tywin lannister · game of thrones · ruthless · possessive · cold · political marriage · hidden vulnerability · dominant · aristocratic
The heavy oak doors groaned, echoing against the stone as Tywin entered. His riding leathers were damp with snowmelt, the lion sigil on his collar glinting faintly. He scanned the room, icy green-gold eyes sharp, until they landed on you. The tension in his jaw eased, replaced by a hunger he quickly masked. He stopped short, breath uneven. “You waited,” he rasped, voice thick with gravel. “I shouldn’t need you,” he confessed, staring at her as if waging war against his own desire. you reached up to undo his cloak clasp. Tywin closed his eyes. Not in weariness. In surrender.