Discover Top Posts Tagged with #ormund fluff

The Sound & Senseless | 01

Part 2

You were the truest embodiment of fire and blood, bound to not one but two dragons. Your brother, Viserys, found it hellish to find you a suitable match, and for all your suitors, you were given to the one man who adamantly did not want you.

Ormund Hightower x Reader | 2k+ | cw: fem!reader, pre-show timeline, Targ!reader, implied daemon x reader, slight targcest, arranged/forced marriage, enemies to lovers, ormund HATES you, reader is a lil shit, ragebating as a love language, low key black cat x golden retriever, fluff, typos, etc.

A/N: I want to stress this man OUT btw | crossposted on ao3

"I don't see need in this conversation," I pop a grape into my mouth, "I'll happily marry the pretty boy."

My eldest brother sighs, lifting his gaze from his papers to where I sat by the window. He narrows his eyes in irritation, "which pretty boy?"

I turn to him, "Gwayne Hightower."

#you know that lion v monkey meme thats them #ormund hightower #ormund hightower x reader #ormund x reader #ormund fic #ormund hightower fanfic #ormund fanfic #ormund hightower fic #ormund x you #ormund hightower fluff #ormund fluff

Of little worry

pairings: ormund hightower x wife reader

summary: people are asking about an heir when your marriage just begins six months ago

c/w: this is not dark or canon ormund, he's a dream husband here, protective husband stance, just fluff, not talking about heavy stuff

Your marriage with Ormund has been starting off good at the beginning, even at betrothal. There's not been a huge issue with him, he tries to be the best man that he is and holds your hand as he gently asks what causes that little pout in your face which you always deny isn't there. You are blessed to have him as your husband, the freshly given position not once reducing the man you know before the ceremony.

He takes things cautiously, always careful with planning and consideration to you. And in the days before you're announced as husband and wife before the Sept, he made it clear that he wanted the early days to be yours alone, knowing each other deeper and exploring the vulnerable pieces people only discover when they're in the early sunlight of a marriage. That being plain that he doesn't want both of you to rush in the matter of a child.

You have no doubt in his sayings. But it settles in your chest differently when he openly defends you when someone dares question it to you in front of him.

It's a guest staying in Old Town after a successful alliance with House Hightower. Both sides are content and accepting of the final decision of the discussion, though there was a slight tension in the middle of it.

As the Lord of Oldtown, it becomes Ormund's obligation to host the supper for the guest, with you introducing the famous dish at your husband's side. They look pleased and you both exchange glances in triumph as you sit on the dinner chair.

Small talks are made, conversation chattered as the clinking of forks against the plates fill the hearty room. Only when the wife of the lord turns her head to you, look at you intently with her cruel smile as she asks you a question.

"Your marriage is truly favored by the Gods, it only leaves us to a gap that causes us nothing but sincere concern."

You continue cutting your meat, its taste is customized to your preference since the first week you stay as the lady of the house. The cooks and the servants adore you, the light and easy way you manage the household, efficient yet kind to them. Some of them theatrically praise you and your husband, saying woven together by God. You only manage a small smile, yet deeply grateful you're surrounded by benevolent companies that welcomes your new presence at their service with willingness.

You don't bother yourself to answer the double meaning question, completely peaceful just enjoying your supper, knowing where the intention leads.

"That's very thoughtful of you to concern yourself with us. Pray, tell me, my lady. What troubles you?" Ormund says with a calm voice.

"It is that Old Town is in its glory in your hand, my lord. It leaves one wondering whether we'll ever see the heir to continue your legacy." She continues, her husband doesn't seem to be interested in what she's doing, not stopping yet not disagreeing.

Ormund straightens his posture, giving them a small smile as he pours their glass with more wine in a perfectly collected manner.

"I'm sure the Gods will show us their benison when the time comes."

He looks at her husband, then directly into her face.

"Your concern honors me, my lady, yet I ask that you set it aside. Let us continue the supper."

The underlying warning in his seemingly courteous tone makes your lips lift slightly, which you cover with the doublet as you sip your wine.

Not satisfied with what your husband gives her, she takes turns to stare at you, her gaze grows bolder, not as subtle as before.

"I was hoping my lady would be so kind to shed light on the matter." She says with more emphasis in her tone as she addresses you.

You pass a neatly folded napkin across your mouth, the movements unhurried.

