summary | you and theon aren't good at sharing how you feel, but one thing's for certain: you do not want to marry roose bolton
warnings | MDNI 18+, written with season one theon in mind, some vulgar language, doesn't adhere to canon, probably ooc don't come for me i'm trying my best (first time writing for theon), not beta read so if there's an error kick me
word count | 2.5k
Laughter floated like music from Winterfell's great hall, humming all throughout the vastness of the garden.
You wished it actually was music.
There was a misconception that northerners didn't like music. This was the reason singers seldom traveled to the snowy lands beyond the Neck, and why harpists never dared for fear of losing a prized finger to frostbite for no more than a few coppers. Madness, you often scoffed at the matter.
Everyone liked music.
It was central to all of Old Nan's greatest stories. A song, a dance, a knight and a lady pressed chest-to-chest, lips mere inches from true love's kiss. "That's how all wars ought to end," she'd say over the click-clack of her needles, ignoring how the boys groaned while the girls listened eagerly at her feet, "with a love that can staunch the bleeding of a realm."
You believed in the power of song and dance, and even extraordinary kisses. But true love was where your belief suspended.
You weren't like Sansa and little pea-brained Jeyne, still young enough to think all men as kind and chivalrous as those in Old Nan's stories. You knew men could be unpleasant even when powerful, cruel even when courtly.
Still, you weren't yet too old for pretending. And tonight, you thought, seemed as good a night for it as any.
The winter roses had finally bloomed.
Here in the furthermost corner of the garden, your secret spot since childhood, the world appeared a wild thicket of pale blue petals and emerald leaves, competing only with the stars above for the title of Most Beautiful.
Sitting on a bench of carved stone, cold enough to kiss the backs of your thighs even through the thick layers of your finest dress and cloak, you gazed sightlessly at the petals. There was a dream in your head. A silly, girlish dream.
Some lord would happen upon you, a fair maiden alone in the night, snow melting in your hair. He would be stricken by you. Would walk amongst the flowers, considering each winter rose until he found the prettiest of them. He would pluck it, come forth and place it in your hair, introducing himself on a breath of sweet nothings.
In your dreams, the lord was young and handsome, with hair always slightly mussed. His eyes were the murky blue green of the Sunset Sea. He was bold and kind and eager, with a heart made for laughing. Familiar and brave and just a little bit bawdy. Capable of lighting a fire inside you that no one else could, of knowing what you needed even when you failed to know yourself.
He would be all this and more, you dreamt.
And he would not be Roose Bolton, you prayed.
"By your mother's gods!"
The curse jolted you from thought, head snapping to the concealed pathway leading to your secret spot. You instantly relaxed at the sight of your father's ward, maneuvering through the tangled shrubbery with practiced ease, careful to avoid thorns.
"What are you doing out here?" He sounded amused as always. "Trying to see how fast you can freeze a tit off?"
You smiled. "You know Robb would have a fit if he heard you talking about my—" the word wouldn't come out. It was as if Septa Mordane herself had pinched your tongue between her fingers, lecturing you on indecency.
Unintentionally, you wondered about Roose Bolton's methods on dealing with indecency from his lady wife... and prayed it held no correlation to their sigil.
Theon laughed and finished your sentence for you. "Tits."
You nodded—and if your cheeks grew warm, it was only from the cold nipping at your skin.
"You're right," Theon sighed dramatically. He was through the bushes now, shaking stray leaves off his cloak; but you knew from the grin he failed to hide that you were in for one of his shows. "It's insulting actually, that Robb believes I'd actually dishonor—no, not even that: ravage," he corrected, "his baby sister. Honestly! Look at me: do I look like some doltish brute to you?"
You tapped a finger to your chin. "Well, not you, necessarily. But the kraken on your chest does imply some level of brutishness."
"Slander," Theon called out.
"Truth," you rebutted with a giggle. "Though if I had to select a word for you Greyjoys, I'd pick 'willful' over 'brute."
"Is that your way of calling me brave?"
"It's my way of calling you bull-headed."
He laid a hand over his chest. "You wound me, Stark."
"Less than my brother would if he heard your folly," you pointed out.
Theon waved you off. "What Robb doesn't know won't hurt him." Then, his eyes narrowed with playful intent: "Unless you plan on telling him, that is."
"And betray your trust?"
"Bold to assume I trust you in the first place."
You feigned a gasp. "Maybe I will tell him," you threatened, knowing you never would.
He paused, as if considering holding back whatever he meant to say next.
Ultimately, his ever-present need to jest won out.
"Wench."
You tossed your head back, laughing. "Oh! So a girl's a wench now if she likes watching her brother chase foolish boys around the yard with a wooden sword?"
It would be far from the first time Robb had tried to lop Theon's head off for saying something lewd about you. But the fights never ended in blood, nor any injury beyond what Maester Luwin could heal a bruise-salve.
The boys were too close to hurt each other, and you were too good at calming them down.
"First," Theon lifted a finger, shifting his weight to one side in what you, Sansa, and Jeyne privately called his sassy pose, "I am far from foolish, so go on and jot that down, will you? Second," another finger, "when you put it like that, the whole thing sounds awfully Targaryen."
Your nose wrinkled at the implication. The Targaryens were a queer House with queer kinks, infamous for their incestual practices. Some considered it their right, holdover from the days of Old Valyria.
You, however, considered it vile.
"You're disgusting, Greyjoy."
"Says the one who wants to fuck her brother." He grinned.
Leaning down to scoop a fistful of snow, you chucked it at your father's ward with all your might.
He dodged—barely, nearly falling in the process.
Playfully exhausted, you asked, "Are you going to sit?" gesturing beside yourself to an empty spot on the bench. "Or are you too craven to cross?"
Between you lay the same cobblestone path that weaved all throughout the gardens. The path was wide, covering all ground except the plots of frost-crusted soil, giving life to greenery and blossoms. Gardeners tended to the paths, salting and weeding, ensuring they were safe to walk on. But here, in your own private corner of wilderness, the stone had become tangled with ivy, coated in ice several inches thick.
Despite years spent in the North, Theon was still only as good at crossing ice as Grey Wind would be at competing in a joust.
Actually, you thought with amusement, Robb's direwolf stood a better chance at winning a joust than Theon did at not breaking his own ass.
Never one to be another's fool, Theon confidently took his first step onto the path...
...then slipped, catching himself only by throwing his arms out to each side, finding balance only by a stroke of luck.
"I'm growing tired of Stark arrogance," he called out over your laughter. Except he didn't sound tired. He sounded like he always did: a breath away from a smile that could cleave your heart in two.
Unsure of what to say, you turned his earlier question back around on him.
"What are you doing out here? If you think it's too cold for a Stark, then surely it's lethal for an Island boy like yourself."
Theon paused his careful steps to glare at you. "I've lived over my life in the North, and the Iron Islands aren't much warmer." Determined, he said, "If a Stark can survive the cold, so can I."
You believed him.
But you didn't miss how he hadn't answered your question—no more than you answered his, you supposed, when he had asked the very same thing.
You and Theon were good at that. Half-truths and half-answers, dancing around questions like lovers in a private ballroom.
Miraculously, Theon reached the end of the path with all his bones still intact. He dropped beside you with a huff. His breath became a cloud of fog, and you watched as it drifted into nothing.
"Your presence is missed." He nodded towards the great hall, still buzzing from the grand feast within. "Not by me, of course. But your lord husband–" he cut himself off with an exaggerated cry as your elbow jabbed into his ribs.
"He is not my husband."
Yes, the Lord of the Dreadfort had made a bid for your hand.
Yes, your lord father was weighing the benefits such an alliance.
And yes, you knew it was your duty as a noblewoman to wed whichever lord most benefited your House.
But, for now at least, you had spoken true. Roose Bolton was not your husband. And if the gods were good, perhaps he never would be.
Rubbing his side, milking his "injury" for all it was worth, Theon argued, "May as well be."
"We're not even betrothed," you shot back, grumbling.
"Don't tell Lord Bolton that." He snorted. It was hard to tell if he was vexed or amused. "I've seen the way he looks at you. The old man's likely already spent in his breeches just thinking about your bedding ceremony."
Blugh...
As you fought to keep down the lemon cakes you'd had the feast, Theon brushed two knuckles down the soft velvet cloak covering your arm. His touch was light—but you felt it in your bones.
"Do you think Lord Bolton will buy you such finery?" he teased softly. Then, even softer, with a humor that frayed and cracked: "Or perhaps he'll have you dressed in the skins of his enemies."
The lemon cakes almost won.
"Is that true?" you asked warily. "The Boltons, they... they still flay men?"
In the recent past, your father had reaffirmed the centuries-old Stark decree outlawing flaying in the North. He took House Boltons silence on the matter for complaisance, but there were still whispers they continued the cruel practice from deep in the bowels of their castle.
It was all Theon could do to keep his grin from fully breaking. "Let me know if you find out," he ended up saying.
At some point, his knuckles had brushed all the way down near your hand. No longer was he feeling the velvet. Instead, he fiddled with the fur-trim near your wrist.
You weren't sure he realized he was still touching you—and you didn't dare mention it, didn't gaze too long at his fingers, for fear that if he realized, he might stop.
You sniffed. "Have I ever told you you're a nuisance, Greyjoy?"
His laugh turned to fog. "Often." He looked right at you; his eyes lit with something more beautiful than pale blue petals and twinkling stars. "Though I never tire of hearing it, Stark."
Ten years.
That was how long it had been since your father first brought Theon to Winterfell as hostage and ward. You had been prepared to hate him, at first. Between Robb and Jon, you felt you had enough pestilent older brothers around.
But Theon had never wanted to be your brother, no more than you could ever hate him.
Chewing your cheek, you gazed through the dark towards the sound of songless revelry. "I don't want to be made a Bolton," you told him.
Quiet, quiet, quiet—
—then: "Do women often get what they want in this world?" Theon asked.
They should, you wanted to say.
But like true love, a woman's ability to choose was just another thing that existed only in stories. Your fate rested in the hands of men; some honorable and some cruel, and others willful yet craven.
"What do you want?" Theon's question was unexpected—by the both of you, if his tone was any indication. "Out of anyone," he continued, "anything... what would you choose for yourself?"
The answer rested on the tip of your tongue, where it had lived for the past ten years. Simple, easy, one word and three letters, starting with Y and ending with U.
But that would be the full truth.
And all you knew how to give was half.
"Someone to get me out of this marriage mess," you said simply. You kept staring ahead at the winter roses, puffs of pale breath from your mouth and his, dissipating as one. "I'm not so witless as to think I can avoid marriage as a whole. I know my duty, and I swear to fulfill it—with misery in my heart, if need be. But is it so wrong to want a say?"
Theon said nothing. No japes, no jests. Just listening.
You sniffed and wiped your nose with the back of a hand—the one not graced with his fingers near your wrist, still fiddling with your cloak's fur-trim.
"I want someone brave and kind," you admitted quietly, "and just foolish enough to keep me laughing. Someone willing to go to my father and ask for my hand, but only after they're certain I want them to have it. Someone who will sing and dance with me, kiss me and place roses in my hair."
You closed your eyes. Envisioned that girlish dream and tried slotting cruel Roose Bolton into the role of the gallant, playful lord of your storybook fantasies. But you couldn't. You tried and tried, but Roose Bolton fit like a wrong piece in a puzzle, grossly out of place. The lord's face remained the same.
The lord's face remained Theon's.
Eventually, Theon took a deep breath. Removed his hand from our cloak, along with any chance of touching your wrist.
Your heart broke.
This was it, you thought. This was the truth of things.
Life wasn't like Old Nan's stories. There would be no song, no dance. Love wasn't strong enough to end wars. It wasn't even strong enough to spur bravery—truth—between two people who had known each other for nearly a lifetime.
You planned to get up. To leave, go back to the feast. Roose Bolton would be looking for you, you knew, and it was high time you stopped pretending, dreaming, thinking.
But then you heard the sound of rustling leaves.
Your eyes snapped open. You found Theon leaning halfway off the side of the bench, an arm outstretched toward one of the rose bushes. He appeared clumsy and awkward and determined as he tried snapping the stem of a particularly full bloom.
When he finally succeeded, he turned back to you with a boyish grin that made your heart soar.
Carefully, he tucked the winter rose behind your ear.
"You know there's about a hundred of these," he said of the flowers, voice softer than you'd ever heard it. He reached for your hand. Brushed a thumb over your knuckles. "I fear your standards are too low, Stark."
// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //
a/n | school’s kicking my ass five ways to tuesday, and i’ve got about 14 “finished” one shots sitting in my drafts rn that i am way too busy to edit. so i decided to just go ahead and post some of them, because we aim for readable around here, not perfection✊
besides, this one was a must because there aren’t nearly enough theon fics in the tags. so, here’s this! my contribution lmao. thanks for reading and hopefully you enjoyed!
(side note: wouldn't it be so unfortunate if reader still ended up marrying Roose Bolton? and Ramsay still takes Theon? and then they're just both in the Dreadfort, miserable and haunted and tortured by the incredibly hot awful Boltons? just a thought)
Hey my lovelies, back with another headcanon! I saw the trailer last week and it inspired me to write this!
