightly. The sting ignited a blooming heat that spread across your backside.
"That is for the 'hmms,'" Ormund said, his voice low with reprimand.
He didn't allow you a moment to recover before he struck again, the blow landing slightly lower, sending a sharp pulse through you. "And this is for questioning whether my mouth ever stays quiet!"
You arched your back, a moan escaping your lips. You were well aware that Ormund’s pride was a weapon. He wanted you to feel his presence, to understand exactly who he was, and to yield to the overwhelming force of his will.
He caressed your heated skin, kneading the tender flesh of your cheeks, before striking again and again and again. Your skin began to throb, a deep, pulsing warmth that made your breath come in ragged gasps. You could hear the wet slap of his palm and the sound of your own whimpers filling the air. Tears began to pool in your eyes.
"Do you still find me tedious, my lady?" he asked at last, lips brushing the shell of your ear.
You could do little more than gasp. The strain of holding yourself together had become almost impossible.
"I cannot hear you!" he barked. His voice filled the chamber. "Use that mouth of yours."
"N-no, I don't," your voice barely steady.
A satisfied groan escaped him as he turned you onto your back to face him once more. One hand remained firm around your throat, a steady reminder of his dominance. He used his other free hand to find your fold that are already swollen and dripping.
"Look at you," he said. “All that pride, and your cunt greets me like a supplicant. Tell me again to shut up, I dare you!”
The look in his eyes alone told you the night was far from over. He slid in one, then two fingers, prompting you to cry out his name in desperation. His long, thick fingers working you open slowly and deeply, until your hips chased every stroke. But as you neared to your peak, Ormund withdrew his fingers and brought them to his lips, tasting what remained of you.
"Please," you whined, brows knitting together in helpless frustration. You hated how easily he undid you; how completely he held the reins.
"Please what, wife?" Triumph played across Ormund's face. "Please shut my mouth? Or please make you come?”
"B-both," you breathed, the word broken by uneven breaths. Sweat clung to the nape of your neck. "Please shut your mouth and fill me, Ormund”.
If the Mother and the Maiden could hear such shameless pleading, surely they would deny you the grace of another sunrise. Was this truly how a Lady of house Hightower ought to speak to her husband? The realisation sent heat rushing to your cheeks.
As if he could read the very thoughts you wished to conceal, Ormund's lips curled into a knowing smile. He stroked his fully erect cock, a thick, pulsing vein running along its length. It glistened, remnants of bathwater still clinging to the head of his member.
"Since you're so concerned with my talking, why don't you find a better use for your mouth, hm?"
Pulling you into a sitting position, he climbed onto the bed, resting both knees on either side of you. He held his cock up to your face, the scent of him - musk, soap, and raw masculinity - overwhelming your senses.
You didn't need a second invitation for that. Leaning forward, you parted your lips and took the head of his cock into your mouth. The taste of him was a mix of salt and heat. You swirled your tongue around the rim, savoring the bead of pre-cum that had formed at the tip.
Your eyelashes fluttered as you looked up at him, feeling desire stir despite yourself in such a compromising position, all just to please your lord husband. It was a sight that would surely have every septa and septon in the Seven Kingdoms crying blasphemy.
Ormund let out a sharp hiss, his large hands gripping your hair to guide you gently before began to thrust his hips forward in a slow, erotic motion, pushing deeper into your throat.
“Next time you bid me shut up, remember how sweetly you learned to open your mouth for better use,” he sneered.
You gagged slightly, the thickness of him filling your mouth entirely, yet you didn’t pull away. Despite your disdain for his boastful nature, you relished the way he took control, the sensation of his cock feeling like a brand against your tongue.
So you sucked harder, your tongue dancing around the frenulum. The sounds of your encounter filled the room - the wet, squelching noise of your mouth sliding over his length met with Ormund’s heavy, labored breathing. The whole time, your eyes remained fixed on him, admiring his form as you sucked and licked every inch.
"Oh, you're... you're perfect," Ormund moaned. He was getting harder and harder around your lips now. You could feel he was nearing his release. Refusing to cum in your mouth, he pulled out abruptly and pushed you back onto the bed.
"Perfect little wife. Always know how to satisfy me," Ormund said. The arrogance had faded, replaced by a hint of awe and urgency. He bent down to claim your lips, parting them with his tongue as he tasted your need. He stripped you of your remaining clothes, letting his large hands explore your body, squeezing at each of your breasts. And as soon as his mouth made contact with your nipple, a sharp cry escaped you, calling out his name.
