#theon greyjoy fanfiction

[lovelyladyabsinthewrites]

What We Sow

Pairing: Theon Greyjoy x Greyjoy!Reader

Warnings: game of thrones canonical siblingxsibling, sister-wife, violence, dark!reader?, euron being an asshat, voyeurism?, mention of torture, book!theon, oral (male receiving), p in v

Words: 6425

The rugged coastline of Pyke was the greatest thing to Theon's eyes. It meant his return home after a long journey that was filled with trading with not only the rest of Westeros but also smaller islands off the coast of Essos. Water churned with a restless energy, reflecting the overcast sky above. The Iron Islands had always been a place of harsh beauty, where the relentless sea and the unforgiving elements shaped both the land and its people. To an outsider's eye, the Iron Islands might appear as an eyesore, a desolate and forbidding place where life was a constant battle against the elements. Craggy cliffs, salt-stained rocks, and windswept trees clinging stubbornly to life. The sky, today, was an uninviting gray, as if the heavens themselves were reluctant to welcome Theon back. All of it was so endearing to him though. Theon couldn't help but feel a surge of happiness welling up inside him. Very soon he'd be able to hold his beloved in his arms.

This was his home, a place where the salt of the sea and the cries of seagulls were a constant presence and where you were. Waiting so patiently as always. His queen, his sister, his wife. He'd been dreaming of the moment when he'd be reunited with you after so long.

As the ship glided into the sheltered harbor, Theon could see the familiar faces of his subjects lining the shore, their weathered features breaking into smiles as they recognized their king. Faces that would have sneered at him previously since he'd been a ward of the Warden of the North for a number of years. Who would have thought that the salt people were actually capable of expressing joy.

King. Funny how the title his father had longed for was now Theon's. Smugness swells his chest when he thinks back to the salty old bastard that was Balon Greyjoy. He wished that Balon had a physical grave where Theon and you could dance upon it. No love lost for the death of their father. In fact it was the start of something wonderful for the Iron Isles. Not since the time of Lord Harren Greyjoy had the islands experienced such a flush of opportunity and growth. And of course he had you to thank as well. You were his anchor. The only person who could talk reason into him and quell his anger.

He would not be the king he was without you. Loving you had never been easy. While the faith of the Drowned God did not have any discrimination against incest, many in Westeros looked down on it as a reminder of their once Targaryen rulers. Not just that but the Faith of the Seven viewed it as extremely abhorrent. Your love was kept a deep dark secret while the two of you lived under the guiding hand of Ned Stark. The salt people didn't think twice of it though. Theon proved himself a better ruler than his father and everyone knew much of that was thanks to his sister-wife. They wouldn't complain. Now that many of the islanders were becoming more busy thanks to the opening of trade through their ports and the reconstruction of not just Pyke, but the other six islands as well.

Dock workers and sailors alike help those on deck, unload their cargo as Theon descends the gangplank, boots clanging against the wooden planks as he made his way to solid ground. The feel of the dock beneath his feet was a welcome one.

"Oy! Is that my brother the king?!" Came the crowing voice of his other sister Asha. She was on a neighboring ship the Black Wind, dangling off of one of the ratlines carelessly.

He grins, surveying her as Asha swiftly jumps down. A dockhand hands Theon the reins of his readied horse. He nods in thanks and turns back to Asha who was now strutting up the dock to give her brother a big hug. Their relationship had been rocky in the beginning when Theon first arrived back on the isles.

"Asha! Can't believe I'm actually saying this, but aren't you a sight for sore eyes." His arms embrace his older sister, bringing her into probably a less than fragrant body.

Asha snorts and is the first to release the hug. "A mule would be a sight for sore eyes for you by how long you've been gone." Her eyes soften as she gestures with her head toward their home. "The queen has been missing you."

"As I have missed her." Theon's chest flutters as it always did when he thought of you. You were his heart and soul after all.

She chuffs him on the shoulder. "Well, best not to keep either of you waiting then, eh?"

They ride off together. While he knew you were a patient lady, Theon was not. He wanted you in his arms as soon as possible. He urged his horse to go as fast as it could run along the rocky terrain.

