whorderofthepheonix

[whorderofthepheonix]

also not a request, im writing what i want to read at the moment, it seems! The lowdown: there’s angst, sex and romance, all Lannister style. He growls. You’re welcome. Very reader focussed, but about a third of it is Tywin’s pov. Possessive, protective husband vibes. Again, you’re welcome. He’s Hand to Joffrey (gag) so it’s set post Robert’s death, but canon? We don’t know her. Also, can we agree Genna is the sister in law we all need?

Coming in at a whopping 8,112 words

In Time, the Lion Loves

Tywin Lannister x fem!Reader

It was a purely political marriage, one that occurred a mere fortnight after your meeting Lord Lannister of Casterly Rock in King’s Landing. He had been taciturn and serious bordering on standoffish most of the time. You were embarrassed that your father had all but forced his hand, what with Lannisters paying their debts and all. And saving Jaime Lannister from the Starks and returning him home when Lord Lannister couldn’t? It was a debt large enough to warrant a hopeless, trustless marriage between you and he.

“Let’s retire,” he said from beside you at your wedding feast, an ostentatious event organised by the Boy King Joffrey and his mother. He’d been unexpectedly amicable, in the way lord husbands were supposed to be with their wives. He’d let you sip from his wine goblet and had given you first pick of the plate you both shared. You enjoyed the roast pheasant while he preferred beef.

“Time for the bedding ceremony!” the King announced, face flushed terribly from the wine he’d indulged in, and green eyes sparking with malice. The King had always looked at you as though he might pounce, and tonight of all nights, you had to rein in your fear of him. As soon as men rose and began tugging at your beautiful gown, they stopped.

Lord Lannister had slammed his hand on the table, the boom echoing throughout the hall the feast was being held.

“No man but I shall touch my wife. Get off her,” he growled. The men around you couldn’t flee fast enough. Then neutral green eyes settled on you, readjusting your sleeves that had come down your shoulder some in the tugging and offering you his hand to escort you from the hall.

He poured you more wine once in the Tower of the Hand, but you did not move to drink it. You had let go of your fear of this man in particular, especially as he’d kept you close to him all evening, and had gently seated you beside him at the feast. It could certainly be a ruse, one to make him seem the perfect Lord even in a marriage he had not chosen.

“Stop thinking so much, you’ll make yourself dizzy.”

“I was thinking how much I appreciate your manner, my Lord. It would not have surprised me if you were a cruel man in private, though I am beginning to see there isn’t any needless cruelty in your body.”

He looked at you then, watching as you took a single, gracious sip from your cup, before turning and looking at him too. You were beautiful, this he knew. He was a widower, not blind, and he had appreciated privately any particular woman of exceeding beauty. But he’d always been a jealous and possessive type of man, and you were almost made more beautiful by the fact you were his alone. His wife. He’d need to get used to that again.

“You will bear me sons, and manage the Rock should we return. It would not do to sully our alliance so soon.”

“Of course, my Lord.”

“Are you nervous, Lady Wife?”

“No, my Lord. I snuck off to a brothel before we travelled to King’s Landing and had a whore explain to me the truth of a marriage bed.”

Already he felt a flare of possessiveness take him. The thought of you in any brothel made him twitch. Had any men seen you? Had anyone touched you? He found the thought entirely unacceptable, and was sure to say so.

“I knew I’d be married shortly after my arrival here, my Lord. I did not want to be uninformed, and septas take a vow of chastity. How could they give me an objective insight into married relations?”

“While it is an admirable quality to seek out your own answers,” he said, walking over to you and looking down as you sat opposite his desk. “You will not set foot in an establishment like that again. Do you understand?”

“Yes, my Lord,” you said, looking up at him with earnest eyes. He liked them, he decided, when they were settled on him.

The first night, he’d answered any questions you’d been left with on how a woman takes pleasure from her husband, and gods, did he give you pleasure. In short order, you’d found yourself looking forward to the hour or so an evening he’d dedicate to getting an heir on you. You were grateful he’d make it an enjoyable experience.

He was long and hard, and you’d taken him two dozen times at least already, and every time he had to let you adjust, lest he hurt you. It was sweet torture for him, feeling you tight around his cock, sighing and humming for him until he’d draw out more sounds.

Your hands, never stilled once he was inside you, gripped at his back, his sides, his neck. Anywhere you could reach, you would touch, but never outside the bedroom. He used to appreciate this, he realised, sinking in all the way and delighting in your gasp. Not having a clingy little wife who lingered about him at all hours.

No, he realised, drawing back then driving forward more firmly. He wanted you to be clingy with him. It was barely a moon into his marriage to you, and he wanted to possess you as much as you seemed to possess him. With this thought, he dedicated himself to your pleasure. He’d make you enjoy his cock beyond anything else, then he’d make you enjoy him.

“My Lord,” you whined as he brushed a spot inside you that had your eyes rolling back and fluttering shut.

Oh yes, the Lion thought, he’d have you in all ways soon enough.

When you’d both agreed to make small appearances around the Keep, Tywin had thought it’d send a clear message that the Lord and Lady Lannister were united despite the tenuous start of your marriage. It did not quite have this affect, to his chagrin.

Men watched you everywhere you went, he realised on these walks. Their eyes would follow your walk, your hair, your face and any words that floated along the wind sweetly. You were splendiferous in red and gold, and he’d spared no expense on your wardrobe. Bedecked in the finest gowns, second to only the Queen, and even then outdoing his daughter to her distaste. He’d made it as clear without words as possible, you were his. And yet, these cads watched his wife as though she were still an eligible heiress and not his lady wife.

Then began the marks.

On your neck, your shoulders, even your wrists, which he delighted in kissing and licking in rare shows of intimacy. He was an odd man, your husband, but he left you to your own devices apart from your new routine of walking and visiting your bed to procure an heir. He’d stop his attentions once you were with child, you knew, but you ignored the twinge of upset the thought caused. He was not your lover, he was your husband, and you lived in a world where they were not one and the same.

The marks were bothersome, especially if he hadn’t kept to below your collarbones, as you’d told him to. He rather seemed pleased with himself when a bruise was left by your ear or your throat. You’d learned all sorts of hairstyles to cover them, styles that seemed to draw the eyes of others, but none moreso than the Master of Coin.

Petyr “Littlefinger” Baelish was not a man you’d heard of before your arrival at the capitol, but he’d made himself known to you at your wedding, and seemingly every other day since. He’d appeared sympathetic at first to your marriage, though when he saw your irritation at the perceived pity, he’d taken another approach. Whispering words of the deeds your Lord Husband had done to carry on his legacy. The details disturbed you of course, but you were not so foolish to think Baelish would tell you anything of the truth, only what he wanted you to know. Ignoring him was easy, but his presence made you uncomfortable, try as you might to hide it.

“My Lady,” he smirked at you. Sat at a bench in the leafy shade, enjoying the weather and a good book, you greeted him politely but made no move to stand or invite him to sit. He cleared his throat at the ensuing silence. “I had hoped you might walk with me around the gardens, my lady?”

Closing your book, you stood and began making your turn about the aisles of flowers and crawling vines. He walked beside you looking at you out his periphery. You’d mastered the art of looking around a room without moving your eyes, so his attention was far less overt than he’d hoped.

“And what did you wish to speak to me about, Master of Coin?” You felt an odd yearning for your husband then. Surely the sly little man would leave you be if your hulk of a husband were near.

“Have you travelled to Dorne before, my lady?”

The question sent a chill through you. The man was up to no good, you were sure, but your husband would surely not desire to hear your concerns over the, as far, polite attentions of a member on the Small Council.

“I have not, my lord. I don’t much fancy such arid temperatures, so I cannot say I have a desire to visit anyhow. Have you?” you asked to keep your polite façade.

