Tyrion Lannister X Reader - Tumblr Posts
I imagine this every day.
Imagine being in an arranged marriage to Tyrion but you convince him that you truly love him & cuddling.
The look on his face was clear enough - the embarrassment, the knowledge that rejection was coming, the question of whether he should even bother to say something. But you decided to break the break the ice and be the first one to say something to him. “Which side of the bed do you prefer? I’ve always been partial to the right.” You tilted your head as he looked at you with disbelief. No witty comeback. “What, did you think that I would make you sleep on the floor like a dog?”
“What you see is a dwarf, not a dog,” Tyrion said. He did so often use that word for himself, you wondered if he had to remind himself of it constantly. He did have the head of a fully-grown man, you could give him that.
“And does my dwarf husband consent to sleeping on the left side of the bed?” You ask, taking off the first of many layers of the wedding dress that you had been somehow squeezed into that morning.
His head tilted to the side as he looked up at you and then started to remove his boots. “He does,” He nodded, taking them off and then walked to the table to pour himself a glass of wine. “Do you want some? I have the feeling you’ll be needing it, if you are to sleep beside a -”
“Dwarf?” You asked, chuckling. “Yes, you do seem fond of calling yourself that. But no, I’ll have no trouble sleeping beside you while sober, as long as you don’t mind one thing.”
“Ahh, always a condition,” He said, drinking from his goblet. “A bag over my head, perhaps?”
“Are you always so insecure?” You asked, starting to let your hair free, now that you were just in your slip. “No, the condition being that I can still be the little spoon once in a while.”
He choked on his wine, nearly spilling his goblet in the process. But like most drinkers, he was skilled at keeping the cup steady. “I beg your pardon?”
“I don’t mind doing the cuddling, but I also enjoy being the cuddled,” You said, walking around to the bed and getting in your preferred side, the blankets over you. “That’s one of the reasons I’m glad for this marriage, you always looked … warm, and I tend to run cold at night.”
He gave you the funniest expression of disbelief that you had ever seen in your life, and your smile grew wide. Then, he actually seemed to blush. Tyrion Lannister, known throughout all of the whorehouses, blushing. “Is this a joke?”
“I might be smiling, but I’m not laughing. Come, it’s been a long day, and with how much you drank, I have the feeling you’re not up to your … husbandly duty.”
“I didn’t think you would want me to be,” Tyrion said, setting the goblet back on the table and walked towards the bed, still looking cautious as if it were a trap.
“Maybe you should ask before you assume, my husband.”
Requested by: @fantasylover4evr
Family, Duty, Honour
Pairing: Tyrion Lannister x reader
Requested by: anon ‘Can you do Tyrion with his arranged marriage wife on their wedding night/first time?’
Notes: the reader in this fic is a Tully cousin. Let’s see if I can actually get to the smut without almost 1k words of worldbuilding this time! (The answer is no- do u see why it takes me so bloody long to write!)
Warnings: Arranged marriage, smut, loss of virginity, clearly not canon compliant lol
Gif creds to owner
Being summoned to Tywin Lannister’s office was never a pleasant experience. More often than not, it meant you were in serious trouble, and in Tyrion’s case, he was always in trouble; his father often referred to him as a drunken, lusty little fool. As Tyrion entered the office, he instantly did not like what he saw; his father was stood with his hands behind his back, rather than being sat behind his desk. He gestured for his son to sit, before he began speaking.
“As you know, your sister has been married to King Robert for some time, and is now pregnant with their second child. Their first, Joffrey, will be the next king of the seven kingdoms,” Tyrion nodded slowly as his father spoke at him, rather than to him. “In case that child is a girl, she must fall pregnant again to ensure there is an heir and a spare to fully consolidate the Baratheon dynasty. Your brother Jaime has sworn an oath that prohibits him from siring children,”
“Legitimate children,” Tyrion quipped, relishing in the way his father’s jaw tightened.
“Siring legitimate children. And I will not sit a bastard on Casterly Rock when I am gone. That leaves you,” Tyrion sat up a little straighter- was his father finally agreeing to acknowledge his claim now that Jaime couldn’t be lord of Casterly rock? “I have therefore arranged your marriage, and your son will inherit Casterly rock.”
Tyrion frowned. “My son? Surely it goes to me first,”
Tywin snorted. “Don’t remind me,”
Tyrion was quiet for a moment. “Who have you promised me to?”
“One of Hoster Tully’s nieces,” he said flatly. “What, disappointed? There aren’t many noble houses willing to marry off their daughters to a dwarf, even if he is a Lannister. You will marry YN Tully, splitting their ties with the North and the Vale with West. Your son will have Casterly Rock, and gods be willing, your spare will have Riverrun,”
“Hoster has other children, as well as his niece,”Tyrion reminded him.
“Yes. But Catelyn’s children will be shared about the North; Eddard Stark is unlikely to let them stray further south than the Neck. And Lysa has struggled to conceive, and her only child is sickly. If the it comes to it, one of the Stark heirs will take the Vale. Edmure Tully is a cocksure fool, and Brynden Tully has gone rogue. It’ll be easy to place your spare on that seat. But an heir for Casterly rock should be your priority,”
Tyrion sighed. “I don’t have a choice in this matter, do I?” When Tywin shook his head, he sighed. “Then I would like to meet this girl before we wed. To settle her nerves. Is she… of age?”
“She has flowered,” Tywin said sternly. “That should be enough for you,” with that he turned on his heel, leaving Tyrion to mull the concept of his wedding over. He sighed, returning to his chamber- he was in dire need of a drink.
**
As you walked up the steps to Casterly Rock your breath caught in your chest and you squeezed your uncle’s arm subconsciously as he escorted you.
As you entered the keep, Lord Tywin came around the corner, closely followed by his son. You gave a little curtsy to Tywin, before allowing Tyrion to kiss your knuckles. “My lady,” he said, his voice gentle. “I thought we might take a stroll through the garden. I’m afraid it’s not as impressive as the likes of the Reach, but it overlooks the sea,” your uncle gave a nod, allowing Tyrion to escort you on a tour of the gardens while he finalised the wedding plans with your soon to be father in law.
As you walked, Tyrion stole small glances sideways at you. It was undeniable that you were a Tully, possessive the sharp bone structure and deep red hair of your family. You knew your airs and graces, listening attentively as he told you about the history of Casterly rock. Sighing, he gestured for you to sit on an elaborately carved stone bench.
“My Lady… I know that this marriage is not… well it’s not anybody’s idea of perfection. I may be the ‘Imp’ but I promise to you I shall treat you well. I will protect you, honour you, treat you properly as my lady wife,”
You nibbled your lip nervously nodding slowly. “Thank you, Lord Tyrion,” you said softly, and he couldn’t help but stare longer than was decent into your piercing eyes.
“H-how old are you, Lady YN?” He asked gently, fearing the worst.
“My nineteenth name day will be in four moons,” you said. “Why?”
Tyrion shuffled slightly. “I only ask… these marriages usually do not take age into consideration. My father only told me you… were fertile. I feared that I would be wed to a child. And if that was the case, I would wait until you were older for the… I will still wait now, if that is your wish,” he promised, and you nodded, feeling much more at ease with the prospect of marrying the Imp.
***
The vows were said and you had been cloaked under the rich red and gold of house Lannister. Seated at the head table of the grand hall of Casterly Rock, you watched as the feast and the dancers went on. As Tyrion placed tidbits of the rich food on your plate, you were increasingly aware of the rising drunkenness in the room- over the hubbub of the feast, you could hear several bawdy jokes about the upcoming consummation of your marriage.
Tyrion noticed your growing anxiety, and placed his hand gently over yours. “Remember what I told you,” he said in a quiet voice, leaning close to your ear so that you could hear him. “If you want me to, I will wait,” you nodded at his reassurance, your shoulders relaxing slightly in your wedding gown, and you slipped your hand into his, giving it a gentle squeeze in thanks.
After the final course was served- small cakes decorated with and intricate motif of a lion frolicking in a river full of splashing trout in honour of the new alliance forged between the west and the riverlands- Lord Tywin and Lord Hoster rose from their table and made their way to the head table. Tywin gestured Tyrion away until you could no longer hear, though you were sure your father in law was lecturing him on his expectations for a son. Your uncle took a seat beside you, pouring you a half cup of wine.
“When your mother died,” he began. “I swore to the old gods and the new to protect you. The Lannisters are proud, and dangerous no doubt, but you are one of them now, my girl, and I’d rather you be married to the Lannisters with their power and wealth than to be treated like a whore by the Dornish or even the Baratheon… the Lannisters aren’t likely to let harm come to you, but I swear, if the imp ever hurts you, I will raise the men of the Riverlands, and I will get the Vale and the North on board as well. Even in Casterly Rock, you will be protected,”
You smiled. “Thank you, Uncle. But Lord Tyrion is a good man, kind and gentle. And even though I am a woman grown, he swore to me he would not force himself on me, nor would he betray my honour,” your uncle gave a tight smile, kissing the top of your head.
“Honour,” he said stiffly, stiffly, seeing Tywin and Tyrion returning to you. “Remember our words, My girl. Family, Duty, Honour,”
You nodded, squeezing his hand, before it was announced that it was time for the bedding. But instead of a boisterous display involving stripping both you and Tyrion out of your clothes on your way to your marriage chamber, Tyrion took your hand and led you out of the great hall alone, walking you to your new bedroom in relative silence.
As you shut the door, he looked at you, sighing quietly. “Shall we have some wine?” He said gently, gesturing to the table set out with wine and bread and fruit, in case the happy couple needed sustenance throughout the night. You gave him a small smile and nodded, letting him pull a chair out for you as you sipped on wine and nibbled on bread.
“I… expected a bedding ceremony, my Lord,” you said quietly, before quickly adding “I’m glad the traditional one didn’t happen though! My cousin, Catelyn didn’t have one, because her husband didn’t want to dishonour her,”
“Eddard Stark and I have that in common,” Tyrion said lightly. “And I told my father that I would not have his bannermen manhandle my wife to her room,”
You smiled gratefully, setting your cup down. Tyrion held up the jug, but you shook your head, not wanted to get too inebriated. You sighed softly, your fingers tracing over the embroidery on your wedding gown, and Tyrion watched as you worked over the stitched trouts- although Casterly rock glittered with jewels and gold, he had to admit that the embroidery of the riverlands and the north was superior to the rest of Westeros. “Are you nervous, My Lady?” He said gently, asking the obvious, before reminding you again of his promise.
