@technicallypsychiccupcake Major NSFW warnings.
Seriously this smut is graphic.
“So what’s the issue exactly? You have a woman who admits that she loves you asking you to share her expensive pad with her rent free,” Ygritte summarizes.
Margaery kicks up her legs on the desk. She adjusts the phone over her ear. “First, she said that when she thought I was asleep. It doesn’t count. Second, there are several issues with possibly living with Alayne. I have to find a sublease with someone-”
“Jon will be more than happy to take it, especially when he finds out I’ve been overcharging him his share,” interrupts Ygritte.
“-Our sleeping schedules would be a nightmare-”
“-We hardly ever fight now. Living together creates all sorts of arguments-”
“It also opens the door to fantastic make-up sex. Face it Tyrell, there’s nothing holding you back. Suck it up and move in with the girl or I will.”
Margaery pinches her fingers over the bridge of her nose. “Look there’s so many other things to consider: her dog, furniture, my family…”
Knock, knock. “I have to go Ygritte, Mormont’s here.”
“Stop being a pussy and making up bullshit excu-” yells Ygritte as Margaery ends the call.
“Come in!” calls Margaery. She adjusts the papers on her desk and pretends like she was not using her lunch break to make personal calls.
Jorah Mormont is a quiet man with a commanding presence. When he enters a room, you pay attention. He comes in and stands in front of Margaery’s desk. Margaery folds her fingers in front of her and smiles up at him. Having established his authority, he sits. “What did you want to talk about Margaery?”
“Sir, you know I’ve been working on stories related to the Lannisters for quite a while now.” Jorah doesn’t nod, but Margaery continues, “And you know how much those stories have both increased revenue and impacted the community.”
“I think I see where this is going,” he mutters.
“Sir, I have a groundbreaking story in the works. One that if properly done could spark massive public reaction and promote substantial change in our streets. I just need to be able to focus more of my resources on it, rather than on routine crime blotters,” she explains.
Jorah huffs, “I understand you think you’re work with these mobs has been a gold mine, and to an extent it has. But you’re putting a lot of people at risk, Margaery. Everyone at this paper is a target to the mafia. Another article like the last one and we could very well see retaliation from them.”
Margaery stands up, asserting her own power. “Mormont this could end the Lannisters. Off the streets, out of our hair. I won’t utter a single word about it until it’s published, won’t type a single Lannister name until I have it all together. I just need the time and resources to get it together. So I also need you to cut down the workload you give Renly.”
“Gods have you, Margaery! You’re asking me to let my best reporter and best photographer go weeks without publishing for the sake of a story I can’t guarantee will come together” hisses Jorah, careful not to let the other reporters in the hall hear him.
“Not completely, no. Just to limit the work we have. Maybe 3 stories a week rather than seven. It will be worth it, I promise. I’ve got great leads and sources. And I think, with all my attention focused on it, I could have the story in two months.”
Margaery slides a file of documents over to Mormont. He opens them and flips through, reading carefully every now and then. He crosses his legs and chews the side of index finger. “Alright. I’ll have Samwell pick up the slack. But it better be one damn good article.”
Margaery smirks. “Oh, it will be.”
Jorah uncrosses his legs and stands up. He drops the file back on Margaery’s desk. “And I want statements from Cersei Lannister or I will not publish.”
“Of course sir. It wouldn’t be complete without that,” agrees Margaery.
Margaery and Renly spend rest of the next week compiling research. The report on the Stark fire takes longer than expected to come, which doesn’t bother Margaery too much. She’s swamped in researching Cersei’s personal history. A miscarriage. Allegations of affairs. Shady business dealings. She sends a request to Cersei’s secretary at L&C Banking to meet with Cersei the next week.
Meanwhile, Renly interviews L&C employees under the premise of a finance article, which will actually be published next week. Mormont always promotes efficiency above all else. Some of them are merely bankers, some, such as the Frey sons, are suspected of being soldiers for the Lannisters. He never mentions the mafia, however. Doing so would give away their true purpose.
All her work has kept Margaery in the office until midnight a couple times this week, which she doesn’t mind at all. The office has practically turned into a second home in the past year.
Tonight is Friday night, however. After five, Alayne and Ygritte pounce upon her office, kidnapping her for their own devilish purposes. So far that includes letting her read through the file she managed to grab before being whisked away to Alayne’s house. Now she’s on the merger contract between L&C and Towneship Financial that was the basis of Cersei’s lawsuit.