“Do you still wish for me to be silent?” His voice was much softer now. Blue eyes twinkled as he looked down at you. The fury that had burned in Ormund moments before had vanished entirely, leaving behind the gentle, loving husband he reserved only for you.
“Yes, I very much do,” you admitted, fingers threading through his hair. “Sometimes I wonder how that mouth of yours could still be moving after hours.”
He gave you a wink, smiling as he continued to shower you with gentle kisses over your chest, traversing from one breast to the other, dragging his tongue along your collarbone and up to your neck.
"I will fill you up so completely that you won't be able to utter any vulgar words for the entire week," his breath was warm against your ear.
You were already at the limits of your patience. Ormund knew it well, and yet he persisted. One of his hands ventured downwards again, his palm spreading at your entrance that was now too wet. He rubbed his thumb against your pearl. "...every inch of you. Do you understand how much—"
Seven Hells, this man. His endless provocations proved too much; your patience crumbled for the second time. “By the Father and Mother who watch over us, can you shut your mouth?”
Your words carried more exasperation than anger, for you had long accepted that this was simply Ormund: arrogant, insufferable, and utterly yours. “Just be quiet and get inside me, please,"
Ormund let out a laugh, searching for your eyes as he positioned the tip of his cock at your entrance. You were already soaked, pussy throbbing with anticipation.
“As my lady wife commands,” he said. And with one powerful thrust, he buried himself deep inside you.
Your walls stretched to welcome him, the feeling of him permeating every corner of your being. He took a brief pause, giving you time to adjust, forehead resting gently against yours. Then, in perfect synchrony, you both started to move. Ormund swayed his hips, filling you entirely as you pushed upwards to match the rhythm of his dance. It was an obsession that had enveloped you both since the very first night you shared this bed as husband and wife, many years ago.
"More," you begged, nails digging into the muscles of his back. "More, Ormund!"
He quickened his pace, his actions transforming into a whirlwind of friction and warmth. The feeling of his foreskin gliding against your walls produced an overwhelming pleasure that nearly consumed you. You could feel the pressure building inside, tension coiling in your gut like a spring. You moaned and moaned and moaned, filling the air with the sounds of your bodies colliding.
He silenced you with a gentle shush. “Now look who’s whining. The whole Oldtown could hear you, have you no shame?,” Ormund grinned. He started to rotate his hips in a circular motion, the tip of his cock brushing against your sensitive spot with each turn. Each movement becomes increasingly intense.
You let out a shriek as the first wave of orgasm washed over you. Body trembled with stars dancing in your vision, and for a moment, your mind teetered on the edge of blackout until Ormund's loud moan broke through. His muscles tensed as he delivered three final thrusts, burying himself as deeply as possible, before he finally erupted. Hot, thick jets of his seed pulsing deep within you, filling your womb with wave after wave of warmth.
And for a long while, neither of you uttered a word. The only sounds were the harmony of your breathing and the distant crackling of the fire. The room had cooled, yet the warmth between your bodies lingered.
Ormund finally adjusted his position, rolling onto his side while still holding you securely against his chest. "You’re a loudmouth, my lady," he murmured, his voice rough from the strain of the evening. “Now we’re even.”
You could not help but smile at his words. The embarrassment and discomfort had long since faded. “At least I know when and where it is proper to be loud.”
Ormund flashed you a smile before his eyes began to study your face, searching for any sign of hurt or uneasiness from what had passed between you. "Did I hurt you, my love?" He tipped your chin upward and brushed the stray hairs away from your face. "I apologise."
Gently pushing his hand away, you brought it to your lips and kissed his knuckles. “No, but I should perhaps pray for another heir to keep you occupied and spare myself from your endless grievances against other lords."
He closed his eyes as he breathed in the scent of your skin. "Very amusing." A pause followed before his voice softened. "Still, that is not something I would ever take lightly. I would not forgive myself if I caused you harm, not even by accident."
With a sigh, you nestled deeper into his embrace. Finally, you were free to indulge in the one thing you had longed for after a tiring day - the quiet comfort of being held by him. Especially after enduring his never-ending complaints earlier, which had left your head spinning.
Bringing his lips down to meet yours, Ormund kissed you slowly this time. His mouth moved gently against yours as he whispered soft promises that made your heart swell with love and adoration for the man you were blessed to call husband. "Sleep now, beautiful. Until tomorrow."
When morning came, the familiar trials of being Lady Hightower would begin anew: dealing with the boasts, the pride, and the endless complaints of Lord Ormund Hightower. He would test your patience as he always did, yet you knew there was no other man in this Kingdom you would rather stand beside.
So you kissed his lips once more. "Until tomorrow then, Lord Hightower."