“I have, my lady. It’s a beautiful, if arid as you say, land. I’ve many friends there, and a home of my own, too, for when business takes me that side of the world.”

“If you only wished to inquire about my travels, Master of Coin, I shall bid you farewell.” In a move so fast you hardly realised it’d happened, Baelish had placed your hand over his arm. Coincidentally, your Lord Husband happened upon you both that instant. You pulled your hand from him with a delicate frown and took a step away.

“Baelish,” your husband gritted, eyes glittering with danger. For you or Baelish, you weren’t quite sure. Almost certainly both.

“Lord Hand. I shall leave you to your strolling, my lady. Good day.” And then he was gone.

“You are not to walk about the Keep unattended, wife,” Tywin says lowly.

“Yes, my lord,” you reply softly, turning to return to the Keep proper.

That night, your lord husband drew peak after peak from your body, relentless until you were practically unconscious from the pleasure. You’re mine, he’d said over and over as he drove into you. And he did not stop touching you. Your hair, your face, your lips especially. He seemed to kiss the breath out of you, stopping only when he’d finished a second time, and you could barely speak.

You’d woken the next morning alone, as you always did. Your husband would only share your bed for the act of siring an heir, and would always be gone by the time you woke. It didn’t bother you, you told yourself as you woke cold and sore. It was perfectly expectable for a husband to act this way. And you would do your duty, as you’d been taught to, so it hardly mattered if he was there when you woke. He didn’t need to be next to you in the morning to get a child on you, so why would he? It was this cold logic that helped you through your bath and preparations for the day.

===

Two moons later, and your husband had not refrained from exhausting you thoroughly every night. He stayed a little longer, waiting for you to be asleep before he would make his exit, and sometimes you swore you could feel his fingers caressing whatever body part was exposed to him. Though it was surely the musings of a well-sated, completely exhausted woman.

The Master of Coin’s attentions had not faded either, though this made you less than pleased. It was hard to desire leaving the Tower without your husband, knowing Baelish would find you inevitably. He had gotten into the habit of placing your hand on his arm when he could get away with it, which was often as he avoided your husband at all costs. There was no love lost between Littlefinger and the Great Lion.

“Your husband is making a three day expedition to the surrounding towns. Something the Hand does every year or so.”

“Yes, he’s mentioned it. He’s made arrangements accordingly.”

“You must be excited to see more of King’s Landing, my lady.”

“I have requested to stay behind,” you say offhandedly. You were hoping to gauge his intentions by telling him this. The look of determination, and something much like scheming, settled in his eyes. It frightened you.

With the desire to be away from this man and near to your husband, you bid the Master of Coin farewell and walked away before he could follow.

Entering the Tower and seeing your husband hard at work at his desk brought you a feeling of peace you did not realise he gave you.

“Wife,” he said simply.

“My Lord,” you always replied. There was a settee by the window, and in the time you’d been married to Tywin you’d never seen him sit there. You walked to his bookshelf, grabbed whatever spine took your interest and sat at the settee to read. Your husband made no comment, so you did not move.

A couple hours of silence followed, you reading about agricultural infrastructure and him responding to raven after raven.

“You’re disturbed,” he says suddenly.

“I grew weary of people watching me.” It was not quite a lie, but again, how could you be honest that you were hiding from the Master of Coin? That you thought he was up to something? That and how quickly you tired these days. Being married was exhausting, especially when your husband could not seem to get enough of your attentions at night.

“I leave on the morrow for the Tour of the Hand. I had summoned my sister to come for a few weeks to the capitol and she arrived today, but is resting. Mostly to get her away from that miserable husband of hers,” he added. He’d been doing that over the last few weeks, adding details that he usually wouldn’t if you were anyone else. It felt like a token, of what you couldn’t say, but something from him to you regardless.

Your anxiety got in the way of any warmth. Without Tywin, Baelish would have no deterrent to keep him from approaching you, even calling on you in your chambers if he was bold. Having Genna Lannister (never Genna Frey) would perhaps be a hindrance rather than a help. You didn’t know the woman, and the only other Lannister woman in the capitol made no efforts to get to know you.

“I shall look forward to meeting her, my Lord.” He hummed and that was that.

Later that night, after dinner, your husband summoned you to his chambers. Usually he’d cross the dividing parlour between your rooms and bed you there, but he obviously couldn’t be bothered to make the journey, you thought.

He was undressing you as he made sure to do every night, never letting you do it yourself. You undressed him, he’d instructed you on your wedding night, and he would undress you. It was only when you were splayed across his bed, hair unbound and laid across the pillows when his eyes darted to your midsection.

Palming your lower abdomen, and seemingly finding what he was looking for, he said, “You are carrying my babe in your belly, wife.”

The words brought dread. Would he stop his attentions? You hadn’t realised how much you liked them until they might be taken away. But then his words actually sunk in. A baby. There was a babe in your belly, your own, and in some moons it’d be in your arms, gods willing.

Tywin watched as you smiled small at first, then sat up and felt where his hand cupped the slight swell. He saw a true smile from you, one bright and warm as the fire in his chambers that crackled merrily. Tywin felt annoyed that he would have to leave you come morn, especially now that the next lion of Casterly Rock was in your belly. And quietly, perhaps he enjoyed the way you sat with him, and wanted more of the same.

Feeling pride at making his wife smile, and that he’d gotten a babe in her so quickly after their marriage, he kissed you breathless until you pulled away for air. It didn’t stop him from trailing kisses across your neck and collarbones, down to your breasts, which were heaving by now. He couldn’t wait to see them swell in the coming moons.

You thought he would stop there, return to you and get on with it, but he moved lower and lower, until he was staring into your most private place. It was embarrassing for a few moments, until he leaned forward and began kissing you there too. It was overwhelming. So perfect, making you writhe and pant. You never begged, but if he toyed with you like this long enough, you were sure you would.

“You’ve done well, wife. Allow me to reward you,” he purred before his tongue went inside. This, you decided, was well worth it to have waited for. In no time at all the sounds of him kissing you there overtook the fire and even your own deep, heavy breaths were drowned out. “One lion stronger, soon to be two,” he said as you peaked over his lips and tongue.

===

You woke a little after you’d both fallen asleep, tired and sated and, dare you think, happy at the prospect of the babe. It took you a moment to realise you weren’t in your own rooms, and that this was the first time you were waking up beside your husband.

He was laid out on his back, long legs nearly stretching the entire length of enormous bed, one of his arms bent underneath his pillow, and one stretched to rest under your pillow. You only allowed yourself a moment to admire him before quietly getting out of bed, collecting your clothes and moving like a ghost to your own rooms. It was hardly an hour past midnight, and you felt so tired all the time (from the babe you now realised) that all you wanted was to sleep.

Tywin woke an hour before dawn to an empty bed, and this infuriated him somehow. To be left while he slept made him feel as though you’d taken your pleasure and gone away from him. The only thought that stopped him from barging into your rooms was how that’s exactly what he did to you every night but the one you’d just shared.

Getting up from bed and throwing on a dressing gown to cover his nudity he marched directly to your rooms, finding you curled up by the edge of the bed, as though leaving a space for someone else. This appeased him in a way he couldn’t ascertain, but he needn’t linger. It was early still, and he didn’t need to be up and out of the Tower until after breakfast in a rare change of schedule.

He approached your sleeping form and gently manoeuvred you so he could scoop you up. You hummed, then frowned and blinked an eye open.

“M’Lord?” you mumbled.

“Hush,” he soothed, using the voice he’d found you reacted particularly well to. “I woke to find my wife missing from my bed,” he explained softly. “I am simply rectifying the issue.”

“Didn’t think you wanted me to stay,” you sighed, shutting your eyes and allowing him to grip you behind the knees and scoop you by your shoulders. “I’m sorry,” you said, and Tywin was distracted by how sweet and docile you were when sleepy.