It’s a fairly standard contract until she reaches Article 5 Section B: “At the time that both parties are of age, the eldest daughter of the second party shall consent to marriage with the eldest son of the first party. A lack of consent will incur a breach of contract. Marriage must last at least five years without divorce or infidelity. Infidelity will result in breach of contract. Divorce shall null and void this contract with neither side receiving profits, which shall be returned to government.”
Margaery rereads the words three times, and still she can’t reconcile the kind, family-oriented, honorable Eddard Stark she has heard about time and time again with this man who would sell his daughter into marriage.
For a father to trade away the will of his child…
Ygritte snatches the contract out of her hand and carelessly tosses it on to the couch.
“Hey!” Margaery scrambles to retrieve the contract.
“Work is over, babe. It’s time for the fun to begin!” says Ygritte.
Margaery places the contract back into its folder, then looks at Ygritte. Oh no. She’s wearing a short black dress with dark blue, sky high heels. “You could have said we were going out! I can’t wear this when you look like that!”
Alayne walks up behind Ygritte, putting in an earring. She’s wearing the crimson red, tight fitted dress that ends a few inches below her ass with the tip of “Ice” peeking out from her inner thigh, the one that she had modeled for Margaery at the store and that Margaery had nearly ripped in her haste to get it off her. Her mouth salivates at the image.
“Babe, you’re not wearing that. I bought you something, it’s in my room. I think you’ll like it,” Alayne winks.
Margaery begrudgingly gets up to change, but not before pinching Alayne’s ass on the way out. She returns a few minutes later in a black, plunging neckline dress with thin straps and heels that may be taller than Ygritte’s.
Ygritte turns toward her and her jaw drops. “Damn! Someone is totally getting banged tonight!”
“If I don’t die from a tragic fall first,” says Margaery.
Alayne just smirks. “Come on ladies. There’s a brooding bouncer who needs his hair fluffed waiting for us.” She walks past Margaery to grab her purse. Margaery bends over to grab her own. A sharp smack on her ass sends her jolting straight up, leaving Ygritte laughing and Alayne looking smug.
Seeing as Margaery’s car sits in the Courier parking lot, they take Alayne’s old mustang. It’s a nice car, but Alayne hardly ever uses it, preferring riding with Margaery instead.
Margaery keeps waiting for Alayne to bring up moving in again. She has an entire speech for her declination planned. But it never comes up. Perhaps Alayne realizes what a colossal mistake that would be for them and has just decided to drop it.
Once they arrive at the bar, Ygritte sprints out, only to be disappointed that the bouncer checking I.D’s is not Jon. As soon as the man sees Alayne, he steps out of the way, allowing his boss and her friends to skip the line. Inside the bar, they find Jon scowling at the drinkers on the dancefloor. True to Alayne’s suggestion, the first thing Ygritte does is run over to him and tussle his hair.
He crosses his arms and glares down at, then says something that’s impossible to hear from across the bar with the blaring music. Ygritte puts her hands on her hips and sasses him back.
“They’re cute,” Margaery smiles.
“Yep, as adorable as kittens with mittens. Now let’s get some alcohol in you,” Alayne grabs Margaery’s hand and drags her to the bar.
The bartender smirks as Alayne strides up. “Look who came out to play tonight,” she says. She looks Margaery up and down. “Is this the infamous girlfriend I’ve heard so much about? Nice piece of ass, Alayne.”
“Don’t objectify my girlfriend. Only I can do that,” teases Alayne. She slips her arm around Margaery’s waist. “Make her the sluttiest drink you can, Shae.”
“Infamous, am I?” says Margaery as Shae turns away. She slides onto a bar stool, pulling Alayne between her legs.
“More like legendary. The woman who turns Stone into puddles. You’re hailed a hero around here most days,” Alayne flirts.
Margaery wraps an arm around Alayne’s neck, tugging her down. “You suck at flirting,” she says.
“But I’m great at sucking,” breathes Alayne. She meets Margaery half-way for a kiss. Margaery’s other hand holds Alayne’s waist. When Alayne sucks on Margaery’s bottom lip, she can’t help but agree with Alayne’s sentiments. She tilts her head and licks Alayne’s lip. Who needs alcohol when she has her own personal drug?
Alayne presses her back against the bar, and Margaery realizes that things might be going too far for public. She doesn’t want to stop though. Alayne moans as Margaery slips her tongue into her mouth and strokes Alayne’s tongue.
