#okay listen LISTEN i am obsessed with the fact that vyn is always playing mind games and testing people esp mc in early game

[themisimagines]

i could sleep inside the cold of you

inspired by: the 'aimed at your heart' vyn ssr card content: heavily draws upon catherynne m. valente's deathless, 2.5k of seduction & smut so buckle up characters: vyn, fem!reader optional background music: house of cards by bts; take me to church by hozier; religion by lana del rey; the anna karenina (2012) soundtrack

“A marriage is a private thing. It has its own wild laws, and secret histories, and savage acts, and what passes between married people is incomprehensible to outsiders. We look terrible to you, and severe, and you see our blood flying, but what we carry between us is hard-won, and we made it just as we wished it to be, just the color, just the shape.” - Catherynne M. Valente, Deathless

The long table is laid with a feast fit for a king. Platters heaped high with glistening honeyed confits, crisp crackling meat, steaming vegetables delicately braised, deep tureens of stew rich in marrow, an excess of riches, accompanied by what you believe are entire truffles, a sharp knife laid beside them for you to shave your desired portion onto your meal, black salt glistening darkly under the chandelier, in addition to a dish of black sturgeon eggs, like so many pearls gathered in a heap for your amusement. 

Entering the dining room on Vyn’s arm, you are shocked by the abundance, the sheer extravagance of it all. You are dressed in a floor length black gown painstakingly embroidered with gold thread, produced seemingly out of thin air by one of the maids, saying that Vyn has requested that you wear it this evening. The material is silky against your skin, making you shiver with every move. The emerald bracelet Vyn won at the Umir Festival is the perfect accompaniment. Vyn, is of course, impeccable in his smoking jacket and tailored trousers. 

‘Are we expecting guests?’ You ask Vyn incredulously, staring at the food. ‘Surely Mr. Wechsler was confused.’ 

‘Not at all. But I believe I once made you a promise that you would never go hungry.’ 

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Vyn, we’ll hardly be able to finish this on our own.’ 

‘My beloved, whatever we cannot finish, I promise that I will allow you to take down to the soup kitchen to feed the hungry populace. Such a role is fitting for the lady of this house, after all.’ 

‘I’m hardly the lady of the house yet,’ you mutter, flushing red at the implication. 

‘Before you launch into another complaint about how you don’t deserve such wonderful treatment, may I propose something, my lady?’ Vyn stops at the door and looks quite seriously down at you from the gold rims of his glasses. You turn your face upwards, marvelling in how beautifully his silver hair frames his face, the way his gaze seems to strip you completely bare. 

‘I’ll allow it,’ you say. ‘What do you propose?’ 

‘Do you trust me?’ Vyn asks. 

Your mind flashes back to earlier in the day, during the hunt. Your bodies pressed up against each other, drawing the bow and nocking the arrow. His quiet instructions in your ear, your breath, held for so long you almost grew dizzy, and then, the blur of victory after, shattering the intimate moment. 

‘Yes,’ you say at length. ‘I do trust you.’ 

‘Then I propose that we play a little game. There is no need for you to speak tonight. Whatever you eat will be fed from my hand. Give yourself to me completely, and trust me to take care of you. If you feel uncomfortable at any point, you can say our safe word.’ 

You stare into his eyes, and he stares back, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. You nod once, slowly. An assent to his conditions. The game has begun. 

‘Excellent. Your decisiveness is one of the things I most admire about you. And just once, could you say our safe word, before we embark on this little journey together?’ 

‘Pomegranate,’ you say, lips parting to let it slide out in a whisper. 

‘Very good, my beloved.’ Vyn guides you to where the food awaits, seating you on his right hand side, while he takes the seat at the head of the table. ‘I remember peeking at the suppers my grandmother used to host here. My grandfather would sit at the head of the table, here, while my grandmother sat all the way down there, at the end of the table, both of them as far apart from each other as they could get. The length of the table being a gesture of power, to be sure, but hardly conducive for marital harmony. I believe they even ate like that when they didn’t have guests, or took meals apart. So much nicer to sit together like this, no?’ 

You almost open your mouth to say something or ask a question, but Vyn silences you with a finger on your lips. 

‘I would not be asking you to do this if it was easy, my love, I know it is difficult for you. But we are nurturing this fledgling trust you have placed in me, and the game has just started.’ 

You watch Vyn’s slow, careful movements as he tears a hunk of golden bread and dips it in olive oil and black salt, the crumb flecked with herbs. He feeds you the morsel gently, telling you about the special wheat used in making the bread and the fields in Svart where it grows. You listen with rapt attention as his voice carries on, moving from dish to dish. As he promises, he feeds you every first bite with his own fingers, their tips gently grazing against the corners of your mouth, leaving your skin tingling and yearning for more. 