“Hush, I said,” he murmured by your temple. You curled closer to him at that, and his chest rumbled in satisfaction. “From now on, you stay in my bed.”

“With you?”

“Yes,” he said, eyes softening, though you’d never know with your eyes shut. “With me.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

Tywin, he wanted to say. Call me Tywin, anything but that. He did not. He was asleep again in moments now that you were back in his chambers, and you’d been asleep again before he set you in the centre of the bed.

When you woke, your husband was still in bed with you, an arm wrapped round your waist, hand splayed over your slight swelling. When he woke a few minutes after you, your husband tightened his hold and pulled you closer. This was new, you thought. But delightful. You realised more and more how pleased you were that you married such a fine man, even if you’d never share a love or more intimacy than expected of you in public. This was enough, you told yourself. It had to be.

You both laid together for a while, and during that time you wondered if your husband would truly listen to you if you mentioned Baelish. But then he rose to dress in time for a midday departure, and you decided the moment had past. You would be able to handle Baelish. You were a lion now.

Genna Lannister was already sat at the breakfast table, and you almost did a double take. Where Tywin was sleek apparel and minimal embellishments, Genna was the opposite. She wore a scarlet gown that accentuated her plump figure, gold dripping from her ears and throat and wrists, and hair done so elaborately you wondered how long she’d been awake to have managed such a style. And she was vivacious as they came.

You enjoyed her immediately.

“Sister!” she announced at your arrival, standing and coming to greet you as though you were long time friends. It didn’t feel predatory the way Baelish or the Queen could be, so you smiled and greeted her the same way.

“No greeting to your Lord Brother?” Tywin grouched.

“Oh, are you here as well, Tywin?” Genna teased. He huffed and pulled out your chair, assisting you into it before seating himself and glaring at his sister to do the same so they may eat.

“And how is my big brother, then?”

“You’re only being tame because you think I have a secret.”

“On the contrary, brother, I know you have a secret, and even better than that, I already know what it is.” She turned to face you and smiled truly at you. “Congratulations, sister,” she said sweetly. “And you! What a greedy lion you must be to get a child on her so fast!”

“Genna,” he warned, seeing your embarrassed flush. The blonde only laughed and waved him away. And Tywin let her! What a marvel this woman, her sister, was turning out to be.

“Oh, quit your growling and eat your porridge, brother.” And Tywin did just that.

It was a lively breakfast that came to an end when Tywin excused himself to prepare for his departure. You curtsied when he bowed to you both before taking his leave.

“Tell me, my dear, have you thought of names?”

“I only discovered last night I was withchild, and it was even my husband who’d figured it out. Do you have suggestions?”

“Genna for a girl,” she joked. “Tyton is a strong name. Perhaps Tywin will like it, too.” You agreed, and you did like Tyton. It was a strong name.

Genna, after a tour of the Tower, insisted on a walk around the gardens before seeing Tywin off. Baelish did not appear, to your relief, but his absence was almost as worrying. He was up to something you could tell, but what? Maybe you could confide in Genna?

In the end, you saw off your husband as a good wife should, not even having to pretend very much that you were sad to see him go. The Queen hadn’t paid an inch of attention to you besides a look of distaste after she greeted her Lady Aunt. And then it was back inside for you and Genna to read, then eat and retire.

The next day, you realised that yes, you missed your husband. Already you were wishing the three days would end so he could be by your side again. Your anxiety about Baelish had only worsened since you’d found you were having a babe, and Tywin had suggest you both wait to see the maester until after he returned. The news would spread fast that the Lady Lannister was withchild, and Tywin had said he didn’t want to be far when that happened, in case of anything. You’d wanted to lean up and kiss him when he said that, but you refrained, certain he’d shoo you away.

“My dear, you look exhausted. Come, we’ll prepare for bed then retire.”

You nodded to Genna, who had doted on you in a rather maternal way since her arrival. She’d helped you to undress, then into your nightgown and bed, wishing you sweet dreams before going to her own chambers on the level below.

It was dark when you were disturbed by something. The fire had died down (no one but Tywin could make a fire that would last the whole night) and the room was pitch black. You turned to sleep again when something foul smelling fell over you mouth and nose. You struggled against the stranger’s hand, trying not to breathe in whatever was soaked into the cloth. To your horror, your body was relaxing, your mind losing consciousness. Your last coherent thought was a desperate yearning for Tywin.

===

Genna woke and dressed, her handmaiden well versed in her hair enough to do it all in half an hour, and was sitting at the breakfast table waiting for you. When half an hour past and she heard no movement from yours and her brother’s chambers, she made her way to them herself. If the maids were too incompetent to wake you then she’d do it herself.

Upon entering the room, she stopped short. You were not in bed, and there were no maids fluttering about as they would if you were bathing. Genna had learned to trust her intuition and felt something was deeply wrong, especially as the bed looked as though you’d had a restless sleep. She wanted to believe you were just up early and perhaps strolling the gardens, but Genna knew that wasn’t the case.

She called for the guards, and told them to gather as many Lannister men as they could to search the Keep for the Lady Lannister. She hoped beyond hope she was wrong, but she so rarely was.

===

You woke to darkness and the gentle sway of a ship sailing, and thought yourself dreaming before you jolted upright. You were in a cabin on a ship, that much was obvious. What wasn’t, was why you were there, who’d taken you and where you were going. Dread settled in your gut. Would your husband find out? A silly question. He possibly already knew. What you were frightened to consider was that he might think you’d run away. Your heart gave a fierce pang of longing for your husband yet again, and then steely resolve filled you. There was a desk in the room you were in, one obviously well used, if the stacks of papers, inkwell and sacks of coins were any indication.

You stood, saw a dress laid out on the bed, one of dark blue decorated with swirls in a pattern you knew Baelish to favour. You should have said something, you thought bitingly. You should have gone with your husband. Then you’d be exhausted but safe, and with him.

You dressed in the gown quickly, fearing someone would come in as you were underdressed. The gown had pockets, as was custom in southern dresses now that the Queen had made it so. A plan was forming in your head about what to do, and with the nimbleness of a mouse and the resolve of a lionness, you grabbed the smallest coin pouch, checked to see it had golden stags, then bound the pouch tight as you could to avoid clinking, pocketed it, then sat on the bed and waited.

Baelish came in after a time, not that you were surprised, but you had a part to play now, and you’d need to be convincing. Your life and your babe’s counted on it.

“Lord Baelish?”

“Hello, my dear.”

“My Lord, what has happened? Did my husband send for you?”

“Your husband,” Baelish began, walking to sit beside you on the bed. It was a violation of etiquette, though you didn’t show any discomfort. “Will no longer be an issue.”

Your heart almost stopped, but then you reasoned even Petyr Baelish could not kill your husband. Tywin was too well-protected and too intelligent to be caught off guard as you had.

“He has sent me away?” you asked, playing the distraught little wife.

Baelish made to speak, to deny your words, you knew. Then he paused, and you saw that he considered you believing this the favourable option.

“He did, my Lady. He had men retrieve you from your bed, but my own intercepted them and brought you aboard my ship. I intended to offer you a spot anyway, to come with me to the Vale where my betrothed awaits us.”

You allowed a faux tear to fall, and your head to droop down to your chest.

“He isn’t fond of me,” you admitted quietly. You weren’t sure it was a lie, so it was easy to say so.

“He neglects you, my Lady. You are such a treasure,” he said, the obvious lust making your stomach roll. You only managed to nod. “We’ll be docking soon, my Lady. I sent another ship to Dorne and we will be docking nearby to the capitol to avoid suspicion. Why would we be so close when there’s a ship making to across the sea?”