Constructed from the same dark, weathered stone as the surrounding cliffs, giving it an almost otherworldly appearance as it melded seamlessly with its natural surroundings was their ancestral home. It was a place where saltwater spray had etched its mark, leaving streaks of briny residue on the walls that bore witness to countless storms. A series of narrow bridges and walkways connected the various towers and buildings of the castle, each one precariously suspended above the churning waters below. The cause of Balon's demise.

The main keep, which housed the Greyjoy family, rose from the center of the fortress like a dark, brooding sentinel. Its towering, angular walls were crowned with crenellations that cast stark shadows against the overcast sky. Theon could see the Greyjoy banner, a kraken of black on a field of gold, billowing in the wind above the keep, a symbol of his family's dominion over the Iron Islands.

Making it into the fortress' stables, Theon and Asha dismount from his horse and handed the reins to a waiting stable hand. Those who had spotted his arrival on horseback had come out to greet their king and his most trusted advisor. An up and rising young lord from Blacktyde, Kyllan Stewar, takes Theon by the forearm as was the custom greeting.

"Welcome back, Your Grace." Kyllan's smile is wide despite cracked lips that were common in this weather.

"Good to be back, Lord Stewar." Theon replies though his attention is elsewhere. "My queen?"

"Where else would our exuberant queen be?" Lord Kyllan chuckles knowingly. There was only one answer: the training yard.

Much like your siblings, you grew restless sitting around in a pretty dress. You loathed needlework and playing instruments of any kind. Your fingers weren't meant for delicate tasks. They were meant to wield deadly weapons.

You prefer to spend your days out in the fresh, salt air with either a blade or bow grasped in your hand.

The moment you spot Theon and Asha walking into the yard though, you let your sword fall to the ground; quickly forgetting about the young knight that you had been sparring with. Your legs move faster than your mind could think, on instinct they run toward Theon.

He collides into you, strong arms sweeping you up and off your feet. His grip could be considered suffocating to any other woman. You want him to break your bones though. To absorb you into his body so that you could always be with him.

"It's about damn time." You dig your fingers into his black hair, twisting the locks around your digits as Theon is now completely holding you up. Nostrils flare as you inhale his musky scent that mingles with the salty air. A primal smell stuck to your brother from weeks without a proper bath. But it was all him. "What took you so long?"

Theon chuckles and peppers the crown of your head in numerous butterfly kisses. "My apologies, your grace. There was lots of trading to be done overseas. Our oysters and mussels are the talk of the kingdom." You didn't like when he pulls away from you and you feel a pout rising on your lips until he crashes his mouth against your's. Relenting, you meet his hungry fervor; biting his bottom lip and keeping it as your captive for a moment before diving back into the kiss.

In the background, you hear the clearing of Asha's throat as she reminds the both of you that you were among other lords who were watching the reunion unfold. While many didn't care about your incestuous relationship, they didn't necessarily like being reminded of it with displays of affection. Not caring for what they think, Theon would have continued on kissing you until the sun went down, but you were more tactical and didn't want to make anyone uncomfortable, especially toward men who supported Theon's claim to the salt throne.

Sighing, you pat Theon on his chest and ignore his frustrated groan and turn him around to face his men. They stand straighter at his attention. "Men, our feast tonight will be overflowing with the finest red meat Westeros had to offer us!"

They cheer, red meat had been a rarity in the islands besides goat and lamb they could spare. Actual beef was worth more than any gold dragon to them. The Crownlands boast the most cattle and they just so happened to enjoy the large oysters that were abundant in the Iron Islands. Even your mouth watered at the thought of the meat being unloaded into the kitchens of the castle.

Heading back to the Greyjoy fortress, Theon cocks his head toward you with that smug grin of his. Holding out his arm to you in a warm gesture. "My queen, shall we follow?"

Immediately you latch onto his extended arm. You wouldn't be leaving his side any time soon. You plan on monopolizing his attention for the rest of the evening. Damn the other lords who have important business to discuss with him. You were Theon's number one priority.

"What the fuck is he doing here." You didn't bother to keep the vulgarity from your vocabulary nor the venom that dripped off of every word you hissed out. It wasn't phrased as a question. A demand more like it from the lord who had delivered the news that your uncle Euron had shown up on the docks like he owned the place.

