#tywin lannister | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jeyneofpoole · 2 months

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asoiaf dash simulator again

🌼 night-of-flowerz-girl

the blatant misinformation on this waebsyte is crazyyyy. guys. loras tyrell is NOT DEAD that is literally lannister propaganda 😭 please check your sources omg how do you think his family feels???

🛡️ fieldmaiden

margaery tyrell can dry her tears on the finest cloth of gold for all i care have we not established that the tyrells are smallfolk panderers who only talk about serf issues to keep us placated and working their fields? stand UP. anyways tyrelloverparty forever hope the burns hurt 🙏

🍃 greenseeeerr

omfg stop lusting after the children of the forest they are literally minor coded 😭😭😭 what is wrong with you people!!!!!

💄 andalsandal

hey op what the fuck does this mean

🐻 moremont

me and my big hairy bear husband have three beautiful daughters and i couldn’t be happier

🐻 moremont

THE ANIMAL.

⚡️dondarriugh

omfg beric is DEAD??????

⚡️ dondarriugh

ok there are some conflicting reports in my inbox hold on

⚡️ dondarriugh

oh no he’s actually dead. fly high king!!!!!

⚡️ dondarriugh

wait what????

⚡️ dondarriugh

WHAT IS HAPPENING

⛳️ brotherhood-without-banners-official

Lord Dondarrion is hale and hearty, thanks be to the Lord of Light ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

⚡️ dondarriugh

HELLO??????

🛖 small-folk-big-ass

save me bowl of brown…… bowl of brown…… bowl of brown save me…….

🛖 small-folk-big-ass

hopital

🐉 rhaeeenyraaa

the revisionist history on here is fucking insaneeeee. cersei lannister is NOT maegor come again guys let’s use our critical thinking skills ok?????

🚬 sourleef

cersei lannister is a nepo baby who dicks down her twin brother on the regular and squeezes out evil kids with weak jawlines like it’s a sport. let’s not act like she’s some kind of win for wench suffrage she’s a fucking dictatorial monarch

🍁 weirdwood

wait don’t you mean her twin brother is dicking her down?????

🚬 sourleef

i know what i said.

🐕 ramsay-bitch-imagines

IMAGINE…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You’re Ramsay’s favorite dog, and he wants to reward you after a successful hunt.

WARNING: DEAD DRAGON DO NOT EAT!!!!!DON’T LIKE, DON’T READ!!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

🐋 s4ltw1fe

who’s going to tell lady asha that she doesn’t have to date those foppish little boys as community service. don’t worry queen EYE see your caerybaenor……

👤 reynesofcastamere-deactivated-3738372920

lmao that blonde little cuck is NOT getting his gold back

👤 tarbeckhall-deactivated-4748392038383

we should hook up for rebellion lol. what’s he even gonna do about it?

🦁 hear-me-roar

hey guys.

🧼 barmaid

oh my god this is THE post

🍺 pintofale

holy shit i never thought i’d see this outside of illuminated vellum screenshots

🪡 tall-tailor

this post is a fucking graveyard

#twirls hair cutely heyyyy #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #valyrianscrolls #loras tyrell #margaery tyrell #ramsay bolton #beric dondarrion #cersei lannister #jaime lannister #tywin lannister #asha greyjoy #dash simulator

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winterprince601 · 4 months

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the battle between the starks and the lannisters at the twins in got is actually a battle between the parenting of ned stark and tywin lannister.

this is the first battle to which tyrion brings his vale mountain clan soldiers and tywin places him in the left vanguard, essentially as a diversion/sacrifice. he does not share his strategy, as outlined above, with tyrion because he claims he doesn't 'trust' him. he assumes tyrion will fail and so when he succeeds, it upsets his plans.