“Ms. Stone,” says someone, barely audible over the music. Margaery ignores it and kisses harder, rewarded with another moan.
“Ms. Stone!” says the voice louder this time. Alayne pulls back just enough to be speak. Margaery takes the opportunity to open her eyes. Gendry stands behind Alayne, waiting patiently.
“Not now,” says Alayne. She kisses Margaery again.
“Ms. Stone, It’s rather important you take care of this now,” says Gendry.
Alayne turns around, remaining cool. “It’s my night off. Unless someone was beaten to a pulp by one of the bouncers, it can wait.”
Gendry steps forward and whispers to her. Margaery folds her arms. There’s not much she hates more than interruptions.
Alayne’s eyes flare. “I’ll be right back, okay?” she says, trying to calm the rage in her eyes. She doesn’t wait for a response before she’s gone with Gendry.
Margaery sighs and takes the drink Shae left. The bartender mutters something about “Stone-cold killer”. Margaery only sips half of it before deciding to find Ygritte on the dancefloor. They dance for a few songs, but it’s too crowded to be any fun and once Ygritte decides she needs to pee, it’s time to clear the floor.
With Ygritte indisposed, Margaery sits once more at the bar. Nothing is ever “right back” with Alayne. At this point, Margaery just wants to leave. She hates bars anyway. Outside of Alayne, there’s never anything fun to do. But seven hells, is Alayne fun to do.
Lost in her rekindled desire, Margaery doesn’t notice the blond man sit down next to her. Not until his hand grasps her knee. She reflexively smacks it.
“Oooh, feisty girl,” he sneers. It takes her a moment to place his face. Joffrey Baratheon, Lannister heir.
“You can’t afford to touch,” warned Margaery.
Joffrey, however, takes it as flirting. “I think you’ll find I’m more than capable of paying your price. Just name it.”
“Your amputated hand will work for starters,” Alayne says from behind Margaery. She scowls at him, then struts to Margaery. She kisses Margaery’s cheek and wraps her arms over her shoulders from behind, still facing Joffrey. “Touch my girlfriend again and see what happens.”
Joffrey bares his teeth. “More wine!” he orders Shae.
Satisfied with her work, Alayne guides Margaery away from the bar.
“Why the bout of jealousy?” asks Margaery, unhappy with Alayne’s behavior a moment before.
“I’m not jealous. He’s royal arsehole and deserves to be put in his place,” says Alayne.
“He’s also an arsehole who can be a useful source for my story. I had it under control, Alayne.”
“I don’t care about your story. It’s not important,” snaps Alayne.
Her words are a slap to the face, and Margaery barely manages to refrain from flinching. Alayne’s eyes widen with recognition of what she just said. “Babe, that’s-”
Margaery doesn’t want to hear it. Shoving through the thicket of drinkers and dancers, Margaery marches to the bar exit. She’ll text Ygritte that she’s ready to go. Few things could spark such an instant and emotional reaction from Margaery. She prided herself on her self-control. Insults to her work’s value, however, never failed to turn her into another person.
Outside, the brisk night air raises goosebumps on Margaery’s arms. In the open she has room to think, room to breathe. So, she does. In 1…2…3, out 4…5…6. It helps her collect her thoughts. She’s being irrational. Alayne had never been the biggest fan of her articles and stories, Margaery knew that. Still, she was normally supportive. With the stress of whatever Gendry pulled her away for combined with Joffrey, Alayne had been a little too blunt.
Gathering her resolve, Margaery turns back to find Alayne, only to be nearly knocked down by her running onto the sidewalk.
“I’m sorry, Margaery! I didn’t mean it the way it came out.” The words rush out, leaving the woman breathless.
Margaery shakes her head. “No, you’re entitled to your opinion. What kind of writer am I if I throw a tantrum every time someone doesn’t like my work?”
Alayne grasps her elbows and steps closer. In her heels, Margaery is nearly the same height as Alayne, so she looks straight into those earnest, pristine eyes that make her heart melt. “But baby your work does matter. I love what you write. I meant to say that I care more for your wellbeing than for your articles, no matter how important the story is.”
Margaery leans in and softly kisses Alayne. “I understand, sweetling. I’m not in any danger though, not from some a prick in a bar.”
“Of course you’re not. Because he’d have a heel stuffed down his throat if he tried anything,” Alayne asserts. She rubs her thumb in a small circle against Margaery’s elbow. “Want to leave?”
“Gods yes!” Margaery groans. On the way to the car she texts Ygritte. Almost instantly she receives a winking emoji reply.
As Alayne drives, she subconsciously rubs her thumb on Margaery’s lower thigh. Eventually she says, “Have you thought anymore about moving in with me?”
Margaery measures her words carefully. “I have. I think…darling it’s…”
Alayne is giving her side eye, puppy dog eyes as she drives. Just like that, Margaery’s planned speech is out the window. Saying no had never been a viable option with Alayne. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to say yes.
The hand on her thigh slides up an a little. “I think you would like living with me. You’ll have your own bathroom. No rent. You’ll be closer to work.” The hand inches up more, toying with the hem of her dress. The car comes to a stop in Alayne’s driveway. “A free cuddle buddy with Lady. The showers are bigger.”
Far too distracted by Alayne’s fingers now mere inches away from her center, Margaery doesn’t pay attention to her words anymore. She knows she’s still wet from her little thought indulgence earlier. If Alayne brushes her fingers against Margaery’s underwear, she would feel it. She watches Alayne trail her finger up closer.
“I could fuck you whenever you like,” Alayne breathes in her ear, sending waves through Margaery. How she had gotten so close, Margaery wasn’t sure. When Alayne finally skims her index finger over her panties, she shivers. “Would you like that? For me to fuck you every night? To make you come at your beckoning?”
She unbuckles and climbs across the gear shift into Margaery’s lap. She nuzzles Margaery’s neck. Margaery bites her lip as Alayne presses her finger harder against her center. “What about tonight? Do you want to come tonight?”
“Yes,” moans Margaery. She reaches to hold Alayne’s hips, but the woman shimmies out of her lap and out the door. “Then let’s go,” she smirks.
Margaery quickly unbuckles and catches up to Alayne at the door. The woman has been teasing her all night and Margaery will be damned to not have some measure of vengeance. Her keys are in the door when Margaery spins her around and pushes her up against the side of the house with a firm grip on her hips. She kisses her firmly. She keeps her lips parted, but still pressed to Alayne’s mouth when the woman opens her mouth to gasp for breath. The reprieve is short, as Margaery captures Alayne’s lower lip and sucks, garnering a whimper. Her hand drops down to Alayne’s thigh as she pushes into her more. Alayne’s hands find their way to her boobs and squeeze, then one slips around to her back. Her fingers feel for the zipper on her dress. When she finds it, Margaery playfully dances back to the door and finishes unlocking it.
The ever-loyal guard dog runs out the door and Margaery is barely able to avoid being tackled. Unlike usual, however, Lady keeps going. She’s in the neighbor’s yard, legs bent down in a “play time” position. Alayne looks back and forth between Margaery and Lady.
“Grrr!” Alayne goes after her dog. “Lady here! No! It’s not playtime Lady!”
As she kicks off her heels, Margaery giggles.
“Damnit Lady! I’ve taught you better than to vagina-block your mother!” Alayne yells from outside.
Her voice fades as Margaery runs back to Alayne’s room. She unzips her dress. It pools at her feet and she kicks it aside. With the two of them hardly seeing each other in the past two weeks, they hadn’t had sex since Alayne lost her panties at the apartment. Panties which were still laying on Margaery’s dresser. Damn she felt so needy, the memory of how the thong shaped her girlfriend’s ass further dampening her.
Behind her, the door slammed shut. She spins around to see Alayne out of breath, eyes deep blue and bulging as she checks her out. “Such a naughty girl,” she tuts.
She steps toward Margaery and grasps her waist, then presses her lips against Margaery’s. Her tongue sweeps against Margaery’s lips and Margaery shivers against her. She does it again which coaxes Margaery into opening her mouth and deepening the kiss. As Alayne feels Margaery’s ribcage, the one with the tattoo, Margaery pulls down the zipper on Alayne’s dress. It falls.
Alayne presses her chest more against Margaery. She’s bare. Margaery nearly bites her lip as she brings her hand back around to brush against Alayne’s nipple. With one hand gripping the wolf on Alayne’s hip and the other massaging her breast, Alayne begins moaning.
Margaery guides Alayne until her knees bump the bed and she sits. Margaery pulls up and admires the view. Alayne looks back at her flushed, panting. “You’re so sexy,” Alayne says.