“I am, a little,” you murmured. “But… I must do my duty and give you a son,” you looked away, taking a deep breath. “I am nervous because I’m a maid, and I am scared it will hurt, or I will not please you, or fulfil my duties to my family. But I… I trust, my Lord. I think I’ve trusted from the moment you invited me to Casterly Rock ahead of the wedding, despite that being only two weeks ago…”
Tyrion smiled gently as you rambled, taking both of your hands in his and leaning down to kiss both sets of knuckles. “I won’t hurt you. I’ll be gentle with you,” he promised. “I must ask one thing of you, YN… just call me Tyrion,”
You smiled gently, leaning down and pressing your lips gently to his. It was your first proper kiss, aside from the one under the eyes of the gods, and you were initiating it. Tyrion couldn’t help but smile against the cushion of your lips, finding your tentative gentleness endearing. He reached one hand up to curl around the back of your neck and was relieved to feel you relax as he stroked your deep red hair. He grazed his teeth against your bottom lip, before pressing them down gently, you let out a shudder and-gods- a moan.
“Tell me to stop and I will,” he murmured.
“Please don’t,” you replied, voice breathy as you felt unfamiliar heat and… longing stirring within you. With your gentle plea replaying in his head, he slipped his hand into yours, pulling you gently towards the canopied bed.
Slowly, you undressed one another down to your smallclothes. Tyrion gulped as he looked over you, the peaks of your breasts pushing against your chemise. “Magnificent,” he murmured, and you smiled, ducking your head down to hide your bashful expression.
“What do I… what do I do?” You whispered, sitting on the bed. Tyrion smiled gently.
“We must prepare you,” he said gently. At your frown, he carried on. “If we are to continue with comfort in mind, we must ensure your body is ready to… accommodate me. This will relax you… make you… slick,” he explained and you nodded slowly, shuffling back so you could lay on the pillows. As Tyrion made to climb up onto the bed, you took a deep breath, lifting your chemise up and over your head to bear your chest and cunt to him. Tyrion suppressed a groan at the sight, urging himself to go slow. You were his lady wife, not some whore. He approached you slowly, coming up to your side and pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek, before trailing his lips down. You gasped as you felt his teeth scrape against your skin, before you let out a low moan as his lips wrapped around your nipple, suckling gently. He waited until your breath came in little desperate pants, your body twisting and pushing up to him before he trailed his hand down to the thatch of curls between your thighs. You gasped and tensed up, but as he began rubbing your thigh gently and you soon relaxed, allowing him to push your thighs apart.
“T-Tyrion,” you whimpered, feeling the palm of his hand cup your pussy. He was about to ask if you were okay, but your next words put his mind at ease. “Please… more…”
He gave a light chuckle. “As my lady wife commands,” he said, a slight smirk tugging at his lip as his finger dragged between your folds, swirling around your clit on every other stroke, until you were dripping and squirming with anticipation, grasping onto his arm, little moans tumbling from your lips. Tyrion smiled slightly, sucking his finger clean and groaning at the taste. “Are you ready for my cock, YN?” He asked, and you bit your lip.
“I-I think so?” You murmured, watching with wide eyes as he undid his underwear and shoved it down his thighs, his straining cock springing free. You bit your lip hard, and Tyrion smiled softly.
“I will be gentle with you, YN, I promise,” you gulped and nodded, reaching for him.
“Please…” you murmured. “I-I’m ready,” Tyrion gave a slight smile as he moved to line up with your entrance, slowly pushing his cock into you. You whimpered, back arching, and when he hit the barrier of your maidenhead, you hissed.
Tyrion petted your thigh gently, shushing you. “This will hurt for just a moment, I promise,” he told you, and you nodded, squeezing your eyes shut as he breached your maidenhead. What was an uncomfortable stinging sensation soon dissolved into a feeling of fullness, of being stretched. It felt… good.
“M-move,” you begged, bucking your hips up despite yourself, and to your delight, Tyrion complied, groaning as he grasped your hips, his hips beginning to roll against yours, his girth caressing all of your most intimate pleasure points, watching the way your eyebrows tugged together and your mouth went slack as you let out needy gasps and moans, increasing in pitch and volume as he dragged you closer to the edge. He was close himself, his movements becoming more sloppy, his head tipping back as he groaned and grunted. “Tyrion,” you cried, back arching, and his mouth practically watered at the sign of your bouncing tits. “Tyrion I’m- I feel-”
“Let it happen,” he groaned, and when he felt your channel spasm around his length he grunted, spurting his seed into you with a shout of your name, spurred on by your cries of ecstasy.
Shaking, gasping, you whimpered as Tyrion pulled out of you, and smiled gently as you watched him pour you some wine and get you some fruit. You curled into his side, now under the covers as you sipped the more watered down wine, humming softly as Tyrion fed you plump, sweet berries. Sleepy, you settled down under the covers, resting your head on his bare chest, and as you nodded off to sleep, Tyrion swore to himself that he would put his young wife and any children you had before all else in his life.
Tags: @sociallyawkward-princess @lazyotakujen @janelongxox @honeyofthegods @lxoxtxtxi
🥺💕
Family, Duty, Honour
Pairing: Tyrion Lannister x reader
Requested by: anon ‘Can you do Tyrion with his arranged marriage wife on their wedding night/first time?’
Notes: the reader in this fic is a Tully cousin. Let’s see if I can actually get to the smut without almost 1k words of worldbuilding this time! (The answer is no- do u see why it takes me so bloody long to write!)
Warnings: Arranged marriage, smut, loss of virginity, clearly not canon compliant lol
Gif creds to owner
Being summoned to Tywin Lannister’s office was never a pleasant experience. More often than not, it meant you were in serious trouble, and in Tyrion’s case, he was always in trouble; his father often referred to him as a drunken, lusty little fool. As Tyrion entered the office, he instantly did not like what he saw; his father was stood with his hands behind his back, rather than being sat behind his desk. He gestured for his son to sit, before he began speaking.
“As you know, your sister has been married to King Robert for some time, and is now pregnant with their second child. Their first, Joffrey, will be the next king of the seven kingdoms,” Tyrion nodded slowly as his father spoke at him, rather than to him. “In case that child is a girl, she must fall pregnant again to ensure there is an heir and a spare to fully consolidate the Baratheon dynasty. Your brother Jaime has sworn an oath that prohibits him from siring children,”
“Legitimate children,” Tyrion quipped, relishing in the way his father’s jaw tightened.
“Siring legitimate children. And I will not sit a bastard on Casterly Rock when I am gone. That leaves you,” Tyrion sat up a little straighter- was his father finally agreeing to acknowledge his claim now that Jaime couldn’t be lord of Casterly rock? “I have therefore arranged your marriage, and your son will inherit Casterly rock.”
Tyrion frowned. “My son? Surely it goes to me first,”
Tywin snorted. “Don’t remind me,”
Tyrion was quiet for a moment. “Who have you promised me to?”
“One of Hoster Tully’s nieces,” he said flatly. “What, disappointed? There aren’t many noble houses willing to marry off their daughters to a dwarf, even if he is a Lannister. You will marry YN Tully, splitting their ties with the North and the Vale with West. Your son will have Casterly Rock, and gods be willing, your spare will have Riverrun,”
“Hoster has other children, as well as his niece,”Tyrion reminded him.
“Yes. But Catelyn’s children will be shared about the North; Eddard Stark is unlikely to let them stray further south than the Neck. And Lysa has struggled to conceive, and her only child is sickly. If the it comes to it, one of the Stark heirs will take the Vale. Edmure Tully is a cocksure fool, and Brynden Tully has gone rogue. It’ll be easy to place your spare on that seat. But an heir for Casterly rock should be your priority,”
Tyrion sighed. “I don’t have a choice in this matter, do I?” When Tywin shook his head, he sighed. “Then I would like to meet this girl before we wed. To settle her nerves. Is she… of age?”
“She has flowered,” Tywin said sternly. “That should be enough for you,” with that he turned on his heel, leaving Tyrion to mull the concept of his wedding over. He sighed, returning to his chamber- he was in dire need of a drink.
**
As you walked up the steps to Casterly Rock your breath caught in your chest and you squeezed your uncle’s arm subconsciously as he escorted you.
As you entered the keep, Lord Tywin came around the corner, closely followed by his son. You gave a little curtsy to Tywin, before allowing Tyrion to kiss your knuckles. “My lady,” he said, his voice gentle. “I thought we might take a stroll through the garden. I’m afraid it’s not as impressive as the likes of the Reach, but it overlooks the sea,” your uncle gave a nod, allowing Tyrion to escort you on a tour of the gardens while he finalised the wedding plans with your soon to be father in law.
As you walked, Tyrion stole small glances sideways at you. It was undeniable that you were a Tully, possessive the sharp bone structure and deep red hair of your family. You knew your airs and graces, listening attentively as he told you about the history of Casterly rock. Sighing, he gestured for you to sit on an elaborately carved stone bench.
“My Lady… I know that this marriage is not… well it’s not anybody’s idea of perfection. I may be the ‘Imp’ but I promise to you I shall treat you well. I will protect you, honour you, treat you properly as my lady wife,”
You nibbled your lip nervously nodding slowly. “Thank you, Lord Tyrion,” you said softly, and he couldn’t help but stare longer than was decent into your piercing eyes.
“H-how old are you, Lady YN?” He asked gently, fearing the worst.
“My nineteenth name day will be in four moons,” you said. “Why?”
Tyrion shuffled slightly. “I only ask… these marriages usually do not take age into consideration. My father only told me you… were fertile. I feared that I would be wed to a child. And if that was the case, I would wait until you were older for the… I will still wait now, if that is your wish,” he promised, and you nodded, feeling much more at ease with the prospect of marrying the Imp.
***
The vows were said and you had been cloaked under the rich red and gold of house Lannister. Seated at the head table of the grand hall of Casterly Rock, you watched as the feast and the dancers went on. As Tyrion placed tidbits of the rich food on your plate, you were increasingly aware of the rising drunkenness in the room- over the hubbub of the feast, you could hear several bawdy jokes about the upcoming consummation of your marriage.
Tyrion noticed your growing anxiety, and placed his hand gently over yours. “Remember what I told you,” he said in a quiet voice, leaning close to your ear so that you could hear him. “If you want me to, I will wait,” you nodded at his reassurance, your shoulders relaxing slightly in your wedding gown, and you slipped your hand into his, giving it a gentle squeeze in thanks.
After the final course was served- small cakes decorated with and intricate motif of a lion frolicking in a river full of splashing trout in honour of the new alliance forged between the west and the riverlands- Lord Tywin and Lord Hoster rose from their table and made their way to the head table. Tywin gestured Tyrion away until you could no longer hear, though you were sure your father in law was lecturing him on his expectations for a son. Your uncle took a seat beside you, pouring you a half cup of wine.