Heat rose to your cheeks and down your neck at what this threat could bring to the prosperity of the islands. Euron could potentially fuck up everything you and Theon worked so hard to build.

Theon watches his sister's rare temper come to surface. There was little that could truly tick you off enough that you would raise your voice. He almost found it amusing since it was an event that didn't happen often. That's why he merely leans back in his throne and observes you in all of your haughty splendor.

"Well. . . he says since Balon is dead that he should be able to return to Pyke." The lord hesitantly continues, nervous eyes dart to Theon a bit helplessly but Theon was not going to be the one to stop you from fuming.

Asha barks out a cruel laugh. "Oh that's rich. Like that's going to undo the baby he put in the belly of Victarion's saltwife. Or bring her back to life."

Victarion who was present in the throne room, glares at his niece for her callousness. Both Victarion and Aeron did share her sentiment about Euron though. He should not be let back into the inner circle of the family.

Another liege lord pipes in "He's making quite the ruckus out in the courtyard. He's insisting an audience with you, your grace."

Indeed, everyone in the audience chamber could hear Euron's booming voice from the other hall. Grating on your nerves, you look to Theon to gauge his reaction just to find him still staring at you. Lazily his lips curl into a smile now that he had your intention.

You would have found it cute any other time, but your patience was wearing incredibly thin. "Well? We're going to turn him away, aren't we? He has no place here in our Iron Islands. We do not raid anymore. He is a reminder of that century old practice that near ruined us."

The way you spoke with such authority really did get Theon's cock hard but this was no place or time for a hard-on. "I understand why you and many others may not want him back on Pyke." He kept his eyes solely on you as if you were the only one he was talking to. "But Euron does know how to rouse the people into work."

"That can be a bad thing, my love. He can rouse people the wrong way. We do not want to go back to paying the iron price. That's not how this world works anymore. It's evolving. We're evolving." Your words may have come off as harsh, but honestly you were scared. Scared that Theon could see the fear in your eyes too. So much had been done for the islands. Your people were now prospering and not being looked down by the rest of the world. There were even some from Faircastle and Banefort coming and joining the faith of the Drowned Man which made your Uncle Aeron jump for joy (that is if he was capable of such an intense emotion).

"Like usual, your queen is right." Aeron quips. Theon nearly rolls his eyes but manages to keep them trained on you. Where was the lie though? Even Theon knew it was you who really ran things around here. You'd always been smarter than him. You were the baby of the family but acted like the eldest.

His smile softens. "I know she is. But we should at least hear him out. If only for a few moments."

"Just a few minutes." Huffing in your own throne, you flick your gaze to the lord who had informed you of Euron's arrival. "The very moment he steps out of line, I want him off our island. He would be grateful enough that we let him leave with his life."

Oh, he wanted to fuck you right in front of everyone that instant. Have you bent over his throne and wear the seadrift crown as he rails into you. All of that would have to wait though. There was no way you were as horny as he was right now.

With his consent, Euron was brought in.

He leisurely waltzes in, a familiar cocky grin plastered on his face that resembled the one your brother usually wore. You didn't like it on his face. Once his eyes land on you though, his smile dims. "Well, you grew up into quite the beauty."

You resist the urge to vomit. "Uncle, what brings you here to Pyke? Our father banished you. That banishment still remains."

Euron all but chuckles at the lofty air you carried about you. A gleam of reverence shimmers in his visible blue eye. The other that was covered with an eyepatch, you knew, was deep black much like his soul. It takes effort for him to retract his attention from you and to finally regard your brother, the king, seated next to you. "I wanted to see my beloved family. Excuse me, the King and Queen of the Iron Islands. Imagine my shock to learn that my niece and nephew took up the Targaryen custom of marrying one another. Balon must be rolling in his watery grave. I was even more shocked to see Pyke. The two of you have really cleaned up the place. The soil actually has greenery to it now."

Theon remained quiet, observing his uncle and the way the Crow's Eye would size you up every now and then as he was speaking. A long time ago, he would have immediately felt the sizzle of jealousy. He was a grown man now. His love for you had evolved above jealousy as you had reassured him through the years that you were his and he was your's. Even Robb Stark wasn't able to woo you away from him, though the match would have been beneficial to both the Starks and Greyjoys. And there was absolutely no way you would reciprocate Euron's lustful stares. Theon could see you physically recoil at his leering.