Credit to cafekitsune for the banner and the divider!
❀Duncan doesn’t know how to act around you, especially in the beginning. You make him nervous. Egg finds it humorous. How can Duncan suddenly bumble his words around you? Why does he keep fidgeting? Duncan denies these statements, yet it's clear that they’re true.
❀This is why Egg invites you to travel with them. Egg is curious about your travels; he’s also keen to witness how Duncan reacts to you. Duncan immediately attempts to find an excuse; you’ll probably go in the opposite direction. Perhaps you are in haste. However, you smile and accept Egg’s proposition, Duncan growls at the boy.
❀In the first few days, Duncan remains awkward around you. Meanwhile, Egg is asking questions. He wants to get to know you. Where you’ve been, what you’ve done, the experiences you’ve had. Duncan appears to be disinterested; however, he’s listening to every word. He’s as curious about you as Egg is.
❀Egg asking you questions about how the world works. He wants to know about where you were born, what it was like to grow up where you did. Duncan suggesting perhaps you don’t want to answer anymore questions, but you always allow it.
❀Duncan finds it’s easier to talk when Egg has fallen asleep. Hushed voices over a campfire, close enough to keep warm. He finds you fascinating; he’s taken with you, although if Egg attempts to force him into submission, he’ll deny it.
❀Your nightly conversations become Duncan’s favourite part of his day. He looks forward to settling down besides you and talking until you both fall asleep.
❀Whenever Duncan can’t sleep, he watches over you and Egg. You two grow more important to him by the day. He doesn’t understand how you’ve both wormed your way into his life, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.
❀Duncan becoming protective of you. Stepping in the way of any danger you face. He’ll cut down any man who posses a threat to you.
My first Sandor Headcanon. I absolutely love this man, so you'll probably be seeing him a lot here! Requests are open, you can find my request guidelines here! ♊
@mallardrallam mentioned this while requesting a fluff alphabet, naturally I wanted to expand on this idea.
♊Sandor knows he’s possessive. He proves repeatedly that if someone looks at you the wrong way, Sandor is threatening to slit their throat. You’re his, and no one’s going to change it. However, whenever you’re jealous, Sandor’s always taken a back.
♊It doesn’t occur often. Usually, an overprotective outburst from Sandor lets everyone know who you belong to. However, when an overly friendly bar wench gets too handsy with Sandor, it’s your turn to show anyone within hearing distance.
♊It’s not immediate; it usually looks deadlier than any poison. Sandor smirks and takes a sip of his wine. Sandor doesn’t play into the Wench’s behaviour. He’s enjoying observing you, plotting against her; however, he’s not keen to be on the receiving end.
♊The wench runs a finger tip down Sandor’s arm, your eyes are wild, it’s no longer a mistake. No longer a bar wench attempting to get a bigger tip. You feel invisible as you sit across from Sandor. Sandor watches to see what your next move would be.
♊It doesn’t take long before you interrupt the wench and explain you’re having a conversation. Still polite, always reserved, but Sandor knows boiling the surface. When the wench shrugs you off, you get up and move to sit beside Sandor. Now looking at her head-on, you lean in to Sandor, hand resting on his thigh.
♊Sandor smirks; he’s enjoying this too much. Waiting, observing for your next move. The wench raises her eyebrow. You're unsure what else she needs to see. It’s when she suggests to Sandor she has a room upstairs, if he fancies the company, you lose it. No longer, you’re no longer your usual self. You rise from your chair, lean over the table and growl that he’s yours. You make direct eye contact, jealousy, and possessiveness all muddled together. You don’t care; you’ve suddenly caught the attention of everyone around you.
♊Adrenaline pumping through your veins, you turn, grab Sandor’s face and kiss him passionately. Sandor reacts instantly, taking control of the kiss. His hand finds your waist as he drags you to his lap. He’s not usually one for PDA, yet he’s not denying himself this moment. He’s used to being the possessive one.
♊The wench is long gone before you pull away. Sandor keeps his hand wrapped tightly around your waist as you come to your senses. Burying your head into his neck, you explain you don’t know what came over you. Sandor laughs; he likes whatever came over you. It’s reassuring, you are just as possessive as he is.
♊He’s never going to seek out the attention of other women; however, it will be welcomed. It’s another side of you that Sandor has fallen in love with.
AN: A post from me that's not a request and just me having tunnel vision for robb at the moment? that's crazy
Also there is some elements of the books in this so spoiler alert
Content Warning (MDNI) under the cut
A - Aftercare
(What they're like after sex)
He is very reassuring towards you
Gets protective, wrapping you in his arms and pulling you to his chest, even while you're still shaking
Tells you that you're safe and that he's proud of you, whispering about how well you did for him
Checks you all over for any marks, giving them kisses if he finds any
He likes to have a slight tease to his voice, making you come back down to earth and laugh at him
He gets very clingy as well, and doesn't want to let you go too far from him
Like if you try to wander away he grabs your waist and pulls you back
Won't let you go until he's satisfied and happy for you to move
Also likes to press his forehead against yours, speaking in that low, gruff voice of his fuck bro
Keeps you in his lap like a prize, running soft up your thigh and trailing along your waist
The feeling makes you shiver and he snickers at your movements
B - Body Part
(Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner's)
He likes his forearms
The strength in them from sword wielding for most of his life
But especially the way you swoon over them
And all the veins along his arm that appear while he holds himself over you
Or while he grabs your neck or throat
Or while he manhandles you
They just look delicious, okay? you get my point
He loves your back
Especially when he can trace kisses down it while you're all spread on the bed on your stomach
Or run his hands down the smooth skin, littering the surface with small scratches of his nails
Or the way it curves and arches beneath his arms when he forces you down
He has a taste for it, and you always find yourself on your back at some point while having sex with him
C - Cum
(Anything to do with cum)
Tell me this man doesn't have a breeding kink
TELL ME (he does, definitely)
Will literally BEG you to let him finish inside you
Hips stuttering, breath harsh against your face while he waits for you to say yes
Makes you hold it inside you for a while
Pushes it back inside if it leaks
But otherwise, anywhere where he can just see the mess on you is perfect for him
On your stomach, on your chest, on your thighs, he could not care
But the combination of the marks he's left, the scratches, your flushed body against the fur blankets and now his seed? drives him wild
If you collect some on your finger and put it in your mouth, he watches so intensely and his head drops, not being able to bare the sight
"You're being too much, I might have to fuck you again."
D - Dominant
(How they are like as a dom)
Robb with being the eldest brother and having battle leadership experience, he naturally carries an authority to him
He does not ask you, he commands you, making you feel as if you must obey
His control over you comes with care however, because sometimes your obedience is what keeps you safe
Uses his strength and size against you to pin you to the dark, fur blankets, or keep you in place, or pick you up whenever he pleases
He also has heavy verbal dominance, a deep, growling voice that is rough in his words and does not leave room for defiance from you
And makes it very clear that you belong to him only, whether through his words, touches or the way he positions you
Enjoys there to be structure in it, like he sits and watches you undress for him slowly each time
Then having you kneel at his feet and rest your head on his knee, nuzzling it, makes him nearly purr at the sight
"You want me to take care of you love?"
E - Experience
(How experienced are they? Do they know what they're doing?)
Due to his duties he did not find much time to mess around in Winterfell while he was growing up
But that does not mean he didn't indulge in sex at all, he was the first born son of ned stark after all, that was enough to make a lot of girls and boys swoon
He fooled around sometimes, maybe with some handmaidens, or with a stable attendant, but nothing serious that lasted a while
He relies on natural instincts and reading your reactions rather than his past experiences
His enthusiasm when you first start having sex made it more messy and less polished, but the passion behind his actions made up for it
Once he knows the things that make you shiver and cry out beneath him, he will repeat it endlessly, and never let you go for a session without it
F - Favourite Position
(Goes without saying)
He does not seem to have a favourite, he bends you into all the shapes he can when he fucks you
Will start in missionary, pining your hands to your sides with one hand while he pushes one of your legs up near your shoulder with the other, hitting you all the more deeper
From there he can go anywhere, whether it be flipping you over onto your stomach when he's feeling more possessive
Or lifting you up on top of him and controlling the rocking of your hips on his cock with his hands, his head thrown back and your hands grabbing at his chest for support
Or even sometimes lifts you off the bed and pins you against the wall, thrusting up into you with his face deep in your neck and the wood roughly scratching against the skin of your back
Once he had you support yourself against the tent pole while he lifted your leg and fucked you while you both were still standing
On a rare night in the tent, he wipes the strategy table completely and forces you to bend over it while he takes you from behind
G - Goofy
(Are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous?)
His default mode in intimacy is intense, focused and serious
But he has his fair share of rare moments where he gives you some dry humour, like a half-assed smile through hot breaths or the occasional teasing remark
He has a playful roughness to him, tickling your sides when you squirm or try to fight back with your own teasing
"Careful with your teasing love, remember you are speaking to a king."
Also gives a light laughter when something clumsy happens, but he is quick to return back to his commanding demeanour
H - Hair
(How well groomed are they?)
He is hairy all over his body, but he does not like it when it gets too long down there
Trims regularly, not extensively though
Never bare, but always shorter and maintained well
Prefers function over fuss (if that's a thing), wanting it to be clean and cared for enough but does not want to fuss about it
It's curly, like very curly
Very much like the hair on his head, only a bit more coarse and rough
I - Intimacy
(How are they during the moment? The romantic aspect)
He is quiet, earnest and intense with his intimacy
It is a silent devotion, a large protective warmth that is shown only through his action and so little of his words
Every look, every noise from him, every trace of your hips or your face, it carries such a weight that you feel settle heavily and comfortably in your heart
He does tend to show more vulnerability in private with you, sometimes having his commanding, intense voice subside and he will mumble about how terrified he is to lose you
You catch a glimpse of the boy beneath the kingly layer, the robb stark underneath the young wolf, and he lets himself unfold
And he values connections that go beyond physical, like shared silences together after sex or small gestures
Like you brushing the hair out of his face while he's got his mouth on you
Or you pressing your hands into his when you're riding him
J - Jack Off
(How often? How do they do it?)
Infrequent as he has a lot on his mind and finds it hard to get himself in the mindset to jerk himself off
But when he does do it, it's quick but it's intense
Very focused and just hoping to get rid of the sexual frustration he'd been feeling the last few days
In brief moments of solitude, like near the fire late at night or even early morning in his tent before he starts the day
He does tend to use it as a tension relieve after particularly stressful days, but only if you're not in his tent for him to bend over
On rare quiet nights, he may take his time and indulge in a more slow, teasing pace, letting him enjoy himself
K - Kinks
(One or more of their kinks)
He gets so insanely turned on about you kneeling in front of him
When he's sitting in a chair with you at his feet, running your lips along his thighs or knees, begging for his attention
Especially drives him insane if he's trying to focus on something and you crawl under the table to mouth at the growing bulge in his slacks
Loses all concentration, slightly scolding you but at all pushing you away
"Do you want me distracted all day love? You need to behave yourself."
Bondage, like a lot of it
With furs, with leathers, with literally anything he does not care, he just wants you tied
Grows hot and bothered when you try it with him as well, but he is teasing relentlessly throughout, making you want to gag him as well so he doesn't get too much control back
L - Location
(Favourite places to have sex)
In the war tent
The tension of it, the scent of leather and smoke filling your chests and candles flickering on the wooden tables
Secretive in visual aspects yes, but not in noise aspects
But he does not care, surprisingly, even if you do
Tells his guards to not interrupt to have anyone walk in for the next two hours or so when he's wanting you
He actually finds it funny to try and make you get loud so people can hear
"Come on love, louder than that. I want my men outside to hear what I'm doing to you."
Also loves the classic, private castle chamber, where he can have you how he wants without worrying for anyone to walk in or hear you both
Also getting away from the coldness of the snow does him well, and having sex with you in a chamber with a fire, wine and food on a nearby table, warm wolf furs scattering the large bed beneath you both and watching you snuggle into them afterwards
Makes him weak to just think about it
M - Motivation
(What turns them on, gets them going)
If you try to push his buttons and his boundaries, he gets very interested
Like when you challenge him with rebellious teasing, or try to act dominant or commanding towards him, it makes him just sit all pretty while he eyes you lovingly, not taking you seriously
"Such stubbornness hunny... only makes me yearn for you more."