“Very clever, my Lord,” you said softly. He smirked at you then brushed a lock of your hair behind your ear, you blushed and turned away, and it was enough to deter him from pushing for more. You felt sick that he was touching you, feeling as though you were somehow being unfaithful to your husband. You couldn’t let on that you thought this, so you didn’t.

You waited until you heard Baelish disembarking the ship with great fanfare, stating something about needing to settle some business in the port town you were docked at. It was very late at night, you couldn’t have been sailing for more than three or so hours, but regardless, it was many days walk and at least a day’s ride by horse to return to the capitol. You found a cloak and some old breeches and tunics in a closet, boots that were too big, so you stuffed some cloth under and around your foot. It made you a few inches taller, more convincing in your disguise as a sailor. You pinned your hair back with whatever you could find and slipped out of the cabin to find a guard slumped over in sleep outside your door. You hadn’t known he was there, but by the grace of the Mother, you had a chance.

You walked off the ship in no particular hurry to avoid suspicion, then made your way to the nearest stable you could see, banging on the door until someone answered.

“What d’ya want,” a grisly looking man groused once he opened the door. You placed the coin pouch in his hands.

“Give me your best horse, saddle it immediately and the coin is yours.” He nodded, looking at you strangely before doing as you asked.

“I dunno who yer runnin’ from, girl, but ye better be fast. An’ ‘ere,” he said handing you a pouch of what you discovered to be bread and some apples. “Some for ye, and some for the stallion,” he explained.

“I thank you,” you said quietly.

“Go on now. Sun’s comin’ soon.” And off you rode.

It was in the heat of the midday sun you began to feel poorly. Your legs were sore and chafing, your hips aching, and you hadn’t dared stop to rest or eat lest Baelish discover you. You wouldn’t rest until you were back with your husband, this you vowed.

===

“A raven, milord, from your Lady Sister,” the squire said as Tywin retired to his tent. By the morrow, he’d be back in his own chambers with his wife, and able to be rid of the grime that always managed to build up on the road.

He sat first, poured some wine, and took a long sip before unrolling the parchment and reading the note.

“Prepare my horse!” he roared moments after having read the note a third time. Men sprang into action, some packing his tent and others preparing to depart with their Liege Lord. Within minutes he was riding hard into the night and back to King’s Landing.

His wife had waited for him to be gone then she’d stolen away in the night with his babe inside her. He was furious, and he rode like it. How dare she, he thought. You had tried to make a fool of him and no one fooled the Great Lion and got away with it. Beyond his anger, he realised his chest was tight. She’d left, was all he could think. And he’d fancied himself to be growing fond of her. What a fool.

“I want a patrol to set out immediately,” he said to yet another squire as he marched into the Red Keep. “Find my runaway bride and bring her to me unharmed.”

“Yes, milord!” And away the boy went.

Genna was pacing in his study when he arrived, a worried look on her face she only wore for her family (minus her husband), then regarded him intensely.

“She did not run, Tywin.”

“She did,” he gritted out.

“She didn’t. She fretted the entire day you left, asked me about a dozen times where I thought you might be as the day passed. She did not leave, brother.”

And loathe as he was to admit it, his sister was far more perceptive than she had any right to be. If she believed his wife had not run from him, then he would try to believe the same. His anger immediately turned to angst.

“Then she was taken, and is likely gone to me forever if she is not found in the next days.” His voice was low, growlish, and Gemma saw right through it.

“She’s a smart little thing, Tywin, and we have some leads already. Have hope, brother.”

“She is carrying my babe,” he said, though his sister knew him too well not to know what he truly meant.

“She is your wife, brother, and she at least takes her vows seriously. She would not betray you like this, and I happen to think she will try everything in her power to come back.”

Tywin realised she could very well be dead already. How apt of the gods, to thrust a wife upon him he had no want for, then to take her from him when he did.

“I’ll kill whoever did this,” he said quietly. He felt his sister’s hand on his shoulder and clenched his fists. He wished for his wife in that moment, their easy silences and the way she seemed to seek him out just to be near to him. “And I’ll never let her leave my sight again.”

===

There was a point where even your horse refused to go farther, and you had to agree. It was nearing nightfall, and you were exhausted. Your whole body ached, and you thanked the gods you weren’t heavier withchild or riding wouldn’t have been an option.

You settled for the night, ate the bread the stable hand had packed you and fed all but one apple to your horse, who munched happily on them then the grass, then promptly went to sleep near you. It was a sweet horse, and didn’t mind when you laid next to it, leaning your tired body on its side.

You slept for hardly a few hours before dreams of Baelish catching you and Tywin truly having sent those men woke you. Rousing the horse, who seemed grumpy at being woken, you re-saddled him and began a lighter pace. You had already begun to recognise your surroundings, and made haste again towards the capitol. When you crested a hill and saw the top of the Red Keep in the distance, you burst into tears of relief and pushed your horse to ride on. He seemed to understand your anxiety to be home, and did as you bade him. You patted his neck the entire way through the sleepy King’s Landing, and all the way to the King’s Gate.

“Who goes there,” the gate master called out at your arrival. Your must’ve looked like a commoner with your drab coat and less than quality clothes. They probably thought you stole the horse.

Pulling back your hood, you revealed your face, unpinned your hair and announced yourself.

“I am Lady Lannister,” you said, and heard murmuring follow. A guard came down to you, shone a torch in your face and upon recognising you, he called for the gates to open and for someone to retrieve the Hand.

They escorted you up to the Palace steps, and assured you they’d take care of your horse, before a servant came to take you to your chambers. You could hardly walk, so sore from the saddle, and exhausted beyond belief. You were nearly at the Tower when a commotion caught your attention.

Ahead of you, you saw your husband. He was still dressed from the day and did not look to have slept, despite it being nearly dawn. He laid his eyes on you, and both of you sprang to go to the other.

Your legs protested the pace, but you hurried down the hall to him. In several long strides he reached you and pulled you to his chest, arms locking around you tight. You cried again, clutching the lapels on his doublet.

“Hush, wife,” he said, though you cried harder at his voice. He picked you up into his arms, told the guards to stand by the door on rotation, then took you inside the Tower.

You had cried all through him undressing you, and himself, all through the bath he’d ordered be delivered, and all through him washing your sore, bruised and chafed body. Only when you were back in your bed did you finally settle enough to speak.

“I didn’t run from you, I swear it, I swear it,” you repeated to him, begging him without words to believe you. He caressed your body from hip to shoulder, holding you tight.

“I know you didn’t, wife, though I had initially assumed that to be the case,” he said as though it shamed him to have thought that.

“Baelish,” you gasped. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t think— I didn’t think you’d believe me, but I should’ve said, I should’ve gone with you,” you explained, though you didn’t really explain much at all.

“Baelish took you?” he growled, arms tightening around you. You nodded.

“He had two ships, one to Dorne and one to the Vale. We docked in the night to not look suspicious, and I found clothes and stole a pouch of coin, slipped off the ship and bought a horse. I rode all the way here, I hardly stopped.”

Tywin would be the one to kill Baelish, he decided. For making his wife afraid, for taking her from him and for putting his babe in potential danger. He would make it slow as possible without being outright torture if he could manage, though the idea certainly had merit.

“I was so frightened,” you admitted quietly, looking up from your husband’s chest to peer at him in the eyes. “Scared he’d get me all the way to the Vale, and then I’d never be able to get away. Scared he’d know about the babe and— and give me something to kill it,” you said voice cracking. You lifted a palm to his cheek, the first time you’d ever reached for him outside of marital duties. He leaned into your palm, eyes fixed on you. “I was so scared I’d never be able to see you again, my Lord.”

“Tywin,” he said, desperate, though you couldn’t tell it was that. “You call me Tywin.”