Subtly, his hand lands atop of your's, pulling you away from Euron. He smiles softly before replying "Yes, Pyke has come a long way since you've been here. The old ways were not beneficial to our people and unfortunately you still represent that. You can imagine the threat you pose to our achievements, uncle."

Victarion could be heard grumbling from off to the side where Aeron hushes him into silence. It doesn't go unnoticed by Euron who shoots his brother an goading wink that only furthered Victarion's flush of anger.

"Threat? I bring no threat." Euron chuckles and takes a step toward your throne. Asha who was silently standing next to you puts herself between you and Euron, sending a message that he was not to come any closer. Her hand moves to her sword, eyes hard with her warning. "I wish to be part of the greatness you have created here! Even in Essos I've heard of the prospering Iron Islands. Did you know your products have reached even that of Qarth?"

Of course you knew. No traders left without the crown's consent.

"What makes you think you have anything to offer the islands?" Asha sneers. His words were as trustworthy as a snake's.

His smile twitches in vexation. "I am a changed man, niece." He spits out the last word with mirth. "I have my dearly departed brother Balon to thank for that. His banishment was actually the best thing for me. My years spent wandering Essos has tempered me into a wiser and more resourceful man. I have newfound knowledge that would greatly contribute to the Iron Islands. I wish only to serve."

Putting on quite the display of fealty, Euron bends the knee to you and Theon; bowing his head deeply in reverence.

Murmurs spring up in the throne room. Many were those of doubts. Some were of intrigue. Your hand that was under Theon's curl letting Theon know of your disquiet thoughts. Theon flicks his attention on the other lords lingering around. "Leave us."

While the lords obeyed their king, your other two uncles were more hesitant to leave. This was a family matter afterall and they deserved a say in whatever decision you and Theon made.

"You two as well." He informs Victarion and Aeron.

Pursing his lips, Victarion is dragged away by Aeron Damphair. His scornful glare never leaves Euron who waves at them tauntingly.

When their footsteps fade away, Theon surprises you by standing up. You and Asha exchange wary glances before you too stand next to your husband. As a trio, you and your siblings walk down the raised dais to stand directly in front of Euron. Up close you do notice that he wasn't that bad looking. You would even call him handsome, much like Theon. They must have gained all the good looks in the Greyjoy family.

"Walk with us, uncle." Theon beseeches.

"Please stop glaring at me like that." Theon hated when you were upset with him. Euron had proved that he indeed possessed knowledge that would be beneficial to the islands which irritated both you and Asha even more.

"This is a bad idea, Theon." Pacing back and forth in your chambers, all you could think of was the calamity that Euron's presence could bring. Anxiously you chew on your cuticles, a nasty habit you'd had since childhood. It soothed you though and dampened the swirling thoughts that plagued you.

He watches helplessly as you just refuse to be still. "My love-"

You shake your head. "Don't 'my love' me. I can't believe you're letting him stay. Others will have issue with this too."

Catching you by the hand, Theon implores you to still your body. Grudgingly you do stop your pacing only to frown at him. You didn't yank your hand out of his grip but allowed him to slowly pull you onto his lap. Once settled in, his thumb smoothes against your cheek. "Our supporters are many. People trust us. If Euron dares to raise a hand against either of us, he will face repercussions from our citizens. And don't forget Asha would never let him get close to our wing of the castle. I don't think she'll be sleeping tonight."

"I. . . I just remember the stories father would tell us about him." Your eyes flutter closed, grimacing with the thought of Balon's gravely voice recalling his treacherous brother.

"Your fears are valid. I know. I know he can't be completely trusted. But we're strong enough to handle him if he does get the idea in trying to harm us."

True. If Euron really knew the other side of you. . . he would not have returned at all. He would stay far away, the only wise thing to do. Still sullen about the turn of events, all you could do was nod and place a small kiss on Theon's forehead.

"Very well."

You leave, not feeling any better. The clicking of your boots against the stone floor seemed incredibly loud in your ears. You hate how uneasy you feel in your own home. Like Euron would pop out of nowhere-

"Sweet niece."