“When your mother died,” he began. “I swore to the old gods and the new to protect you. The Lannisters are proud, and dangerous no doubt, but you are one of them now, my girl, and I’d rather you be married to the Lannisters with their power and wealth than to be treated like a whore by the Dornish or even the Baratheon… the Lannisters aren’t likely to let harm come to you, but I swear, if the imp ever hurts you, I will raise the men of the Riverlands, and I will get the Vale and the North on board as well. Even in Casterly Rock, you will be protected,”
You smiled. “Thank you, Uncle. But Lord Tyrion is a good man, kind and gentle. And even though I am a woman grown, he swore to me he would not force himself on me, nor would he betray my honour,” your uncle gave a tight smile, kissing the top of your head.
“Honour,” he said stiffly, stiffly, seeing Tywin and Tyrion returning to you. “Remember our words, My girl. Family, Duty, Honour,”
You nodded, squeezing his hand, before it was announced that it was time for the bedding. But instead of a boisterous display involving stripping both you and Tyrion out of your clothes on your way to your marriage chamber, Tyrion took your hand and led you out of the great hall alone, walking you to your new bedroom in relative silence.
As you shut the door, he looked at you, sighing quietly. “Shall we have some wine?” He said gently, gesturing to the table set out with wine and bread and fruit, in case the happy couple needed sustenance throughout the night. You gave him a small smile and nodded, letting him pull a chair out for you as you sipped on wine and nibbled on bread.
“I… expected a bedding ceremony, my Lord,” you said quietly, before quickly adding “I’m glad the traditional one didn’t happen though! My cousin, Catelyn didn’t have one, because her husband didn’t want to dishonour her,”
“Eddard Stark and I have that in common,” Tyrion said lightly. “And I told my father that I would not have his bannermen manhandle my wife to her room,”
You smiled gratefully, setting your cup down. Tyrion held up the jug, but you shook your head, not wanted to get too inebriated. You sighed softly, your fingers tracing over the embroidery on your wedding gown, and Tyrion watched as you worked over the stitched trouts- although Casterly rock glittered with jewels and gold, he had to admit that the embroidery of the riverlands and the north was superior to the rest of Westeros. “Are you nervous, My Lady?” He said gently, asking the obvious, before reminding you again of his promise.
“I am, a little,” you murmured. “But… I must do my duty and give you a son,” you looked away, taking a deep breath. “I am nervous because I’m a maid, and I am scared it will hurt, or I will not please you, or fulfil my duties to my family. But I… I trust, my Lord. I think I’ve trusted from the moment you invited me to Casterly Rock ahead of the wedding, despite that being only two weeks ago…”
Tyrion smiled gently as you rambled, taking both of your hands in his and leaning down to kiss both sets of knuckles. “I won’t hurt you. I’ll be gentle with you,” he promised. “I must ask one thing of you, YN… just call me Tyrion,”
You smiled gently, leaning down and pressing your lips gently to his. It was your first proper kiss, aside from the one under the eyes of the gods, and you were initiating it. Tyrion couldn’t help but smile against the cushion of your lips, finding your tentative gentleness endearing. He reached one hand up to curl around the back of your neck and was relieved to feel you relax as he stroked your deep red hair. He grazed his teeth against your bottom lip, before pressing them down gently, you let out a shudder and-gods- a moan.
“Tell me to stop and I will,” he murmured.
“Please don’t,” you replied, voice breathy as you felt unfamiliar heat and… longing stirring within you. With your gentle plea replaying in his head, he slipped his hand into yours, pulling you gently towards the canopied bed.
Slowly, you undressed one another down to your smallclothes. Tyrion gulped as he looked over you, the peaks of your breasts pushing against your chemise. “Magnificent,” he murmured, and you smiled, ducking your head down to hide your bashful expression.
“What do I… what do I do?” You whispered, sitting on the bed. Tyrion smiled gently.
“We must prepare you,” he said gently. At your frown, he carried on. “If we are to continue with comfort in mind, we must ensure your body is ready to… accommodate me. This will relax you… make you… slick,” he explained and you nodded slowly, shuffling back so you could lay on the pillows. As Tyrion made to climb up onto the bed, you took a deep breath, lifting your chemise up and over your head to bear your chest and cunt to him. Tyrion suppressed a groan at the sight, urging himself to go slow. You were his lady wife, not some whore. He approached you slowly, coming up to your side and pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek, before trailing his lips down. You gasped as you felt his teeth scrape against your skin, before you let out a low moan as his lips wrapped around your nipple, suckling gently. He waited until your breath came in little desperate pants, your body twisting and pushing up to him before he trailed his hand down to the thatch of curls between your thighs. You gasped and tensed up, but as he began rubbing your thigh gently and you soon relaxed, allowing him to push your thighs apart.
“T-Tyrion,” you whimpered, feeling the palm of his hand cup your pussy. He was about to ask if you were okay, but your next words put his mind at ease. “Please… more…”
He gave a light chuckle. “As my lady wife commands,” he said, a slight smirk tugging at his lip as his finger dragged between your folds, swirling around your clit on every other stroke, until you were dripping and squirming with anticipation, grasping onto his arm, little moans tumbling from your lips. Tyrion smiled slightly, sucking his finger clean and groaning at the taste. “Are you ready for my cock, YN?” He asked, and you bit your lip.
“I-I think so?” You murmured, watching with wide eyes as he undid his underwear and shoved it down his thighs, his straining cock springing free. You bit your lip hard, and Tyrion smiled softly.
“I will be gentle with you, YN, I promise,” you gulped and nodded, reaching for him.
“Please…” you murmured. “I-I’m ready,” Tyrion gave a slight smile as he moved to line up with your entrance, slowly pushing his cock into you. You whimpered, back arching, and when he hit the barrier of your maidenhead, you hissed.
Tyrion petted your thigh gently, shushing you. “This will hurt for just a moment, I promise,” he told you, and you nodded, squeezing your eyes shut as he breached your maidenhead. What was an uncomfortable stinging sensation soon dissolved into a feeling of fullness, of being stretched. It felt… good.
“M-move,” you begged, bucking your hips up despite yourself, and to your delight, Tyrion complied, groaning as he grasped your hips, his hips beginning to roll against yours, his girth caressing all of your most intimate pleasure points, watching the way your eyebrows tugged together and your mouth went slack as you let out needy gasps and moans, increasing in pitch and volume as he dragged you closer to the edge. He was close himself, his movements becoming more sloppy, his head tipping back as he groaned and grunted. “Tyrion,” you cried, back arching, and his mouth practically watered at the sign of your bouncing tits. “Tyrion I’m- I feel-”
“Let it happen,” he groaned, and when he felt your channel spasm around his length he grunted, spurting his seed into you with a shout of your name, spurred on by your cries of ecstasy.
Shaking, gasping, you whimpered as Tyrion pulled out of you, and smiled gently as you watched him pour you some wine and get you some fruit. You curled into his side, now under the covers as you sipped the more watered down wine, humming softly as Tyrion fed you plump, sweet berries. Sleepy, you settled down under the covers, resting your head on his bare chest, and as you nodded off to sleep, Tyrion swore to himself that he would put his young wife and any children you had before all else in his life.
Tags: @sociallyawkward-princess @lazyotakujen @janelongxox @honeyofthegods @lxoxtxtxi
Just finished writing the prologue for my Tyrion Lannister x TyrellReader after procrastinating for four days and it’s only 967 words . . . why does it feel like I’ve written thousands and thousands?? 🥴
Aww my heart 🥺 I loved this so much 💕🥰
Family, Duty, Honour (p2)
Pairing: Tyrion Lannister x reader
Warnings: pregnancy/pregnancy symptoms including vomiting, prejudice towards dwarfism (discussion as to whether Tyrion and YN’s child will inherit his dwarfism; not a widely accepted condition in Westeros), childbirth, details of the death of Joanna Lannister (dying in childbirth/traumatic birth), reference to miscarriage
(Part 1)
Gif creds to owner
“Pardon me, Milord,”
Both Tywin and Tyrion turned around to see a young girl, one of your handmaidens, hurrying towards them, remembering a clumsy curtsey in her haste.
“Speak,” Lord Tywin said sternly, and the girl paled briefly before turning instead to his son.
“It’s Lady YN,” she said, and Tyrion instantly stood up straighter, even more on edge. “She’s… sick, my Lord. Can’t keep anything in her stomach, and just now she fainted,”
“Where is she?” Tyrion asked urgently.
“Her bedchamber, Milord. We got a squire to help her back into bed,”
As Tyrion made to hurry after the girl, Tywin’s hand rested firmly on his shoulder. “I will send the maester. He will prove whether or not you have done your duty to this family,”
***
“YN, my dear, can you hear me?”
Slowly, your heavy eyelids slid open, and you turned your head to the source of the noise. Smiling weakly, you squeezed your husband of two month’s hand.
“Are you alright, my lady wife,” he asked you gently, brushing his lips over your knuckles.
“I’m fine. I just got a little dizzy. Must have stood up too quickly,” you said gently, but you did not soothe Tyrion’s worry.
“Your handmaiden said you’ve been ill?” He prompted, and your cheeks heated slightly.
“It’s probably just… my women’s troubles,” you said quietly, still unused to talking about such delicate matters with anyone other than an old septa.
“Or lack thereof, lady Lannister?” The maester spoke up from the end of your bed and you frowned, about to say there really was no need for all this fuss. “The maids say your linen has been clean since your wedding night,”
Clean linen.
Those two words instantly reminded you of when Cousin Cat came to stay at Riverrun with her brooding husband. She had stayed for over a month, and halfway through her stay, you heard gossip of clean linen as you wandered the corridors of your home. Later on that year, she had birthed another child for Ned Stark.
“Does that mean…” you began.
The wisened maester smiled at your bewilderment. “Potentially. If my Lord and Lady are agreeable, I would like to examine lady Lannister to be certain,”
Tyrion smiled gently and kissed your hand once more. “I will give you some privacy, my dear,” he said, and once you nodded, he left the room to bang on the door to his father’s office.
***
“Have you put a babe in her belly?”
Tyrion rolled his eyes at his father’s callousness. “She is being examined as we speak,”
“Good,” Tywin said, hardly looking up from his paperwork. “You’d best hope she is with child and not ill. There aren’t many noble families willing to pawn off a daughter to us,” Tywin sighed and gestured to the chair opposite his desk. “Sit,” he said. “You clearly have something more to say,”
Tyrion was silent for a moment. “I do not want to lose her. She is young. Too young for… this,”
“She is only a few years younger than you. And besides, that didn’t stop you consummating the marriage, did it?”
If anything went on in Casterly rock, Tywin Lannister certainly knew about it within a day.
“No, it didn’t,” Tyrion said. You were nineteen after all, and you had consummated your marriage out of duty to your families.