Also gets very worked up after battle, with his adrenaline pumping and the combination of dirt, blood and sweat tainting his body
Paws at you when he returns, but you only comply if he gets in the bath first
But he drags you in and claims you in there, not willing to be patient and wait until he's all clean
You can at times still taste the smoke and fire in his hair as you sit on his lap with his shaft fucking up into you
When he's on you in missionary and goes to bite your neck and you shift your head so he has a better angle
Holy fuck makes him froth, having you so submissive
N - No
(Something they wouldn't do, turn offs)
Public displays
Although he likes having people hear you from time to time, having someone see you like that is a different story
Gets so protective if you're laying naked in the tent and someone walks in
Practically jumps to throw something, anything, over you to cover your body up while glaring at the intruder
Being rushed, he likes to take his time
So having you tell him to hurry up turns him off, and it makes him feel like you are not enjoying yourself enough for him to drag it out
He also hates deception, and wants you to be incredibly open and honest with him during intimacy
If he finds that you've lied about liking something for his sake he gets very upset and confronts you, saying that he hates that and does not find it enjoyable unless you also like it
O - Oral
(Preference in giving or receiving, skill etc)
He loves giving you head, sees it as a prideful way to give you pleasure, and he likes the dominance of it
He is not overaly practiced and knowledgeable, but he is very in tune with your reactions and your feedback to him, so he learns very quickly
If something he did weeks ago made you flinch or buck your hips against his mouth, he will remember it exactly and use it when you least expect it
Has a rough but careful approach, liking to devour you and not be shy with his licks/sucks/bites, which usually leave you shaking beneath him and he has to hold a hand to your hips to stop them from squirming all over the place
He prefers the exchange, to receive when he gives and vise versa
Loves when you give him all your attention, all focused on your mouth around him
Gritted grunts and hands in your hair, guiding your pace
Gets impatient and tells you to move quicker or take him in further
His eyes are half closed and rolled back with his head heavy against the pillow
He communicates what he wants through body language, not wanting to lose the power over you by sounding like he's begging
P - Pace
(Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc)
Starts slow and easy to build tension between you two and make the intimacy last longer
As the passion builds, his pace quickens and he feels moans ripping from his throat very quickly
Even when he's going fast and rough, he still holds control so it is pleasurable for you rather than overstimulating and painful
Making sure to hit your sweet spots for each thrust, helping you chase your high as well as his
He does watch for your reactions though and changes his pace based on them, he slows to savour your drawn out moans and loves the way you keep eye contact while he's pushing in and out at an agonising pace
Sometimes he is driven by urgent thirst or need for you, and his pace quickens very suddenly, demanding release from both of you
In breaks to catch his breath, he cuddles you very close to his chest, kissing along your bare skin and his lips finding your nipples to soothe you and your ragged breathing
Q - Quickie
(Their opinions on quickies, how often? etc)
He does not love to be rushed, as he likes to take his time with you
But he understands that during times of war and uncertainty, they at times call for a quick fuck session with you cause you just simply don't have the time
He goes straight to the point, lifting you onto his hips and pushing your underwear to the side
No foreplay or build up, just an intense need to be inside you right that second
He gets all teasing afterwards if you desire more, clawing at his clothes as he fixes them and yours
"Not enough love? Don't worry, I'll be back later."
R - Risk
(Are they game to experiment? Do they take risks?)
He is not reckless with experimenting but he is willing to push boundaries in himself and you if you're open to it
Even when trying new things, especially things that are a bit more out there and dangerous (wax play, semi-public, choking), he is constantly checking you for comfort and continuous consent
He does like to use semi-public because you get so worked up about someone seeing you guys, and he finds it fun to have that power over you
His courage as the King in the North has brought him bravery to be experimental and risk taking
S - Submissive
(What are they like as a sub?)
A rare, reserved side of him that he does not let out often
He needs to have complete trust and devotion towards you to have you see him like that, and feel safe enough to be vulnerable
He is much more about emotionally surrendering to you, allowing himself to let go and feel comfort in being protected and taken care of by you
He tends to use it as an escape from the constant pressure from leadership and war
He has silence obedience, doing whatever you command him to do without complaint or words
Allows you to restrain him but with a cost (he does not stop challenging you the whole time)
"You have a lot of nerve for someone who is tied to the bed right now." - you
"You're lucky I'm feeling so generous to you love, having me like this." - him
His voice drops soft and slow, whispering pleas for you to touch him
Lets you choose pace and position, trusting your judgement completely for what you want
Shows contentment through subtle, small moans that he lets out under his breath
T - Toys
(Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)
He is not big on toys and materials as he likes the raw, natural nature of sex with you without using anything else but himself
But will invest in the occasional leather ties
If toys do come into play, it is usually to please you
More focused on using them for texture and temperature play rather than using elaborate, fancy toys
Such as using hot stones he has warmed in the fire against your skin
Or an ice cube on your lower abdomen, watching as it melts and trickles down to your crotch
U - Unfair
(How much they like to tease)
Likes teasing and the power that comes with it
Especially when it's a game of control and power between you and him, with you both shooting back and forth different comments to stumble the other
He knows exactly what boundaries to not cross, making his teasing irresistible for you
Uses it as a dominance thing, like removing his hand from you when your hips start to buck a lot more, earning a frustrated whine from you
Or pressing the head of his cock against your hole and laughing as you try to fuck yourself down onto him, getting impatient
Once he starts teasing, it is hard to get him to stop, he plays the long game
Gets such a hard on from your squirming, crying, trying to regain control in any way you can, for it to amount to nothing
"Beg all you want dove, but I'll only stop once I'm satisfied with this."
V - Volume
(How loud they are, what sounds they make etc)
They are controlled but intense, and he lets out deep, guttural moans that are so full of emotion that shock you
Expresses his enjoyment and pleasure in groans and heavy breaths rather than higher noises, he prefers to hear those from you
He can be surprisingly silent during intimacy at times, just being so focused on making you feel good beneath him
Occasional chuckles and laughs when you bite him a little too hard or tease him while he's literally fucking you into the fur sheets, having no position to challenge him
His breathing increases as the passion rises and you both chase your heigh
W - Wild Card
(A random headcanon)
Robb cries sometimes during sex
Very occasionally he can work himself up and he can get upset, especially if he's being quite rough with you
He tries to push his pent up emotions into making you cry out underneath him in pleasure
But he gets overwhelmed and gets pushed over the edge at times, then he tucks his head into your skin somewhere and stops his thrusts
Lets you run hands through his hair as his shoulders shake in sobs
Also, sometimes loses control during sex and wargs in and out of Grey Wind without meaning to
Sees you beneath him, writhing and moaning, and then the next minute he's running through the snow woods of the North
And then it returns back to you, and you've got his face cupped in your hands asking if he's okay
And he has to rub his eyes to wake up again, reassuring you that he's fine now that he's back with you
X - X-Ray
(What's going on underneath their clothes?)
To match his Northern warrior, sculptured and structured body
His cock is lengthy and thick and strong, a lot of veins running along the shaft
He has strong scars and wounds across his body from battle, including some around his upper thighs and backside
But as long as it doesn't bother you, then he is never stricken shy by them
Y - Yearning
(How high is their sex drive?)
He has a high sex drive, but he rarely lets it control his decisions (not canon lmao)
Finds himself looking for release when he's stressed from battle plans and he looks for you
Sex sessions with him last a WHILE, especially if he hasn't had for for some time
He at times will have you underneath him for four hours, not letting up until he's satisfied, but you're always aching for days afterwards
Sometimes, if it's been ages, all it takes for him to start basically chasing you is you walking past and running a hand along his waist
Or you being in a robe
Like he'll pounce, whatever you had planned, cancel it cause you're his plans now
His desire builds up slowly, but once it's there, it's strong and it's not letting up
Z - Zzz
(How quickly do they fall asleep afterwards?)
Slow to sleep, his mind races after sex with you
Needs a very relaxed, quiet, dark place to fully come undone and pass out afterwards next to you
The hustle and bustle of the war tents are not that place for him
If restless, he tosses and turns and eventually stands up to do something else
Doesn't get far though when you wake and see him over by the planning table, stretching your arms out to convince him to come back
He comes back no questions asked, cuddling into your bare body
He heavily relies on your aftercare to get him to sleep, especially in stressful locations
Have his head on your chest, hands through his hair and down his back, warmth spreading over both of you
Won't always work cause he's so worked up, but you always cheer silently in victory when you finally hear his soft snores escaping his mouth
Summary: The Targaryen name has brought nothing but misery to Y/N— her half-blood placing a curse upon her. She's observed the toll her presence takes on the people she loves; no longer wanting to form a close tie with anyone. Nevertheless, her heart steered its own course. And it steered towards a certain man.
Warnings: angst. allusion to r*pe and death, nothing descriptive. a steamy make-out scene but nothing crazy. not really book or show accurate but f it we ball. also fluff. also reader has dark hair so just pretend u do if u don't xoxo.
Word count: 10.1K (beginning just has lots of background lore pls bear w/ me)
In life, there are those destined for lavish living and those made to struggle to see their next day. From a young age, Dorea knew she fell into the second category. She grew up orphaned; never knowing the love of a mother or a father. Despite the fact, Dorea was strong willed; she found her own kind of love. Love for herself, love for her friends, and love for her life. She knows that she did not have the best life; her dresses had holes in them, she had to work from dawn to dusk, and she often would need to go days without eating. That ultimately changed the day a close friend of hers had come to her with a new line of work.
“One of the castles maids was executed, so her position is open to take”.
Looking back, she should’ve said no from the way a chill went up her spine. She had heard the rumors of the king having gone mad; but at the time, that was not her problem. Being a castle maid sounded a lot better than being a candle maker. All she had to do was clean the chambers and mind her business and pay would be given to her. The task sounded easy— it should’ve been easy. Dorea had ways of not drawing attention to herself. That is how she has made it this far in her life; from hiding. The peace of obscurity brought her comfort; being anonymous was a safe refuge that protected her from prying eyes and the entanglements of wicked connections. The girl was pure and innocent.
Yet, fate, with its twisted sense of irony, had other plans.
She truly had done all she could to stay out of the eyes of the royal family. She should’ve been more careful, more attentive, more aware of the eyes that followed her unknowingly when she walked the halls. Her foolishness had caught up to her one day when a guard had dragged her to the throne room; thrown to the ground to kneel in front of the king, Aerys II Targaryen. Dorea was ready to open her mouth and beg for forgiveness on whatever crimes she had committed but was silenced in fear. “You will meet me in my chambers tonight”, he said. Dorea could do nothing but nod as she could not go against the kings’ words. The only thing she could do was look to the Hand of the King for some form of help, but they stood muted. Moments later, she was whisked away by some female servants— some of them her own friends— and was prepared for the event. She was washed and dressed properly; never have been so physically clean yet so dirty internally.
Later that night, her virtue and gaiety of life was destroyed when the king came and took her. She had prayed to the Gods that it was only a one-time thing. But the Gods seemed to find her plea a joke. The king would request her presence many more times and many more nights afterwards. Her position as a maid in the castle vanished overnight. Now, she stood as something different; still, she did not know exactly what. All Dorea knew was she felt shame as those working in the castle started to treat her different, with more respect and caution. She dreamt every night for this nightmare to end, but it only continued.
“The girl is pregnant, your grace”. The maestar told the king. Both fear and relief spread through her body. Fear in the sense that the king would have her eliminated to hide such sin, and relief that he might just send her away forever. It had to be one or the other; from what she has seen, the queen is currently pregnant as well and due in a few moons. Furthermore, he already had two children born, why would he need her? Her thoughts were interrupted by the third alternative she had feared the most, “You will continue to stay here. You will have the child”. Later that night, Dorea prayed once more for all this suffering to end. Finally, her prayer had been answered in the worst way possible.
She had heard the talks of the rebellion, but she never thought it would come to where she resigned. The king’s heir was now dead, along with his wife and children. The queen was now dead; dying from childbirth. The middle child and newest member of the royal family had been sent to exile. And the Mad King was now dead as well; stabbed by a member of his own Kingsguard.
Death and misery surrounded Dorea everywhere.
For her own safety, and her chance once again at freedom, she did what she knew she had to do. She ran away.
Dorea took refuge in a small village that resided in the Reach. Selling all the gifts and jewelry the king had bestowed upon her; she and her unborn child were set for life. A few moons later, Dorea gave birth during a warm summer night. As she held the newborn in her arms, she thought the Gods had finally decided to take pity on her and grant her some kindness. For starters, she had given birth to a girl. Dorea was thankful in the sense that the child would not be seen as a threat to the line of succession of the Iron throne. Additionally, the babe had no features of a Targaryen. Caressing the small amount of hair on her daughter’s hair, she was given hair as dark as night instead of the silvery-gold feature of her biological father. Dorea let out a sigh of relief once the girl opened her eyes— no violet eyes either. Pulling the babe closer to her chest, she gave a quick prayer and smiled down at the sleeping babe.
Dorea named her Y/N.
As time passed, Y/N quickly grew before her mothers’ eyes. Both her and her mother were beloved by the village folks— Dorea giving money to those who were in need, and her daughter who was tenderhearted and befriended all. No one in the village had known about Doreas’ past or Y/N true linage. And Dorea wanted to keep it that way. She, however, knew that one day it would all come back to bite her. Despite having run away, she knew that there were some people who knew of their existence. It did not help her case more when Y/N had begun to show a great fascination with fire; something the mothers of the village made jokes about, but Dorea knew the truth.
“You have dragon blood within you”, Dorea had whispered to her daughter one quiet night. “You are part Targaryen, but you must keep this a secret. I am only telling you this for your own safety. There are people in this world who will want to hurt you, to take you away from me. Do you understand darling?”. At just the age of eight, Y/N was smarter and brighter than her peers. Hearing such solemness in her mothers’ voice, she nodded, “Yes mother”.
Such a topic was dropped and never brought up again— that was until Y/N turned ten. Since Dorea had the funds, she had hired a tutor for the young girl. Y/N’s instructor was a retired tutor who had taught many kids from noble homes before moving to their village. The old man was just supposed to teach her simple things like language, arts, music, and maths. Without her mothers’ knowledge, Y/N brought up the topic of history to her teacher, particularly the history of the Targaryen household. And that’s where everything started.
It was one calm afternoon in their shared bedroom when Y/N had asked the question. “Mother, am I cursed?”. Dorea, puzzled, stopped brushing her daughter’s hair and turned towards her, “What kind of question is that?”. Y/N looked sheepishly to the side and confessed everything, “I have been learning history with my tutor. Targaryen history”. Before Dorea could respond, the young girl continued, “You say I am half Targaryen, and based upon their history, I must be cursed”. Dorea questioned what she meant and then let out a loud laugh at her daughters’ answer: “I have black hair mother”.
Dorea caressed her daughters face, smiling and shaking her head, “Darling, your hair color does not mean anyth- “.
“But its true mother!” Y/N exclaimed, “It is shown all over their history. Rhaenyra Targaryen’s eldest sons were born with dark hair, and they all died before they could reach adulthood. Rhaenys Targaryen was known as the “Queen Who Never Was” and saw the death of her two children in her lifetime. Rhaegar Targaryen’s daughter was killed in the sack of Kings Landing. Valarr Targaryen was- “.
“What does any of that have to do with you?!”, Dorea shouted out, startling Y/N. The young girl felt tears come to her eyes as she hid herself in her mothers’ embrace, muffling her words, “They were not pure Targaryen. I am not a pure Targaryen, mother. I do not wish to fall to such misfortunes”. Dorea felt her heart break at the sound and thoughts of her daughters’ troubles. Shaking her head, Dorea raised Y/Ns’ head and looked straight into her eyes, “You are not cursed. Their misfortunes are not yours. Do you hear me girl? This is your life, and you control it”. Y/N could do nothing but continue to cry. "It's okay, sweetheart," her mother whispered, her voice a tender melody that carried reassurance. Dorea cradled the young girl, whose sobs softened but still lingered, the remnants of a storm that had raged within her fragile heart. “I will protect you no matter what”, she declared.
Y/N would forever remember that loving moment, amongst the many others she shared with her mother. While Dorea had said she would do anything to protect her, Y/N should’ve said the same thing back. Yet, fate, with its twisted sense of irony, had other plans for the daughter. Not even a month later, Y/Ns’ mother died, succumbing to a mysterious illness that took her in a matter of days. It felt as though the moment she acknowledged the said “curse”, her world only came to be filled with hurt.
Being only ten years old and now orphaned, the people in the village were kind enough to take the girl in. Specifically, it was a family of three that consisted of a father and mother and a son her age who took her into their home. The boy, named Tomas, had always been a close friend of Y/N. The two would spend many days together, playing and running around in the meadows. He would pick flowers for her and in return she would do the same. There was even one early morning when the two stood by their village’s lake and shared a kiss with each other. Despite still being a child, Y/N felt as though she was feeling the love that was described in the fairytale stories her mother used to read to her.
Sadly, that love was taken from her as well. At the young age of one and three, Tomas had somehow fallen and drowned in that same lake. Y/N had never heard such a devasting scream as Edith, Tomas’s mother, held her dead son in her arms. The village was both in mourning and in query; Tomas had been taught to swim at the age of four, how could this have happened? No explanations were thought of, but Y/N had her own belief.
I’m cursed, she would toss in turn in her bed at night, I am cursed.
Two more years would pass by, and no other unfortunate incidents would have occurred. But there is always calm before the storm. One day, something within Y/N had made her go explore the small forest that was near her village. It was nothing out of the ordinary; she had done it many times before. Yet, she stayed exploring for hours before that same voice within her told her to return. Upon seeing her village within the distance, Y/N should’ve never listened to that voice. She wishes she could’ve stayed back and continue being ignorant of everything. Her village— the homes, the crops, the trees, everything, was up in flames. Running down the dirt paths, Y/N did not have time (nor did she want to) to acknowledge all slaughtered men, women, and children that laid on the grounds. A small amount of hope had sparked within her when she saw that her home was not ablaze. That hope died upon entering the residence— Y/N crying out in distress at the sight of Edith, the women she had come to see as her second mother, dead on the ground. Her sadness was turned to fear when she spotted a large man in the corner, angry and hungry for blood. Before the crazed man could run at her, he was tackled to the ground by Lance— Edith’s husband and her adopted father. He was clearly injured; covered in blood from head to toe but still had the strength in him to scream at Y/N, desperation laced in his voice, “Run girl! Run and do not look back!”. Y/N, not wanting to witness his clear end, quickly listened to his order and ran out the door, trying her best to stay out of sight of all the other savage men as she made her way out the village.
She must’ve ran for hours before she knew she was no longer in danger. A day or two of traveling passed by before she took residence in a small city. That same night, under a dirty bridge, she finally acknowledged all hell that had occurred to her within the past forty-eight hours. The dams broke as she cried and screamed out in sorrow and pain. She cried, and cried, and cried until she had no more tears to let out; now consumed by numbness. Her mother, her first love, her caretakers, her childhood friends, her home; had all been taken from her. What had she done to deserve this? With her heart broken into millions of pieces, Y/N decided that she wouldn’t live like this. Never would she fall in love and never would she form a deep connection with anyone again. She wasn’t going to let herself be tied to the Targaryen name, to its blood, nor its curse. She wasn’t going to let this curse win and see her suffer again.
And so, she did; well, she tried her best at least. With the little money she had on her, Y/N jumped from village to village, city to city, and made sure not to socialize with anyone. There were some instances of people trying to get to know her, boys trying to court her, but she wouldn’t stay very long and would be gone the next day. It was a lonely life, a life she despised but knew she had to endure. That changed a bit when she came face to face with a woman with a fair complexion and silver hair.
Daenerys Targaryen. The “Mother of Dragons”. Her older half-sister.
Daenerys had always known about her half-sister’s existence; her older brother one day rambling that the throne belongs to a true Targaryen and not the current usurper, nor the “Targaryen-bastard filth” their father left behind. At first, Y/N was wary of the girl but soon found herself becoming fond of her presence. Daenerys felt the same way; with no family left on either girl’s end, they quickly found solace in each other— treating one another as the sisters they are. It was strange at first for Y/N; getting used to now having family once again and the companionship of dragons that came with it. Initially, she was terrified at the sight of the foreign creatures but quickly came to love them and their beautiful nature. She became quite close with the one called Rhaegal, favoring the dragon over the overs. Rhaegal doted and protected the girl the same; but still recognized Daenerys as its’ rightful mother. Y/N could say she just held the title of “favorite aunt” now amongst the creatures.
The thought of the curse still weighed heavy in the back of her mind, but Y/N hypothesized that whatever superstition was out to get her would not harm her sister; a true (and last) Targaryen. Y/N immediately recognized Daenerys as her queen and vowed to help her reclaim her throne. For some time, Y/N felt happiness once again entering her life as she spent more time with her sister and her allies. That bliss, however, turned out to be false hope.
“When the time comes and I reclaim my throne, I will legitimize you as a Targaryen”, Daenerys spoke to her one night. Y/N wanted to decline right away; she was content with not having a household name and did not want to be associated with the Targaryen name. Before Y/N could speak, Daenerys looked shamefully down while holding her sister’s hand, “There is a reason why I came looking for...”. Y/N felt a chill run up her spine and quickly encouraged the Mother of Dragons to continue. “I am unable to have my own children. When the time is right, I will need you to find a man, any man of your choosing..”, Daenerys sternly said as she looked into Y/N eyes, “I will need an heir to inherit the throne and continue my family name. Do you understand sister?”. Daenerys felt guilt creep up inside her as she finally confessed her true intentions from the start of meeting Y/N. She was asking too much of Y/N but, she, however, was on a mission to reclaim her birthright no matter what. Y/N stared agape at her, no words coming from her mouth. She wanted to decline even more— but, looking into Daenerys eyes, she saw the graveness within them and the true tone behind her words. She was not asking this of her as her sister. She was commanding this of her as her queen. And Y/N would do anything for her rightful queen.
“Yes, sister. I understand”. Y/N now found herself tied to the Targaryen name. Something she vowed never to be but couldn’t escape.
As time passed by, Y/N kept her promise and stood by Daenerys side as she continued her conquest; now finding herself at Dragonstone, her sister’s ancestral home. The preparations and campaign for Daenerys claim to the Iron Throne was in full effect but was interrupted momentarily.
“The King in the North?”, Daenerys questioned one of her advisors who came bearing news. “Yes my Queen. He sent a raven— detailing that he wishes to speak with you”. Y/N, standing off to the side, expressed her thoughts and question, “I had heard that the King in the North was dead”.
“As did I”, Daenerys said sharply. The man before them nodded his head, “Yes. There was an incident that had occurred that made everyone believe he was dead. But he is very much alive”. Daenerys raised her eyebrows up, skeptical about this so called “King in the North”— “And he trusts me with the information of his false death?”
“Well, according to his letter, yes.”
Y/N and Daenerys turned, staring into each other’s eyes, speaking with them. Not much emotion was shown behind Y/N eyes, but she was able to express with them, “What harm is there in seeing what he wants”. Sighing, Daenerys nodded her head and agreed with her sister.
“Send a message back. Invite him here and let him know I agree to speak with him”.
A few days later, Y/N stood on the shores, waiting to welcome her guests on the request of Daenerys. Once she saw the boats pull up on the beach, she made her way but stopped in amazement. Out from one of the boats came a large, thick furred animal— a dire wolf. She had only ever heard about the mythical creatures and now she was in close distance with one. Dragons and now dire wolves; she held a small smile on her face at the uniqueness that was the world. Clearing their throats, the two guards behind her had snapped her out of her daydream, reminding her of the task. Standing tall, Y/N put on her best welcoming smile and stood in front of the party, “Welcome to Dragonstone. I have been sent by our rightful Queen to give our greetings”.
Y/N voice had started loud and clear, but slightly quieted down towards the end as she made eye contact with a man. A very handsome man to be exact, she thought to herself. He stood tall and strong, a lean build with dark curls and blue eyes as blue as the water behind them. He smiled at her and before he could open his mouth, the older man next to him spoke up. “I present Robb Stark. Heir to the Stark household and King of the North”. Y/N raised her eyebrows at the discovery of the handsome stranger being the King in the North. Turning to him, she held a sort of mischief but harsh attitude in her voice, “Is the King in the North unable to speak for himself?”
The men in front of her were clearly taken back. Except for Robb Stark who let out a small laugh. “Forgive me, my lady, I am very capable of speaking. I am Robb Stark”. He held out his hand and was charmed when she firmly grasped it and shook it; opting out of giving her his hand to kiss.
“I am not a lady. Please, call me Y/N”. Robb was preparing himself to compliment her name but was cut off by the same man next to him. “She’s the Targaryen bastard, your grace”. Though it was meant to be a whisper for only Robb to hear, Y/N was in close enough proximity to have heard it as well. Robb swiftly turned to his advisor next to him, giving him a crude look before turning back to the girl, “Forgive the rudeness of- “
“No, it is quite alright” she waved her hand, “It is all true anyway. I am THAT Targaryen bastard”. Robb nodded, gulping as he tried to ease the tension, “I have heard a lot about you...and your sister too, of course”. Y/N wanted to let out a chuckle at the sight before her; a gorgeous man trying his best not to insult her. “And I have heard very little about you,” Y/N voiced, “Other than the fact that you were supposedly dead, which I can see you are very much alive”, looking him up and down with her eyes. Robb smiled sheepishly, scratching the back of his head, “It is a long story”. Y/N let out a “hmm” sound, looking off towards the side to the dire wolf. “Is he yours?”
“Yes. His name is Grey Wind. I’ve had him since he was a pup”. Y/N nodded once more, noticing just how well behaved the wolf was, “He’s very beautiful”. Robb thanked her for the compliment, grinning widely, “I can see you are fond of animals. Do you have any of your own?”
Y/N laughed softly, shaking her head, “No. I have children.”
Robb was clearly taken back by her words, a stuttering mess as he questioned her statement. “O-oh? You have children?”. Y/N could sense some disappointment in his voice towards the end as it cracked. Smiling, she shook her head. “No. But I do consider them children. Just not mine. I am just an aunt”. All the guests in front of her were puzzled by her words but ducked down in fear at the sound of a roar from above. Looking up, she smiled at the sight of Rhaegal and Drogon patrolling the skies.
“Seven hells!” she heard one of Robbs’ men yell out. Turning back, she playfully spoke “My children. Beautiful, aren’t they?”. None of Robbs’ men were able to agree or speak; still in shock. Robb, still looking up to the sky, laughed earnestly, “Well, they sure are an eccentric sight to see”. Y/N smiled more at his honesty, clapping her hands together, turning and speaking to the entire party, “Well. I believe that is a sufficient way to welcome you all here. Now, I must welcome you into the castle. Please come, the Queen is curious to known what it is you wish to speak about”.
Upon greeting the Queen, Robb Starks’ words and terms were clear to her. He wishes to ally with her in her conquest to take the throne and create a fairer and just realm. “We both have a clear enemy,” he spoke, “I want the Lannisters dead for what they have done to my family, and you want them off the throne entirely”. Every so often, Robb would cast his eyes off to the side to look at Y/N; something she tried her best to hide her reddening face from. “My men, though small numbers, will be yours to use. We ask that in return, once you take your rule, you allow the North to maintain a degree of self-rule. We will recognize you as the rightful Queen, but we wish to keep the North the way it is”. Daenerys nodded her head, asking her advisors for their views on the matter, and taking Y/N by surprise when she asked her as well. “As I perceive it, the North is biggest land piece in Westeros. It would be better to keep them as allies instead of fighting them off. They recognize you as Queen, and the Stark household keeps the North in check for you, sister”. Daenerys responded with another nod, showing to be clear in thought at all the opinions given to her. The Queen stood up, still not fully convinced, but could not deny all the positives of the compromise, “Very well. I will continue to think about the matter. I will let you know that my thoughts are leaning more toward yes than it is no. For now, your men must be tired. Allow my people to escort them to rest”.
Later that night, Y/N made her way down the dark halls to the one place in the castle that brought her peace. She almost let out a small scream at the tall shadow that appeared around the corner, “My lady?”. Placing her hand to her chest to control her tachycardic heart, she saw that the dark shadow was Robb Stark. “Your grace. You almost scared me to death”, Y/N laughed, “And please, I am not a lady of noble birth. Call me by my first name”. Robb returned her laugh with his own, apologizing for scaring her. “Forgive me, my lad- Y/N. I was just curious as to why you are out so late”. She nodded her head in the direction she was originally heading in, “I can not sleep so I was heading to the library to bore myself with some reading” she joked, “Is it not late for you to be awake as well?”. Robb gave a similar answer; unable to sleep and practically full of energy. Y/N looked down at the ground for a mere second before glancing into his eyes, “Would you like to join me?”. He agreed to her invite, thankful for the darkness of the night hiding his blushed face.
Dimly lit by flickering candlelight, the shelves towered, laid with books that held centuries of knowledge and wisdom. Robb made himself comfortable at one of the chairs available while Y/N opted for the window nook. “Do you come in here often?” Robb asked. Y/n offered a silent yes, trailing her fingers against the rim of the book she had chosen, “I have not been here that long, but yes. I come here every night; I tend to have trouble sleeping”.
“Why is that?” Robb questioned.
“Nightmares”, Y/N replied. Her dreams were always filled with visions of her dead loved ones.
After a pause, Robb gave a “hmm”; silently admiring the girl for not being afraid to show vulnerability. “That’s something we both have in common” he gave a warm smile. Another quiet pause passed by until Y/N looked up at him, “You say that you being alive is a long story— can I listen to it?”. Robb gave a slight nod, standing up to sit next to her in a close but comfortable proximity.
“I was to marry the daughter of someone who I thought was my ally. I agreed initially but something within me told me not to carry out my word”. He slowly reached over for the book that was in her hands, both hands brushing slightly as he took it out of her grasp, now distracting himself with it. “The wedding still went on; I supplied another man in my place. But, there was bloodshed, and I was betrayed. I barely made it out alive, along with a few other men of mine”. Inhaling sharply, he continued with his outpour, “And I’m thankful I did. I have sources that tell me that even if I went along with the wedding, I was to be killed no matter what. The Lannisters long ago forming allies with the people I thought I could trust”. Coming close to a finish, he looked into Y/N eyes, softly smiling, “I guess it was fate that saved me somehow”.
Breaking eye contact, Y/N scoffed at his words. “Fate” she said with repugnance. Her reply caught him off guard, raising his eyebrows in surprise, “You do not believe in fate?”.
Y/N took in a long sigh, shaking her head, “No I believe in it”, she gently whispered the last part, “We just never have seen eye to eye. My fate only brings me bad luck”. Robb took in her words, trying to calculate what he should say next. “I believe fate can bring both good and bad luck”, he began with, “One can say it was my fathers’ fate to have been killed, or my sisters’ fates to be held captive”, Robb swallowed thickly before continuing, “But, it is my fate to avenge and save them. It is fate that has brought me this far; that has brought me here and to you”, he slowly spoke while staring deep into Y/N eyes. She quickly looked away, hoping her face wasn’t red and was successful in controlling her facial expression. Clearing her throat, she spoke firmly, “You must be confused; I believe you are trying to woo the wrong sister, Stark. Is it not my sister who you need as your ally?”.
Robb let out a low laugh, grinning widely, “That may be true, but”, he slowly scanned the room in a playful manner, “I believe that I don’t see your sister in here at all. So, no, I am not confused. I am speaking to the right sister”. A third pause passed by as the two continued staring, wating for one of them to speak or do something. Y/N was the first— standing abruptly, she moved her hair behind her ear and let out an awkward ahem. “I believe I must retire for the night. It was nice speaking to you Stark”. Before she could make her way out the door, he called out to her.
“It’s Robb”. Turning, she questioned what he meant. Smiling, he spoke, “You can call me Robb. You say you come here every night?”. Y/N nodded her head. “Would you allow me to see you here again tomorrow? Or even spend some time with you come morning?”.
Y/N wanted to say no. She needed to stop whatever friendship (or relationship) was forming between the two before she got too close. Before her curse got to him. He had already suffered enough. Despite the fact, deep down, her own selfish desires won over. She hadn’t felt like this in forever— she wanted this feeling to last forever.
“Yes. Of course, Robb”.
Come morning, they spent the entire day together, including the night. The next day was the same. Daenerys had granted Robb and his men a longer stay as there was much to discuss. It was late in the morning that he and Y/N were walking along the shores, discussing the most random of topics. Both were making a great effort to make the other one laugh: sprouting different jokes and funny stories. They both loved hearing the sound of laughter coming out of each another’s mouths. A gentle breeze roamed the air, blowing through Y/Ns’ dark hair. Robb stood silently still, stuck in a daze and awestruck by her appearance. Swiftly, he removed his fur cloak and placed it upon her exposed shoulders. Robb gestured to the area around them as Y/N looked at him in confusion, “I thought you might be cold”. She let out a small chuckle, shaking her head but not returning his cloak back. It provided her with a sense of ease. “No,” she confessed, “I don’t run cold that easily”. Resuming their walk, Robb gave her a look of admiration, “You would do great in the North then. Have you ever been there?”.
She answered with a clear no, stopping in her path to match Robb’s sudden cease of movement. Slowly, he placed his hands upon the cloak, further wrapping it securely around her. “I believe you would love it there. Maybe one day, you can come with me to Winterfell. I would love to give you a tour and introduce you to my mother, and hopefully my sisters too. I’m sure they would love you”. No further sounds were made; the distant sound of crashing waves serving as the only soundtrack to their wordless communion. Y/N leaned slightly into him — his closeness felt like a forbidden sanctuary, a place where she found solace and belonging but knew she shouldn’t enter. Y/N only response was a gentle nod and smile.
Many heart-fluttering moments continued to happen between the two. Stolen glances from across the table, hands brushing as they took their walks, laughter and smiles shared in the dark of night. There was an occurrence in the library when Robb had urged the girl to go to bed; taking notice of her eyebags forming from their long night of talking. “I can’t go to sleep that easily. And even if I can, I just have bad dreams I can’t wake up from”, she disclosed. They sat intimately close, sharing an intense gaze, both their features illuminated by the light of the candles in the room. Y/N could see every detail, every pore, every small scar that graced his beautiful face. She was caught by surprise, her breath hitching when he gently grabbed her hand, drawing small patterns into it.
“You can sleep here if you wish. I will watch over you and wake you at any sign of discomfort”. She wanted to decline, but there was something in his eyes that was persuading her. Y/N then found herself in his warm embrace, laying her head gently on his chest. She could hear every breath he took, every beat his heart made. Sealing her eyelids, he was the sole occupant of her dreams. She had never slept better.
Daenerys was no fool to what was happening before her very eyes. Sharing a private dinner with her sister, she brought up the topic.
“So, you and the Northern have been spending some time together”. Y/N nodded; not being able to lie since there was clear evidence in front of Daenerys. “He is a good man,” she smiled, “Very kind to his men, to his wolf”, she smiled even further at the memory of Robb introducing her properly to Grey Wind. She could still hear his laughter and the concern that replaced it when Grey Wind had tackled her to the ground with wet kisses. “We don’t want to get that pretty face all slobbered up now, do we?” fondness had colored his expression as he helped her back up. The smile upon her face slipped away, a frown and more serious look taking over.
“He’s very kind to me…I don’t think I will be spending much time with him anymore though”, she held her fork tightly in her hand. Daenerys questioned what she meant by her words. “Personal reasons”, Y/N said in a somber tone, “He will be leaving soon, and I plan to stay by your side”. Daenerys nodded her head, a part of her knowing that Y/Ns’ excuse was not the full truth. It’s not an exaggeration— Daenerys wasn’t a fool. She was well aware of Y/N’s standoffish attitude; practically a hermit as she kept to herself, or Daenerys. She saw the reasoning behind it— having an understanding of her past hardships. Additionally, Daenerys once tried to comfort Y/N during a nightmare of hers, hearing the word “curse” coming out of her mouth every few seconds. She badly wanted to comfort her sister, let her know that she was not cursed— life was just not fair to everyone. Daenerys, however, said nothing. Y/N was the only family she had left, and she did not want to lose her so soon, especially to some man. Forcing a smile upon her face, Daenerys tried to hide the distaste she felt towards her own selfishness. “That is good. Family must stick together”.
As the hours slipped away, Y/N and Robb were spending their last night together in the library. Robb and his men were set to leave tomorrow— all discussions and plans made with Daenerys were finalized. Robb, sitting across the room, was enamored as Y/N read to him out loud. It was a couple nights ago that they created this little routine; Y/N would read to him, and he would give his input at certain scenes. Right now, however, he was not paying attention to what was happening in the story. He was trying to memorize her gentle sweet voice, the way her lips moved with each syllable she said. Finishing a passage, Y/N put the book down to ask Robb his view.
“I can not lie to you. I was not paying attention”. Mouth agape, she pretended to be upset, throwing the small pillow she had next to her. Robb caught the cushion, letting out a hearty laugh that rumbled deep within his chest. Standing up, he walked across the room to her, placing the pillow behind her back. He knew she liked to read in comfort. Y/Ns’ smile was warm, spreading even more across her face at the words Robb spoke next, “You have a pretty voice”. Shyly looking down, she quietly thanked him. Robb’s compliments towards her only continued, “And a beautiful face”.
Biting her lip, she was readying herself to change the topic, but he only continued more. “I remember when I saw you for the first time”, he sat down beside her, sharing body warmth now, “I truly thought I had never seen a more beautiful woman before in my life”. Y/N chuckled, rolling her eyes softly and replying in a joking matter “And then you saw my sister and I was the second most beautiful woman you had seen in your life”. Her heart quickened up when she looked up at him, no humor present on his face, only showing seriousness. “No”, he whispered, “you were still the most captivating and breathtaking beauty I’d seen”. Silence filled the room. Without a word, he reached out, his fingers interlacing with hers. “I leave tomorrow”, he spoke of the one thing they both had refused to acknowledge. “That you are”, Y/N said, her main focus placed upon their hands. Drawing small comforting circles into her skin, he asked her what she had planned for her future.
“My future is a mystery”, Y/N sighed heavily, “Regardless, I will continue to stand by Daenerys and be with her when she retakes the throne. She told me that she was going to bestow the Targaryen name upon me, but I’m not sure that is what I want”. Confusion etched Robbs’ features, questioning her meaning. Her face gave away a gloomy look, “I have never really been fond of my Targaryen blood. Daenerys is the only good thing that has come out of it”, she said truthfully, “I’ve gone long enough without a household name, so I don’t see the point in having one”. A smile graced her lips as she looked at him, “I won’t lie, it is a small yearn of mine. To belong somewhere and become a part of something special”.
A pregnant pause filled the room. The only sound being heard was the burning of the fireplace. Y/Ns’ laughter echoed through the room; Robbs’ next statement finding humor within her.
“You can become a Stark”.
Shaking her head, almost wanting to wipe the imaginary tears in her eyes, she continued her fits of giggles. “And how can I do that- “
Robbs’ next sentence caused all laughter within her to cease, her breath getting stuck in her chest. “By marrying me”, he said.
Another pregnant pause. Y/N stared at him in shock, becoming a stuttering mess, “R-Robb, I…”. Before she could finish, he cut her off, taking both her hands into his now, “I plead that you allow me to speak first”, he smiled but looked ready to cry, “I have never felt the way I have when I am with you. You truly have stolen my heart, and I don’t plan on asking for it back. Come with me to Winterfell— become my wife, my queen”. With affection, he raised her hand and placed a gentle, lingering kiss on it, “Grant me the wish to spend the rest of my life with you”. Robb had poured his emotions out into his speech, mistakenly only imagining what he wanted her reply to be. He was not prepared for what Y/N said next.
“No.”
Furrowing his eyes, he dropped one of her hands but still held the other. Shaking his head, he began to apologize profoundly, “I-I’m sorry. I thought maybe there was something between us. Did I ask too soon?”, he looked desperate in front of her, “I can take back the proposal. I can court you properly if that is what you wish – “
“No. No, Robb”, Y/N let her hand drop from his, both now becoming colder by the second, “I can’t marry you”.