Fuck.

Feeling stupid for leaving your sword behind, you reluctantly swivel on your heel to address your uncle. "Euron. You're not allowed here. Where are the attendants that we gave you?"

"I told them they could have the day off." Was all he would give you. Something spoiled your gut watching him strut toward you, thinking himself hot shit. Practically purring, his voice was smooth as the sea on a calm day, "You are a vision of beauty, even amidst the stormy shores of Pyke. Time on the mainland was good to you evidently."

Nails bite into your palm, the one thing keeping your facade neutral and gaze unwavering. Euron's silver tongue and beguiling charm was well known and he used it to seduce both men and women for both sex and war. "Your words are kind, uncle. But I must tell you that you should refrain from saying anymore from here on out."

His laugh grates against your hearing. "But we're family!" A dark undertone lowers his voice. "And apparently you have no problem with having family say sweet nothings to you. Or is that only for your brother?"

"Watch what you say." Your own tone is icy sharp. "You're lucky he even allowed you to stay here. You do not hold any kind of power in our court."

In faux defense, he holds up is hands. "My apologies, your grace. I see I have touched a nerve. I'm just saying, if blood is of no issue to you, then I willingly offer myself as a paramore to the queen. Loyalty can be such a confining chain. Why tether yourself to just one man? Have you ever tasted another's lips besides your brother's?"

Your eyes flash with a steely resolve as you step forward. "My loyalty is not a chain and you have stepped out of line. I need no other lover except for my king and husband, you unworthy worm. Get out of our wing before I truly lose my temper. If I even smell you here again I will have you hanged. Kin or not."

Like the rest of Westeros, kinslaying was beyond abhorrent. You did not make the promise lightly and Euron was aware that you would keep true to it.

Euron's demeanor shifted slightly, his charming facade cracking to reveal a hint of frustration and resentment. His lips curl with a retort but you raise your voice loud enough for any nearby guard to here. "GET OUT OF HERE."

The abrupt loudness of your voice actually causes him to take a step back. He weighs his options before ultimately skulking away.

"Are you alright, your grace?" A guard quickly rounds the corner to check on you.

"Have the guards doubled around our wing of the castle. By no means is Euron allowed here. If he is, then I insist on corporeal punishment."

Thank the gods Euron kept relatively quiet for the following days. Not a peep or sighting of him. You'd told Theon of your encounter with him. The treasonous things he said. He took it all in good humor, annoyingly so.

"He's just jealous." Theon nuzzles his nose against the warmth of your throat. Both of you were taking a break from honing your swordsmanship. Your sweat didn't bother him. In fact it appeared to entice him to lick a long line at your throat. "Jealous that you're all mine."

You blow out an exasperated puff of air. "Of course I am. That should be of no debate." The two of you are seated on a lone, grassy cliff that overlooks the tops of Pyke Castle. You enjoyed watching the busy port, the many sea vessels that were drifting upon the waves.

You didn't expect for your brother to take Euron's advances seriously.

He'd have to do something though once rumors from the taverns started to reach the castle.

Asha brought you the upsetting gossip which stemmed from your uncle. It was well recorded from many people how Euron would fall into his cups and talk of nothing but killing not just you, but Theon himself. He spoke openly of the kinslaying/regicide as if he were the better candidate to sit the salt throne.

There was a reason Asha came to you hesitantly. She knew what would happen once she told you that Euron had outright threatened Theon.

You couldn't let him live. Not after that. He could have just said he'd kill you. The moment he said he'd kill Theon you'd already made up your mind that you would take the situation into your own hands.

"Gather everyone in the castle to the bailey. Make sure Theon and Euron are in attendance." The coldness in your eyes could make any weather worn warrior tremble in front of you.

Asha actually smiles at the prospect of seeing this side of her sister released to the open. "Of course. I'll get right on it."

You listen to her walk away, your focus still on the sword behind the case you kept it in. Your sword.

--

When you challenge you uncle in front all of the household, all Euron does is bark out a laugh that has him rocking on his feet.

"You're joking, of course you must be joking." One arm is pressed against his stomach as another laugh wheezes out of him. When he finds everyone else with a sober face, he straightens up. Unwilling to let his condescending smile fall. Others were serious about this, awaiting his answer.