The night-time visits, on the other hand…
“I’m scared that a baby will… that it will kill her,” Tyrion blurted out, and he could have sworn he saw some semblance of sympathy flash through his father’s eyes. “I am scared that my child will be too much like me. That it will rip her in two and kill her. That it won’t even live in her womb. That it will suffer. That… that she will suffer,”
Tywin stared long and hard at his youngest son, his bastard in all but name as far as he was concerned and sighed. “So am I,” was all he said, before gesturing to the door. And as he left the office, Tyrion knew that Tywin did not care for your suffering, for his suffering, or even for the child’s suffering. He cared only that his legacy remained.
***
Casterly Rock was alive with gossip.
No matter which corridor you walked down, people would stare, both openly and discretely at your belly, which barely showed thanks to the layers you wore (Tyrion insisted you wrapped up warm whenever you walked through the gardens, lest you catch a chill). You could not go a day without the maester inquiring about your general health, and when your swollen ankles were brought to your husband’s attention, he had the cobblers fashion you a pair of comfortable, yet fashionable flat shoes.
***
You were laying in your husband’s bed one night on the sixth moon of your pregnancy, a hand resting on your bump. “Leave the books, husband, and come to bed. I need you to tell your child to stop kicking me so we can all go to sleep. He seems to only listen to you,” Tyrion looked up from his books and sighed, shutting them over and coming to bed, his hand resting over yours. “You’ve gained a sudden interest in midwifery, I see,” you teased, but when he did not smile at your jest, you frowned. “What’s bothering you, husband?” You said gently.
“I…” Tyrion fumbled for the words, his eyes firmly on your belly. “I am frightened, YN,” he said quietly. “That the baby will… will have… will be a little too much like me.”
Of course. You cursed yourself for not even thinking that this could be plaguing your husband. You clasped Tyrion’s hand in yours. “Tyrion… even if the baby is born a dwarf, we will not treat him the way your father treated you,” you insisted, drawing small circles on the back of his hands.
“But what if it kills you like I killed my mother,” your heart ached for him, and you tipped his chin up to face you.
“Then you must promise me to love this child regardless,”
Tyrion’s heart ached. Neither of you had wanted this marriage, yet in the few short months you had been wed he had become fond of you, affectionate. He wanted to protect you from the horrors of a kingdom still reeling from the Rebellion that saw the end of the Mad King. He wanted to see you happy and comfortable and healthy. He would spend all of the gold in Casterly Rock to ensure your safety, despite the fact that your marriage was merely one of strategy arranged by his father and your uncle. You were still his wife, the most precious thing in his life.
But over the past nine months, he could do nothing to alleviate your discomfort. He could only hold back your hair and rub your back as you vomited, the only thing you could seemingly keep in your stomach was dried bread. When you could manage dining anywhere but your chambers, he ordered for the things that turned your stomach to be kept well away. When your legs and feet ached, he could only rub them in hopes of soothing the throbbing. When the baby kicked like mad at night, he rubbed your swollen belly so that you could rest, if only for a few moments at a time.
He watched as the veritable mountain that was your bump sapped you of your energy, and he knew there was nothing he could do to restore it.
And when the time came for you to birth the child, he knew his heart would ache even more as you laboured for hours in agony, with him unable to do anything to take the pain away.
***
You went into labour at night, your sharp gasp of pain as you heaved yourself out of bed waking your husband.
“My dear, are you alright?” He asked urgently, not groggy despite the fact he had been snoring like a boar just thirty seconds prior. As he lit a candle, he saw you grasping onto one of the bedposts, lips pressed together, suppressing your groan. “I will be back in a moment, YN, okay? I’m going to get help,”
“Hurry,”
True to his word, Tyrion returned a few moments later with a few sleepy maids and a septa, who laid fresh linen over the bed and began to send for boiling water. The maester was hot on their heels, scrambling to loop his chains over his neck, before shooing Tyrion and the maids out of the room.
Your groans and cries of pain permeated the walls of your bedchamber and down the hallways of Casterly Rock, and by sunrise, coins were being exchanged on the outcome of your labour. The smallfolk crowded near the walls of the castle, eager to call out prayers in hopes that the rich old lions felt generous after the birth.
Tyrion paced just outside of the room you were in, and every time a maid went in with fresh, boiled water and clean linen or came out with bloodstained cloths and empty bowls, he asked urgently how you were doing, but no one gave him an answer.
The septa left the birthing room, walking straight past the father of your child to… the grandfather. They talked in quick, hushed voices, that could not be heard over your pained cries, but Tyrion caught the two of them looking over their shoulder at him several times.
As the septa went back into the birthing room, Tywin walked over to Tyrion. He seemed to be in no apparent rush, his steps stately. Tyrion resisted the urge to scream at his father, to curse him for tormenting him while you laboured.
“When you were brought into the world,” he began, voice level and low, so Tyrion had to strain to hear what he was saying. “You were born, for lack of a better term, arse first. But then your shoulders got stuck inside the womb, and when you finally emerged, you dragged half of your mother’s womb out with you,”
Both men paled. Not only were they weak stomached when it came to the secretive world of a birthing chamber, but Tywin was plagued with memories from twenty or so years before, and Tyrion was plagued with guilt for killing his mother when he was a newborn, and fear that his child would do the same to you.
Tywin continued. “But the Septa has reported that the child is being born head first, as it should,” Tyrion nodded slowly. Tywin was about to continue when the door opened again.
“Pardon, Milords,” a maid carrying an armful of bloodied linen said. “Lady YN has asked for Lord Tyrion to… support her. The maester has permitted it, so long as Milord stays at the top end of the bed,”
Tyrion was frozen for a moment.
“Go,” Tywin said lowly, giving his son a small shove. “Your lady wife needs you now,”
Tyrion looked over his shoulder, and he was sure he could see a small glimmer of… sympathy in his father’s eye. Kindness even. And it was this look, paired with the shift in the way you screamed that had him running into the birthing chamber.
“Tyrion!” You sobbed, one hand reaching for him, the other reaching above you to grasp at the headboard. One of your trusted hand maids, who you had brought with you from Riverrun was at your other side, pressing a cool cloth to your forehead. Tyrion hurried to your other side, just in time for the maester to tell you to push, and the child was at last parted with your body.
All was silent for a tense few moments, until sharp cries filled the room. You could hear the cheering from the corridors.
“A boy, my lady,” the maester called out, and you sobbed for joy. “A healthy son. A little on the delicate side-”
“Is he-”
“No. He is not like you, my Lord. I delivered you and your siblings, and your son is exactly the size your brother was when he was born,”
“Can I hold him?” You whispered, your arms reaching out.
“Of course, my lady. He is your son,”
The child was handed to you, nuzzled against the bare skin of your breasts, his little cries soon petering out to soft snuffles of sleep. The maester left to deliver the good news to the Lord of Casterly Rock, but your world consisted only of Tyrion and your son.
“He’s perfect,” he said, letting out a relieved laugh. “And he’s going to tower over me when he’s a man grown,” You gave a laugh, happy tears streaming down your cheeks as you rested your head on his shoulder. Tyrion pressed his lips to your temple. “You wonderful, wonderful woman, I love you,” he murmured. “I swear to you on the old gods and the new that I will protect you and my son from all harm,”
You rubbed your son’s back gently, not wanted to disturb his sleep and you looked up to your husband. “Thank you,” you whispered. Tyrion, my Lord husband. My love,”
Tags: @sociallyawkward-princess @lazyotakujen @janelongxox @honeyofthegods @lxoxtxtxi @fullmoonshadowwrites
𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙂𝙤𝙡𝙙𝙚𝙣 𝙍𝙤𝙨𝙚
Prologue:
Tywin Lannister hated his dwarf son. Despised him. Every time his calculating green eyes landed on his twisted half-man son, it reminded him of what he lost. His precious wife, gone, to give life to the creature before him. He took her life, and here he is, breathing, instead of cold and lifeless. The gods had cursed him from the moment Joanna found out she was with child again. The moment seed had given her a child. After the birth of the twins, Master Creylen advised Tywin and Joanna not to have another child. Which was fine, because he got what he wanted. An heir, and a daughter to marry off to Aerys’s son, Rheagar. A Lannister, his daughter, would sit on the throne as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. He had everything he wanted, his perfect children, his loving wife, his long-time friend, and King, and the Relm was prospering. Until it wasn’t.
He lost everything in a day and was left with a creature he wasn’t sure that came from his loins. A hideous son, whom no one wanted to marry, who was Lord Tywin’s bane. His second son, Tyrion Lannister.
The old lion narrowed his gaze at his son, who was speaking in hushed tones with his younger brother, Gerion Lannister, ignoring his sister’s continuous babble. Tywin watched as Tyrion laughed and made jests with Gerion, smiling as if he’d done nothing wrong. His half-man son waddled along, enjoying his time with his uncle as they walked through Joanna’s garden. Tywin’s fists clenched together, his forehead crinkled as his brows furrowed together as he watched with displeasure. Sixteen years it’s been. Sixteen years since Tywin Lannister ever cracked a smile.
“Tywin? Brother?” A hand rested on his leather-clad shoulder, drawing his attention away from his son and brother. Genna stood next to him, her golden hair piled in an intricate design with pearls dangling in locks. Her face was all made up with various powders and a lip stain. Her dress was Lannister red, and around her neck sat a golden lion head nestled between her breasts. Genna reminded Tywin of their mother, Jeyne. She shared their mother’s shade of green eyes and mother’s shapely figure. She was beautiful and cunning. She was a Lannister. Yet she was married to a pathetic Frey.
“Tywin, did you hear me?” she asked, a smile playing at the corner of her lips. Tywin simply stared at her, wondering what he’d missed. “Of course you didn’t,” she chuckled before sighing. “I said, dear brother, I think we should hold a ball.” A smile spread across her face. While the Old Lion simply raised a brow at her statement. “A ball,” he repeated. Genna nodded her head. “Why would we need to throw a ball?” His voice rumbled in his chest, and if Genna wasn’t his sister, he would’ve growled.
“For Tyrion, of course. He’s sixteen. It’s time to find him a suitable wife and future Lady of Casterly Rock.” Tywin narrowed his eyes, irritatedly. “Do you not think I’ve tried to find him a wife? Lord Tully denied my proposal, as did Lord Royce and Lord Hightower, and I just received Ser Colin Florent’s raven.” Tywin picked up the letter lying on his desk. “‘I regret to inform you my Lord Lannister, my daughter Delena has been promised to marry Ser Hosman Norcross,’ Even the oaf Florent won’t marry his whore of a daughter to Tyrion.” He threw the letter onto the desk and sat down, leaning forward and lacing his hands together as he raises a brow at Genna. “So, you still believe someone will marry him?” Genna sighed and shook her head at her older brother. “Tyrion is capable of finding a wife. We simply need to introduce him to eligible ladies.”