he expects as little from robb stark, an untried boy. but what he doesn't understand is that ned has prepared his son for leadership. he hasn't hoarded his authority from him, desperate for dominance over everyone including his family. he's brought robb with him when he carried out his duties as a lord. he's educated him in battle strategy but more importantly, he has not glamorised war to him. robb is not eager to go plunging into battle and he's not battling for the sake of it. he knows the burden of his responsibility as a lord and he even knows when to delegate it: tywin's first shock was that the freys were in the stark host because robb trusted his mother to negotiate a hard bargain on his behalf. all of this contrasts tywin's neglect of tyrion and even his adulation of jaime's prowess - in the same chapter before the battle, he admonishes tyrion: "does the thought of facing the stark boy unman you, tyrion? your brother jamie would be eager to come to grips with him." ironically the kind of foolhardy behaviour he expects and criticises from robb, he encourages in jaime. this is because tywin doesn't actually want an heir to succeed his rule, he wants a shiny trophy to flatter it. only of course, tywin is not immortal. as this chapter foreshadows, his inability to parent or relinquish any power will be his undoing.

#grrm the author you are #how do you turn an actual battleground into an ideological battleground of fatherhood??#freud will be having words #asoiaf #asoiaf meta #got #game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #tywin lannister #tyrion lannister #robb stark #ned stark #eddard stark #catelyn stark #house lannister

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valeskafics · 1 month

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"She Wolf" - Tywin Lannister x Stark!Reader

a/n: first time writing for tywin. this is a request from @mrstargayen09, i hope y'all enjoy! 🩷

Summary: You are willing to do whatever it takes to save what is left of your family. Even if that means giving yourself to a man you despise.

TW: profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, afab reader, age gap, power imbalance, idk slightly dubcon, manipulation, spanking, pussy slapping, finger sucking, p in v sex, choking, breeding kink, creampie, jaime lol

Word Count: 2,550 words

Rating: 18+, MDNI

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Game of Thrones/A Song of Ice and Fire characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated 🩷

You know the raven in your hands was not meant for you the moment you begin to read it. But, it was stamped with the Frey sigil. You know of your twin’s betrothal to the Frey girl, and so you wonder… Why would Robb’s ally be in correspondence with Tywin Lannister? Your eyes go wide as you read the contents of the letter.

The Boltons… The Freys… Conspiring against your beloved twin. You cover your mouth in horror, realizing that there’s no way for you to warn Robb or your mother. You remain the Lannisters’ hostage, kept in your gilded cage. It could be worse, you suppose. You could have still been forced to marry Joffrey. But, luckily, with Sansa having escaped King’s Landing with the Hound during the siege and your brother’s declaration of an independent North, the betrothal to him was broken. He is now Lady Margaery’s problem, and a rather big one at that.

Your mind runs wild with ideas, wondering how in the world you’re going to save what is left of your family. Arya, Jon, and Sansa are scattered to the four winds, Bran and Rickon are gone, and Robb leads an army though he is far too young to do so. It falls on you to save Robb and your mother. And you will do whatever you must.

The audacity you demonstrate when you demand an audience with the Hand of the King amuses him. He’s always known that you were a fiery creature from his limited interactions with you. The blood of the wolf most certainly runs through your veins, for when you enter the Tower of the Hand, you do so with your head held high, hands folded at your waist, eyes narrowed. You’re quite beautiful, he muses, though he hasn’t paid much mind to such things ever since his beloved Joanna died. Though when he looks at you, he feels a strange stirring in his belly, a fire being stoked that he thought was put out years ago. His gaze wanders to your cleavage as you step closer and greet him, dipping in a curtsy.

“Lord Tywin. I wish to discuss something with you.”

He gestures to the chair in front of him, nodding, “Take a seat, Lady Stark.”

“I would prefer to stand.”

He arches a brow, studying you. The way you carry yourself is intriguing. Any lesser man would cower under the glare you’re giving him. You do not act as a hostage, but rather, you act as a lady of your noble house. He nods nearly imperceptibly, meeting your gaze.

“As you wish, Lady Stark. Now, why is it that you so forcibly demanded to see me?”