Margaery kneels in front of her. Catching on, Alayne spreads her legs, revealing a thoroughly soaked red thong. Next time Margaery will appreciate the sight, but right now she had other ideas.
With her hands placed on the bed on either side of Alayne, she kisses her way up Alayne’s thigh from the tip of the sword to the hilt. She feels her breath bounce off Alayne’s core when she runs out of ink to kiss. She nips the hilt. Alayne tosses her head back and groans, then watches in awe as takes the edges of the underwear between her teeth and pulls down. Margaery looks up through her eye lids and smirks with the cloth between her teeth. Her movements slow as she goes to the other side and pulls it down too. “Gods Marge, you turn on me on so much. I feel so fucking close already.”
Margaery finishes dragging down her panties then moves back. Alayne spreads her legs wider cards a hand through Margaery’s hair. “Mmm.” Margaery hums against Alayne’s waxed mons. “Are you going to come in my mouth?”
Alayne nods. It’s all the confirmation Margaery needs. She kisses her labia gently, then harder as Alayne pulls her head closer. When she sucks, Alayne moans louder. A smirk crosses her face as she moves up to Alayne’s clit and licks. Alayne tugs on her hair and bucks her hips. “Fuck,” she whispers. Margaery’s own pleasure builds as she continues to run her tongue over Alayne’s clit. She doesn’t stop until Alayne’s legs shake around her head.
Wanting a new angle, Margaery pushes her hands against Alayne’s stomach. She lays back on the bed. Margaery strokes her stomach, pushing down slightly on her abdomen.
She dips her tongue into Alayne’s entrance, a moan escaping her mouth. Alayne moans in response to the vibration. Her tongue plunges in and out. Alayne tugs her hair harder.
“Fuck Marge! Marge yes! Yes!” cries Alayne.
Suddenly, her pussy contracts around Margaery tongue. “Ah!” Alayne comes.
Her thrusts slowdown, allowing Alayne to ride out her orgasm. When her hips finally stop bucking, Margaery drags her tongue up through Alayne’s folds. Nothing sounds as good as Alayne moaning in post-orgasmic bliss.
One last kiss to her mons, then Margaery gets up to lay next to Alayne. They beam at each other goofily, and Alayne leans in her for a kiss, another moan releasing at the taste of herself on Margaery’s lips.
“Your turn,” she whispers. She drags Margaery to the center of the bed and pulls her up to remove her bra.
“How are you so gorgeous?” Her hands are drawn magnetically to Margaery’s breasts. She guides Margaery back down to the bed, massaging her. A small whimper escapes and Alayne tweaks a nipple. The feeling of Alayne’s lips against her own draws another whimper. Then she kisses down Margaery’s chest, spending extra time over her ribcage. Margaery tangles her fingers into Alayne’s hair and tugs her back up. This time she bites Alayne’s neck. The woman groans and pushes down Margaery’s underwear. Margaery shimmies out of them and wraps her legs around Alayne waist. One hand runs through her hair, the digs into Alayne hip.
“Seven hells Margaery, you’re fucking wet. So wet. I could leave you like this. Desperate and wanting. It would serve you right for leaving me at the door like that.”
Margaery whines and rotates her hips to rub against Alayne’s abdomen. “Don’t play games. Make me come Alayne. Make me come hard.”
Alayne kisses her and shoves her hand between them to stroke Margaery. She goes straight for the clit, leaving Margaery moaning. Margaery thrusts against her. As Alayne’s fingers rub harder, they glide down to her core.
When the first the first two fingers enter her, Margaery gasps. Eyes blown wide, Margaery bites her lip. That smirk. That smirk combined with the third finger gently pushing in has her close. Margaery moans as the fingers inside her twist. The other hand pushes down on her ribs. She’s so close she just needs…
“Come for me Margaery. I want to feel your pussy clench around me.”
Her fingers drive deeper. They push Margaery over the edge and she comes with a moan. She pumps her hips erratically and smothers curses in Alayne’s hair until her orgasm subsides.
A lip-biting grin greets her when she opens her eyes again. Alayne kisses her sweetly. Margaery the back of Alayne’s head, tangling her fingers in her hair again. Gosh, she loves Alayne’s beautiful, dark locks.
“Are you ready to move in now?” Alayne asks.
“What if I say no?” Margaery smirks.
Alayne pushes herself up onto her hands and knees. Margaery trails a finger down her back to her ass. “I’ll just have to convince you then.”