"I fear it is not a complicated reason. Lord Ormund never once burdens me with the pressure of an heir. You are right, he's an outstanding lord and head of the house. Above all else, he's a good lord husband."

At your straightforward explanation, Ormund catches the unspoken attitude at the end of it.

He is my husband. Need I say more?

He can't help the amusement in his features, though he tries to keep it down. His hand finds yours under the table, your fingers tangle perfectly like they always have, his thumb graze tenderly on your palm.

Not to console you, he knows the comments don't even rattle you, and it warms his heart at how much trust you place on him, how his words resolve in your very being, give you the certainty that he surely is by your side.

The lady does not form a further reply, instead busying herself with her meal as she avoids your eyes.

"You should try the meat, my lady, the cooks prepared it to my usual taste."

The hour is late and you already retire to your chamber that you share with Ormund. To be fair, you only require yours for dressing, but you spend the night clinging to the sheets in the arms of your husband.

You stand in the mirror, untangle the braids of your hair, already in the nightgown.

At the reflection, you trail the movement of his as he enters and makes way to you.

"Let me." His voice grows quieter and lower in the dark of night, his hands carefully draw apart the woven strands of your hair.

"It was quite an eventful supper."

"It certainly was."

You relax under his touch. "Do you think they like the seasoning of the meat? It was also the tender and—the texture was just perfect."

He shakes his head slightly at your antics.

"Yes, I'm sure they like the meal that you had the cooks prepared specifically to your preference." Ormund lightly grabs your shoulder to turn you around and face him, while his palms rest comfortably at your waist.

"You are hardly one to make that claim. Who ate two portions of them last week?"

You place your hand on his chest, still covered with his doublet. You tease, remind him of his not so poised behavior as he asks the servant to bring him another plate.

"Ah, this is nowhere getting fair. We should retire for the night before you throw another record of my rather unbecoming manners."

You raise your brows. "Using an excuse when you're already losing? That's not what one can call dignify, lord husband."

"Who says anything about dignified?" His eyes crinkle in that lovely shape you adore, his sweet smile forming on his lips, clearly proud of his little unseemly jest.

You can't help your laugh at his poor attempt, the effect always drops to funny moments rather than seductive atmospheres. He laughs along with you, pulling your body closer to his.

"We won't have that tonight then."

You say in final as you pull down his doublet and press your lips to his. He responds instinctively, his head leans to the side, allowing him to take more of you, as his hand caresses the low of your back through the nightgown. And you know deep in your heart that you are safe with him and he'll stand beside you without question, tonight was only one little proof of his unshakeable constancy.

a/n: first ormund fic is done, would love to hear your opinions in the comments!

The Lady of the Hightower

Pairing: Ormund Hightower x wife!Reader

Genre: Smut, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Slice of Life, Romance

Synopsis: In the High Tower’s light, where the embers burn low, and the shadows of oak in the candle-glow grow, a series of moments, of struggle and heat, where war and the softness of sanctuary meet.

A Conquest of Breath

The Lady’s Claim (WIP)

Perfumè

Ormund had always been a man of scents, for his nose was far less forgiving than most. The foul stench of King’s Landing, the sweat of crowded streets, the rot that clung to the corners of Westeros’ great halls all of it was an offense to him. He had known the sweeter fragrances of life the smoke of a grand feast, the rich spices upon roasted meats, the oils and perfumes poured into his baths by careful hands, the lack of stench Oldtown produced.

Yet none had ever held him as she did.

By the gods, he had never known such a scent could exist. It followed her like a ghostly veil, a delicate perfume that lingered in the air long after she had passed. It was soft, alluring, and cruel in its sweetness, for it left him wanting only to breathe it in again.

He found himself wondering what fragrance might cling to her skin, what warmth and sweetness might rest upon her flesh beneath silks and lace. A lady of such grace and refinement surely carried herself with the same purity as the flowers from which her perfumes were made.

The thought was unbecoming. A thought he would never dare confess aloud for it was beneath a man of his station, beneath the discipline he had spent years forging. Yet desire was a beast no knight, lord, or king could ever truly tame.

And for all his wealth, all his pride, all the luxuries the world had given him… it was her scent alone that had made him feel like a starving man before a feast.

So when he saw her again, he found himself watching.