“I know, my lord.” Tywin’s expression does not change and so, you continue, “I know of your plot. What is to happen at the Twins in a fortnight’s time. I know that there is precious little I can do to stop it in my current position, so I have come to make you an offer.”

Tywin narrows his eyes slightly, taken aback by the fact that you know of his plan. The plan to massacre what little is left of your family. It would seem that, even with the credit he gives you, he has underestimated you. To a certain degree, it’s a bit amusing.

“What is it you offer me then, Lady Stark? Why should I spare your usurper brother?”

“I am the only card you have left to play when it comes to the North,” you declare boldly, “My sisters have fled. My younger brothers have been killed. If you wish to secure any form of alliance with the North, you will need to betroth me to one of your kin. And if you do not swear that this plan will be called off, I will ensure that I take my own life and make it seem that it was your family who did it.” Tywin’s expression darkens slightly as you continue, “Make no mistake, I am a daughter of the North. I am prepared to die for my family. For what I believe in. And if my kin hold you responsible, you and your children will be the last of the lions.”

He remains silent for a long moment, pondering over your words before lifting his eyes to meet you, “You are a formidable young woman, Lady Stark. You have the spirit of your Aunt Lyanna within you.” Tywin’s gaze lingers upon your breast once again before he nods firmly, “Very well then. I will see to it that Lords Bolton and Frey do not act against your brother. After your uncle marries Lady Frey at the Twins, proof will be provided to you of your brother and mother’s well-being and then, you will marry a Lannister.” He stands to his full height, towering above you as he stares down at you with those piercing eyes, “You will marry me. One of my sons is a drunken fool, the other has pledged himself to the Kingsguard. You are young. You will bear me as many sons as I desire.”

Your blood feels like ice in your veins. This man… He cannot be serious, can he? But judging by the look on his face, he is. And deathly so. Taking a tremulous breath, you nod.

“We have a deal, my lord.”

The Lannister watches as you curtsy and leave, his gaze trained on you like that of a lion, ready to devour his prey.

Lord Tywin sends a gown for you along with a note a few days later, declaring he wishes to get to know you better in the days leading up to your wedding. He requests you to come to the Tower of the Hand, wearing the gown he has procured for you, and dine with him every evening henceforth. You let Shae help you into the dress and her brows knit together as she realizes just how much the deep red gown emphasizes your bust and hips, your breasts practically spilling from the bodice. Before she can say anything, curse the old man for being a lecher, you embrace her tightly.

“I’ll be alright, Shae. I know what I’m doing.”

She watches you go, escorted by none other than Ser Jaime, wondering why the old man couldn’t have promised you to him.

You and Jaime walk in silence, footsteps echoing through the halls. It is he who finally speaks as you reach the Tower.

“I am truly sorry, Lady Stark.”

You turn to him, giving him a curt nod, “As am I, Ser Jaime.”

He leaves you at the door, bowing his head before walking away, the sound of his armor clinking fading into the distance. You steel yourself before pushing the door open, greeting the old lion, your face a mask of impassivity.

“My lord.”

You can feel his sharp gaze on you, the way it lingers on your chest, your hips. You can’t help but feel a thrill go up your spine at his hungry gaze. You ought to hate this man for all he has done to harm your family.

“Lady Stark,” he greets, rising from his chair and walking over to you, taking your hand. He lays a kiss upon it, ever the picture of gentility, “You look stunning. It seems I chose your dress well.”

“I look like a Silk Street whore.”

Tywin smirks slightly at your candor, enjoying your boldness and wit, “Your opinion on the matter means little, my lady. What matters is what I think of you, and I think you look absolutely divine.”

“I’m sure you do,” you mutter under your breath as you sit down.

“Are you so stubborn that you will not admit how beautiful you look in the gown I chose for you?”

“I know I look beautiful,” you reply dryly, taking a sip of your wine, gazing at him over the rim of the glass, “I also look like a painted whore. The two are not mutually exclusive, my lord.”

He chuckles quietly, “You speak too freely, Lady Stark. You ought to know that there are some things that should remain unsaid.”