The tension crackled in the air as Y/N words hung between them, heavy and unresolved. The room felt suffocating, each second stretching into an eternity. Robb’s jaw clenched, his gaze fixed on the ground, struggling to contain his emotions and appear unaffected, “Can I ask why?”. Y/N bit her lip, her own emotions consuming her, never wanting more than to cry. “Robb,” she sobbed, “marrying me— being with me would only bring you hell”. Shaking his head, Robb grabbed ahold of her face, staring into her eyes, “What nonsense do you speak of? That can be far from the truth”. Y/N wanted to push his hands off her but was brought warmth by his touch, “But it’s the truth. My presence alone carries a curse. All those I have cherished have been harmed and taken from me”, he delicately removed the tears that were dropping from her eyes, “I’m not supposed to fall in love with you”.
Robb didn’t know what to say, how exactly to comfort her. His only reply being, “there is no such thing as a curse”, which angered her to some extent. Standing abruptly, she screamed out in sorrow, “Yes there is! My mother, my first love, my home— everyone suffered because of me!”, she started hyperventilating, burying her face in her hands, sobs echoing through the room, “You have suffered enough Robb. I do not wish to cause you more misery”. Robb sprang up quickly and encircled her with an arm, drawing her in for a reassuring embrace. As she cried, he felt her body quiver against his chest. He rubbed her back in gentle circles, giving her a feeling of comfort and safety. “Shhh…”, he tried soothing her, “Even if there is a curse, I won’t let it get to me, or you. I will protect you with entire life; you will never be subjected to such pain”, he leaned down and placed a tender kiss on her head, “I can’t let you go— living out the rest of my life thinking “what if?”.
Shaking her head, she gently pushed him away, “No, Robb”. Y/N stared at him, her eyes reflecting her inner sadness, “This is for my protection and yours. I would not have the strength in me to live if something happened to you”. Walking swiftly towards the door, she ceased her movements when Robb called out to her.
“Y/N. You deserve better”, he spoke truthfully and with sorrow, “You can’t live like this. Someone as extraordinary as you deserves to be happy. To be loved”.
She gripped the door handle, almost hurting her own hand from the pressure. Turning her head, she offered him a pained smile, “Maybe you’re right”, she opened the door, “But such fine things were not made for me in this lifetime”. And she was gone.
Y/N was unable to sleep the rest of the night, tossing and turning in her bed. Come morning, she mentally prepared herself for a conversation she knew she had to make. Standing in front of the chamber rooms Robb occupied, she knocked. A few seconds later, he opened the door, clear surprise on his face at her presence.
“Hi”, she spoke softly. Robb did not verbally reply to her greeting; opting to nod to her instead. “May I come in?”, she asked, and Robb moved to the side to allow her to enter. Looking at him, his tunic was unlaced— a clear indication she had interrupted him in the middle of dressing up. Y/N was informed that Robb and his men were to leave early morning; all they had to do was suit up and prepare their ships, and then he would be gone.
Facing him entirely, she gestured to his packed supplies in the corner, “I came to wish you a safe journey. I enjoyed our time together”. Robb registered her words, taking a deep breath, “Thank you, my lady”. She didn’t have the strength to correct him. All the while, Robb was struggling to tie up the last laces of his tunic. His hands were shaking. Walking slowly to him, she reached for his hands, moving them away to replace them with hers, “Allow me”. Robb felt a fire ignite inside him as her gentle touch sent a chill down his spine. Focused on her work, Y/N laced up the complex pattern, her breath quickening as her fingertips touched his bare chest. Finishing up the last lace, she patted his chest and smiled up at him, “There. All done”. She only took one step back before Robb wrapped his arm around her waist, pushing her back to him. Y/N gaze softened, a silent acknowledgement passing between them. Slowly and hesitantly, she placed her hand upon his cheek, caressing him. Stretching her neck, she placed a small kiss on his lips, pulling away in mere seconds before either of them could comprehend it. Robb did the same; the two now sharing their second kiss.
For a while, they stood in each other’s embrace in silence. Robb took the next step, closing the small distance and cupping her face in his hands. With a mixture of yearning and desire, she leaned into his touch, gazing up at him as her heart ached. Reaching down, he kissed her with longing and tenderness. Y/N reciprocated right away, moving her mouth with his to match his rhythm. This kiss was longer, both wanting to savor the moment a bit more. The kiss had started off slowly but quickly came alive as they both deepened it. Robb fingers wove into her hair, pulling her closer to him; despite being as physically close as possible. Y/Ns’ body felt on fire; Robb’s touch both gentle yet firm as he traced her body with his other hand. Gasping into his mouth, she was taken by surprise (but did not fight off) at Robb picking her up by the thighs— walking to the small table in his room and dropping her on it. Opening her legs widely, he stood between them, both breathing heavily as they’re lips continued pressing together. Y/N did not know what to do with her hands, moving them all across his body and landing upon his hair, tugging slightly at his roots. Robb was the same; still opting to trace his hands across her thighs and up her breasts— igniting a moan out of her moth that he swallowed with his. Both their lips parted slightly, allowing them to slip their tongues into each other’s.
The room was heating up by the second. The only sounds that could be heard were their muffled groans and heavy breathing. Parting away, Y/N went to work to unlace his tunic— undoing her work. There was some urgency in the way her hands moved, Robb staring at her, intoxicated by her face contoured in rapture. He went straight for her dress, moving the fabric down to expose her shoulders, planting kisses on her. Y/N let out a loud whimper; the feeling of Robb biting into her neck sending a jolt of pleasure and goosebumps over her body. Grabbing his jaw, she returned her attack on his lips; their kiss now getting sloppier by the second, teeth almost clashing against. Y/N was readying herself to further pull her dress down but was interfered by Robb pulling away. Almost desperate like, she chased his lips but was denied.
“No,” Robb spoke, almost sounding to be in pain. His breath was ragged, chest moving up and down and fist clenched to his side, “Not like this”. Y/Ns’ common sense returned, slightly embarrassed that her hunger for him had taken over her completely. She was thankful that Robb had the strength and respect to keep her virtue safe. A few moments passed and their breathing became stable once again. Y/N watched as Robb gazed down at her, his lips red and bruised. Taking a hold of her face in his hand, Robb placed his forehead against her, “I love you”. Y/N could do nothing but nod, wrapping her arms around his torso, “I know”.
He smiled sheepishly at her, caressing her cheek, “Write to me at least. Please. Write to me about anything…even if you have nothing to talk about. I will always send a reply back. I promise”. She gave him a tight-lipped smile, kissing his hand lightly, “I’ll try”. Robb knew she was lying. As they held each other’s gaze, time appeared to stop and the outside world became less significant. With one last kiss to her temple, Robb picked up his belongings and went out the door.
Y/N waited a decent number of minutes to pass before she exited the room— making sure there were no prying eyes around. She was hurrying towards her own chambers; wanting to be alone and allowed let all her tears fall free. She didn’t make it far, stopping in her movements at the sound of someone calling her name.
“Y/N”, Daenerys called out at the end of the hallway. Approaching her, she offered her sister a happy smile, “I was looking all over for you. I came to see if you wanted to bid the North men a goodbye- “, Daenerys stopped talking momentarily. Her eyes taking in Y/N disheveled appearance, and the obvious love mark on her neck. “But I can see you must’ve already given your farewell to the King in the North”, she teased.
Y/N nodding, staring down at the ground with her hands picking at the skin around her nails, “Yes, I have. So, I have no need to bid them a further goodbye. If you excuse me, I will retire for the day”. She was barley able to turn her body around before Daenerys grabbed hold of her forearm. “Hold on”, Daenerys said letting out a low chuckle, “It is still early morning. Why would you retire so soon- “. Her amusement dwindled into silence, fully grasping the emotions displayed on her little sisters’ face. “What’s wrong? What happened?”, she inquired anxiously and hastily, “Did that Stark boy do something to you?”, now anger appearing in her voice. Y/N was quick to deny her accusations, “No. He did nothing. It’s what I’ve done to him”. The queen placed a comforting embrace around her sisters’ figure, soothing her hair. “He offered me a marriage proposal, Dany” she sobbed into her shoulders, “And I told him no. I broke his heart”. Daenerys said nothing to the information given to her. A short interval of silence ensured; disrupted by Daenerys taking in a deep breath.
“Do you love him?”.
She hadn’t expected such a direct question from Daenerys, especially about something she had been trying to conceal. Y/N hesitated for a moment— deciding there was no use in denying it, “I do”.
The older sister pulled away, smiling down lovingly at her, “Then why not go be with him?”. Y/N furrowed her eyebrows, stumbling over her words, “Because I promised to stick by your side. To help you,” she defended. Staring back at the floor, Y/N inhaled deeply, “Because I am cursed- “
“That is a load of shit”, Daenerys cut in. Y/N gaped at her older sister in disbelief for her vulgar language directed at her. Daenerys persisted with her speech, “You are not cursed, Y/N. Our history might show that our ancestors without the inherited Targaryen traits suffered greatly, but that does not mean all of them will”. Putting both hands on her shoulder, she reassured Y/N, “I know that in their lives they were still able to experience contentment and love. And you should too”.
Whispering softly, Daenerys hold on her sister tightened, “You've gone through a lot, and life has made it difficult to look past your own suffering, I won't deny that. But you need not forget the positive impact that you have on others around you. You undoubtedly brought happiness and love into the lives of your mother as well as those from your pas, and me toot. I'm even more positive that you introduced that into Robb Starks' life as well”.
Daenerys took a moment to recover after her extended address; watching Y/N register every world she spoke. Placing a gentle hand on her face, Daenerys gave her final say, “So, why not go be with him?”.
Y/N expression mirrored her surprise at what she heard. Shaking her head, she repudiated, “B-But what about you? My promise to you- “. She was cut off once again. “I’ve been thinking it over”, Daenerys began, “And I’ve asked too much from you. You are my only family and I wish to keep you by me, but your life is not mine. You control it”. Y/N held her breath, a small tear forming in her eyes. A sense of déjà vu had come to her— those were similar words her own mother had told her. Daenerys smiled widely at her, taking both her hands into her own, “If I am to be a good queen and rule with fairness”, she gave her hand a gentle squeeze, “I should let you live your life. As your queen, I give you the order to go live a life of happiness with the man you love”. She sustained the cheerful curve of her lips, “Go to him— go be with him in the North. A change of scenery can be good, don’t you think?”.
Y/N didn’t answer her question; instead, she sprang and encircled her sister in a warm hug. “Thank you, Dany,”, she expressed her heartfelt thanks. Daenerys words had opened her eyes; Y/N was not brought into this world to fear it— she was brought in it to appreciate its gifts. The gifts being family, happiness, and love. Daenerys suppressed a laugh that wanted to escape her lips. Pushing the girl slightly, she encouraged her further, “Now go and tell him. Rhaegal will be sad but he’ll live”. Y/N was quick to turn and follow after Robb, but stopped abruptly at Daenerys calling out to her.
“Don’t marry him too soon”. Panic coiled in the pit of her stomach at the thought that Daenerys was taking back what she said. The older sister waved her hand, shooing the girl away, “I just meant that I wish to be present at the wedding. Now, go”.
Robb stood beside a couple of his men and advisor at Dragonstone’s port. He watched his men load up the ships, trying to listen to what his advisor was saying but his mind was elsewhere. He came here to acquire the Dragon Queen as his ally— and now he leaves with that success and a broken heart. He traced back the memory of their times together, the warmth of her hands completely enclosing his, the way her eyes sparkled with every grin. A longing buried deep in his chest arose with every thought of Y/N. It was a bittersweet anguish. His advisor next to him cleared his throat, grabbing his attention when he nudged Robbs’ side, “Your grace”. Following the direction of his advisor’s eyesight, his own landed on Y/N— clearly out of breath and showing urgency.
“Y/N”, he called out. Robb was quick to grab ahold of her forearms, inspecting her body for any signs of injury, “Are you okay? Is there something wrong?” he asked, concern shown deep in his eyes. Y/N nodded her head, calming down her breathing as she watched his men leave to give them privacy. Staring up at him, she confessed, “I will not write to you”. Robbs’ brows drew together in a frown, feeling as though she was taking a jab at his sorrows. A normal reaction would be to spit fire back, but he was too in love with her.
Swallowing thickly, he responded, “I figured that already- “
“No, let me finish” she interrupted him, “I will not write to you…because I am coming with you”. His eyes widened in disbelief at the statement— not given time to properly respond once again. Swallowing the lump in her throat, her palms grw clammy, “Robb…I love you”. At last, he managed to respond, "You do?" with a tone that hinted at both surprise and joy. Y/N nodded, vulnerability showing in the blush of her cheeks and grabbing a hold of his hand, “Yes. I should’ve told you from the start and I should’ve said yes to your proposal- “, she sucked in a trembling breath, “I care about you deeply and I’ve never felt this much love for anyone”. Y/Ns’ heart raced as her words lingered in the crisp morning air. With a subtle shake of her head, she redirected the conversation. “Though I’ve come to see the foolishness in it; I still don’t know if my curse is real or not. All I know is that I wish to spend every minute— every second of my life with you”. Biting her lip gently, she broke eye contact with him, “It is a big risk, I kno- “.