“So we’ll prance him around as if he was my daughter? Shall I have a tailor make him a gown as well?” Sarcasm dripped in his voice, and Genna glared at her brother. “Tyrion is your son —”
“No, he is not!!” Tywin slammed his fist down against the desk. He glared at Genna, fury swimming in his green eyes, his lip curling in a snarl. Genna glared back at him, challenging his stare. This was the same argument they’ve had over the last thirteen years, and every time Tywin’s fury matched a starving lion. His fangs were out, snarling, and his claws were ready to tear through her body. The first time they argued about Tyrion, Tywin stopped talking to Genna for an entire year. It was a miserable year for Genna. Losing her brother temporary was the worst feeling in the world.
“Tywin.” she reached her hand over the desk to place it on his fist, but he jerked away. “Don’t you wish to make an alliance to benefit House Lannister?” He stood up and stomped off to Joanna’s portrait. He stood in front of the painted version of his wife, staring at her beautiful green eyes and rich golden hair that shone in the sun. “Jamie is sworn to the damned Kingsguard. Cersei is Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Who else can make a proper marriage alliance for House Lannister?” Tywin shook his head and clenched his fists at his side. “Tyrion is the only answer. He is the only one who can help our House.”
Genna’s voice became soft somewhere in the middle of her persuasion, and she knew she had her big brothers when Tywin let out a sound of frustration before turning and running a hand down his face.
“So be it.” The smile that left Genna could only resemble a lioness who was ready to kill her next meal.
𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙂𝙤𝙡𝙙𝙚𝙣 𝙍𝙤𝙨𝙚
Chapter One:
The rose garden of Highgarden was always beautiful at this time of year. The roses were in full bloom, and the smell of fruit permeated the air. Singers and fiddlers were out today singing their jolly tunes while girls as pretty as the flowers nearby danced with each other, giggling and sampling delicacies from the kitchen. A soft wind blew through, fluttering the ladies' myrish lace and silk gowns, and tumbling their long hair, showing off a bit of skin. Sitting under a canopy was the Lady Olenna of Highgarden, watching her granddaughter’s and cousin’s daughter’s dance. Her eyes were trained on her eldest granddaughter, the Lady (Y/n) Tyrell, and her second granddaughter, Lady Margaery, barely only six name days, dances with her older sister.
The corners of the Queen of Thorn’s lips twitched at the sight of her two precious roses. “My Lady, the cheese is served.” Lady Olenna tore her eyes away from her granddaughters to look at the servant boy, sweating profusely. She arched a brow and eyed the green boy. “Tell me, did you sweat all over it too, boy?” Alerie Hightower turned her head from the conversation she was having and turned her attention to her mother-in-law.
“Mother, perhaps you should go easy on the boy—”
“Don’t tell me what to do and don’t call me Mother. I would’ve remembered carrying you,” she said spitefully at her son’s wife. “Now, answer me, boy, did you sweat over my cheese, as you are sweating all over your uniform?” The boy stuttered, and his mouth was agape. Lady Olenna scoffed and waved her hand in a dismissing motion. “Someone get me a new plate of cheese that does not have sweat all over it! Along with some figs!” she shouted, and three servants jumped to attention and raced off to get the Queen of Thorn’s food.
“Grandmother, you needn’t be so harsh on the boy,” commented Lady (Y/n) as she glided up to her grandmother, passing cousins adorning on the cushioned chairs and pillows in the canopy. Lady Olenna gave her a smirk. “Of course I must. The boy need’s to learn my Rose.” She brought her frail spotted hand up to her granddaughter’s cheek and patted it, admiring her beauty.
“Now,” The Queen of Thorn’s patted the seat next to her, inviting her granddaughter to sit. “Where is Margaery?” she asked once Lady (Y/n) sat down beside her. “With Willas and Garlan,” she said breathlessly. “Hmm, tired of dancing?” Lady (Y/n) gave her a scoff. “My feet feel as if I’ve been walking all over thorns,” she complained, rolling her eyes. “Don’t roll your eyes (Y/n), it’s unbecoming,” Olenna scolded her granddaughter.
Ever since Lady (Y/n) was born, Olenna has been training her in the arts of cunning, seduction, manipulation, and beauty. Lady Olenna had big plans for both of her granddaughters, and each step she took was a calculated move to benefit the Tyrell family.
Perhaps she could marry Margaery off to the new princeling the Lannister Queen gave birth to — a Tyrell Queen. Yes, Lady Olenna liked the sound of that.
Music played on as the afternoon soon grew into dusk. The fiddlers fiddled, and the singers sang, and the harpers harped, all while the girls of House Tyrell and distant cousins danced under the rays of the sun. The day finally ended, and Lady Olenna was in her solar when her son and his wife and her grandson, Willas, entered. Her twin guards Erryk and Arryk were trying to block the entrance, waiting for their Lady to give the approval of the interruption.
“My Lady, we are sorry for the interruption, Lord Tyrell insisted —”
“It’s quite alright, left, right, let them through. It must be important if my fat oaf of a son climbed all those steps to see me.” she snarled as she placed her quill down and looked at her family. Mace was breathless, his right hand was placed above his gut, trying to calm himself down from the long trip up the stairs, while Alerie stood off to the side with her hands placed on Willas’s shoulders.
“Well? What is it?” Olenna snapped, impatient. Mace took a deep breath before speaking. “Mother, I’ve just received a raven from the Westerlands—” Olenna scoffed and leaned back in her chair. “It was from Lord Tywin Lannister.” Mace paused for a few beats of silence. “Well, what does the old lion from Casterly Rock want? I can’t imagine he’d be begging for gold this early in Robert Baratheon’s reign.”
“He’s inviting (Y/n) to Casterly Rock, along with many other noble ladies to meet his son, Tyrion Lannister in hopes to have a betrothal. Apparently, they’re having some sort of ball for his heir’s nameday.” In all she could’ve imagined, Olenna never would’ve thought the old lion, murder of two houses, Reign and Tarbeck, would be asking to have a betrothal between houses Tyrell and Lannister to his half-man son.
“No.” Mace exchanged a look with Alerie. “Mother—”
“No. (Y/n) deserves a full man, not some dwarf.” Olenna narrowed her eyes at Mace. “You’re not really considering this proposal, are you?” Mace gulped and nodded his head. “Well, mother, yes I was. Lord Tywin is a powerful man and we should want to have an alliance with him. Besides’ he’s not asking for (Y/n)’s hand now, he’s inviting her to meet his son and enjoy the Westerlands and Casterly Rock.”
Olenna scoffed and shook her head. “A lion simply does not invite, they command.” She stared at Willas and sighed. “Before you reply, Mace, you must tell (Y/n). She must decide if she wishes to go or not.”
“Mother, I have to say yes! Otherwise—”
“If (Y/n) say’s no, I will deal with the Lion of Casterly Rock.” A smirk crossed Olenna’s features as she challenged her son. Mace grunted and groaned before nodding his head in agreement. “I will tell her tomorrow as we break our fast.”
Satisfied with his answer, Olenna nodded her head in triumphant and waved her hand, dismissing him. “Go, all of you,”
𝐌 𝐚 𝐬 𝐭 𝐞 𝐫 𝐥 𝐢 𝐬 𝐭
𝙰 𝚂𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏 𝙸𝚌𝚎 & 𝙵𝚒𝚛𝚎:
𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙂𝙤𝙡𝙙𝙚𝙣 𝙍𝙤𝙨𝙚 (𝙏𝙮𝙧𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙇𝙖𝙣𝙣𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙭 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧)
𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞:
https://jessicawhitlockswonderland.tumblr.com/post/659439904331382784/%F0%9D%99%8F%F0%9D%99%9D%F0%9D%99%9A-%F0%9D%99%82%F0%9D%99%A4%F0%9D%99%A1%F0%9D%99%99%F0%9D%99%9A%F0%9D%99%A3-%F0%9D%99%8D%F0%9D%99%A4%F0%9D%99%A8%F0%9D%99%9A
𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞:
https://jessicawhitlockswonderland.tumblr.com/post/659541880324980736/%F0%9D%99%8F%F0%9D%99%9D%F0%9D%99%9A-%F0%9D%99%82%F0%9D%99%A4%F0%9D%99%A1%F0%9D%99%99%F0%9D%99%9A%F0%9D%99%A3-%F0%9D%99%8D%F0%9D%99%A4%F0%9D%99%A8%F0%9D%99%9A
𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐰𝐨:
https://jessicawhitlockswonderland.tumblr.com/post/660145273970049024/%F0%9D%99%8F%F0%9D%99%9D%F0%9D%99%9A-%F0%9D%99%82%F0%9D%99%A4%F0%9D%99%A1%F0%9D%99%99%F0%9D%99%9A%F0%9D%99%A3-%F0%9D%99%8D%F0%9D%99%A4%F0%9D%99%A8%F0%9D%99%9A
𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞:
https://jessicawhitlockswonderland.tumblr.com/post/660779290479198208/%F0%9D%99%8F%F0%9D%99%9D%F0%9D%99%9A-%F0%9D%99%82%F0%9D%99%A4%F0%9D%99%A1%F0%9D%99%99%F0%9D%99%9A%F0%9D%99%A3-%F0%9D%99%8D%F0%9D%99%A4%F0%9D%99%A8%F0%9D%99%9A
𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫:
https://jessicawhitlockswonderland.tumblr.com/post/662355360142721024/%F0%9D%99%8F%F0%9D%99%9D%F0%9D%99%9A-%F0%9D%99%82%F0%9D%99%A4%F0%9D%99%A1%F0%9D%99%99%F0%9D%99%9A%F0%9D%99%A3-%F0%9D%99%8D%F0%9D%99%A4%F0%9D%99%A8%F0%9D%99%9A
𝙷𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝙿𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛:
𝓗𝓪𝓻𝓻𝔂 𝓐𝓭𝓭𝓪𝓶𝓼 𝓢𝓮𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓼
𝘽𝙤𝙤𝙠 𝙊𝙣𝙚: 𝙃𝙖𝙧𝙧𝙮 𝘼𝙙𝙙𝙖𝙢𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙋𝙝𝙞𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙤𝙥𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙎𝙩𝙤𝙣𝙚
(Harry Potter-Addams x Reader)
❝𝙒𝙝𝙮 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙚𝙙 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩?❞ ❝𝙇𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩?❞ ❝𝙇𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪'𝙧𝙚 𝙜𝙤𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙤 𝙖 𝙛𝙪𝙣𝙚𝙧𝙖𝙡. 𝙒𝙝𝙮 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙚𝙙 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙗𝙤𝙙𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙚𝙙,❞ ❝𝙒𝙖𝙞𝙩.❞
𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘧 𝘏𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘗𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘥𝘰𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘈𝘥𝘥𝘢𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘴? 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘧 𝘏𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘞𝘦𝘥𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘥𝘢𝘺, 𝘗𝘶𝘨𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘺, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘗𝘶𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘵? 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘧 𝘏𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘺'𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘎𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘻 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘔𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘢 𝘈𝘥𝘥𝘢𝘮𝘴? 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘧 𝘏𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘯 𝘈𝘥𝘥𝘢𝘮𝘴?
𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝙷𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝙰𝚍𝚍𝚊𝚖𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛'𝚜 𝚊𝚝 𝙷𝚘𝚐𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚜, 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚢 𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚊𝚢 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊 𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚞𝚕𝚒𝚊𝚛 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚌𝚑, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚌𝚑 - 𝙸 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚢 - 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞??
𝙋𝙧𝙤𝙡𝙤𝙜𝙪𝙚: 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝘼𝙙𝙙𝙖𝙢𝙚𝙨
𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙊𝙣𝙚: 𝙃𝙖𝙧𝙧𝙮 𝘼𝙙𝙙𝙖𝙢𝙨
𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙏𝙬𝙤: 𝙊𝙥𝙝𝙚𝙡𝙞𝙖 𝙁𝙧𝙪𝙢𝙥
𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙏𝙝𝙧𝙚𝙚: 𝘿𝙞𝙖𝙜𝙤𝙣 𝘼𝙡𝙡𝙚𝙮
𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙂𝙤𝙡𝙙𝙚𝙣 𝙍𝙤𝙨𝙚
Chapter Two:
(Y/n) never tired of seeing her extensive selection of gowns. She loved to gaze and run her fingers through the fabric, feeling the softness of the lace and silk. In her afternoon lessons with her grandmother, she learned appearance was everything in the art of manipulation.
“My lady, which gown do you wish to wear today?” asked her handmaiden, Lucille, as she finished pinning her hair up. (Y/n) admired her reflection in the looking glass and sighed. “I think the dark amethyst one I received recently from Beth,” Beth was (Y/n)’s personal seamstress, always creating gowns for her and producing the most beautiful gowns and fabric she’d ever seen in the Reach.
“Of course, My Lady,” (Y/n) smiled and checked her appearance. She was a woman now, ten and six name-days, and with her recent moonblood, she was ready to marry if her Father wished. She was ready to bear children and become a Lady of a Castle or Holdfast.
Lucille came back holding the dark amethyst gown, smiling at (Y/n). She laid the gown across her lady’s made bed and helped her into her corset. Once she was done lacing the corset, Lucille helped (Y/n) into the gown, making sure the cloth draped over her body and did not get caught or tangled with her shift. The dress sported a wide neckline that dipped right above the tops of her breasts, with puffy shoulders and a long sleeve that cinched around the wrists. The gown was loose and flowed out under her breasts, creating an illusion that she was floating. A layer of sheer white organza with gold embroidered roses draped over the skirt of the dress.
Once dressed, Lady (Y/n) smiled at her reflection before departing from her room. The slight heel of her slippers echoed against the marble floor with each step she took. The walls were decorated with green and gold accents, with portraits of Garth the Gardener, Catherine the Thorn of Highgarden, and previous Lords of Highgarden. Many of the walls and ceilings were covered in paintings from many artists over the years of Highgarden’s rule of the Reach, and many of those paintings told stories of sorrow, pain, love, lust, and prosperity.
On sleepless nights, (Y/n) would study and look on vigorously at those paintings, trying to piece every puzzle of the story together. Sometimes she’d be accompanied by her twin or younger brother Garlan, other times she was alone with only the paintings to keep her company.
As she walked steadily towards the dining hall, (Y/n) passed many rooms occupied by her cousins and family members that stayed in Highgarden with her family. Along with music rooms, a sewing room — where she and her sister and their female cousins occupied most days with their Septa, as well as an enormous library, and dance rooms (where they practiced their dancing).
Downstairs, she passed a few servants who stopped and greeted her before continuing their duties, along with a cousin or two and an aunt conversing with an uncle, before she happened in the dining hall. At the head of the table was her father, and next to him her grandmother and mother — and next to her mother was her twin, Willas. Garlan was seated next to her empty seat.
“Good morning everyone,” she greeted, a smile adorned on her face. A manservant pulled out her chair, and she gave him a polite nod and smile as she sat down. “Good morning dear, how was your sleep?” asked Alerie, giving her eldest daughter a fond smile. “Very well Mother,”
A maid served (Y/n) and poured her cup of milky tea as she reached for a bowl of fruit and spooned some onto her plate. “What about you? How was your evening?” she asked, her eyes meeting her mother’s. Alerie exchanged a look with her husband. (Y/n) noticed the glance and her mother’s worried eyes. “What is it?” she asked, her brows furrowing quizzically.
Willas watched as his parents exchanged a few more glances before his father signed and laced his meaty hands together.
“(Y/n), darling, as you know you’ve just pasted your sixteenth name day,” Mace hesitated, trying to find the correct words. “And well, you’re at the proper age to meet young lords and have a betrothal.” (Y/n) nodded her head in understanding. She knew this day would come, the day her father and mother would start sending her to balls and banquets and maybe even to court to find a suitable husband.
“And we’ve just received your first invitation to an outing.” Mace glanced at his mother and noticed her glare. “Who was it from?” asked (Y/n) as she placed her fork down. She was curious to know what ball she was attending. “It was from Lord Tywin Lannister, my dear. His son Tyrion is having a ball at Casterly Rock.” Silence filled the dining hall, as all the Tyrell’s eyes were on (Y/n), watching her reaction to the news. A beat or two passed before (Y/n) spoke. “Lord Tyrion?”
“Yes, apparently Lord Tywin has grown tired of begging and pleading the Lords of Westeros to send their daughter’s hand in marriage to his imp of a son,” complained Olenna, rolling her eyes. “Mother!!” Olenna snapped her head towards Mace and glared. “Shut up you oaf,”
“Now, my rose,” Olenna shifted her attention to (Y/n) and gave her a look. “This is your decision. If you wish to attend this ball, you may, but if not, I will personally write to Lord Tywin and express your apologies.” (Y/n) knew her grandmother would not be polite or remember her curtseys whilst writing to Lord Tywin; she would let him have a tongue lashing.
“I-I- I’m not sure. May I think upon this?” she asked, trying to weigh the decision of attending Lord Lannister’s ball for his son. “Of course dearest, take all the time you need,” spoke Alerie softly. (Y/n) nodded her head in thanks before she returned her attention to her food.
Later, after breaking fast, instead of joining her cousin’s in the sewing room, (Y/n) was wandering through the gardens. She walked at a slow pace, her fingers were fiddling anxiously. Usually, she would close her mind and enjoy the peacefulness of the gardens, listen to the sounds of birds, enjoy the wind rustling the roses bushes, and the wind breathing against her skin. But today she found no comfort in the scent of the flowers, nor the wind kissing her skin could tear her away from her head. She was deep in her thoughts, her conscious weighing the advantages and disadvantages of her situation, and her fear of leaving Highgarden.
(Y/n) knew nothing about Lord Tyrion except his dwarfism. She knew not if he was kind or gentle, if he liked to sing or hunt. Was he mean and cruel? Would he take out the frustrations of his stature on her? Would he be angry if she slipped up and said something offensive? Who is Lord Tyrion?
(Y/n) was not the person to judge another by their looks. She was gentle and kind, and treated and judge a person by their character — but she would not lie that meeting Lord Tyrion was making her nervous.
She sighed and sat down at a marble bench beneath a marble statue of a maiden. Her hands wove together as she stared at her fingertips. The wind blew through the garden once more, lightly kissing her skin as she bit on her bottom lip.
If she went and met Lord Tyrion, she would help her family and House. Even if she did not have a betrothal with Lord Tyrion, she was still helping by showing her face. If the Lords of Westeros found out that she was at Lord Tywin’s ball, they most certainly will invite her to other balls and banquets, and outings. Either way, she would have a chance at making a possible marriage alliance.
(Y/n) sighed once more before looking up at the sound of someone sitting down next to her. Her twin sat next to her, his crippled leg stretched outwards and his walking stick leaned against his body as he looked at her. Willas gave (Y/n) his charming smile, making her smile in return.
“Are you alright?” his voice was smooth as silk. “I’m not sure.” (Y/n) replied. Her voice betrayed the emotions she was trying to hide.
“It’s very generous that Lord Lannister extended an invitation to me, and it would be rude to decline him. Besides, it would be beneficial if I went to his son’s name day ball.”
“Sister,” Willas placed his hand on her shoulder, looking her in the eyes. “Do you wish to go? I don’t care what Father or Lord Lannister thinks or wishes, I’m asking you whether or not you wish to go?”
Tears brimmed in her eyes as she looked on at her brother with love. “Oh, Willas,” she threw her arms around her twin and sobbed. She wept for her childhood, for her innocence. She was no longer a child, she was a maiden. She was ready to be led as a pig for slaughter to the lord with the highest bid.
Willas held her in his arms as she mourned her childhood, while he kissed her head and rubbed her back.
Once she calmed down and dried her tears, she inhaled deeply. “I wish to go, brother,”
He nodded his head and held her hand in his. “Let’s deliver the news to father,”
Here is the dress the reader wore in today’s chapter:
𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙂𝙤𝙡𝙙𝙚𝙣 𝙍𝙤𝙨𝙚
Chapter Two:
(Y/n) never tired of seeing her extensive selection of gowns. She loved to gaze and run her fingers through the fabric, feeling the softness of the lace and silk. In her afternoon lessons with her grandmother, she learned appearance was everything in the art of manipulation.
“My lady, which gown do you wish to wear today?” asked her handmaiden, Lucille, as she finished pinning her hair up. (Y/n) admired her reflection in the looking glass and sighed. “I think the dark amethyst one I received recently from Beth,” Beth was (Y/n)’s personal seamstress, always creating gowns for her and producing the most beautiful gowns and fabric she’d ever seen in the Reach.
“Of course, My Lady,” (Y/n) smiled and checked her appearance. She was a woman now, ten and six name-days, and with her recent moonblood, she was ready to marry if her Father wished. She was ready to bear children and become a Lady of a Castle or Holdfast.
Lucille came back holding the dark amethyst gown, smiling at (Y/n). She laid the gown across her lady’s made bed and helped her into her corset. Once she was done lacing the corset, Lucille helped (Y/n) into the gown, making sure the cloth draped over her body and did not get caught or tangled with her shift. The dress sported a wide neckline that dipped right above the tops of her breasts, with puffy shoulders and a long sleeve that cinched around the wrists. The gown was loose and flowed out under her breasts, creating an illusion that she was floating. A layer of sheer white organza with gold embroidered roses draped over the skirt of the dress.
Once dressed, Lady (Y/n) smiled at her reflection before departing from her room. The slight heel of her slippers echoed against the marble floor with each step she took. The walls were decorated with green and gold accents, with portraits of Garth the Gardener, Catherine the Thorn of Highgarden, and previous Lords of Highgarden. Many of the walls and ceilings were covered in paintings from many artists over the years of Highgarden’s rule of the Reach, and many of those paintings told stories of sorrow, pain, love, lust, and prosperity.