“I thought a woman is meant to speak freely to her husband.”

“That is only when one has something intelligent to say.”

“I apologize then, for my lack of intellect,” you reply icily as you grab a piece of bread, “I am just a Northern savage after all, my lord. We Starks are not known for mincing our words, my lord. If there is something on my mind, I would rather state it plainly.”

He should be annoyed at your defiance, your bold-faced disrespect intriguing him. It will be quite satisfying to finally put you in your place, snarling little she-wolf that you are.

“I can see that, but you may want to consider the fact that you are not in Winterfell anymore, my lady. Words carry consequences here in the South.”

“Trust me, my lord, I’m well aware of the fact,” you reply icily, your father’s head on the executioner’s block flashing like a lightning bolt in your mind.

Tywin takes a sip from his own glass, “Sometimes, the hard truth must be concealed to ensure there is peace. You may not agree with it, but the North has no idea how to rule. Your father is a perfect example of that.”

Tywin sees the way you gnash your teeth, gripping the knife at your side as if you want nothing more than to drive it through his cold, black heart. Instead, you stare down at your plate, stabbing at the venison in front of you, taking a bite. A sly smile curls on his lips as he watches you, his gaze moving between your lips and your chest. He clears his throat and beckons you to him with a curved finger. You stare at him incredulously for a moment, wondering if he’s actually serious, when he speaks up.

“Come here, girl.”

The commanding tone to his voice makes your stomach flutter as you stand to your feet and walk toward him. He nods at his servants and they leave, locking the door behind them. You swallow thickly, standing before him, feeling his cold gaze on you, as if seeing through to your very soul. He stands as well, his form dwarfing yours as he moves to trace your lips with his fingertips.

“Such a pretty mouth. Too pretty for such a sharp tongue. Bend over the table.” Your jaw drops as you stare up at him, wondering if you heard him correctly, a gasp leaving your lips when he squeezes your jaw, squishing your cheeks together, “Did you hear me? Bend over the table.”

The worst part of it all is that you want to listen to him. As if driven by some unseen force, you do as he asks, bending over the desk, anticipation building in your belly as you hear him walk toward you. You bite down hard on your lower lip as you feel him lift your dress and the slip you wear beneath it, knowing that he’s gazing at the flesh of your ass, his rough, calloused hand moving to caress it before landing a hard smack against your skin. It stings, but before you can even let out a noise of surprise, his hand flies against, landing a slap on the other side. Tywin watches as you tremble, your thighs shaking as he spanks you, a dirty smile on his face. He gives you two, three, four more before landing one on your wet cunny, making you cry out.

“My lord, please!”

He begins slapping at your wet little cunt mercilessly, not enough to hurt badly but enough to sting and stimulate your swollen pearl, moving faster and faster, watching as you squeeze around nothing.

“For such a highborn girl, you certainly act like a Silk Street whore,” he hisses in your ear, one of his hands wrapping around your throat as he bites down on your neck, making you whimper. He pushes three long fingers inside of you, filling you up in a way you’ve never felt before, moving them mercilessly, the wet squelching noises that come from you driving his desire to new heights. You’re so soft and pliant beneath him as you squeal and mewl his name, gasping as he squeezes your neck, restricting your airflow. Tywin groans, his cock twitching against his breeches, his entire body feeling like it has been lit on fire for the first time in years as you spill yourself on his fingertips. He stares at the digits for a moment before turning you around to face him, hand still on your throat as he shoves his fingers into your mouth.

“Lick them clean, little wife. My little she-wolf.”

You do as he asks, tasting yourself, eyes fluttering shut as he pushes his fingers far into your mouth, imagining your plush lips wrapped around his cock instead. You watch as he undoes his breeches just enough to free his cock, your eyes going wide as you realize he plans to take you, claim you as his own before the wedding night. Your eyes flutter shut, as he sheathes himself inside you, still squeezing at your throat, rutting against you at a breakneck pace. Tywin watches as your breasts bounce against the bodice of your dress, tugging it down enough to free them, palming at them with his free hand, so hard that it has him letting out a lewd moan.