“Tywin,” you breathed, and then his mouth was on you. He called you wife, he called you lady, he called your name, all with ‘my’ attached. He did not leave you as you drifted into an exhausted sleep, nor as you rested. Not for anything. His grandson could summon him and he’d tell him to talk a walk off a balcony railing. He would not let you go, not ever again.

“I’m here,” you whispered in your slumber, arms equally tight around him. “I’m here, Tywin.”

He kissed your hairline, smelling the soaps he’d used to wash you, the ones you always smelled of. He couldn’t believe someone had dared to steal you from him, to take his lady wife.

“I thought you might’ve been…” he could not finish the thought. It would make him think of the familiar grief he carried with him every day, the one of a man who’d lost his wife. He could not compete with gods and nature, but he could certainly compete with Baelish.

“It would need more than a mockingbird to defeat a lionness,” you purred. His worry for you had made you feel needy, and you knew he hated neediness.

“You will not leave me,” he commanded, and your heart gave way to the affection you held off for so long.

“Never,” you agreed. “And if I go anywhere, I’ll take you with me,” you said, kissing him firmly, your fist time initiating such an embrace. He gave into you immediately, ravishing your mouth and neck and chest with those marks he was so fond of, and truly, you were fond of them too. Maybe you’d even be daring enough to leave your own.

He made love to you that morning, as the birds sang so did you, though to Tywin, your song was much sweeter.

It was some weeks before your husband brought up your kidnapping again. He had been fiercely protective since your return to him, and there wasn’t a moment you were unguarded. There was no Baelish in the capitol anymore, so you felt at ease enough to return to the gardens as you used to, though now you had Genna for company, who was doting and funny, and kept your spirits high through the stress of the recent moon.

You were declared in perfect health despite the bruising and chafing by a maester Tywin trusted. You thanked the gods every day since your return for keeping your babe safe through the turmoil.

“My dear,” Genna said, pulling you from your daydreaming. “Have you thought it might be twins?”

That night, you asked Tywin if he agreed with his sister, and after careful consideration, he agreed you were larger than usual for so early on. His eyes darkened, and he pulled you to bed within moments.

Your husband, you’d learned in the recent weeks, was needier than he let on. Always wanting to touch, always wanting to kiss your sweet mouth when privacy allowed it, and gods, did his desire for you become plain as the sun in the sky. He could not get enough of you, how your hips were widening and your breasts were swelling, how your stomach had begun to protrude noticeably. He was prideful as a lion, especially with evidence of his virility in the form of his beautiful wife carrying his babe.

On a day where you wanted nothing more than to nap and read in your husband’s solar while he worked, there was finally news of Baelish. His ships had been sacked by the Greyjoys, and he’d been held prisoner there for a sennight. Tywin allowed you to see his correspondence thereafter with the Greyjoys, and you nearly baulked at the sum of money he’d offered for Baelish, alive.

And, as in most things, Tywin got his way, and Baelish was delivered to the capitol in chains. He certainly looked worse for wear, and you privately found satisfaction in that.

Baelish had demanded a trial by combat, and a knight well known in Dorne had stepped forward to be his fighter. Tywin had wanted to fight himself, but as Hand to the King, he resided as a judge on the case and was not permitted. His son, Jaime, had volunteered to fight on, technically, your behalf, though he was officially representing the Hand.

Jaime arrived to the fight in Lannister gold and red, declared he fought as the son of the Great Lion, and would fight for his Liege Lady. He nodded to you in the Dragon Pit, where the fight was to take place, and you nodded back in appreciation of the message. Even the Queen, who had mellowed around you some with your pregnancy and her aunt’s intervention, had nodded approvingly.

The fight was far shorter than any would’ve expected, the Dornish fighter far more flashy than skilled. He was no match for Jaime, who was considered one of the greatest knights in history.

Baelish’s head hung low as his champion yielded, and Tywin had insisted he be executed then and there. You watched as your husband swung the sword himself, and forced yourself to witness Baelish’s head fall from his shoulders.

Later, when you were finished being sick, Tywin scolded you.

“You needn’t do things like that, watching something so violent. I should have had you escorted back to our chambers.”

You graciously took his hand as he led you to bed after you’d rinsed your mouth and chewed some mint leaves.

“I would not have agreed to be away from you,” you said simply, watching Tywin’s frown deepen and his chest simultaneously puff at your desire to always be by his side.

You’d grown bolder in your affections for him slowly everyday since your return. You touched him all the time now, and he revelled in it.

“Lay with me,” you requested sweetly, patting his side of the bed. Your stomach was certainly too large for a single babe, and sleeping had already become difficult for you, only made easier with your husband’s arms around you. It was inconvenient, but he would sooner bring his work to bed than give you reason to shy from him again.

“And how are my little lions,” he said as he reclined and cradled your belly in his palm.

“They’re— oh!” You exclaimed, reaching for your belly, a frown furrowing your brow.

“What is it?” he asked at once, dread taking him. But you smiled suddenly, grabbed his hand and pressed it firmly to the other side. He was about to call for a maester when he felt the fluttering kicks of his children (he was convinced there were three, though you vehemently hoped not).

“They’re saying hello to their papa,” you sighed as he began massaging your bump, as though playing with the babes inside.

He moved lower on the bed, pressed his mouth to your skin and hummed. You laughed as the babes wriggled inside you, the feeling odd and bordering on uncomfortable, but to see this man, your husband, so gentle with you and with children that did not yet quite exist, your heart felt fuller than ever.

“Tywin,” you called, prompting him to look up at you. “You are dearer to me than any other, my lion.”

Your husband smiled and crawled back up to your lips to kiss them. He did not say anything back, but he made the most gentle love to you, whispering your name and how lovely you were, how good a mother you’d be to his babes. By the time you peaked, tears had been streaming down your face, wiped away each time by the gentle hand of your man.

[whorderofthepheonix]

ALICENT HIGHTOWER in HOUSE OF THE DRAGON | 1.06

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ALICENT HIGHTOWER and OTTO HIGHTOWER HOUSE OF THE DRAGON — 1x09: “The Green Council” (2022)

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ALICENT HIGHTOWER + younger vs. older ( insp. )

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PHIA SABAN as HELAENA TARGARYEN HOUSE OF THE DRAGON (2022 - )

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mothers and daughters

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A Song of Ice and Fur (part one) 

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A Song of Ice and Fur ( continued ! )

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BLACK WRITERS WHO (AND THEIR PAGE) ARE STILL ACTIVE (PART 7)

@impremenior

@livingmybestfakelife

@lovemecharlie

@mamipeachy

@samwilsonsbabymama

@marleyfiction-blog

@killuzumakii

@marvelheaux

@marvellovegalore (search: masterlist)

@marvelouss-marvel

@master-of-junk (search: erik x reader)

@mbakusthrone

@mbakusprincess

@mbjslilthang

@melaninmarvelgirl62 (search: erik killmonger x black reader)

@thekrazykeke

@tkscrolls

@shewritestheblues

@melo-yello (search: erik x reader)

@mermaidchansons

@nachtaiwrites

@namubabies

@patrick-daniel

@opalsandlace

@pastelastronomy24

@stripper-patrick

@ramenfallsbutnotudon

@rayraynddem

@raynnawrites

@reckoningss

@reelwriter19

@wakandansunsets

@sarcastic-sunshines

@shae-ster93

@truglori

@shewrites02

@shimmerwriter

@sickandtideeeee

@siriuslycollins-blog

@sisterwifeudaku

@twistedcharismaaa

@spidermans-l-o-v-e-r

@spookys-girl

@starbeanz (search: sarawrites)

@stars8melanin

@storibambino

@whorderofthepheonix

@i-jus-wanna-writehappy

@sweeter-thejuice

@sweetpeachjones

[whorderofthepheonix]

Gimme gimme Joel’s kinks pretty please

I feel like this is an expansion of my other post where I sort of spoke about what level of kinky he’d be, but I didn’t really go into specifics so.