“A risk I am willing to take”, Robb finally cut her off, “I would do anything for you.” In their moment of confession, they wrapped each other in a tight embrace. With their foreheads resting against each other's, a warm yet hesitant smile spread across Y/N face. “So,” she spoke shyly, “is that tour of Winterfell still up for grabs?”
Robb reciprocated her smile with his own, gently lifting his hands to touch her bottom lip. “Yes. It still is” he breathed out, “And my proposal too”. With a gentle tilt of her head, Y/N moved in closer, “Then I say you take me to Winterfell and make me your wife”. Their lips meet in a tender and heartfelt kiss— all their troubles now resolved. A quiet vow of eternity was spoken as their lips moved in rhythm. A familiar roar was heard; Y/N breaking the kiss and laughing as she took notice of Rhaegal in the sky. Robb found himself smiling even more at the sight of her joy; pulling her closer to him.
A cheeky grin formed across her face, “I think Lady of Winterfell has a nice ring to it, don’t you?”
Robb chuckled, caressing her face, “I think Queen of Winterfell sounds nicer. I also think the title of “Robb Starks’ Wife” suits you even more”. Y/N jokingly jabbed her elbow into his side, slightly squeaking as Robb reclaimed her lips in his. They both were filled with excitement and anticipation for what their future together awaited.
(I thought mostly about book!Ramsay but it fits his tv version as well. Also sorry for switching between 2nd and 3rd person)
Original alphabet idea by @snk-warriors
Activities - What do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?
There are a lot of options. The most obvious is sex. Sometimes, especially after the act, or when they wake up, they just lay together, content. Maybe they are talking, maybe they just mindlessly caress each other bodies when lover nuzzles into Ramsay's soft body.
But - depending on Ramsay's whims - the lover may join him during his duties around castle or meetings with his men, sometimes sitting at his feet or on his lap, at least when he doesn't have to keep up appearances in front of the noble guests. When Ramsay is training and sparring with his soldiers, they may sit near, observing him. Ramsay enjoys being watched and admired.
If they get closer, he also takes his lover with himself on hunts, not just as a potential prey. He wants them to see what he loves and experience it as well. For the same reason he may take them to the dungeons and at least show them his tools - even if they have low tolerance for gore and close their eyes or faint, it doesn't discourage him. If anything, he founds it cute and amusing (even if he mocks it).
Beauty - What do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?
It's hard to say, because he could appreciate many different things, depending on the lover. But to be honest, the universal thing that gets to him, is actually the way they treat and see him. Okay, it's egocentric, but that's how he is. In general, Ramsay is used to being hated, gaining respect and admiration through fear, but the lover who actually admires?? Who finds him handsome?? Who loves him without being broken into it? Ramsay wouldn't admit it openly, but it heals some of the insecurities and problems he carries in himself.
Comfort - How would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc.?
As you may guess, Ramsay definitely isn't the best person to help with panic attack. Even if he does care about someone, he doesn't really know what to do, but he may let his lover nuzzle into him, and he may wrap his arms around them, murmuring comforts like:
"Why are you shaking? Do you break so easily?"
"Poor little lamb, do you need help? Do you need someone to protect you?"
In his rough, a bit mocking tone. But he actually wants to help. Especially because it would make them even more addicted and dependent on him for comfort and protection.
Dreams - How do they picture their future with their s/o?
Ramsay rather doesn't make long-term plans and, if anything, he's overly confident about his future. So he believes that he will remain the lord of Dreadfort, keep winning and spreading his power. Where is his lover in this scenario? Well, Ramsay mostly imagines how they're gonna keep being loyal to him, keep pleasing him and treating him like the greatest lord they ever seen. Anyway, those plans aren't really specific, he mostly creates self-indulgent fantasies.
Equal - Are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?
I think that's rather clear. In bedroom Ramsay is a switch (most of the time he's very much dominant, but if he gets close to someone and starts trusting them, he may give up control a bit), but in general he is the dominant one in the relationship and even if the lover have a strong character as well, he won't give up his position. Even if they work out some equality and balance, he still tries to keep upper hand and have the final say in making decisions.
Fight - Would they be easy to forgive their s/o? How are they fighting?
It depends on what is to be forgiven - but in general Ramsay isn't the most merciful, benevolent person. He may forgive something, but he won't forget and he will bring it up during arguments. Which are loud, angry, sometimes even physical. In a close relationship, if it becomes important to him, Ramsay will try to avoid hurting his lover (too much) but he still has a temper.
Gratitude - How grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them?
Ramsay might be grateful, but he won't easily admit it - to himself and especially to his lover. He notices all the things they do, but he acts like it's natural, they owe it to their lord. Still, he appreciates it, even if he won't openly talk about it, beside occasional off-handed "good job, at least someone in this castle isn't completely useless".
Honesty - Do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? Or do they share everything?
Ramsay is not someone eager to share his life or feelings. Of course, he brags about his victories and successes, but anything else, anything deeper, he keeps hidden. His thoughts, feelings, youth etc At the beggining of the relationship he definitely doesn't share and if his lover starts digging and asking too much questions, he may sneer or lash out. But with the time, if he gains trust for his lover, Ramsay might start actually answering honestly. It isn't often that he shares something from his own will, and when he does, it's usually very random. Like, he hears a tune and just murmurs casually "my mother used to hum this for me when i was small". Or he's sharpening his knife and suddenly says with some pride "Yeah, i gutted my first cat when i was seven". But if you want to know more, you gotta ask. And with time, he will start answering you, maybe even without changing and polishing his story.
Inspiration - Did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things or helped them overcome personal problems?
He may make his lover bolder or braver - they may gain an attitude "i slept with Ramsay Bolton, this thing won't scare me". There is also a chance that they would grow some tolerance for brutal sights and bloodshed.
The other way around, their presence may start soothing him and while he won't become peaceful, he may control his emotions a bit better when they are close. Perhaps he would also become a bit more open and finally share some of his experiences, but only with them. Still, having someone to talk to honestly is a pleasant change for him.
Jealousy - Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?
Yes. Ramsay claims he's over jealousy. If you ask him, he will only say that he's possesive and that he doesn't like to share what's his. But meaning is the same: unless Ramsay agrees to invite someone else to your bedroom (or maybe even then), he's very wary about other people you spend up with, and makes sure they don’t act too friendly. If it's nothing too big, but he gets just slightly nervous, he will interrupt you and make sure the other person knows that you're only his (Ramsay informs them about it by kissing you, talking about your relationship, or he simply pulls you away and asks you what you were talking about).
If he sees someone clearly flirting with you, or even worse, trying to touch you, he gets really angry. Of course, what he does depends on a few factors, especially position of your admirer. If they are a noble, he may have to give up on revenge or it will take sone time before that noble has an unfortunate "accident". If they are a commoner, well, dungeon, torture, death. If you ask him to show mercy, Ramsay may ask why you care so much about that person. But he may agree and kill them quickly, depending on his mood.
Kiss - Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?
Ramsay's kisses are rough and hungry, and the first kiss was especially like that - since he didn't grow close to them yet and had no motivation beside brutal lust. He may bite their lip, push his tongue and grope them. He may also give wet and sloppy kisses with his meaty lips.
Love Confession - How would they confess to their s/o?
Ramsay rather wouldn't make an outward love confession to his lover - if he says "I love you", he does it in mocking tone, as if amused by the idea of being romantic and affectionate. He doesn't wanna look soft and he definitely isn't used to talking about his feelings (unless you count feelings like "I wanna kill you"). He shows his affection by the way he acts and treats you. The closest thing to confession you may get from him are not-straightforward comments, like when you lay together and he murmurs "I'm glad I have you" or when during conversation he smiles and says "You're one person who gets me". If you try to press him and ask how he sees you, how he feels about you, and Ramsay is in good enough mood (so he doesn't lashes out or just grumbles that you should stop asking stupid questions and remember your place), he may just reply shortly "I wouldn't keep you with me, if I didn't like you".
Marriage - Do they want to get married? How do they propose? What would the marriage be like?
It's a tricky one and depends on lover's social standing. Ramsay doesn't care much about marriage and formalities, beside raising his status. But if his lover was noble, he would probably make sure to marry them - to have them near and so they don't get married to other lord. Wedding would be as great as Roose would allow him - partially for you, mostly to serve Ramsay's sense of grandiosity as a chance to show off.
If his lover was lowborn, there would be no official marriage. First, because it would be a scandal and Roose wouldn't allow it. Second: Ramsay is your lord and already can have you anytime he wants. He doesn't need a ceremony to stake his claim on you.
Nicknames - What do they call their s/o?
It's nothing surprising, but Ramsay loves animal nicknames.
Dog, mutt, bitch - the usual.
Cow - if you get pregnant and start lactating.
Sow, piggy - if you're chubby.
But also filly, mare, kitty, bunny etc. From usual nicknames, he also calls you "little one", "my whore", "darling"... but whatever he calls you, it always marks you as his property.
On Cloud Nine - What are they like when they are in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings?
The first clear sign that Ramsay caught feelings, is when after a few days his lover is still alive xd but well, people in castle would quickly notice when his lover is treated better than others and when they seem happy about their situation. People wouldn't call it love - after all it's hard to believe that infamous Ramsay Bolton suddenly fell in love like a normal person. But they would notice signs that something is different: he often calls for his new lover. They seem to enjoy it. They are fed and treated well. Ramsay shows up with them publicly, maybe gives them gifts. He starts allowing them to stay in his chamber after the act or just to accompany him. But the gossip would say that it's still just a passing whim, that they cursed him or maybe that he's just playing with them before killing them.
PDA - Are they upfront about their relationship? Do they brag with their s/o in front of others? Or are they rather shy to kiss etc. when others are watching?
Ramsay is shameless. The only thing stopping him is care about his position - and even that doesn't always completely tame him. So unless he has very important guests, or Roose demands him to act properly during dinner, Ramsay gets very handsy with his lover in public, whispering filth and slapping their ass. He also often brags about them, especially to his man. That bragging is rather more dirty and possesive than romantic but it's clear that he admires them.
Quirk - Some random ability they have that’s beneficial in a relationship.
If you get cold easily, then good news, because Ramsay's big body works like a furnace, and you may cling to him to warm up. Also it's big and soft, so if he allows you to nuzzle close, he's a perfect person to sleep with, a big hot pillow.
Also, he's a great hunter so if you two ever had to survive on your own, he could provide you with meat.
Romance - How romantic are they? What would they do to make their s/o happy? Cliché or rather creative?
Ramsay is not romantic and he doesn't want to be. He mocks the idea of being romantic, of love stories and bards. If you ever suggested that you would like to do something romantic, he would just laugh and mock you. He may occasionally indulge you or even do something out of his own initiative. But it's always twisted and warped, never pure sweetness. Either pleasant bath that's full of groping and quickly gets further... or gifts like human heart or jewellery from killed women.
Support - Are they helping their s/o achieve their goals? Do they believe in them?
Uhhh, I know I keep saying that, but it the depends on the goals. Mostly on whether they get in his way. If they don't take his lover's time and attention from him, he may accept them. He isn't most helpful and he rather won't cheer you on, but he may support them a bit. For example, if his lover enjoys art and likes to paint and draw, Ramsay may give them supplies when he's in good mood, and allow them to create when he doesn't currently need them. And of course, it's greatly appreciated if you draw him.
Thrill - Do they need to try out new things to spice out your relationship? Or do they prefer a certain routine?
Ramsay hates getting bored so he will definitely find ways to spice up your relationship, whether in bedroom or by other means.
Understanding - How good do they know their partner? Are they empathetic?
Ramsay isn't a person you would call empathetic, but if you're close, he gets closer to human feelings and he definitely cares about you in his twisted possesive way. But he definitely knows about you as an effect of his obsessive nature. He likes to know as much as he can about you and keep his eye on you. You can call it romantic or yandere, depending on your tastes.
Value - How important is the relationship to them? What is it’s worth in comparison to other things in their life?
It's a bit hard to say, but rather when Ramsay gets close to someone, he sees them as a possesion and they become a big part of him, especially that he didn't have many close people in his life. (Yeah, he let the original Reek die for him... but soon later, he made himself a Reek 2.0. Maybe he missed that wretch after all). It's a big chance that if he doesn't kill his lover and keeps them with him, they become bonded with him for life and death (and they are important to him, even if he doesn't say that).
Wild Card - A random Fluff Headcanon.
If, for some reason, you can't be with him (he's away for the battle/other duties, or maybe you're sick), he gets more irritable and can't sleep as well after getting used to have you near. So it happens that he comes back from a travel and sends a letter for you to wait for him in an inn near Dreadfort, so he can see you night earlier. Somehow, just your weight beside him and the sound of your breathing start having a soothing effect on him and become a fixture in his life.
XOXO - Are they very affectionate? Do they love to kiss and cuddle?
Ramsay is very touchy, but his affections usually rely on groping and often lead to something more. If his lover wants to cuddle or nuzzle into him, at the beginning of the relationship they must "earn it", but later Ramsay may "mercifully" allow it, even if he actually loves their closeness and the feeling of being worshipped.