Your cunt spasms around him as he speaks, “I’m going to fill you with my seed every night leading up to our wedding and then every night thereafter. Tonight, you’ll walk back to your chambers with my spend dripping from your cunt. And filthy little thing that you are, I think you’ll enjoy it.”

“Yes, my lord,” you gasp, your walls clenching around him like a vice, crying out when the head of his cock bullies against your sweet spot repeatedly.

You can feel your climax approaching his lips wrapped around one of your breasts as he squeezes your neck, your entire body going lax in his grip as a wave of pleasure washes over you, every nerve ending in your body feeling as if it has been set alight. He spills himself inside you shortly thereafter, his hot seed filling you, coating your insides, remaining inside you until his cock begins to grow soft, only to replace it with his fingers, pushing his spend back inside you.

“Waste not.”

You stare at him, eyes wide, lips parted as he calls for his son to escort you back to your room. Ser Jaime’s eyes go wide, surprised and filled with lust at your disheveled state, watching as you scramble to fix your dress. His father fixes him with a sharp look before turning to you.

“My son thought he would be able to wed you. To satisfy you. I trust you’ll no longer entertain such a stupid notion, Jaime. Now, walk your future stepmother to her chambers. And bring her back to me first thing in the morning. We will be taking all our meals together in the privacy of this tower from now on.”

Your thighs clench at the idea as Jaime leads you away.

#tywin lannister x reader #tywin lannister x you #tywin x reader #tywin x you #tywin lannister smut #tywin lannister imagine #tywin lannister #tywin lannister fanfic #my writing #tywin oneshot #tywin

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xionthelostpuppet · 12 hours

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Charles Dance as Tywin Lannister

Game of Thrones Season 2 Episode 6 - The Old Gods and The New! (Pt.2)

#game of thrones #tywin lannister #charles dance #gameofthronesdaily #gotedit #gameofthronesedit #got gifs #charlesdanceedit #gottywinlannister #m*gifs

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melrosing · 12 days

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Tywin Lannister caramelldansen easily my weirdest contribution to this fandom

more here

#so FAR #I did think man should I include Tywin or is that too weird #and then I was like coward do it #tywin lannister #cersei lannister #jaime lannister #tyrion lannister #joffrey baratheon #myrcella baratheon #tommen baratheon #asoiaf #asoiaf caramelldansen thing #melrosing art

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c-m-li · 2 months

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Tywin Lannister's greatest trick was convincing everyone he was more clever than he actually was.

People are still quoting him in this as if it's a great question and he was in the right.

Except people forget, Tywin Lannister convinced people to forget -

They didn't just kill a dozen men at dinner.

Yes, they killed the wedding party, but everyone forgets that Robb Stark had a third of his army at the Twins with him that the Frey's and the Bolton's slaughtered.

Tywin didn't choose between killing a dozen men at dinner or 10,000 in battle, he did both.

#game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #got #tywin lannister #the red wedding

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fandom-puff · 17 days

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Fulfilling Duty

Pairing: Tywin Lannister x Reader

Warnings: smut, pinv sex, fingering, reference to pregnancy and childbirth, brief reference to death during childbirth, reference to prostitution, implied arranged marriage, breeding kink, body image issues, implied innocence kink, older man/younger woman.

Italics indicate flashback

Gif creds to owner

After nine long months of pregnancy and two gruelling days of labour, Tywin Lannister finally had the son he craved. Little Darrick was perfect in every way. At almost four months, he guzzled his milk the way King Robert his guzzled his wine; he roared like a lion when something was amiss, fat angry tears pouring down his reddened little face until his mother or father consoled him; his hair thickened and lightened every day, though he showed no trace of Lannister emerald eyes (much you your elation; he already looked so much like Tywin so it was nice to see a shred of yourself in your son’s face).