It was not a habit of his to take notice of women so easily. Ormund was a man of exacting tastes, a man difficult to impress and even harder to intrigue. The songs of maidens and the fluttering of pretty smiles had never held much power over him. He had seen countless ladies adorned in jewels and silks, each attempting to capture the attention of powerful men, yet most faded from his thoughts as quickly as candle smoke upon the wind.

But she… she lingered.

When the feast of Oldtown was held, beneath the glow of a hundred candles and the murmur of noble voices, he found himself searching the crowded hall for her. Not for her name, nor her title, nor the wealth her family carried but for that presence he could not forget.

And when at last he found her, he allowed himself the smallest indulgence. He drew closer, wanting to know the woman behind the fragrance that had haunted his senses. The woman whose perfume had become an obsession far more dangerous than he cared to admit.

He wished to learn her words, her laughter, the thoughts hidden behind her eyes. For a scent alone could tempt a man, but it was the soul behind it that could truly ensnare him.

And Ormund, a man who had believed himself immune to such things, found himself wondering if perhaps he had already stepped too close to the flame.

He found himself lingering longer than he intended, his gaze following her through the crowded hall until at last he forced himself to move.

A strange thing, that a man such as Ormund a man who commanded respect and rarely sought the approval of others should find himself uncertain of how to approach a single lady.

He cleared his throat softly, a small attempt to break through the music, the laughter, and the endless conversations of lords and ladies surrounding them.

“My lady…” he spoke, his voice carrying the weight of a man accustomed to being heard, yet softened by a rare hesitation.

When she turned toward him, he found himself momentarily caught off guard. The perfume that had lingered in his memory was there again, faint but unmistakable, woven together with the warmth of her presence.

And for once, Ormund found himself at a loss for words.

The man who could face the judgments of courts and the whispers of nobles without fear now stood before her, attempting to find the proper words to introduce himself to the very woman who had so effortlessly captured his attention.

Her eyes were the first thing he truly noticed.

Not the jewels that adorned her, nor the fine fabric of her gown, nor the careful beauty crafted by the hands of ladies and servants. No it was her eyes that held him.

They were beautiful beyond expectation, captivating in a way he could not quite name. There was a warmth within them, a quiet strength that seemed to reach beyond the walls she had built around herself. For a moment, Ormund forgot the feast, the music, and the countless voices filling the hall.

Then she offered him a graceful curtsy.

“Lord Ormund” she greeted.

The sound of his name upon her lips was strangely pleasing, far more than it had any right to be. He had heard it spoken by maesters, lords, and servants alike, yet none had made it sound quite so different as she had.

He inclined his head in return, hiding the sudden interest that stirred within him behind the composed expression he wore so well.

“lady y/n,” he answered, his voice calm and measured. “I find myself fortunate to have your company this evening.”

And though he would never admit it aloud, Ormund knew in that moment that he had not sought her out merely because of a fragrance that lingered in the air.

He had sought her because something about her made him wish to linger.

A flicker of surprise crossed her features, subtle yet unmistakable.

For a woman who knew the whispers of the court, it was no small thing to find herself standing beneath the attention of Lord Ormund. His reputation had traveled far beyond the halls where his name was spoken. He was known to be a man of sharp temper, sharper standards, and habits so particular that many ladies quietly thanked the gods that his gaze had passed over them.

He was not a man easily pleased, nor one who offered his interest freely.

So to have him seek her out to have him stand before her with words of admiration rather than criticism — was enough to catch her off guard.

“Truly?” she asked, the single word carrying both surprise and a hint of disbelief.

Ormund studied her expression, almost amused by her reaction. It was rare for anyone to question his sincerity, rarer still for someone to look upon him without fear or eagerness.

“Truly” he replied.

His voice remained composed, though his eyes betrayed a quiet fascination.

“I am not a man who wastes his words, lady y/n. If I wished merely to flatter you, I would have offered some empty praise and returned to my seat.”

His gaze lingered upon her for a moment longer than courtesy required.

“But I find myself curious about you… and that is a far rarer thing.”

For all the years Ormund had spent believing himself a man ruled by discipline and reason, he found it unsettling how easily one woman’s presence could make him forget both.

The faintest twitch touched her lips, as though she fought against a smile she was unwilling to give him so easily. There was a glimmer of amusement in her eyes now, a small spark of confidence beneath her surprise.

She opened her mouth, studying the man before her this lord known for his sternness, his sharp tongue, and his refusal to be impressed by anyone. Yet here he stood, offering her a curiosity he rarely granted.