On sleepless nights, (Y/n) would study and look on vigorously at those paintings, trying to piece every puzzle of the story together. Sometimes she’d be accompanied by her twin or younger brother Garlan, other times she was alone with only the paintings to keep her company.
As she walked steadily towards the dining hall, (Y/n) passed many rooms occupied by her cousins and family members that stayed in Highgarden with her family. Along with music rooms, a sewing room — where she and her sister and their female cousins occupied most days with their Septa, as well as an enormous library, and dance rooms (where they practiced their dancing).
Downstairs, she passed a few servants who stopped and greeted her before continuing their duties, along with a cousin or two and an aunt conversing with an uncle, before she happened in the dining hall. At the head of the table was her father, and next to him her grandmother and mother — and next to her mother was her twin, Willas. Garlan was seated next to her empty seat.
“Good morning everyone,” she greeted, a smile adorned on her face. A manservant pulled out her chair, and she gave him a polite nod and smile as she sat down. “Good morning dear, how was your sleep?” asked Alerie, giving her eldest daughter a fond smile. “Very well Mother,”
A maid served (Y/n) and poured her cup of milky tea as she reached for a bowl of fruit and spooned some onto her plate. “What about you? How was your evening?” she asked, her eyes meeting her mother’s. Alerie exchanged a look with her husband. (Y/n) noticed the glance and her mother’s worried eyes. “What is it?” she asked, her brows furrowing quizzically.
Willas watched as his parents exchanged a few more glances before his father signed and laced his meaty hands together.
“(Y/n), darling, as you know you’ve just pasted your sixteenth name day,” Mace hesitated, trying to find the correct words. “And well, you’re at the proper age to meet young lords and have a betrothal.” (Y/n) nodded her head in understanding. She knew this day would come, the day her father and mother would start sending her to balls and banquets and maybe even to court to find a suitable husband.
“And we’ve just received your first invitation to an outing.” Mace glanced at his mother and noticed her glare. “Who was it from?” asked (Y/n) as she placed her fork down. She was curious to know what ball she was attending. “It was from Lord Tywin Lannister, my dear. His son Tyrion is having a ball at Casterly Rock.” Silence filled the dining hall, as all the Tyrell’s eyes were on (Y/n), watching her reaction to the news. A beat or two passed before (Y/n) spoke. “Lord Tyrion?”
“Yes, apparently Lord Tywin has grown tired of begging and pleading the Lords of Westeros to send their daughter’s hand in marriage to his imp of a son,” complained Olenna, rolling her eyes. “Mother!!” Olenna snapped her head towards Mace and glared. “Shut up you oaf,”
“Now, my rose,” Olenna shifted her attention to (Y/n) and gave her a look. “This is your decision. If you wish to attend this ball, you may, but if not, I will personally write to Lord Tywin and express your apologies.” (Y/n) knew her grandmother would not be polite or remember her curtseys whilst writing to Lord Tywin; she would let him have a tongue lashing.
“I-I- I’m not sure. May I think upon this?” she asked, trying to weigh the decision of attending Lord Lannister’s ball for his son. “Of course dearest, take all the time you need,” spoke Alerie softly. (Y/n) nodded her head in thanks before she returned her attention to her food.
Later, after breaking fast, instead of joining her cousin’s in the sewing room, (Y/n) was wandering through the gardens. She walked at a slow pace, her fingers were fiddling anxiously. Usually, she would close her mind and enjoy the peacefulness of the gardens, listen to the sounds of birds, enjoy the wind rustling the roses bushes, and the wind breathing against her skin. But today she found no comfort in the scent of the flowers, nor the wind kissing her skin could tear her away from her head. She was deep in her thoughts, her conscious weighing the advantages and disadvantages of her situation, and her fear of leaving Highgarden.
(Y/n) knew nothing about Lord Tyrion except his dwarfism. She knew not if he was kind or gentle, if he liked to sing or hunt. Was he mean and cruel? Would he take out the frustrations of his stature on her? Would he be angry if she slipped up and said something offensive? Who is Lord Tyrion?
(Y/n) was not the person to judge another by their looks. She was gentle and kind, and treated and judge a person by their character — but she would not lie that meeting Lord Tyrion was making her nervous.
She sighed and sat down at a marble bench beneath a marble statue of a maiden. Her hands wove together as she stared at her fingertips. The wind blew through the garden once more, lightly kissing her skin as she bit on her bottom lip.
If she went and met Lord Tyrion, she would help her family and House. Even if she did not have a betrothal with Lord Tyrion, she was still helping by showing her face. If the Lords of Westeros found out that she was at Lord Tywin’s ball, they most certainly will invite her to other balls and banquets, and outings. Either way, she would have a chance at making a possible marriage alliance.
(Y/n) sighed once more before looking up at the sound of someone sitting down next to her. Her twin sat next to her, his crippled leg stretched outwards and his walking stick leaned against his body as he looked at her. Willas gave (Y/n) his charming smile, making her smile in return.
“Are you alright?” his voice was smooth as silk. “I’m not sure.” (Y/n) replied. Her voice betrayed the emotions she was trying to hide.
“It’s very generous that Lord Lannister extended an invitation to me, and it would be rude to decline him. Besides, it would be beneficial if I went to his son’s name day ball.”
“Sister,” Willas placed his hand on her shoulder, looking her in the eyes. “Do you wish to go? I don’t care what Father or Lord Lannister thinks or wishes, I’m asking you whether or not you wish to go?”
Tears brimmed in her eyes as she looked on at her brother with love. “Oh, Willas,” she threw her arms around her twin and sobbed. She wept for her childhood, for her innocence. She was no longer a child, she was a maiden. She was ready to be led as a pig for slaughter to the lord with the highest bid.
Willas held her in his arms as she mourned her childhood, while he kissed her head and rubbed her back.
Once she calmed down and dried her tears, she inhaled deeply. “I wish to go, brother,”
He nodded his head and held her hand in his. “Let’s deliver the news to father,”
𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙂𝙤𝙡𝙙𝙚𝙣 𝙍𝙤𝙨𝙚
Chapter Three:
The time for (Y/n) to leave Highgarden and travel to Casterly Rock had arrived. She was all packed and ready to leave her homeland and family, wearing a smile full of sorrow. Though she didn’t want to leave, she wanted to stay at her home with her family. All she wanted was to stay and sit with her grandmother and drink tea and gossip. She wanted to stay and sew with her cousins and little sister. She wanted to stay and help the children of the many orphanages she and her family were involved in. She didn’t want to leave the summery breezes and sun in the Reach and trade it for the dry heat of the Westerlands.
“Oh, my little rose,” The Queen of Thorn’s placed her hand on her granddaughter’s cheeks, rubbing the smooth skin with her thumb. “I wish you well,” a sad smile found its way across her cheeks. “Take care of Margie, Grandmother.” (Y/n) shed a few tears and Olenna nodded. “I will. I promise, my love.” She pulled away from her grandmother and turned to look at her mother and father.
Mace and Alerie gave their daughter a willful smile. “Good luck, daughter,” said Mace, his voice gruff with emotion and strength. “Be safe and watchful, my dear,” Alerie kissed her daughter’s forehead. (Y/n) nodded her head. “I will mother, father, I promise.” She moved onto her siblings. Little Margaery stood in her pretty green gown holding Garlan’s hand as her bottom lip quivered.
“Oh, Margie,” (Y/n) hugged her sister tightly, as Margaery sniffled and cried into her shoulder. “I do not want you to go!!” she sobbed. (Y/n) pressed her lips together in a thin line and held her. “I know, dearest, I know. I too wish I did not have to leave, but I must.” She pulled back and gave her a small smile, wiping the six-year-old’s tears. “I promise to be back as soon as I can. We’ll have a garden party for my return and you and I can wear the matching dresses Beth made for us,”
“You promise?” Margaery sniffled and looked at her older sister with her doe eyes. “I promise, dearest,” (Y/n) brought her lips to her forehead and kissed her gently. Next to Margaery, Loras approached her, wearing his silks and his hair in golden curls.
“Oh Loras, my brave knight,” (Y/n) smiled at her little brother and brought him into her arms. Though Loras was not openly crying like his little sister, (Y/n) could see his bottom lip quiver and tremble as he was fighting the tears. Loras’s little arms wrapped around her neck and he buried his face in her shoulder. Loras was very fond of his older sister and loved her very much. She’d never been away from him so long before, and he did not wish to part with her. He wanted to hold her close and stay there until the end of his days. But alas, (Y/n) pulled away from their hug and she gave him her most charming smile.
“Chin up, little knight.” She placed her index finger under his chin and lifted it.
Next was Garlan — who stood tall, and put on his “manly” face, and gave (Y/n) a smile. “Farewell, sister! I wish you safe travels.” His older sister gave him a smile and brought him into her arms. Hugging his chubby body to hers as she said her goodbyes.
When she got to Willas, she was having a hard time keeping the tears from slipping from her eyes. Willas was her twin. He was always by her side. He knew her like the back of his hand. He was her best friend. And she was leaving him. Trading him for dry heat and a ball.
“Oh Willas,” Tears flowed freely as she ignored his outstretched hand and pulled him in for a hug, making him stumbled a bit before he regained his footing and hugged his twin closely. She buried her face in his velvet-clad shoulder, breathing in his scent, as tears dripped into the velvet.
“Farewell, sister,” he whispered into her ear. She pulled away and brushed a few tears away, smiling sadly. “Farewell, dear brother,” Willas brought her head towards his lips and kissed her hair. She closed her eyes and enjoyed her brother’s embrace before she pulled away.
“My Lady, it is time to go, the wheelhouse is ready,” (Y/n) took a deep breath before answering her driver. “Thank you, Victor,” The man nodded and stood waiting for her by the door of the wheelhouse her family prepared for her.
(Y/n) took one last look at Highgarden, memorizing the walls, the gardens, the guards and servants, her family, before she sighed and walked down the marble steps to the gravel. Victor lent her his hand and helped her up into the wheelhouse. Once she settled in, Victor closed the door and left her alone in the silence. Soon the wheelhouse started moving and (Y/n) looked out the window of where she sat and waved goodbye at her family. She continued to stare out the window until the wheelhouse road out of the gates of Highgarden and Highgarden itself became small and distant.
She exhaled and sighed before she looked around and smiled. The interior was white with green and gold accents with light blue carpet. A small table sat next to the long cushioned bench that had a fresh vase of flowers from the gardens. (Y/n) sighed and leaned back against the bench, closing her eyes as she sat deep in thought.
This is going to be an endless journey.
Tyrion glared at his father. His mismatched eyes were narrowed dangerously as he watched his Lord father eat his dinner. His fists were clenched and his upper lip twitched with every minute that passed by. His Aunt Genna sat across from Tyrion, and even she was looking nervous with her gaunt skeleton of a husband sitting next to her. His Uncle Gerion could also feel the tension in the room and for once did not try to make jests and kept quiet — something that was so unlike him and his outspoken character.
