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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

Repeat of History

Pairing: Tywin Lannister x reader

Requested by: @honeyofthegods

Warnings: pregnancy, reference to morning sickness, childbirth, reference to death of Johanna Lannister

Gif creds to owner

History was repeating itself, he was sure of it. From the moment he had discovered your pregnancy, he was noticing all sorts of symptoms that had plagued Johanna during her final pregnancy.

Your morning sickness lasted much longer than you expected it to, and you spent most days confined to your rooms with your head in a basin. Grand Maester Pycelle had tried all sorts of remedies on you, making you drink potions with sickly sweet herbs, rubbing your growing bump with greasy balms in the hope of soothing your somersaulting baby. But both you and Tywin drew the line at bloodletting, and just the sight of the leeches in the jar made you queasy.

So when a terrified young squire came bursting into the throne room during an audience, Tywin held up his hand to prevent a guard from beating him for interrupting.

“Milord, Milord, Lady Lannister- the tower of the hand- she says the baby is coming,” he said, panting.

The old lion rose from the iron throne, his green eyes ever so slightly widened. “Summon the dowager queen to continue this audience,” he told his own squire, who nodded and turned on his heel at once to summon Cersei. In an instant, Tywin strode through the throne room, the crowd of courtiers parting for him, and when the great wooden doors slammed shut, he broke into a run to the tower of the hand.

***

As he neared his tower, your groans of pain grew louder, and despite not being able to see you, he knew your face would be contorted in fear and pain. As he flung open the door, he barked at the guard, “have Pycelle brought up at once. And the midwives too. And be thankful I won’t throw you in the dungeons for just standing there while my wife screams in pain,”

You heard the commotion from the bottom of the tower and groaned out, on your hands and knees halfway up the spiral stairs, one hand clutching your swollen belly. As Tywin neared, you looked over your shoulder at him. “My Lord,” you whispered. “I forgot you had an audience today, a-and I thought I could manage the stairs, but then the pains started-ah!”

“Oh, you stupid, stupid woman,” Tywin murmured, kneeling beside you, rubbing your back. There was no malice in his tone, but you still moaned out an apology. “Shush,” he told you. “When this pain subsides, we shall start back on these stairs,”

You nodded, biting your lip hard, thinking that Tywin would not put up with hysterics. But you couldn’t be more wrong. While your fear was obvious, but his was blooming deep in his chest, unlocking memories that he had repressed for twenty years. “You are doing well, YN. Come on now, slowly to your feet. Hold onto my arm, that’s right,” with his guidance, you were able to stand, albeit a little hunched over, and together you walked up the stairs to his chambers. “You will have the baby here. Where I know you are both safe,” he told you firmly, helping you through the office and into his bedchamber. “Help is coming,” he told you, drawing back the expensive bedsheets for you.

“My Lord, I don’t want to ruin your bedsheets,” you mumbled. “I… the waters… they have not broken yet. A-and everyone says there will be blood- lots of it,”

“YN,” he said firmly, drawing your attention back to him. “I couldn’t care less about my linen right now,” you nodded, affirming your understanding, before bracing yourself for another pain. Halfway through your contraction, there was a knock at the door: help had arrived. Pycelle and a small squad of midwives filed into the room, and within minutes you were stripped down to your shift and helped onto the bed, with a constant stream of bowls of steaming hot water being brought up into the room. In the frenzy, Tywin was swept out of the room and he found himself looking to the sky and praying to the gods he didn’t even believe in for the safety of the child, and for your safety too. As the hours wore on, your suppressed groans morphed into terrified screams of pain, and Tywin found his heart splintering and shattering with each cry. Your marriage was by no means a love match, but over the months he had found himself growing increasingly fond of his young wife, and the fondness had only grown over the course of your difficult pregnancy.

For hours he stood there like a soldier as you laboured on, alternating between pacing and standing stock still. As night fell, however, your cries changed in tone, and he could hear your sobbing through the door. Hearing your frightened cries had Tywin bursting through the door, and when Pycelle opened his mouth to protest, he was fixed with such a terrifying stare that he promptly shut up.