“Is that so?” she asked.

The words were simple, yet there was a quiet challenge woven within them.

Ormund noticed it immediately. Most ladies would have lowered their gaze, offered a polite compliment, or hurried to fill the silence with praise. But she did none of those things. She met him with a measure of wit, a spark that suggested she was not so easily won over.

And strangely enough, that pleased him.

A slow breath left him, almost a quiet laugh hidden beneath his restraint.

“It is” he replied. “Though I suspect you find that difficult to believe.”

His gaze moved briefly across her expression, taking in the confidence she carried as naturally as another woman might carry jewels.

“Perhaps you have heard the stories told of me” he added, his tone dry. “That I am impossible to satisfy, forever displeased, and far too particular for my own good.”

A faint hint of a smile touched his face.

“I fear some of them may even be true.”

Yet his eyes remained on hers.

“But tonight, my lady, I find myself grateful that my attention wandered where it did.”

A soft amusement touched her voice, the kind that suggested she was not entirely certain whether to be flattered or wary.

“Well, I suppose I must be grateful” she replied.

The words were polite, yet there was a subtle playfulness beneath them as though she understood the rarity of the moment and found some enjoyment in seeing a man like Ormund so unexpectedly captivated.

Ormund’s brow lifted slightly. Gratitude was not the response he had expected. Fear, perhaps. Curiosity. Even pride. But not this quiet confidence.

“Must you?” he questioned, his tone carrying the faintest hint of dry amusement.

He stepped no closer, mindful of the distance expected between a lord and a lady, yet his attention remained fixed upon her.

“I had thought a lady might consider herself fortunate, not obligated.”

A rare softness entered his expression, though his pride would never allow him to admit it.

“Though perhaps I should be the grateful one.”

His eyes briefly wandered toward the crowded hall before returning to her.

“For there are many here tonight adorned in finer jewels, wearing richer silks, and carrying names far older than mine…”

He paused, his gaze settling upon her once more.

“Yet you are the only one who made me look twice.”

And for a man like Ormund, that admission was perhaps the greatest compliment he could offer.

His eyes lingered upon her longer than courtesy would permit, though Ormund had never been a man easily concerned with what others thought of his actions.

Yet even he could feel the danger of allowing his attention to wander too freely.

The closer he stood, the more that familiar fragrance surrounded him. It was no longer merely a trace carried upon the air it was there, undeniable, woven into every breath he took. The perfume was delicate, yet it possessed a strange power over him, as though it had found some weakness in a man who believed himself without any.

His imagination betrayed him, wandering to thoughts he had no right to entertain. He wondered what other secrets she carried beyond the silks and jewels, beyond the graceful smile and composed manner she showed the world. What kind of woman was hidden beneath the beauty everyone could see?

The thought unsettled him.

Ormund had spent years mastering himself. He was a man of discipline, a man who valued control above all else. Yet standing before her, he found that control becoming something far more difficult to hold.

He quickly masked the thought behind the stern expression he wore so naturally, though the slightest shift in his gaze betrayed him.

“Forgive me, lady y/n” he said, his voice quieter now. “I find myself curious.”

A pause.

“It is not often that someone manages to command my attention.”

And the most frustrating part, he thought, was that she seemed entirely unaware of the power she held over him.

“Perhaps you would care to accompany me outside for a walk,” he asked, his voice measured, though there was a quiet weight beneath the calm of it.

The offer was simple enough, yet it hung between them like a challenge. The hall was warm with candlelight and crowded with lords, ladies, and the noise of a feast, but Ormund found himself longing for the cooler dark beyond the doors or perhaps only for the chance to have her nearer without the watchful eyes of the court.

His gaze remained upon her, steady and intent, as though he had already decided that her answer mattered more to him than he would ever care to confess. The fragrance that clung to her seemed stronger still now, surrounding him like a spell too delicate to name and too cruel to ignore.

For a man so particular, so difficult to please, it was no small thing to make such an invitation.

And yet he had made it all the same.

Ormund extending his arm, though there was an uncommon restraint in the gesture, as if he feared that any greater boldness might betray him.

"The hall has grown... stifling."

In truth, it was not the heat that unsettled him.

She regarded him for a heartbeat, weighing the invitation before laying her gloved hand upon his arm. It was the lightest of touches, scarcely more than the brush of a feather.