Yearning - How will they cope when they’re missing their partner?
He will just walk around angry, more ruthless and impulsive than usual. It's dangerous for everyone around when you're away because when he's lonely and has nobody (like you) to draw away his attention, he will just focus completely on letting his anger out on random innocent souls.
Zeal - Are they willing to go to great lenghts for the relationship? If so, what kind of?
Well, if he gets engaged, Ramsay can go quite great lengths, though maybe not the ones that you'd prefer. Like, he won't stop killing or tormenting people, but he may start killing and tormenting them FOR you. (Sometimes you don't even need to ask for it or want it). In other words, Ramsay won't change his ways, not drastically, but he may start taking other person's feelings and needs into consideration, which is a huge level up for him.
Summary: Daenerys claims more than the Iron Throne on the day she takes King’s Landing.
Warning(s): Smut and G!P Daenerys.
Notes: Wasn’t sure if you wanted Dark!Dany (in a sense) or not, but decided to just do it that way for this one shot! If you’d like another one with a non dark Dany, I’ll be more than happy to do that. Also, this is definitely the most graphic smut I’ve written… I apologize if it’s bad.
Series Masterlist
Ash still falls from the sky like distorted flecks of snow— rubble shifts under foot as you make your way through the courtyard of the Red Keep. You didn’t have to turn your head far to see the destruction that had been wrought across King’s Landing, a destruction that had come at the hands of the woman you love the most in this world.
Fire and blood had come to Westeros, you think, side-stepping a charred corpse. And penance seemed to have been paid in full.
The sights, along with the smells, that assault you the farther you trek into the once great city aren’t something that sits well with you, nor does the knowledge that Westeros had pushed Daenerys, your Dany, to this point. That all of her grief: Viserion, Jorah, Rhaegal, and Missandei, along with all of her men that she lost in the North, had forced her spirit into shattering so completely.
I don’t want to be Queen of the Ashes…
A saying that had constantly been thrown towards Daenerys, that had been used as a means to control her, keep her in line, and what better way to do that then remind her of her father’s legacy, a tale that’s haunted her ever since she discovered it, and had been continually repeated until Daenerys spouted it out as if she was simply talking about the weather. Her drive, the passion that had carried her through Essos, slowly being driven out of her the longer she spent in the toxic landscape that is Westeros; forever surrounded by the tales of her ancestors, by the fear and hatred that the people she saved showed her, at the clear refusal to ever accept her as anything more than a Targaryen Whore.
Rounding the corner of yet another hallway, you pause just outside of the throne room, or what you believe to be anyway, and think over everything that had transpired. Think of the darkness that had seemed to have only grown in intensity since the Night King had been dealt with. Would Daenerys, after all of this, still wish to see you? Would you still have a place by her side?
Only one way to find out…
With a deep intake of breath, you step fully into the debilitated area that had once been a source of great pride— at the head of it all being the almost legendary throne itself, a mass of melted together swords, and standing before it?
Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.
At the sound of your approaching footsteps, Daenerys turns from her perusal of the throne, and a warm smile quirks her lips at your nearing form.
“Ñuha jorrāelagon,” she murmurs, adoration clear within violet eyes. Slim arms wrapping around your middle the moment your close enough for her to grab. A single gloved finger gently tracing down the expanse of your cheek, rubbing away the hints of ash that still remained. “I’m glad to see you unharmed. I don’t know what I would have done if that hadn’t been the case.”
You lean into the hand still resting on your cheek, a happy smile of your own making an appearance. “Burn down the rest of Westeros?” A dark look flashes through violet eyes, your joke suddenly taking on an all too serious light that you desperately wanted to veer away from. Bumping into her slightly, you disentangle from slim arms, warmed by the smallest bit of hesitance she had at letting you go, you step closer to the throne. “This is it? The Iron Throne?”
Daenerys settles next to you. “It is.” She touches the arm of it with an almost reverent air. “After all these years, all the trials and tribulations that I went through, I’m finally here. A Targaryen is finally the holder of the Iron Throne once more. I’ve brought honor back to my family.”
“You’ve honored them for years already, Dany. You simply being alive is honor by itself.” You angle your head, not surprised at all to see that she had already been looking at you. “This just exemplifies you into the ranks of Aegon.”
Violet eyes gleam with an almost childlike wonder, the hand closest to you touching your cheek with the same reverence she had shown the throne. “Aegon had his wives, he had his queens.” She steps away from you, taking her rightful seat on the throne. “Something that I’ll be in need of moving forward.”
Your head dips. “Anything I can help you with?”
Daenerys chuckles lightly, the sound rumbling from deep within her chest like one of Drogon’s roars. “There is, Y/N.” Gesturing for you to come closer, a command that you listen to without question, she gently maneuvers you into a kneeling position before her, slender fingers tangling themselves within the strands of your hair. “Say yes.”
“Your Grace?”
“Say yes to marrying me, to becoming my wife and queen.” Her holds tightens, forcing your head to tilt back. “Say yes to becoming mine and I’ll make sure everything you could ever want becomes yours.”
A small smile twists your lips upward. “Everything that I could ever want already is.”
At the words a small growl escapes Daenerys, her head dipping downward to press a heated kiss to your lips, maintaining that you’re kept in place by the iron-clad hold she still has on your hair. And, like with everything else, Daenerys didn’t hesitate in conquering what is hers, tongue barely brushing over your bottom lip before she plunders into your mouth, taking you for everything you have. The taste of you, the submission in which you’re showing her, along with the location no doubt, makes Daenerys almost frantic in her need for you.
Barely pulling away, giving you both a moment to breathe, before she’s claiming your lips once more— it’s wet, filthy in a way that makes your mind fog over in lust, and you can’t quite get enough air into your lungs through your nose, something that constantly ensures her scent is all that you’re surrounded by, but you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. Wouldn’t want to be in any other position than where you are now; kneeling in front of your Khaleesi, her pleasure becoming yours.
Finally, with a ragged breath, Daenerys fully pulls away from you, a thin trail of saliva still connecting you both, before she shifts too far back and it snaps in half. Violet eyes, blown nearly black in lust, pin you in place as Daenerys slowly undoes the buckle of her pants, and jerks it down, the actions clear on what she expected from you. And, without preamble, or any sort of prompting, you help Daenerys with removing them, gently taking off her boots, before pulling her tight-fitting pants off her slim legs. The sight that greets you once you look up almost causing your mouth to dry up completely.
Daenerys Targaryen sat in all of her glory, bare from the waist down, her thick member jutting out from the apex of her thighs. The look in her eyes, in the darkness that lurks just out of reach, tells you all that you need to know, how your Khaleesi wished for you to service her next. Something you didn’t have a problem with doing, damn the consequences of potentially being caught in the wide open throne room.
Taking her into your hands, feeling her warmth, and the way that she twitches ever-so-slightly at your touch, is a heady sort of power that you’re never going to get used to.
Taking her into your mouth, jaw stretched wide to accommodate her girth, feeling the way she arches into the wetness it provides, hands tightening even further into your hair, the wonderful concoction of pain and pleasure, fuels you more than anything ever could.
Bobbing up and down, taking her deeper and deeper into your throat, listening to the breathy sighs she lets loose whenever she completely bottoms out, is a drug you never want to get off of. Her flavor— musky with just the barest hint of sweetness and something spicy— spreads across your tastebuds, your tongue lovingly swirling around the tip of her cock, taking in as much of her as you possibly could.
“Iksā doing sīr sȳz syt nyke.” The Valyrian praise escapes her in a low snarl, hands now guiding you in the exact way she wanted, your own simply being braced on her thighs as you let her use you. “Issare iā sȳz riña syt nyke. Ñuha sȳz riña.”
All you can do is moan in response, mouth completely stuffed full of her, but the vibrations makes her tense even further, another snarl rumbling from deep within her. You know that she’s close, can tell by the way her thighs were beginning to tremble underneath your touch, and the quickening of her thrusts, and your head moves even faster because of it— wanting nothing more than to feel her release down your throat, for your tongue to be coated by her cum.
“Issi ao jāre naejot gūrogon ziry mirre? Gūrogon everything bona nyke tepagon ao?” Daenerys groans out the question, clearly fighting with herself to not succumb just yet to the pleasure of her release. Peering up, you’re instantly met with darkened violet eyes, a rosy hue predominant across fair cheeks. Clearly waiting for a response, all you can do is gurgle around the cock currently in your throat, hoping that your eyes gave her all the answers she needed, which, by the tightening of her hands, absolutely did. “Sȳz riña.”
Within the next moment, jets of Daenerys cum shoots out, going straight into your stomach as you desperately swallow to make sure you don’t lose any of it. The feeling of warmth as her seed settles deep within you is one you’ve long since grown familiar with, but the possessive heat in her eyes as she watches you swallow it all down is definitely new. A reaction that causes your own arousal to come to the forefront of your mind finally, wetness clearly coating your thighs, waiting for your Khaleesi’s touch.
Daenerys pulls her cock from your mouth a moment later— the still hard length shimmering with the combination of leftover cum and saliva— allowing for you to take a deep lungful of air at last. Remnants of her still on your tongue.
Her thumb brushes across your bottom lip, briefly pushing into your mouth for you to suck on, before she retracts her hand and tugs you up onto her lap. Slim arms bracing your lower half perfectly against herself, settling her own body more fully on the Iron Throne.
“You did so good for me,” she murmurs, trailing slender fingers down your thighs. Nowhere near where you needed her the most though. “Do you want to continue?”
You nod. “More than anything, Khaleesi.“
Daenerys hums at the old title, hands gripping your hips in a hold that you know would leave bruises, lips ghosting across your jawline and down your neck.
“You’re mine, right?” Teeth nips into the sensitive flesh beneath your pulse point. “No one else can have you this way, fuck you the way that I can, or hear the beautiful noises you make when you fall apart.”
“Only you, Dany,” you whisper, nuzzling your nose against hers. “It’ll only ever be you. I’m yours completely.”
There isn’t need for more words after that, Daenerys simply hikes your dress higher up your waist, tearing your small-clothes away completely, before rubbing her hardened member against the wetness that has collected between your legs, a deep groan escaping her at the feeling of your clear want for her.
Within the next heartbeat, she’s buried to the hilt within you, a sharp keen being ripped from your chest at the feeling of complete fullness, the delicious stretch as your body tries to acclimate to the feeling of her, and begins to rut roughly into you. Hands slide from their place on your waist to settle on your hips, guiding you up and down as you begin to bounce in response to her thrusts.
A breathy moan falls from your lips, arms wrapped tightly around Daenerys neck, tugging her closer to you, continuing to ride her in complete abandon, wet slapping noise, intercepted by occasional grunts and moans, filled the air, echoing out across the empty throne room. A part of you thinks that you might even be able to be heard down below, the ripped open wall next to the throne offering an excellent siphon to the noises, but then Daenerys twists her hips in just the right way and everything, that doesn’t have to do with the mind numbing pleasure she gives you, vanishes from you mind in an instant.
Nails make crescent moons in the soft flesh of your hips, bruises no doubt already forming on your lower abdomen from how hard Daenerys was thrusting up into you, but the knowledge that your Khaleesi is marking you in such a way, that she’s lost parts of her control because of you, makes you not care in the slightest— you were hers, completely and irreversibly. Her pleasure was your own.
With another strangled gasp, your head falls to her chest, still clad in her formal garb, the metal cool against the heated expanse of your forehead, no longer being able to keep yourself upright. You could feel your climax approaching— coming faster and faster as Daenerys brushed against the spot within you every time she pulled out. Your core clenching around her desperately, trying to keep her within you, milk her for all that she’s worth, and the tight constriction causes a strangled sound of her own to resonate from your Khaleesi.
Feet planted firmly into the floor, she begins to piston fully into you, your body arching into her, allowing her to move you as she saw fit, clearly chasing her second release and your own.
“I’m going to mark you in a way that no one ever has.” Feverish violet eyes meet your own, strands of silvery-gold hair sticking to her heated cheeks, torn from their intricate braids, as her grip on you tightens more. “You’re going to bear my children, you’re going to continue on the Targaryen name. Would you like that?”
You moan. “Yes.”
The thought of carrying her children, of continuing on the Targaryen Legacy, filled you with a sense of purpose, a sense of warmth.
Pushing your head further into her chest, you plead. “Do it, Khaleesi. Claim me.”
With a ragged snarl, Daenerys’s hips stutter and before you know it jets of warmth fill you up, going straight to your womb. The feeling triggers your own release, a broken moan leaving you as you milk Daenerys for everything she has, everything that she’d be willing to offer. Harshly panting, Daenerys settles back onto the throne, hands gently running down your spine, holding you as closely as she possibly still could, still buried inside of you.
“Thank you,” she whispers, nuzzling you before she presses a kiss to your damp temple.
You sigh, content in her arms. “Always.”
Pressing another kiss to your head, Daenerys angles your face in order for you to look at her, the open look of adoration on her face one that’d only ever be reserved for you and her son.
“My beautiful love, my lovely wife.” She drops a chaste kiss to your lips, her hips beginning to move once more. “My eternal queen.”