- This man is possessive as hell. Now he may THINK he doesn’t give two singular fucks about you, but the *second* someone else starts chatting you up or getting a little too cosy? He big mad.

- While he likes quick and rough usually, because it’s very limited as to where is safe enough to actually take his time, he’s not a fan of restraints. He’s too much of a hardened survivor to think they’re a good idea. Pre-Outbreak he was dead handy with a rope, but nowadays? It’s not worth the risk.

- Filthy. Southern. Mouth. Somehow he manages to sound sweet while saying the most obscene things to you. If you’re somehow alone and somewhere secure enough? He gets loud, too.

- Lowkey loves when you play with his hair. Going grey always made him feel a bit insecure, so having you all up and touching and petting his hair? He likey.

- Fantasises about finishing inside you but he’s super careful not to, even though accidents totally happen ;)

- Loves going down on you because it’s so rare he gets an opportunity to do so.

- As I said above, he’s not a fan of restraints or choking, but he can and will give you a good spanking when the mood takes him.

- Uses pet names all. The. Time. You’re no longer your name, you’re either darlin’ or baby girl.

- If he’s mad or upset about something, you’ll definitely feel it, probably for a couple days after. He gets *rough* when he wants to.

[whorderofthepheonix]

Playing Rough [ Joel Miller x Reader 🌶️🌶️🌶️ ]

Combining two requests from anons: Joel smut ft spanking, and Joel doing filthy things to you with that knife handle.

(CW for dark character, mentions of graphic violence, degrading language, inappropriate uses of a knife handle, dom/sub undertones. Please consume responsibly!.)

You know, deep down, that Joel isn’t a good man. In saying that, you aren’t sure there are any truly good men left in the world. He’s not a monster, and that’s enough. He’s loving when he wants to be, protective and jealous when he needs to be. Honestly, he would scare you a little, if you didn’t know without a single doubt that you mean the world to him. 

Lately, though, you’ve been seeing a darker side to him. You know he’d do anything to keep you and Ellie safe, have seen him do terrible things to anyone who might have hurt you. Maybe that should scare you, seeing him torture and beat men to death, seeing how easily he can stab a man to death without blinking. It doesn’t. If anything, it does the opposite, and you’ve honestly had some questionable thoughts about him doing things to you with that knife. 

Which leads to now. 

The last thing Joel expected when he came home was the sight before him. He was still on edge, rifle slung over his shoulder, knife tucked into his belt. He still had blood spattered across his face. Maybe that was why everyone had given him a wide berth when he had practically swaggered back into town. They may not like it, but the good people of Jackson knew that he would keep them safe. 

He pushed open the bedroom door, half expecting you to be asleep or sitting in the window, reading. You’d seen him coming up the street, had other ideas. You knew what he was like, after he’d spent time hurting people. He needed an outlet, and you knew it. Still, didn’t mean he expected you to be sprawled out on the bed, waiting for him. 

“Shit, baby.” He stopped only to close the bedroom door behind him, eyes not leaving your body. 

“Welcome home?” You wriggled on the bed, stretching out, thoroughly enjoying the way his eyes roamed over your form. 

He smirked, slowly approaching you, toeing off his boots, tossing his jacket aside and starting to unbutton his shirt. He didn’t bother with his jeans; he might be much older than you, but his stamina was impressive. Impressive and insatiable. 

He spread your thighs, settling himself between them, callused fingers circling on sensitive skin. You knew you were already dripping wet for him, knew he could see it glistening on your skin. 

“Did you miss me, darlin?” He nuzzled into your throat, inhaling the scent of you, “spend all day laying here getting yourself ready for me?” 

“Mmhmm,” your fingers find his wrist, drag his hand closer to your wetness, wanting desperately for him to just touch you. He likes seeing you like this, so needy and desperate for him. 

“That’s not an answer.” He goes to remove the knife from his belt, set it aside. 

“Leave it.” You tell him, in a half whisper. His dark eyes glitter at the comment, amusement and arousal fighting in his head. Joel isn’t stupid, but he certainly isn’t thinking with his brain right now. 

“Are you sure about that, darlin?” 

“Very sure.” 

“Interesting…” he presses the palm of his hand flat against your wetness, thumb teasing at your clit. “Didn’t know you had such a dirty mind, baby.” 

You raise an eyebrow. “Really? How many times have I begged you to fuck a baby into me, Joel?” 

He smirks, that slow, predatory smirk of his that does things to you, unspeakably horny things. 

“I can think of a few times,” he concedes, “still hasn’t taken, has it?”

Not to your knowledge, no. 

“Always got more time…” you tell him, grinding yourself into his hand, eyes on the knife in his other hand. 

“That’s very true, got all night…” his thumb circles again, almost absently, his other hand moves to you, to trail the blade of the knife carefully between your breasts, down your stomach. He flips it in his hand, holds it by the base of the hilt, blade pointing to him as he teases the hilt around your wetness. 

You lean closer into it, drawing another smirk from his lips. 

“And here I thought you weren’t as depraved as I am.” He laughs softly, leans in close to you, close enough that he can finally kiss you. There’s a roughness to it that you like, the way he doesn’t pretend to be gentle. He doesn’t have to hide what he really is from you, not anymore, and it’s almost relieving. 

He hums, almost absently, biting down on your lip before pressing a soothing kiss to it, still trailing the handle of the knife around your folds, coating it in your slick. 

“So fucking wet, baby…” Joel considers you for a moment before he slides the hilt of the knife inside you. It’s not long enough to reach your sweet spot, given he has no intention of letting the blade cut you, but it’s enough. 

He starts to move the hilt of the knife slowly, mimicking the slow, lazy thrusts that he tends to start with whenever he fucks you, watching your expression become hazy with lust. 

“Joel…” you draw his name out into a long whimper, wriggling closer to the knife hilt. You know what he’s done with that knife; you’ve seen plenty, and imagined far more. The fact the he’s using a tool of violence to fuck you? It’s not lost on either of you. 

“Feel good, baby? This what you wanted?” He turns the handle inside you, watching your pupils blow wide, encouraged by your whimpers and mewls. 

“Mmhmm…” you reach for him, pull him close into another kiss. He’s happy to indulge you for a moment, but something about fucking you with the handle of the knife he’s used to kill at least a dozen men has him riled up. 

“Gonna take this out now, darlin…” he turns the knife hilt once more, drawing another soft whimper from you, “got something better for you…”

You wriggle again. “Please…”

“So good for me, baby. Get on your knees for me.” His voice is low, heavy, as he pulls the knife hilt from you slowly, watches you turn over onto all fours for him. 

He doesn’t always expect perfect obedience from you. Quite the opposite, in fact. But he has to admit, it makes him even harder and ache even more for you to see you so damn eager for him. He can see how soaked you are, how needy you are, as he sets the knife aside and unbuckles his belt. 

You look at him over your shoulder, eyes heavy, lips parted, watching him as he unzips his jeans, frees his cock and strokes his lazily as he returns to you, pulling you close against him, stroking himself along your soaked cunt. 

“Look at you, baby… gonna take me so well.” 

You move closer to him, trying to get him inside you as quickly as possible. 

“Patience, sweetheart,” he slides against you again, callused hands taking hold of your hips, pulling you flush against him. Those same hands caress your waist for a moment before sliding down to take a handful of your ass, one hand moving to guide himself inside you. 

He’s not slow, not careful. Not this time. He slides into you in a single deep, rough thrust, to the hilt almost at once. 

You cry out, but don’t move away from him. You want this; want him, no, need him, to be as rough as he needs to be. And Joel? He can be rough when he loses control. 

One hand remains on your waist, the other twisting into your hair, pulling your head up as he slams into you, again and again, relentless, his hips colliding roughly with yours. 

You don’t fight him, don’t remotely want to fight him. It feels too good, every inch of him filling you, hitting your sweet spot. Without his hand holding you up, you’re certain you’d collapse onto the bed, unable to hold yourself steady. 

“C’mon, darlin, know you gotta cum… can feel you soaking me like a filthy slut…” Joel‘s hand leaves your waist for a moment, lays a sharp spank to your ass. You cry out, back yourself up against him, getting him deeper inside you. 

“Fuck, Joel…” You gasp; the spank stings, but he’s not done. He lays another one to your stinging ass, alternating sides, not once does he ease up on his brutal pace, still slamming into you. 

“Cum for me, darlin.” He leans down to almost growl it in your ear, hand rubbing soothing circles on the reddening handprint on your ass. You can’t help it; you feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, know he can feel it too. 

“Stop trying to fight it, baby, I can feel it… you feel so fucking wet, darlin, I know you’re close…” 

He won’t admit it, but he’s close too. The thought  of filling you again, fucking his seed into you until it takes… he groans, a strangled, involuntary growl. 

“Joel…” your hands fist into the sheets of the bed as your entire body tenses, then goes limp. You can feel every nerve in your body, as if you’re on fire, as you tighten around him, soaking him. 

“That’s it, baby, take it…” he breathes out, trying to delay his own climax, but unable to for much longer; he’s almost forgotten how well you handle him being rough with you, and the image of you being fucked with his knife… that’s doing things to him. 

Growling, he pulls you up against his chest, holding you tight as he slams into you, once, twice more, before he presses as deep as possible, moaning and cursing into your ear, biting down on your shoulder as he reaches his climax, grinding into you to keep every drop of his seed buried inside you. 

“That’s it…” Joel soothes, kissing the bite mark he’s left on your shoulder, “such a good girl…” 

You gasp, trying to catch your breath, glad he’s holding you so you don’t collapse. 

“Feel good, darlin? I’ll take your inability to speak as a positive.” Joel grinds against you again, a low groan leaving his throat. You feel so damn good, so tight around him, so warm… he groans again, feels himself throb once more inside you before he pulls out of you slowly. 

“Baby,” he turns you to face him, pulls you into his arms, kisses you slowly, “you did so amazing for me…”

“I love you,” you tell him, and he smiles at you. 

“I love you too, darlin. Love you too.” 

[whorderofthepheonix]

you write some of the best joel fics on this cursed site fr fr, amazing work and I have a request for a darkish!joel smut that’s inspired a little bit by the interrogation scene from ep8

Like instead of torture it’s consensual edging, and Joel is wanting the reader to say something specific, or to get her into a sub space. something like that but no pressure !! That scene just made me think… things, and wanted to share!

( thank you so much anon, I hope this is okay!)

“Look at me.” Joel taps your cheek lightly with his hand, not quite a slap, but close enough.

You turn your head to look at him, eyes glazed over with lust and sheer need for him. You wish you could touch him, but he has your hands tied, bound above your head with his belt, hooked to the bed frame.

“Are you gonna stop being such a brat and do as you’re told?” He’s not above making you wait even longer; you’d been mid fuck when you’d refused to do as you were told, and he’d simply… stopped. Keeping himself buried to the hilt inside you, but not moving. Using you to warm his cock, but giving you nothing in return.

It’s a battle of wills, and he’s far more stubborn than you are, rough fingers gripping your chin, forcing you to look at him. He can see how close to breaking you are. Even so…

“Maybe.” You can’t help it, you love to taunt him, knowing the more you tease him, the more he’ll punish you. And you’re nothing if not a sucker for punishment.

He lays an open handed slap to your ass, dragging a strangled gasp from you; he has to bite back a groan at the way you tighten around him when he hits you.

“Wrong answer.”

You open your mouth but promptly shut it again when he spanks you a second time, harder this time. A muffled squeak all that falls from your lips, swollen from his bruising kisses.

“Gonna ask you one more time, darlin’, and if you don’t answer me like a good girl, I’ll leave you tied to the bed like the disobedient slut you are.” He’d struggle like hell to walk away from you, but you don’t need to know that. He can keep up this dominant persona forever, if need be.

The threat is enough to drag you into submission; you know he’d make good on his threat, probably sit on the chair in the corner and finish himself, make you watch, unable to touch him or yourself. It’s that more than the gleam in his eye that makes you submit to him.

You nod, and he surveys you for a moment before he speaks.

“Are you gonna do as you’re told?”

He half expects you to sass him again, but he knows from the look on your face that he’s won; he’s been teasing you for too fucking long, he can feel you trying to wriggle beneath him, desperate for some sort of friction.

“Yes, sir.” Your voice is hushed, too quiet; he can barely hear you.

“Can’t hear you, darlin.” But he relents just a little, shallowly rocking his hips against yours, teasing you enough to drag you to the edge.

“Yes, sir, I’ll be a good girl.”

Your sweet voice is music to his ears, exactly what he’s wanted from you.

“There we go, sweet girl, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” His hand soothes the mark he’s left on your ass before he seizes your thigh, hoists it up tight around his waist, and resumes his brutal pace, drowning in your screams, the only sound he ever needs to hear.

[whorderofthepheonix]

Y’all, I’ve been gone 82 days and I come back to a Fuck load of Joel smut???

I love it 🥹 this was the first and it was GLORIOUS! 😻😻😻

More please everyone! And keep up the great work!!

Joel x Reader: for the things they hold dear (one shot)

Plot: He can't say he loves you -- he doesn't need to.

Tags: kinda dark, fucked up love, kinda toxic, possessive, controlling, AGE GAP (unspecified but mentioned a lot), nasty smut, breeding kink, like literally nasty, violence, blood, God is like his literal enemy, calls you 'mama; sugar; sweetheart',there are mentions of blood while doing the nasty, daddy kink (mentioned a few times), joel is emotionally constipated but hey who can blame him, unbeta'd

Playlist I listened while writing this.

Your old man is a mean, mean man.

Hardened by the cruel apocalypse that befell him, he punished anyone who dared to cross an inch into the line he had drawn as revenge to the rest of the world for all that he had lost. Old testament God punishment.

He lost a lot and he acted like it. Mean. Bitter. Dominant.

But everything that was ripped away from him had bloody, ragged claw marks on them.

That was just the kind of man he was. He fights for the things he holds dear – would pound mountains into dust if that’s what it took. He wasn’t losing anyone or anything anymore – not without a fight to death.

Especially you.

The sweet, young, little thing that not only crossed all his lines but completely obliterated it with your insistence to make a home in his heart. He tried – God, he tried – to keep you away. To not touch your soft body with his bloody rugged hands but you refused to let go. Catching him at the small moments he let his guard down and chipped away at his stone heart until you had made it yours.

He never says it – doesn’t say the three words you would fall in your knees for to hear. But he never had to. People might say you were stupid for even looking at him, idiotic for catching his eye, and suicidal for running straight into his arms when he opened it.

Because he was a mean, mean man – but God, you loved him the same. Loved him even more knowing he would turn on the world to stay by your side.

The rest of the world may not know it and he may think he does a good job at hiding it but the grip on your waist as he leads you on the dangerous street of the apocalypse, the biting kisses he leaves all over your body almost as a stamp every night, or the gentle finger that carefully removes stray pieces of hair out of your face as you drift off to sleep told you he would fight God himself if it meant he get to keep you in this lifetime.

Even just in this lifetime.

“You enjoying yourself, daddy?” you whispered, pulling on his belt loops so you can wrap your legs around his waist, wanting him as close as possible to you all the time.

He scoffed, finishing the rest of his bottle and placing both his hands on the table you were sitting on to cage you in, “You know I hate crowds, mama.”

Even until this time the endearments – an inside joke, a secret dream – still makes your stomach warm.

It came from one of your late-night trysts where, in your drunken pleasure, you had begged him to cum inside.

“Soon, sugar, I promise,” he gasped, unrelenting in his thrust which got deeper once the word slipped out your mouth. “Gonna make you a mama. I’ll find a nice cabin, far, far away from everyone and I’m gonna keep you full, okay? When it’s safe – for you and the little ones.”

You remembered the tears streaming down your face at the thought that even at the end of the world where everybody thought you were an idiot for loving a man who will never be able to love you as much, he decided to prove them wrong by daring to dream a future for the two of you. No matter how hopeless and unrealistic it may have been.

Even though he might try to pretend he didn't remember a single word when he woke up with the worst hangover he had experienced in a while.

“Why are you here then, old man?” you teased, giggling at the kisses he was slowly pressing into your neck as he drowned out the rest of the drunken club behind him.

If you hadn’t slipped out of his apartment, he liked to lock you in when he got home late, leaving nothing but a note and one of your pretty panties letting him know exactly where you were and what you weren’t wearing he would’ve been more than satisfied to spend his entire night listening to you talk about your day while he suckles on his trusty whiskey.

Satisfied with the new hickey he had tattooed just below your ear, he kissed your grinning lips, “Heard there was something sweet in the menu around here.”

You couldn’t even snark an answer back as he had already roped you in a deep kiss that just got more inappropriate as time passes by. His hand gripping your waist hard enough to make you gasp so he could snake his dominating tongue into your mouth, “They were right,” he growled. “The fucking sweetest.”

Joel doesn’t like you working – would risk his life fighting clickers every day if it meant you stayed home like he wanted you to. Where he knew it was safe.

It infuriated you at first. Your first job wasn’t even dangerous and you wouldn’t feel too good bartering the rations he worked so hard for with pretty clothes and trinkets that caught your eyes. So, at your insistence he pulled some strings and found you a job cleaning and maintaining a small pub every morning while the owner was gone, making sure you were already home or he was already picking you up before the sun could set and the men could arrive to drink the rest of their lives away.

He'd been at their shoes before. He knew what they would do just for a sweetest piece of you in their hands.

And the first time he slipped and forgot to check on you when you went overtime to cover up a sick mother's shift and found you wincing when some drunken asshole tried to drag you to him, he had decided to make an example out of him to everyone.

It wasn’t until three men were holding him back and finally saw the bloody pulp, he had made out of his face that he turned his eyes to you.

He expected a lot – fear, disgust, horror.

Instead, a familiar haze in your eyes and a shudder in your breath greeted him and he knew then you were so fucking perfect.

You liked it. You liked the violence and goodness was it the only thing he was good at anymore.

You liked seeing how strong he was and just how reliable -- how protective, how territorial. You liked the craze look on his face and how his jaws locked as he threw one heavy punch right after the next with the clear intent to kill this man who had dared to redden an inch of your soft skin, he bruised with his kisses every night.

“Joel …” you whimpered, and he swore every man in that bar held their breath with him.

Wiping one of his less bloody hands on his pants he reached out for you, “Come here, suga’.”

And like the stupid little girl you were, you ran into his arms.

Just like you always do when he calls.

You heard shouts and drunken screams behind the door but you were too busy running your hand on his hair and cradling each side of his face to deepen your kiss to care. Even more when he dragged you off your seat that you were basically getting lifted by his crotch, making you whine as you humped his rough jeans.

“D-Daddy, “you whined. “Want you.”

“Not here, sugar,” he muttered strictly yet made no effort to stop kissing you. “Bed.”

He didn’t give you another chance to protest as he lifted you off your seat and into the separate room where the bed he had made himself was situated. It was in a room with no windows and where you felt safe the most. It was where he likes to hide you and stare at you from the couch on the other side of the room, calming his ever-running head by letting himself physically see that you were safe and right in front of him.

That you weren’t some fucked up, beautiful illusion he had made in his head so he doesn’t go crazier than he already is.

You were here, in his territory. You were real. You were safe. And you are so fucking beautiful.

“L-Luh you,” your words were muffled with his tongue but it made him crack a semblance of a smile as he busied himself by making sure you were as naked as possible. The blood in his knuckles smeared on your breast, waist – a small patch just under your eyes that he was quick to wipe away. “So much.”

So fucking beautiful.

He made a soft sound as he watched you spread your legs in submission, the splatches of red in your skin making him harder than he already was.

[You're safe.]

He ran a clean finger up your slit.

[You're real.]

He pushed your legs to your chest and pressed a deep kiss in your sweet, sweet cunt that he would eat until his last days in this god-forsaken land.

“You’re so beautiful, sugar,” he rasped, not letting you get a word in as he plunged his entire length to you in a single thrust, hand pressing into your mouth to muffle your scream of pleasure.

He grinned cruelly as your eyes rolled to your skull – he really was so mean.

He was like an animal, if you didn’t know better you would’ve thought he was infected as sucked and bit on whatever piece of skin he could reach, his beard irritating your skin.

But you doubt even the worst of the Clickers would be as ravenous as him.

The entire room sounds pornographic. The wet smack of his heavy balls on your skin as his cock bullied your cunt, your muffled moans, and his eyes that were nearly red in desire as he refused to even blink – too drunk of the pleasure in your face.

When you felt your climax coming your forced your eyes open and with just a single look he knew exactly what to do.

“Just like we practiced, okay baby?” he whispered and you nodded.

Gently, he guided your hands around his waist, one of his hands beside your head, the other cradling your head into the crook of your neck where a familiar scar reopened when you bit into it. When you were right where he wanted you he doubled the speed and intensity of his thrusts, the bed creaking in protest as the two of you chased your highs that were muffled into your own skins.

It was animalistic but so full of pleasure especially as you reached your peak and he followed you with just two more thrusts burying himself so deep inside you until you whined from sensitivity.

He comforted you with gentle shushes, the hand cradling your head gently rubbing your hair until you were done sobbing and choking over your own cries.

“Luh you so much, so much,” you mumbled.

“I know, sweetheart,” he whispered, flipping the pillow under you and laying your head on the cold fresh sheet.

Pulling out, he removed his flannel and shirt, just now realizing the contradiction of your nakedness and the nearly full gear in his body.

Finding it too tiring to go to the bathroom, he used his shirt to wipe whatever spilled out of your pussy, making sure to be gentle and to press a kiss in your knees every time you whined like a baby.

A few minutes later you were already calling for him, eyes closed and arms raised, making him chuckle when he slipped out of his clothes and into your arms, flipping the two of you off so you were laying now on his chest.

Your fingers immediately playing with the greying hairs on his chest.

“Hey,” he called but when you tried to look up he pushed you under his chin.

“Joel?”

“I …” He should say those three words – the words you were begging to hear but he couldn’t. He might never be able to find the courage to say it. Saying it would mean everything was out in the open. Saying it would mean he has something to lose.

He’s so tired of losing people.

He wasn’t gonna risk it with you.

So he doesn’t say it but he doesn’t have to.

He cleared his throat and you let him find his words and form his thoughts despite your confusion. Finally, after a long moment of silence you felt him let out a breath, cupping your cheek and looking down at you, and – ah, he really doesn’t have to say it.

It was written all over his being.

“I found us a cabin up north.”

Hiiii!

Im not fully back, still in the middle of the internship but I had gotten so obsessed with Joel I just needed to write this. This story was inspired by A LOT of amazing works I have read especially @toxicanonymity and @softlyspector (who actually gave me the idea about Joel being so territorial about the people he loves) so please check out all their works!

Also this song is inspired by a lot of lana del rey song but the title is from "How to disappear"

Enjoy,

tia xoxo

[whorderofthepheonix]

[whorderofthepheonix]

BLACK PANTHER: WAKANDA FOREVER