The birth of your son only strengthened Tywin’s… affection towards you. It was not love- not yet at least- but his respect and fondness certainly grew. During the home stretch of your labour he had barged into the birthing room after overhearing an outspoken courtier’s gossip.

Your labour had dragged on and almost two whole days had passed since you first started having pains. While you had started in relatively high spirits, as progress began to falter almost to a halt and ‘one more push’ became an empty promise, your resolve almost completely shattered.

What had started as determined groans and howls of pain turned into whimpers, and then sobs as you begged the maester to just, please, get it out of you.

It seemed Tywin hadn’t unclenched his jaw for days, and while he wanted to remain just a room away in his office should he be called into the room, the Seven Kingdoms would not stop for any infant, not even the son of the Hand.

He had been walking back from an audience with disgruntled artisans from the city when he overheard some courtiers.

“… glad she’s shut up with the screaming, could hardly sleep a wink last night…”

“… should just cut her open, drag the babe out and have done with it… wouldn’t be the first Lannister woman to die in childbed…”

“… he’ll want another off her, just in case… especially if she gives him a girl…”

Tywin’s nostrils flared with rage, and while he would have so dearly loved to confront the gossiping courtiers, he marched to the tower of the hand, entering your chamber to the shock of your midwives and maester.

“Milord! Women’s work is still happening! The baby ain’t here yet,” scolded Jeyne. She was the eldest of the flock midwives attending you and the most experienced too, and had been crucial in supporting you.

Tywin held up his hand, and jeyne pursed her lips, knowing she could not argue. “Fine. But you’re not to interfere down here, milord. We’re nearly there,”

“You said that- ah- last night,” you said weakly, your voice shaky. Tywin sighed softly and knelt at your side, pushing your hair away from your face. It was a surprisingly tender gesture, one that he had done when you consummated your marriage. “‘M sorry, m-my lord,” you whispered, unable to stop the tears from slipping down your already damp cheeks.

“You needn’t be,” he said lowly, speaking so only you could hear. “You are doing well, just a little longer,”

Although the midwives and maester had repeated the same words over and over again over the last day, Tywin’s firm, authoritative voice reassured you, renewing your determination.

Tywin’s eyes flicked sideways to you. It was the first public event you had attended since giving birth, and he had kept a close eye on you all day. He’d even insisted on your retiring to bed for several hours in between the joust and the feast (“fine, I’ll rest. But only because I didn’t want to watch the archery anyway,”).

If you were tired, it did not show. You looked radiant, smiling serenely as you clapped for the dancing. You had changed into a gown of soft pink brocade, and while he always preferred to have you on his arm in matching Lannister red, he had to admit that the muted pink suited you beautifully, and provided a fresh and youthful contrast to his daughter’s sour, almost vulgar even by his standards, display of power.

“If you continue to glance at me so, you will miss the dancing, husband,” you said out of the corner of your mouth, bemused at the almost uncharacteristic attentiveness of the Old Lion.

“Then I shall miss the dancing,” he said lowly, though he kept his eyes dutifully on the entertainments. “Are you sure you will not sit?”

You rolled your eyes, turning to face him fully. “No,” you said with exasperation. “I am well rested, I promise you, My Lord,” your lips quirked into a smirk. “I may even join in with the dancing,” you added.

Tywins jaw clenched as he looked down at his mischievous young wife. Your pregnancy and subsequent birthing of a viable heir for him had consolidated your power in court- and your worth in the marriage. “Then you shall dance only with me,” he said. “I will not have you jostled so,”

And so the Lord Paramount of the West took his wife by the hand and led her to the dance floor, lest she be manhandled by less careful members of court.

Grinning, you held onto his hand, beginning the steps that you had known since childhood. “I so love it when you give in to my whims, Lord Lannister,” you murmured, laughing lightly at his grumble of agreement. He supposed he owed you a fair bit, now that you had given him his heir.