Your mouth is filled with rich flavours of cream and wild fowl, preserves and pickles, salt and fat, acid and heat. Vyn keeps up the one-sided conversation, reading your mind to say your answers for you, his low tones sending a shiver up your spine. The wine makes your head light and airy. As the meal comes to a close, Vyn feeds you a last mouthful of dessert, his long index finger swiping away a trail of honey from the corner of your mouth. A burst of words comes from you as you impulsively grab his wrist and then place a kiss directly in the palm that has been feeding you all evening. 

‘I love you, Vyn,’ you barely whisper, voice hoarse. 

Vyn extracts his hand and gives a loud sigh, standing up from the table. ‘You were doing so well, my darling. Like Orpheus, who turned back just at the very last minute and lost Eurydice, so have you lost our little game.’ 

His eyes are dark, but with a distinct sense of amusement and mischief behind them. ‘Had you won, your prize would have been a fairytale ending, where I swept you off your feet and carried you to the fireplace in the hall, where a magical bower of furs and pillows have been prepared, and you would have sweet love made to you all night—’

‘I don’t care about fairytale endings,’ you interrupt Vyn, standing and moving toward him, a defiance in your tone calculated to push him off the edge, to turn his beautifully crafted game on its head. 

Vyn growls and then pounces on you, lips seeking yours harshly, in an attempt to punish you. You kiss him back just as fiercely, biting his lip and drawing blood, smearing it over both your bottom lips, the taste of iron and salt with the sweet still lingering on your tongues. He pushes you both back onto the table, until your legs are wrapped against it and your spine is bent backwards, dress sliding upwards until your thighs are visible. 

When he pulls away, it is to admire how rumpled he has left you, how wanting. Your hair is loosened from its carefully piled topknot, lying curled and ragged around your face, which still bears a slight trace of his blood. Your chest, heaving, the tops of your breasts exposed. Legs slightly spread to accommodate his waist, his face looming over yours as if he is about to devour you. 

‘Since you seem to be evading my best attempts at seduction, I cannot promise I will be gentle,’ he warns with a smirk. 

‘Maybe that was my intention all along,’ you make an effort to retort, although you are aware of how vulnerable a position you are in. 

Vyn pushes the dishes off the table, everything landing in a loud clatter on the floor. 

‘Vyn!’ You exclaim, turning to look at the food, but he lifts you up onto the table, then pushes your dress upwards around your hips, ripping aside your flimsy underwear. You are about to say something in protest, but then his mouth is on you, trailing heated kisses along your inner thighs, hot breath making you squirm even as he keeps a vice-like grip on your hips. When he licks a hot, wet stripe up the length of your cunt, you cry out in pleasure, spine curving upwards to get more of it. 

‘Hm, you seem to be enjoying yourself,’ Vyn pauses to comment. ‘Should I continue?’ 

‘I will never forgive you if you stop now,’ you pant, and then reach down to encourage his head back between your legs. 

He laughs, then applies himself fully to the task, tongue endlessly swirling, and then thrusting inside, all while your hands are twined in his hair, tugging so hard that you are briefly afraid that you have hurt him. He doesn’t show any sign of discomfort, diligently licking and sucking until you are so close to coming, your body a tightly wound mass of nerves. You catch his eyes flicking up to watch your reactions, and just as you are about to come, he pulls away, wiping his mouth away on his sleeve and grinning viciously. You cry out at the sudden loss of heat, writhing in distress. 

‘Don’t you think you deserve some punishment for ruining our evening? You didn’t think it was going to be that easy, did you?’ He hisses, then pulls you toward him, forcing you to turn around. Disoriented from the disrupted orgasm and sudden movement, you flail for a moment, then hear the clink of Vyn removing his belt behind you. He grabs your hands and holds them together, using his belt to wrap your wrists snugly, but not too tight. Before anything else happens, he leans forward to where your face is, brushes your hair gently aside to whisper in your ear, ‘Pomegranate?’ 

You shake your head desperately. ‘Good girl,’ he tells you, stroking your hair. 

Then the brief moment of tenderness quickly passes as Vyn grabs your hips, your face sliding across the polished wood of the table and ass sticking up in the air, your cunt completely exposed, only your legs holding you up. Unable to see what’s going on behind you, you can only tremble in anticipation, the feel of Vyn’s hands roughly positioning you so he can enter you. 

His first thrust is not at all gentle, burying him to the hilt in your hot, slick cunt. You both cry out from the fullness, at how ready your cunt is for him. 

‘Look at you clenching around me, such a needy, desperate little slut,’ Vyn purrs, painfully dragging out his first few thrusts so that despite your limited range of movement, you are squirming and begging for more. 