Finally, Tyrion had enough. He slammed his fist on the table, making the silver jump, drawing everyone’s attention, including his Lord father.
Lord Tywin raised a brow at his son’s outburst and narrowed his own cold green eyes at him.
“What’s the matter now? Need to complain or make another impropriety jest?”
“How could you have not told me? Why was I the last to know?” Tyrion snarled, his voice rising high. “How could you have not asked me if I even wished for a blasted name-day ball?!”
Tywin’s own upper lip twitched as he glared at Tyrion. “You are my son, --” Tyrion scoffed and leaned back in his chair. “And you are the heir to Casterly Rock, whether or not I want you to. It is the law, and so before I hand down my title as Warden of the West and Lord of Casterly Rock I wish to see you married to a High-born Lady who’ll give you the sons you need to pass down the family name. To ensure the legacy of House Lannister.” Tyrion tried to contain his anger and but it was overwhelming him in waves he admired and watched from a distance of the Sunset Sea.
“So you wish to subject me to torture and scrutinizing me by parading me around as if I was my brother Jamie. Do you not see its cruelty??” Genna spoke up, trying to clear the air between father and son.
“Tyrion, my dear, if a woman does not see you for who you are and only your stature as a dwarf, then she is not worthy of your hand or love,” she gave him a comforting smile, but Tyrion ignored it and laughed dryly.
“Oh, you are mistaken, beloved Aunt Genna, for no woman shall ever look upon me and see me without seeing me for who I truly am. A dwarf who’s cursed to be laughed at. A twisted demon monkey. Lord Tywin’s doom!” A humorless smirk spread across his face as Tywin stood up, fury in his eyes.
“If you wish to wallow in your own self-pity, I suggest you do it elsewhere. You are a Lannister--”
“Am I though? Am I truly a Lannister?” Tyrion cut in, his tongue sharp as a blade. Though he could not wield one as his brother Jamie can, Tyrion carried his own blade, his sharp tongue.
Lord Tywin simply stared at him, his calculating eyes studying Tyrion, from his mismatched eyes to his twisted limbs.
“Go,” Tywin nodded his head towards the doors to the Great Hall. “Leave my sight,” Tyrion pushed out from his chair and stormed out of the Hall, leaving his unfinished dinner behind.
He walked through the dim-lit corridors of Casterly Rock, passing paintings and portraits of the previous Lord Lannisters as he made his way to his room. He slammed the door hard once he arrived — throwing his shoes off and tossing his tunic to the floor in anger. He waddled to his bookshelf and pulled a book his Uncle Gerion got for him when he visited Essos.
Instead of focusing on the words before him, all Tyrion could focus on was the anger he felt towards his father, aunt, and mother.
He understood why his sister and father hated him so because, at that moment, he, too, hated himself. From the moment he drew breath in this world, his mother left it giving birth to a creature like him. He wished he could speak to her. Feel her warmth and love a mother always had for their children. He’d never felt in all his life, for not even his wet nurse loved him. Feeding him was a chore, and she did not wish to feed him. She would rather let him starve than have him suckle at her own breasts.
Tears flowed freely from his eyes as he cried. How could his father and aunt be so cruel? For even at ten and six name days, he knew, no woman would want him. The only women he could get were whores. No woman would care for him or love him. No woman would kiss him as if he was her knight or her Florian.
And so, Tyrion mourned the non-existence of love for himself. He wept for his doomed existence and for the ladies who’d have to endure him for a single night of torture. He cried and sobbed at the realization of his painful existence. For no one could ever love him. No one could love a twisted man like him. His sister was right, he was a little beast. And no woman in her right mind would ever love a beast.
𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙂𝙤𝙡𝙙𝙚𝙣 𝙍𝙤𝙨𝙚
Chapter Four:
Casterly Rock was bustling with life. Servants rushed up and down the corridors, carrying banners, decorations, cleaning supplies. The Rock’s maids cleaned the guest rooms in the guest quarters of the castle, washing sheets and linen. In the kitchen was Genna Lannister, speaking in hushed tones with the head cook.
“My lady, I do not think we’ll be able to prepare all this food in such a short time.” The cook was a plump older woman with greying strands of hair mixed with her chestnut locks. Her eyes were slender and small, and she stood tall with her arms crossed over her stomach.
“Oh, I believe you will. Besides, you have all the ingredients you need to prepare the feast for the ball,” said Genna, a smile gracing her face as she stared at the cook with her green eyes. “Aye, my lady, we do. But I’m not worried about that, your ladyship. I’m more worried that we won’t have enough food to feed the guests after the ball, that is.”
Genna shook her head. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out Marcey, you are brilliant.” The way Genna Lannister complimented was strange indeed. The blonde Lannister made it sound as if she was patronizing you instead of giving you a compliment. Marcey shook her head and waved her hand. “Fine! But don’t complain to me when you lot are starving!” she muttered curses as she approached a few kitchen wenches, ordering them to gather up bowls and the necessary ingredients for the feast.
While Genna prepared Tyrion’s ball, Tyrion was in one of the hells of his own.
His blasted aunt decided it would be appropriate if he received some new garments for his name-day ball, so here he was. Standing on the tailor’s stool, letting the older gentleman measure his small stunted body as he lifted his arms up, waiting impatiently for this to be over.
He wanted to go down to the library and accompany the Maester of his home. He wanted to exchange ideas and knowledge about certain subjects he was interested in.
But alas, he was stuck here.
The young lion sighed and gave the short old man a glare as he measured his neck. The man smelled of sweat, sandalwood, and thread. His cerulean blue eyes were narrowed in concentration as he muttered about, writing the measurements down on his piece of parchment.
“My Lord, what textiles and color shall your new garments be?” Tyrion stepped off the stool and shrugged his shoulders. “I do not care about the textiles or color. I have no knowledge in that field of colors and textiles as you and my aunt have,” The man’s cheeks flushed, and he nodded his head saying a quiet “Of course, My Lord,” as he cleaned his station.
Tyrion waddled over to the window by his bed and looked out. The Sunset Sea was roaring and its waves crashed against the rocks and sands of the beach. The smell of salt and sea overwhelmed the young lion’s senses. His desire to feel the sand between his toes and hands grew more and more than he stared at the roaring waves. He wished he could sail with his beloved uncle, see the world for what it was. Explore Essos and stay in Mereen and experience the foreign land in its authentic form.
But as he stared into the deep blue waters, he felt his dreams and wishes fall through his fingers as sand did. He imagined himself trying to catch it and hold it close to his heart. His eyes grew in size as he thought about his forgotten and unattainable life. He would never be like his uncle. He would always be what he was, a dwarf who was lucky to bear the surname Lannister.
Tyrion shook his head, ridding the thoughts that swarmed in his mind. He sighed and ran a hand down his face in exasperation before he stopped mopping about. He grabbed a tome he borrowed from Maester Creylen and made his way out of his room.
Tyrion trekked down to The Stone Gardens where a twisted weirwood laid its roots. Though Tyrion was born in the light of the Seven and went to Mass and participated in the ritual costumes of the Seven, he was not religious in any way. He was like his father in that way. His Aunt Dorna, however, was a woman of strong faith. She participated in everything, prayed for everyone, and lit candles. So sitting in the godswood of the old gods of the North did nothing except influence his curiosity and fascination of being in the presence of the carved face tree.
He sat beneath the low branches at the base of the tree. He opened his tome, and began to read. He read for hours, letting the sun become low in the sky, while he hid away from the rest of the world. For the little lion held no interest in leaving his quiet place. Somewhere in the middle of his reading, he closed his eyes for a moment, but when he opened them, it was dark in the godswood. Only the dim light of the candles shone and provided him light. He stretched and yawned, waking his body up. He winced at the cramp he received from sitting on the ground for too long and stood up shakily. Slowly, getting used to using his legs, he stumbled a bit, before he found his footing and set off to his room.
He was passing The Hall of Heroes when he was assaulted by a hand clasped on his shoulder. He turned around, his mouth opening in protest, but closed when he saw who it was. His big brother, Jamie Lannister.
“Jamie!!” A smile spread across Tyrion’s face as he stared at his older brother. Jamie’s hair had grown since he last saw him. The last time Tyrion visited Jamie was when Cersei married Robert Baratheon. The dreadful affair was tiresome and Tyrion did not find the trip enjoyable.
“Little brother,” said Jamie affectionately, a smile gracing his handsome face. “Why are you here?” Tyrion asked, confusion laced in his words. Jamie laughed and shook his head. “Did you think I’d miss out on my favorite brother’s name day ball?” Tyrion pouted and gave him a pointed stare. “Oh chin up, Tyrion.”
Tyrion shook his head and together the brothers walked to the Lion’s Keep, where all the Lannister’s rooms and family were kept.
“How was your journey here?” Tyrion asked, tilting his head. Jamie sighed. “Wonderful, though I am tired. Shall we continue this conversation of how fair my journey was in the morning?” Jamie was exhausted, his soft green eyes were drowsy with sleep and he fought to keep his eyelids open.
“Of course, brother,” Jamie gave Tyrion a thankful smile. “Does father know you’re here?” the taller blonde shook his head. “I’m afraid not. I did not tell him in order to surprise everyone.”
“Aunt Genna will not be pleased,” teased Tyrion. Both brothers knew how angry their Aunt could get if people or things happened unannounced, that she did not have time to prepare. She was like a roaring lioness, angry that her kill got away.
“Yes, well, I bet once she’s done with her tongue lashing she’ll be overjoyed to see her dashing nephew,” said Jamie, flashing his smile in Tyrion’s direction. Tyrion snorted before nodding in agreement.
The brother’s stopped at Jamie’s old quarters. Tyrion bid his older brother a good night before heading off to his own room a couple of doors down, passing Cersei’s old room.
Once dressed and ready for bed, Tyrion blew out the candles in his room before climbing into bed, letting the moon’s light shine into his opened window, bathing him in its light. Tyrion stared at the dark, cold, ceiling. His thoughts were arrayed as he tried to prepare himself for the horror and torment that was soon to come before his eyes betrayed him and gave way to the consuming darkness of sleep.
Asoiaf/GoT Series
The Golden Rose (Tyrion Lannister x Tyrell Reader)
Ｎａｖｉｇａｔｉｏｎ
i'm a fangirl freak who writes to get away from school, society, and bullshit----i'm also a whore for fictional characters, so expect some very indulgent shit in my works
Started: Jan 13th, 2022
Last Updated: July 30th, 2022
Total Works:
𝙍𝙚𝙘𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙠𝙨
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𝘍𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘮𝘴
𝐀 𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐟 𝐈𝐜𝐞 & 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐞/𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬
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𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐏𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫
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𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐥
𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐬
𝐎𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐚
