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themotherofblood · 1 year ago

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CHAPTER 2 | RIVER OF GOLD | The Bedding | T.L x READER

series masterlist | main masterlist | chapter 1

tw: infantalism, major age gap, loss of virginity, misogynistic views, allusions to blood, breeding, unprotected

~ the lion’s in the house, the flowers are up in the air ~

“The wedding was quaint I suppose, followed by the customs of the Seven. I had hoped to have a Ryonish wedding, just as my cousins did, the dress lord Tywin, or I suppose my husband had gotten redone from my mother’s old gown, had freshwater pearls. I lit a candle at the Sept. I felt her. My mother’s warmth embraced at my back. She is watching me, I think. I miss her terribly.”

The feast that gathered in your father’s Great Hall was elaborate, surely the money came from Tywin’s coffers as you had never seen your father spend on such baseless things as he had said. Your martial cloak still laid heavy upon your shoulders as you ate what you could from your plate. People danced and jovial banter followed the tables, your sisters taking turns dancing with Olvyar. Lord Kevan had ridden from Casterly Rock to be in attendance, Tywin’s only family present. You knew not to hope for this agreement to be extravagant nor joyous, this was a deal struck well. Your womb for the Lannister offspring and you showered in riches and power, perhaps if you gave him a son or two. You could return to Dorne.

There was a fiddly sense of belonging between the two of you, there should have been a first dance, which he refused, he doesn’t smile, why doesn’t he smile? You would have danced, you loved dancing however whatever simple vows spoken at the altar seemed to have mellowed your making entirely as you sat there from the hour of crow to the hour of the bat. Feasting away as your father regaled of this most triumphant match and how honoured his daughter - you who sat right in front of him was.

What you worried for most was the bedding, you should have taken up the offer of your cousin Nymeria when she had laid attractive ideals upon your lap to flitter you away with her to the most extravagant of brothels on the eastern streets of Sunspear. Though a maiden, you weren’t entirely daft due to the very colourful tapestries and paintings that flowered you to a whole different - erogenous - world. What kind of lover was your husband to be? Was there even warmth to expel within the sheets from his stone heart? He doesn’t even smile, not once.

Tywin in truth was a fine man for his age, though his pockets (mines) were the true seduction of his being, if one could get past the stern glare, no… judgement in his eyes with which he glanced at a room. There had to be more to a man of his stature, of his experience. You could name a rumour or two, your aunt, but your mind mostly wondered about his children. Much, much older children. There was sedation, you knew this much as he promised this to you “You would be safe.” Perhaps the debt he owed to your mother was one of the grave consequences.

“Now, the night grows cold my lords!” Loren exclaimed, raising his glass to you, his pale cheeks red from the intoxication of the strong wines your Dornish ship had brought along. “Shall we send for the bedding ceremony,” he cheered, downing his cup with an animalistic growl. Your father, your boorish father. Never leaving one opportunity to humiliate you, having your clothes pulled off in front of a very populated crowd, you shuffled back uncomfortably in your seat, clutching your skirts in balled fists. Would it be inappropriate to punch a lord?

“What you say, my lord,” Loren turned to his liege lord, your husband who looked rather unamused as he finally looked at you after the wedding ceremony. His eyes narrowed further before he turned to your father.

“There will be no bedding,” he said, voice lowly and intimidating. He rose, holding his hand out for you to take. His palms were warm, too warm as you clutched his palm. He fixated a subtle glare towards your father and pulled you from the feast. You walked behind him, mildly shocked that he would protect you, he promised it. You pattered along behind him, the anklets hidden under your gown chiming as you walked with him. He let go of your hand once the doors behind you closed, letting you lead him to your childhood quarters.

Like falling marbles, your heart fluttered each time you thought of ways to present yourself to him. When you entered your bed-chambers, a slight dread filled your belly. Tywin looked around, face stoic as ever until his eyes fell on the dolls that sat atop a chest, he looked at your questioningly, eyebrows raised making your sheepishly scratch your neck.