‘More,’ You beg. ‘Please, Vyn, I need more.’ 

‘You will get more when I decide you deserve more,’ Vyn warns, slowing his hips even more, the promise of more friction hanging just out of reach. ‘It’s my turn to enjoy myself.’ 

You cry out in frustration, and are met with a ringing slap on your ass, the pain tingling deliciously. 

‘Can’t be helped,’ he sighs, pretending that you have forced him to this point, when you can tell that it is taking all of his own self-control not to just thrust into you with wild abandon. ‘You’re forcing me to play my hand, you naughty little thing. Do you want to see me lose control?’ 

He punctuates the last sentence with a vicious thrust, going deeper than before and making you squeal. The sound makes him stop, and he reaches beside you for a napkin. 

‘I think we need to work on your silence,’ Vyn says, hips still moving gently while his hands have left your hips and are doing something else. He leans down, pressing his weight against you and hand coming toward your face with the folded napkin. 

‘Open your mouth,’ he tells you, then puts the napkin delicately between your teeth. ‘Now, bite down. If you let the napkin fall, I can only assume it is because you intend on using our safe word, and in any event, that would mean our little game is over. If you want to continue, your only choice is to behave yourself.’ 

You bite down on the cloth napkin, and Vyn cocks his head sideways to look at your trapped face, giving you a wink before returning to his position behind you. He starts off with slow thrusts again, searching for the right angle, hips snapping leisurely into your ass, the sound of skin on skin turning you on more, if that was even possible. Your soft moans are muffled by the napkin, which is slowly soaking with saliva. 

‘Such a good girl,’ Vyn cooes as he thrusts deeply and you give a low, dull moan, trying to stifle your noises. ‘Let’s see how you do under more difficult conditions.’ 

He reaches down to grasp a handful of your hair, pulling your head upwards so that your spine is arched like a bow, and begins moving faster, each thrust of his cock a blinding shaft of light in equal parts pain and pleasure. If anyone were to walk in on you both right now, or even listen in on what was happening, they would hear a symphony of moaning, Vyn growling to tell you what a good girl you are, how well you are taking his cock, as if you were made for him. Your hands behind your back, back impossibly arched as he grips onto your hair, subject to the pleasure that is invading every part of your body. 

Vyn’s thrusts grow harder and more needy, and your cunt has begun to spasm, craving sweet release. 

‘I want to see your face when I make you cum,’ He rasps, and then pulls out, flipping you effortlessly onto your back, hair spilling out in all directions. Your arms are crushed behind your back, but the pain of your stretching shoulder joints is welcome, only adding to your pleasure. He is stretched out on top of you, mouth hungry, diving for your breasts, teasing your nipple with his tongue, hand reaching down to rub your clit in agonising circles, then slipping back inside you and groaning at the sensation. You cling on to the napkin for dear life, terrified that if you drop it, he might really stop, and leave you empty and wanting, just like that. 

But Vyn doesn’t stop. His eyes locked onto your face, he rubs your clit ceaselessly as he pounds into you, again and again in a vicious, desperate pace. 

‘Come for me, my love,’ he whispers, and like that, you are undone, waves of pleasure crashing through your body as your cunt clenches, legs shaking from the effort. A few more hard thrusts and Vyn joins you, thrusting deeply inside you one last time and then collapsing, his cock still throbbing as it fills you with cum. 

He only allows himself a few moments before quickly sitting you up to undo the restraints around your wrist, examining them for chafing, pressing a light kiss to each one when he finds you perfectly well and unharmed. 

‘Was I too rough?’ Vyn asks, hurrying to hand you his jacket. You shake your head, a mischievous grin on your face as you refuse to drop the napkin between your teeth. He blushes and removes it. You stretch your jaw a few times, which is slightly sore from clenching so hard, but will be fine in a few moments. 

‘Please, Vyn, I would have used the safe word if I was being hurt.’ You reassure him. ‘The only thing I regret is that I’m probably too tired to go through all that again.’ 

‘Too tired?’ Vyn’s smirk returns. ‘I hope not. There’s still a fireplace and a floor full of furs waiting for us.’ 

In the blink of an eye, you are swept up in his arms, and he is carrying you to the door, like a bride over the threshold of her new home. He hasn’t even bothered to put on any clothes, trousers long forgotten, and his dress shirt hanging loose. 

‘Vyn,’ you say, an idea suddenly coming into your mind. ‘You knew I wouldn’t be able to keep quiet, didn’t you?’ 

‘I will neither confirm nor deny my initial hypothesis,’ Vyn says. ‘But let’s just say, the outcome was above and beyond what I expected.’ 

As he carries you to the hall and the fireplace, two of his fingers have secretly slipped into your cunt once again, and you sneak a glance at him, grinning.