“You are as stubborn as a mule when you want to be, wife,” he muttered, pulling you closer to his body by the waist as a drunken jester weaved through the crowd, his motley cap jingling. But despite his complaints, Tywin permitted you two more dances, before you retreated from the crowd- the bawdy songs had began, and he would not have his wife passed about like the maidens in the songs.

Instead of sitting back down, Tywin took you before the king, bowing and excusing the two of you. “We must retire for the night, your Grace. Lady Lannister is very tired,” he said shortly, bowing once more as the king waved you away.

You followed him, your face indignant, but you did not dare question him until you were out of earshot of any high lords. “I most certainly am not tired, My Lord,” you said, running a little to keep up with his long strides. “I do not need to be bundled off to bed like a child- again,”

Tywin ignored your complaints, only speaking once you arrived at the entrance to the Tower- and even then he only spoke to the guard at the door. “No one is to enter this tower until tomorrow,” he said lowly, before all but frog-marching you through the door and up the winding stairs.

“My lord?” You asked cautiously when you arrived at his chambers. “Have I displeased you?”

Tywin turned around to face you. “No, wife,” he murmured, stepping closer to you so that you had to look up at him. “You have not displeased me… exasperated, perhaps, but not displeased,” you smiled slightly, opening your mouth to speak, but Tywin cupped your head with both of his hands, his thumbs stroking your jaw. “I intend to bed you tonight, My Lady,” he said, voice gravelly. Your face heated, but you nodded slowly. “Your body should be ready to take me once more,” he continued. “That is if you are agreeable?” He added, raising a brow. He had laid out from the beginning that while he expected you to do your duty and provide him with a son, he would not have you in his bed unwilling.

Nodding slowly, eyes wide as you stared up at him, you let out a shaky breath. "I… yes. Please," you murmured your consent, following him out of the solar to his adjoining bedchamber, where the hearth was crackling and the luxurious bedsheets were already turned down. Tywin poured out a cup of wine, offering you it, nodding when you smiled at the vintage before finishing the cup for you.

“Do you think it will hurt?” You murmured out of the blue, taking your jewellery off and setting it on his dresser.

“It may be a little uncomfortable, perhaps. Not as painful as childbirth, I’m sure, nor breaking your maidenhead,” your eyes widened at his words and he smirked. He so loved to see you flustered. “Such an innocent, wife,” he said, stepping closer to you and undoing the pins in your hair. He nodded his approval when you unwound the braids, shaking out your hair.

“It has been a while…” you considered, looking up at him in the mirror as he stepped behind you, beginning to unlace your gown.

“It has,” he said in agreement.

“Will you be gentle with me?” You whispered, eyes widening as his hand slipped up your front, over your breasts, lightly squeezing your throat before he tilted your head to the side.

“Absolutely not,” he growled into the juncture of your neck and shoulder, his teeth grazing there as your gown fell stiffly to the floor.

You made to turn to begin undressing him, but he lightly batted your hands away, continuing to strip you of your stays and chemise until you were bare before him.

Eyes downcast, you made to wrap your arms around yourself; your pregnancy had left it’s mark on your body, your belly soft and marked with stretch marks, your breasts hanging heavier than they had when you first married. Tywin held your hands by your sides briefly, before his large hands claimed your hips, his thumbs massaging the softness of your belly. “I want another babe in your belly before year’s end,” he said lowly, making you shiver. “I want to watch you swell again with another of my heirs,”

“Yes, my lord,” you breathed, your breath hitching as he gripped your hips tighter, drawing your naked body to his, your skin hot against the cool metalwork of his belt and buttons. Slowly, he began to walk you backwards until your knees hit the edge of the bed, and he helped you up onto the mattress, his eyes blazing with lust. His green-gold eyes pierced you as he removed his chain of linked golden hands, his doublet, his boots and trousers too. Your eyes flicked down briefly as you admired your husband’s build; despite his age, Tywin was fit and strong, and your glance did not go unnoticed by him.

Tywin got up onto the bed, looking down at you as he came up between your legs, which fell apart willingly to allocate his breadth, to which he hummed with approval, his hands dragging up your thighs. You sighed softly as your body refamiliarised itself with the weight atop it, offering him a soft, shy smile. He returned it with a rare quirk of his lips, before his fingers teased closer to your exposed core, shushing you gently when you gasped. Whimpering, you arched your back as he dipped his fingers into your waiting wetness, body tense. “Are you in pain, wife?” He said lowly, his movements stilling.

“No…” you whispered, pushing your hips up to his hand as if to reassure him.

He nodded, looking down at you as his fingers worked you open for the first time in months, though he did not seem out of practice in the slightest. He watched intently as your face contorted, brow furrowing and mouth falling open, and your body twisted while you clenched around his fingers. When he felt the erotic spasming of your inner walls, he nodded and hummed with satisfaction, before withdrawing his fingers. You watched in awe as he used your release coating his fingers and dripping onto his palm to slick up his cock.

“You look as though you belong in a pleasure house in Lys, spread out like that,” he said, his voice gravelly with desire. And he had a point; your breasts rose and fell with shaky, heavy breaths; your eyes were now dark with lust, brow furrowed and lips plump as you stared down at him, propped up on the pillows with your hair splayed out.

“Are you calling me a whore, My Lord?” You questioned, pushing yourself up on your elbows.

“No,” he said, guiding his cock to you. “But if you were a whore, you would be mine alone,”

He grunted, pushing into your tightness. With a cry, you tossed your head back, your nails clawing into the Lion of Lannister’s muscled back and arms as you adjusted to his invasion. You hissed out a curse between your teeth, gasping as he stilled, smirking down at you. “Such deplorable language,” he said, and you could only whimper in response, gritting your teeth and scratching at his back. Despite his promise to not be gentle with you, he held you tight to his body by your thigh, massaging the quivering limb with his hand as you adjusted to the suffocating tightness of your union. With a needy whine, you rolled your hips experimentally, grinding your clit against his pubis. The resulting tightening of your channel had him hissing in pleasure, and with a low groan he began to move with slow deep thrusts that had your head spinning.

One hand still gripping his bicep like a vice, you trailed your other hand over his shoulder anchoring yourself as you made feeble attempts to meet his movements. Grunting, Tywin grasped onto your hips, before moving his grip to your thighs, holding them apart as he began to fuck you harder, faster. You cried out at the shift in pace, arching your back as Lord Tywin took his pleasure (though he gave just as much as he took). He let out a groan of pleasure as his own thighs trembled and his hips stuttered, and he emptied his seed into you.

Moaning lowly, you fell back into the pillows, panting. You felt the bed dip then settle as he withdrew from you and stood, and your eyes slipped shut as you heard him rustling about the room, the door slamming shut. You frowned. He must have dressed quickly. With a sigh, you stood up, albeit shakily and slipped your chemise back on. His thick seed seeped down your thigh as you stood before the mirror, combing out the tangles in your hair with your fingers.

The door opened, and Tywin stepped into the room, but before he acknowledged you, he turned to what you assumed was his squire. “Have the servants bring up two plates from the feast, and a flagon of Arbor Gold,” he said to the lad, who responded with a quiet ‘yes, My Lord.’ “And see to it that Lady Lannister’s handmaidens know to come here on the morrow with her gown and jewels. She will be staying here tonight,”

He dismissed the squire with a nod and shut the door, turning to you with raised eyebrows. “I wasn’t sure if you’d want me to return to my own chambers, my Lord,” you murmured, finally able to smooth your hair down over your shoulders.

“Indeed not,” he said simply. “I was merely arranging some supper and wine,”

You crossed your arms. “And for my handmaidens to come here on the morrow?” You teased.

Tywin only smirked, prowling over to you. “Indeed,” he said. “It would seem, wife, that we must return to bed…” you cocked your head to the side, looking up at him curiously. “An heir will not find its way into your belly if my seed is dripping down your thighs, now, will it?”

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