“I haven’t been in these rooms since I was seven,” you told him, a simple explanation to the many toys decorated around the chambers, the books stacked across the walls and shelves. Patches of embroidered neatly folded onto a pile by the receiving table. Your handmaidens had left behind a tray of refreshments, wines and dried fruit. You are his wife - wife, the realisation seemed to have slowly trickled its way to your consciousness. You are married - you are married and you would now have to lose your maidenhead.

“Why do you do that?” Tywin pulled you from your intense line of thought, looking at you as though he was reading you, a droll book with its finest pages being ripped away and hidden.

“Do what?” You blurted, watching him intuitively as he poured himself a cup of wine and filled another for you.

“Your mind, you think too hard,” he grunted, sitting himself down on the great chair turned away from the heart, it was utterly comical if you thought over the scenery. His much - much larger frame situated upon a very small, cushiony great chair made of lilac cloth and blue embroidery to match its footstool. Your chair, you wanted to sit there but instead pick up the cup of wine from the table. Taking ginger sips of the wine and frowning at its taste, twelve summers at Sunspear and your tongue still couldn’t accustom to the fizzled burn upon your throat.

“I- I just…” you trailed, taking a larger swig this time, unsure of what to talk about, the talking wasn’t necessary, was it? “How would you like me, my lord?”

You bit your tongue, hard. Trusting yourself up like a whore, how would you like me, seriously?

“Are you afraid of me, girl?” the green of his eyes glinted over your doe eyes face, the confusion and torn countenance.

“No, not afraid,” you took a seat next to him, curving near the rip of your cup with your finger “You are very unreadable- I do not wish to disappoint you,” he grunted, and almost a broken chuckle fell from his lips.

“I can’t tell if you are pleased or not I… you do not smile, my lord.”

He looked up, right into you. The menacing gaze of his eyes, almost a glare made you want to cower. Be swallowed whole by this chair, shutupshutupshutp, your mind in frenzy began to scream at you. This time you gulped down the cup entirely. What the fuck had you gotten yourself into?

“You’ve picked a fine one brother,” Kevan patted Tywin’s back “She and Genna will surely create quite the trouble.”

Tywin grunted out a chuckle “She deceived me the first we met, fourteen years and not one lie went through me. But this one,” Tywin shook his head as he buttoned his cuffs. “She’s of exceptional breeding, wide enough hips for childbearing and a sharp wit.”

“Gods, Tywin, you are to make her your wife, not butcher her for meat.” Kevan rolled his eyes at his brother’s straightforward description of you.

Tywin brushed his hands down his doublet, he swore to not think of this beforehand. Yet a man’s mind was only so fortified as he thought of Joanna, you looked nothing like her, the distinct lack of yellow-blonde and greenish eyes he could spend dusk till dawn. This was a necessity, his children had all failed him, and he couldn’t trust Cersei to feasibly manage Casterly Rock, her concentrated arrogance was much of Tywin’s fault. His golden boy, the fine knight he was, politically a mouse and Tyrion- better call him something else than Tywin’s son.

His brother Kevan, was trustworthy and most capable of being his heir but he wanted just another chance, to build his legacy from his blood, his lineage, and his seed. A young enough wife to mould to his liking, you were a challenge, your mind too sharp behind the polite curtain upon your eyes. He found no reason to be curt or cold to you, you were to share his bed. A fine creature- soft and poised with an amalgamated refinery of Westerslands blood and Dornish brawl.

Now, as you sat in front of him. He couldn’t do it, he couldn’t let this bedding be a rut-pump-fill engagement. The heavy lower lip long stripped from its pinkish rogue, filled with colour due to your constant biting. He stopped drinking at the feast a while back, not wanting to blurt Joanna’s name while within you. He had done far too many times to the whores of Lannisport. However as he watched you, the possibility dwindled, your aura too commanding to be thought of as anything else than who you were, the strong scent of sandalwood and lilies. An inviting little thing, the lusts of a man no different than his youth.

He rose from his seat, reaching forward to cup your jaw to make you look at him, his thumb itching to graze over your supple cheek. “I am pleased,” he said sincerely behind his monotone behaviour. “Come.” He whispered.

Your softer hand once more took his as he led you to the foot of your bed. He could tell how hard you were breathing from your breasts pushing against the bindings of your gown, spilling parts of it over and deflating once more. His hand with a find of his let his pointer trace against the curve of cheek down your neck. “I will return in moments.”

He ventured to ante chambers to strip into far appropriate and comfortable attire for tonight. In a soft white tunic and trousers, his mind wandered to the vision that were you. A titillating scene, one devoid of the performative bait of the whores he had gotten used to. You were a terrified thing, surely taught or read about the consummation. He wouldn’t let it hurt, he hadn’t felt a maiden in a while, the vile thought stirred warmth within his breeches as he re-entered your chambers to find you in your night rail. Soft white with flowers - flowers, his eyes raked down your body. You are undone hair, thick and wild. Shoulders bared, kissable the nape of your neck, the marks he could leave upon your collarbones. The gentle glow of the lit hearth against your skin and the scent.

The incense, that’s what you smelled of, it teased him for days since you agreed to marry him. You sat at the edge of the bed, legs tucked together as you toyed with your fingers nervously. Your eyes widened for a moment when you noticed his silhouette standing a few breaths away from you. You were trying to will bravado into your nerves, turn them ice cold to stop with the gentle tremble on your fingertips.

He approached you one more, towering over your frame. The space between his thumb and pointer fits perfectly at the curve of your chin as he held your face. “My lord,” you whispered.

His lips pushed against yours, unlike the chaste close-mouthed peck. This one commanded you to learn, to receive his affections with equal attention. Your lips parted, letting his tongue within, you floundered for a moment. A buzz ran down your spine as you felt his other hand pull you closer, you whimpered into the kiss, finding a distinct lack of air within as Tywin pulled away.

“You ought to stop calling me my lord.” Tywin admired your features, a lamb for the lion to feast upon, your lips so sweet, laced with the very strong wine that lingered in Tywin’s lips. He wondered if his young bride was sweet everywhere. You nibbled on your bottom lips. The flush of your cheeks - The Maiden in the flesh as your rail shielding the ample globes upon your chest. A mellow-tempered beauty, pure and untouched. As much as his mind wished him to strip you bare, it would be unlike his station to impose you further from your comfort.

He gestured towards the pillows, letting you crawl further in as he rid himself of his tunic. For his age, Tywin maintained the regime of a knight. Finding no reason to laze away to his growing age, he would die many ways happily. Other than a fat country lord. His frame engulfed yours as he positioned himself on his knees. His thumb grazed your lips, parting them as he pushed in two fingers.

“Suck on them,” he commanded as you obliged like a doll on strings. Suctioning your lips around his pointer and middle finger. The skin between your legs was divinely soft as he stroked them open, and your stomach churned. You were his wife now, his to pry open until you were swollen with his babe.

He felt the sickish soft hairs against your skin, trimmed to a perfect mound as the pads of his fingertips strum against your petals, coating them slick with the wetness from your mouth. You gasped, a kittenish yelp, eyes wide and cheeks flushed as your husband prepared you for your bedding.

“It’s alright, this will make it more bearable,” he stated, his features long softened that you didn’t notice until now. He laid next to you with your legs held open as he rubbed tight circles onto your bud.

“My…my lord,” you mewled, making Tywin return to his stern glare as a warning. “Husband.” The word so foreign against your tongue, your noses touching one another as your eyes scrunched close.

A malicious urge flared over Tywin as he couldn’t wait longer to feel you clenching around his cock. He kissed your lips once more before situating himself atop you. You squealed as he positioned you by yanking you down by the hip. Your rubescent folds are ever inviting, beginning to have his cock sliding through the slick. He pushes his breeches off, letting his semi-harden length, the mushroom tip resting against your entrance. He was waiting, waiting for you.

There was apprehension, mayhaps fear in your eyes. You shuffled your hips making Tywin but his tongue, feeling the friction against his leaky tip, “Please.” You whispered.

His tip pushed against your rejecting core, unyielding to the foreign feeling as his thumb gingerly swiped over your bud to mask the sting you were to soon feel. You bleat, choking at the feeling of his cock pushing in, you grasp onto his shoulder a little too hard, nails digging in. You hiss out an apology, all he did was shush you, like a learning child. It would be fine, he would make it better. Your eyes dropped heavy eyelids fixated upon him as he bludgeoned himself smug into your cunt, he wavered for a moment. A lowly groan rumbled from within him as your silent sobs persisted. He waited once more, watching over your scrunched face.

Drunk from the lust he fought to not fuck into you, reminding himself you were no whore, you would break too easy if he inflicted any more strain. He didn’t understand what you were doing to him as he placed a kiss upon your forehead as your cunt fluttered around him. There was a different depravity in the thought of moulding something this young, and warm to stretch himself. Making a delicate home for his seed within you, reaching for your womb for his heir, his—this was his.

“Please move— husband,” you hissed, gently rocking your hips to soothe the waves of pain flaring through your abdomen. It faded, the hurt was pleasurable against the tweaks at your pearl.

Tywin groaned, his hips rolling into yours as he set a gentle pace. Your pretty hair spread about the pillow, full lips parted open with gasps of harsh air - taking thrust after thrust for him. It didn’t go unnoticed as your fingertips caressed against the backs of his shoulders. Don’t fucking do it — Tywin valiantly fought against the urge to grasp at a handful of your breasts. Your nipples were hard behind the cotton fabric, the shoulders pulled so far down they threatened to spill from their coverings.

“Say my name, say my name wife,” he groaned, holding your jaw with the green of his eyes making you dizzy.

“T-Tywin— it feels so good,” you mewled, of course, it does, pretty maiden being fucked open for your first coupling as he took much care of you. Tywin, some doe-eyed witch you were, maybe his wine laced with a potion. His name never sounded so sweet.

His hand clutched your hips, truly the perfect width, his cock stirred some more at the thought of your soft pouch swelling further. The glow in your cheek is even radiant while carrying his heirs “Such a good girl,” he groaned. “Fuck.” He groaned under his breath, trying to keep his equanimity.

His cock twitched feeling your cunt squelch as he flicked his thumb against your bundle of nerves, a rut and a pump more and he sweared “fuck, there—take it.” You mewled under him, legs shuddering as his cock pumped itself to completion. Warm seed coating your environs as his sweat-beaded head fell against your forehead.

The heavy after loom oddly weaved your legs against him, the gentle weight of his body resting against yours anchored you to the ticklish warmth you felt. Eyes heavy and shut and your heart hammered against your chest. Tywin pulled you up when you could gather your bearings once he dressed.

The service bell was rung for Maester Crasden, your father Loren and Tywin’s brother Kevan to inspect the sheets. You sat hidden behind your husband’s silhouette, the sheets stained thoroughly, though the flush of your cheeks was indication enough that marriage was indeed consummated. Maester Crasden checked on you as Tywin conversed with Loren.

“We ride tomorrow at noon, make a night's journey home,” Tywin instructed your father is more than happy to be rid of one daughter with such an auspicious match. Kevan nodded before exiting the chambers along with Loren. Maester Crasden laced a cup of water with two drops of Milk of The Poppy to ease any pains you might feel in the morrow. When he left, there was yet again an awkward silence between the two of you, mostly on your part.

Tywin on the other hand admired the dishevelled beauty sat by the hearth, “You need your rest, we are to leave tomorrow.” He stated.

“Leave?” You questioned, putting the empty cup away as you stood, legs a little sore as you grimaced at the feel of his leaking seed.

“For Casterly Rock,” he shrugged, awaiting any disappointments that might flare within your eyes. You looked at the hearth as your lips pulled to a line.

You walked to him and reached onto your toes to press a kiss upon his cheek “Goodnight husband.”

Tywin nodded as he helped you onto your bed before gracefully turning in his heel and leaving for his bed chambers.

To Casterly Rock then.