“Tywin,” you moaned, reaching out for your husband with a shaking hand. In an instant he was kneeling beside you, taking your hand in both of his. “I can’t do it, I can’t,” you whimpered.

“Yes, you can,” he told you firmly. “You have done marvellously so far. Just a little while longer,” he murmured, pushing your hair out of your sweaty, tear stained face.

“My Lady, My Lord, I can see the head,” the septa called up from between your legs. “Push, my lady, gently now,” she told you, and you gritted your teeth, doing small pushed like the midwives had taught you, crushing Tywin’s fingers in your fist. If his hand was hurting, he was wise enough to keep his mouth shut. “Big push now, m’lady,” another midwife told you, and as you were wracked with the most intense pain of your life, you pushed with all your might, shouting out in a mixture of agony and determination.

All was silent.

Instantly, Tywin tensed up. When Cersei and Jaime were born, the room was filled with the lusty cries of healthy newborns. But when Tyrion was born, everything was quiet, eerily so, as Johanna bled out, the life draining from her body as she lay limp in Tywin’s arms. The cry that Tyrion had let out fell on deaf ears after the blood and mucus was cleared from his throat, and Tywin could not bare to look at the deformed little creature that had taken his wife from him.

But you were alive, your body running on adrenaline, and as you panted, you leaned into your husband, trying to see over the crowd of people around your baby. “What’s happening?” You asked, your voice small and shaky, but when you were given no answer, your face hardened. “What are you doing with my baby?,” you demanded.

Your question was left unanswered for several moments more, before loud cries filled the room. The sigh of relief from everyone present was visible, and as your naked babe was handed to you, fresh tears poured from your eyes as you pressed a gentle kiss to his wrinkled brow.

“A boy, My Lord,” Pycelle told Tywin. “Larger than Ser Jaime when he was born,” he added, answering the silent question that Tywin posed. “We need to finish tending to Lady Lannister,” he whispered, implying that Tywin leave the room.

“Well what is stopping you?” He replied, and Pycelle dithered on the spot. “Go on,” he said and Pycelle nodded.

“Right away my Lord,” he said.

Slightly dazed, you looked up at Tywin, then back down at the midwives crowded around your nether regions. “What-“

“Do not fret, wife,” he said gently.

“I’m so tired,” you murmured, although your face beamed with a bright smile.

“I know you are. You’ve done so well delivering my-our son. Let them finish and bathe you, and then you can rest,”

“Promise?” You whispered.

“I promise,”

***

The Maester and midwives delivered your afterbirth, massaging your belly until it was all out, before applying antiseptic salves between your legs, cleaning away the blood and helping to lay fresh linen beneath you without moving you too much.

Finally, they bade you goodnight and congratulations, before bowing out of the room.

“He’s beautiful,” you murmured, your sleeping babe nuzzling against your breast.

“He’s perfect,” Tywin agreed, shifting closer to you to look over your shoulder, reaching an elegant hand out to caress the baby’s soft cheek.

You lay together for hours, until the candles were almost burnt to stumps and your head lolled sleepily on Tywin’s shoulder. Gently, he eased your son from your arms, placing him in his bassinet that had been brought up from your chambers, shushing him to sleep when he grumbled, before helping you lay on your back. You mumbled something incoherent, but Tywin shushed you to sleep and kissed your forehead.

Tomorrow, there would be a hundred visitors in and out of the room, including his older children, his grandchildren, and his bannermen. They would shower you and your son with gifts and blessings, offer you advice and anecdotes, and watch your every move for signs of illness or delirium.

But for now, it was just you and your baby, deep in your slumber, with your old lion guarding you through the night.

Tags: @sociallyawkward-princess @lazyotakujen @janelongxox @honeyofthegods @lxoxtxtxi @fullmoonshadowwrites @nyxrae

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A Song of Ice & Fire/Game of Thrones Characters I write for:

Jon Snow/Stark

Tyrion Lannister

Sandor Clegane

Tywin Lannister

Jaime Lannister

Eddard (Ned) Stark

Benjen Stark

Brandon Stark

Asoiaf/GoT Series

The Golden Rose (Tyrion Lannister x Tyrell Reader)