Yet it was enough.

Ormund felt it as though she had laid a hand upon his very heart.

Together they passed beneath the great oak doors, leaving behind the clamour of laughter and clashing goblets. The evening air was cool, carrying the scent of roses climbing ancient stone and the salt borne inland upon the wind.

Still, it was not the flowers he noticed.

It was her.

The fragrance that had first caught his attention lingered between them, softer now than within the crowded hall, no longer masked by smoke or spiced wine. It drifted toward him whenever the breeze stirred the folds of her gown, subtle enough that another man might never have remarked upon it.

Ormund did.

He found himself drawing a slower breath, cursing his own weakness. Gods, what strange enchantment had this woman laid upon him? He, who could pass a hundred beauties without a second glance, now measured the distance between them as though every pace were a torment.

"You are aware of what they say of me" he murmured at last, his eyes fixed upon the moonlit path before them. "That I possess little patience... and even less warmth."

Only then did he turn to her.

"Yet since meeting you, I find myself wishing to linger."

His gaze settled upon hers, unwavering.

"That is... most unlike me."

The moon cast pale silver across the gardens of Oldtown, the feast now little more than a distant murmur beyond the castle walls.

They walked in silence for a time.

Ormund did not mind it. The quiet allowed him to listen to the rustling leaves stirred by the evening breeze, to the soft whisper of her skirts over the worn stone path... and to the maddening fragrance that seemed to follow wherever she went.

It haunted him.

He had convinced himself it was merely the perfume she wore, some costly oil pressed from flowers that bloomed in the Reach. Yet the longer he stood beside her, the less he believed it. It had become something altogether her own, as though it belonged not to the bottle but to the woman herself.

"Tell me something,lady y/n" he said at last, his voice low enough that only she could hear.

"Do you delight in tormenting men?"

She turned to him, a curious smile playing upon her lips.

"I fear I do not know what you mean, my lord."

"No?"

A rare smile touched the corner of his mouth.

"Then perhaps the gods fashioned you cruel without your knowing."

She laughed softly, the sound warm enough to loosen something within him that had remained bound for years.

"Cruel? I have done nothing."

"Precisely."

His gaze lingered upon her face before falling away, as though he no longer trusted himself to keep it there.

"You simply exist."

The words escaped him before pride could silence them.

"And somehow that has proven enough."

His hand twitched at his side.

He wondered, for one reckless instant, what it would be like to brush a stray curl from her cheek, to learn whether her hand was as soft as it appeared beneath its glove, whether the scent that so tormented him lingered in her hair when the wind caught it.

The thoughts came unbidden.

He despised them.

More truthfully... he despised how dearly he wished to indulge them.

"You have made me a most unfortunate man, Lady Y/N" he said with a quiet, rueful smile.

"Because now I find myself searching every room for you before I notice anyone else."

Ormund had spent a lifetime mastering himself.

A lord who surrendered to temper, to drink, or to desire was a fool, and Ormund had never suffered fools—not even within himself. Every word was measured. Every glance deliberate. Every impulse buried beneath years of discipline.

Yet the woman beside him threatened to undo decades of careful restraint.

The garden path narrowed, forcing them to walk closer than before. Their shoulders nearly brushed.

Nearly.

It should not have mattered.

Yet he found himself acutely aware of the warmth that radiated from her through the cool night air. Her fragrance drifted toward him once more, gentler now than it had been within the feast, carrying with it something impossibly fresh, like blossoms after summer rain.

His breath caught before he could master it.

Gods...

His fingers curled behind his back, hidden within the sleeves of his cloak.

He wanted to close the distance.

Not out of boldness.

Out of curiosity.

That was the lie he told himself.

"You are unusually quiet, my lord" she observed, her voice soft enough to stir the silence between them.

He gave a faint smile.

"I have discovered that speaking becomes rather difficult in your company."

She laughed.

It was a gentle sound, but to Ormund it struck with the force of a war horn.

Without thinking, he looked at her.

Truly looked.

Moonlight silvered the curve of her cheek, caught within the strands of her hair, and danced in those impossible eyes that had first ensnared him.

His gaze lingered.

Longer than courtesy allowed.

Longer than honour advised.

"My lord?" she asked quietly.

He realized then that he had been staring.

He should have looked away.

Instead, he took one absent step nearer.

So slight that another might not have noticed.

He did.

His pulse answered before his mind could rebuke him.

There was scarcely the breadth of a hand between them now.

"Forgive me," he murmured, though his voice lacked conviction.

His eyes searched hers as though trying to recover the discipline he had misplaced.

"I find... I have become accustomed to denying myself many things."

His gaze dropped for the briefest moment to the gloved hand resting at her side before returning to her face.

"It is an unpleasant discovery to learn there is one temptation I cannot so easily command."

The night had grown still.

Only the chirping of crickets and the distant echo of merriment from the feast accompanied them as they wandered beneath the gardens of Oldtown. Moonlight spilled across the cobbled paths, turning marble statues and climbing roses to silver.

Neither spoke.

The silence should have been uncomfortable.

Instead, it drew them together.

Ormund stole another glance at her.

Gods.

She had become unbearable.

Not because she sought his attention, nor because she flaunted her beauty as so many ladies of the court often did. Quite the opposite. She seemed blissfully unaware of the turmoil she stirred within him.

He had spent years believing himself immune to desire.

Now, every step beside her tested that belief.

"My lord?"

Her voice drew him from his thoughts.

"You are staring again."

His jaw tightened.

"I know."

The admission surprised even him.

She raised a brow, the ghost of a smile dancing across her lips.

"I had thought a lord of your reputation possessed greater discipline."

"I did."

His answer came almost too quickly.

"Until you."

She stopped walking.

So did he.

For a long moment, neither moved.

The wind toyed with loose strands of her hair, carrying that maddening fragrance toward him once more. Fresh... delicate... impossible to ignore.

He found himself taking a single step nearer.

Not enough to touch her.

Enough that he could see the flecks of gold hidden within her eyes.

Enough that lowering his voice became unnecessary.

"I do not understand what sorcery this is" he murmured, almost to himself. "I have dined beside queens without remembering the colour of their eyes the following morning."

His gaze searched hers.

"I have forgotten yours only once."

"And when was that?"

"The few miserable hours I spent asleep."

The corner of her mouth lifted despite herself.

"You speak dangerously, Lord Ormund."

"So I've been told."

Another silence settled between them.

His hand lifted.

Instinct.

Nothing more.

Yet before his reason could reclaim it, his knuckles brushed lightly against a loose curl the wind had carried across her cheek.

The touch was fleeting.

Barely there.

As though he feared she might vanish if he lingered.

His breath caught.

He should have withdrawn immediately.

Instead, his fingers hovered for the briefest heartbeat before falling back to his side.

"I beg your forgiveness" he said quietly.

"I have forgotten myself."

She looked up at him, her cheeks touched by the faintest bloom of warmth.

"Have you?"

Her words were scarcely above a whisper.

Ormund held her gaze.

"No."

His voice had grown rough.

"I fear..."

He smiled then a weary smile, as though surrendering to something he had resisted for far too long.

"I fear I have only just begun."

For a moment, neither of them moved

The world seemed to have grown smaller reduced to the space between them, to the quiet rhythm of their breathing, to the unspoken words neither dared to give voice to.

Ormund had faced angry lords, fierce warriors, and the judgment of entire courts without so much as a flicker of uncertainty.

Yet now, standing before her, he found himself uncertain.

Not because he did not know what he wanted.

But because he knew exactly what he wanted.

And that frightened him more than any enemy ever had.

Lady Y/N watched him carefully, as though she could see the battle raging beneath the composed expression he wore so proudly.

"You are a difficult man to understand, Lord Ormund."

A quiet breath escaped him, almost a laugh.

"I have been called worse."

"I do not doubt it."

There was a teasing warmth in her voice now, and strangely, it eased him. Most people approached him with caution, measuring every word in fear of displeasing him.

She did not.

She challenged him.

And perhaps that was what truly unsettled him.

"Most women would have left me to my silence by now" he admitted.

"Perhaps most women know better."

A faint smile touched his lips.

"And do you?"

She held his gaze.

"I have not decided yet."

The answer struck him harder than any flattery could have.

Because she was not trying to impress him.

She was not trying to win him.

She was simply standing before him, entirely herself.

And Ormund found that far more dangerous.

The night breeze passed between them, carrying the scent of roses and the distant sounds of the feast. Slowly, almost reluctantly, he offered his arm once more.

"Then perhaps I should give you reason to decide."

She looked at his arm, then back to him.

"And what reason would that be?"

His eyes softened, just slightly.

"That beneath all the rumours, all the anger, and all the walls I have built..."

He paused.

"There is still a man worth knowing."

For once, Ormund was not speaking as a lord.

Not as a man of reputation.

Only as himself.

And that was perhaps the most dangerous thing of all.

Because Lady Y/N was the first person in years who made him wish to be seen and touched.

For the first time in many years, Ormund did not feel the need to be guarded.

It was a strange sensation almost an uncomfortable one.

He had built himself from stone. A man known for his sharp words, his unforgiving standards, and the coldness that kept most people at a careful distance. Yet Lady Y/N had somehow found the cracks in that stone without ever attempting to break it.

She simply stood before him, and he found himself wanting to let her in.

"You speak as though you wish me to look beyond the rumours" she said softly.

Ormund's eyes remained upon hers.

"Perhaps I do."

"And why would you care what I think?"

That question made him pause.

Because the answer was far too honest.

"Because when you look at me" he said quietly, "you do not look away."

The words hung between them.

She studied him then, truly studied him, and for once Ormund did not hide from being seen.

The distance between them seemed to disappear without either of them deciding it should.

Her hand rested lightly upon his arm, a simple gesture, yet it carried more weight than any grand declaration spoken before a court.

His breath caught.

Not because the touch was bold.

Because it was gentle.

Because after years of being feared, commanded, and obeyed, he had forgotten what it felt like to be touched without expectation.

"You are not what they say you are" she whispered.

A faint, almost bitter smile touched his lips.

"Careful, my lady. You may begin to make me believe that."

"Perhaps someone should."

And that was what undid him.

Not beauty.

Not perfume.

Not the admiration of a lady at court.

It was kindness.

The very thing he had convinced himself he did not need.

Slowly, giving her every chance to pull away, Ormund lifted a hand to her cheek. His touch was careful, almost uncertain a rare vulnerability from a man who was so rarely uncertain of anything.

She did not move away.

Instead, she leaned closer.

And when their lips met, it was not the reckless act of two strangers swept away by a passing desire.

It was the surrender of two people who had spent too long pretending they were unaffected and curious.

The kiss was gentle at first, almost cautious, as though both were discovering something neither had expected to find.

But when she smiled against him, when she remained there willingly, Ormund felt the last of his careful restraint begin to fade.

Not into madness.

Not into foolishness.

Into something far more dangerous.

Something real.

When they finally parted, his forehead rested lightly against hers, his usual confidence nowhere to be found.

"You truly are a dangerous woman," he murmured.

She smiled.

"And yet you sought me out."

Ormund looked at her, a rare warmth softening his expression.

"Yes..."

A pause.

"And I fear I would do so again."

The kiss should have been enough to quiet the thoughts that had plagued him since the first night he noticed her.

It was not.

If anything, it made them worse.

For Ormund, it had never truly been her beauty alone that unsettled him. Beauty was common within noble halls. He had seen countless ladies dressed in silks and jewels, their faces painted with careful perfection, all hoping to capture the attention of powerful men.

But none of them had remained with him after they left.

None of them had haunted his senses.

Her perfume had become his greatest weakness a foolish thing, he knew, for a man like him to be undone by something so delicate. Yet he could not deny the way it lingered in his thoughts.

Even after she was gone, he found himself remembering it.

The faint sweetness that followed her through crowded halls. The way the scent seemed to belong to her rather than the oils and flowers it was made from. The way one breath of it could turn a room full of noise and laughter into something distant.

It was maddening.

"You are thinking far too much" she teased softly.

Ormund looked at her, almost amused by how easily she could read him.

"That has always been my problem."

"And what are you thinking of now?"

For once, the great Lord Ormund hesitated.

He could not tell her the truth that he had memorised things about her he had no reason to remember. The sound of her voice. The way she smiled before laughing. The scent that seemed to follow her like a secret.

He lowered his gaze briefly, collecting himself.

"That you have made a very unfortunate habit of staying in my thoughts."

Her smile softened.

"Is that truly so terrible?"

He looked back at her.

"For a man who prides himself on control?"

A pause.

"Yes."

Yet the quiet smile that followed betrayed him.

Because despite his complaints, despite every attempt to convince himself otherwise, Ormund knew the truth.

He did not wish to be rid of the temptation.

He had spent years surrounded by things that were beautiful, expensive, and rare.

But none had ever made him feel as utterly powerless as a woman who simply walked into a room and left behind the faintest trace of herself.

For a man who had spent so long denying himself every indulgence, Ormund found it almost humiliating how easily she unravelled him.

His hand found hers again, almost as if drawn there by some force beyond reason. Not with the certainty of a conqueror, but with the hesitation of a man who knew he stood dangerously close to losing the careful control he had built his entire life around.

Her eyes searched his, and for once, Ormund did not hide what lay beneath the stern expression he wore so often.

Want.

Not the shallow admiration of a passing fancy. Not the desire to possess something beautiful simply because it was rare.

It was something far more troubling.

He wanted to know her. To understand the woman who had managed to make a man so guarded become restless at the mere thought of her.

The faint fragrance of her perfume surrounded them once more, that same scent that had first captured his attention. It was almost cruel how easily it lingered a reminder of her even when she was not near, a whisper of her presence that refused to leave him.

Ormund closed his eyes for the briefest moment, as though gathering what remained of his restraint.

"You have no idea what you do to me" he murmured.

A small smile touched her lips.

"Have I truly caused such trouble, my lord?"

He looked at her then, a rare softness breaking through his usual severity.

"More than you know."

His fingers tightened gently around hers.

"I have spent years surrounded by things men would call beautiful. Gold. Jewels. Great halls filled with music and feasts."

He paused, his gaze never leaving hers.

"Yet it was something as simple as the scent you left behind that made me remember you."

The confession seemed almost painful for him to admit.

Ormund, a man who would rather face a blade than reveal weakness, had just given her the truth.

"Your perfume" he whispered, almost with disbelief, "has become a reminder that there are still things in this world I cannot command."

And perhaps that was what frightened him most.

Not that he desired her presence.

But that he welcomed the feeling of being unable to resist it.

When he kissed her again, it was not the act of a lord taking what he wished.

It was the surrender of a man who had spent too long pretending he did not yearn.

And when they parted, Ormund rested his forehead against hers, a quiet breath leaving him.

"A dangerous thing you are, Lady Y/N."

She smiled.

"And yet you keep returning."

His answer came without hesitation.

"Yes…"

A pause.

"That may be the most dangerous part of all."

#house of the dragon #ormund x reader #ormund hightower #hotd ormund #ormund fluff #house hightower #fanfic #x reader #ormund x you

Ormund breeding kink coming SOON

#starlight speaks #ormund fluff #ormund #ormund smut #ormund x you #ormund hightower smut

⎯⎯ ୨ 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒 - 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ୧ ⎯⎯

↳ ᴏʀᴍᴜɴᴅ ʜɪɢʜᴛᴏᴡᴇʀ ༉‧₊

- ,, now and always - by @awearywritersworld

↳ ormund learns of the whispers that plague his wife, the second eldest targaryen princess. (one shot)

➥ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ɢᴀᴍᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜʀᴏɴᴇꜱ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

MINORS & AGELESS BLOGS DNI WITH NSFW CONTENT ON THIS MASTERLIST

➥ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴀɪɴ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

#x reader #harriets masterlist ✎#hotd #got #ormund hightower #ormund hightower x reader #ormund hightower fluff #ormund hightower smut #ormund hightower angst #ormund x reader #ormund smut #ormund fluff #ormund angst #house of the dragon #game of thrones

The Sound & Senseless | 02

Part 1

Ormund Hightower x Reader | 2k+ | cw: fem!reader, arranged/forced marriage, enemies to lovers, ormund HATES you, reader is a lil shit, ragebating as a love language, low key black cat x golden retriever, fluff, typos, etc.

A/N: I couldn't resist my insanetower | crossposted on ao3

Ormund Hightower is a man of detail. He is a man of order and intricacies. He takes great care of his work. He thinks himself the High Tower personified; nary a thing can shake him.

Yet the idea his betrothed has sown in his mind that a single being had not one, but two dragons serve them unsettles him greatly. As if the degeneracy of House Targaryen was not ubiquitous enough, now he might possibly foster a wretch with two malevolent beasts?

No. Surely this is one of the many moronic games he's unwillingly been involved in.

Yall want Ormund smut or fluff first 👀👀

Smut

Fluff

Voting ended onJul 14

#ormund x you #ormund smut #hotd ormund #ormund hightower smut #ormund hightower x reader #Ormund fluff #starlight speaks