Behind you, Theon hisses out a desperate whisper "What are you doing?"

You're still staring at Euron. "He's been boasting about killing you. I can't allow him to keep saying such things."

That was all Theon needed to hear. He recognized the tightening of your posture, a spine like iron. This wasn't his queen anymore. This was a mercenary. Someone entirely different from his sweet sister who loved honeycakes and playing with the kennelmaster's puppies when there was free time. You weren't you and yet this part had always been woven into your being.

The only ending for Euron now was a slow and painful death. No one threatened the life of your brother and got away with it.

Euron finally replies, his tone dripping with mockery. "I accept your challenge. But be warned, I am not one to be taken lightly. Even if you are queen and blood. Whatever happens to you, I will not be held accountable for."

As the duel begins, Euron lunges forward with swift, calculated strikes. His years of experience at sea granted him an uncanny balance and agility, making him a formidable opponent. That was well known knowledge. He was capable of holding up his own in a fight. He was fast, but there was no one in the known world who could match your almost dancer's grace, movements precise and deliberate. You didn't have to be physically intimidating and neither did your sword. Slender, sharp, and double-edged you deftly parry each of Euron's attacks, focus unwavering.

It didn't take long for Euron to realize the grave mistake he'd made by agreeing to fighting you. With a fluid grace that belied strength, you disarm Euron in a swift, unexpected maneuver, sending his sword clattering to the ground.

With his lone, blue eye, he stares at it. He doesn't even catch your voice telling your men to bind him and toss him into the dungeon to await the king and queen.

Their hands are not gentle.

Fists split his face open. Another thing Euron had underestimated was how much they loved their sovereigns.

At some point, Euron fell unconscious. He's slow to rouse awake, head lolling from shoulder to shoulder as he stirs. Pain explodes on every known surface of his body. They must have continued to beat him even as he passed out.

Moving his mouth, he finds a gag placed over it. Vaguely he was able to make out muffled voices.

"Good, you're up."

A sharp slap to his face was what truly wakes him up. He finds his eyepatch was removed. One black eye and one blue eye wildly gape at you and Theon.

"Your death has been voted on by not just ourselves, but the lords of the Iron Islands as well." Theon announces, his expression passive. "We will grant you a private execution to lessen your humiliation. However, there has been a special request. You have the honor of being executed by the very woman that made you look like a fool."

Euron was half-listening though, distracted by what you were doing behind Theon. Your hands are busy unlacing your bodice, letting free your breasts. His throat clenches at the sight. You weren't paying either men any of your attention as you went on to remove the rest of your cumbersome clothing, leaving you naked.

"But not before my queen and I demonstrate our. . . united front." Theon's lips curl when he catches on that his words fall on deaf ears. Euron was entirely consumed with watching you perch yourself on a chair he hadn't noticed before. The dip of your hips was hypnotizing.

Only when you're fully seated do you look at your uncle. Legs crossed and tits pushed forward, you were downright sinful just sitting there. A cruel smile on her pretty lips. "I like you a lot better like this, Uncle Euron. My king, you've wasted enough time on him. Why don't you come over here?" Syrupy sweet when you turn to your brother.

Theon turns his back on Euron. Happy to obey his queen's demands. There was nothing left to say to him.

Undoing the clasp of his fur cape, he lays it out at your feet like a rug. Watching his nephew undress would not be as nice as watching you. Theon's bare back was that of a grown man's, broad and muscled and covered in scars. A testament to the turbulent symphony of his tumultuous life. Inked verses of his existence, painted by the relentless hand of adversity. The little boy was gone. Dead.

This was the King of the Iron Islands.

You shift in your seat, pussy already throbbing with the need for Theon's cock to fill it. What a pretty cock he had too. A blossom pink bulb of a head that was supported by a long, weighty shaft. Just thinking about it had your cheeks warming and your breathing become shallow.

Euron muffles, attempting to pull free of his confines.

His struggle music to your ears. You bite your bottom lip, chewing on it as your hand creeps between your legs. "Yes, louder if you will." You wanted to remember Euron like this. Helpless, being a captive audience for you and Theon. You would drive the point into his head, as one would a nail in wood, that Theon life and being were your's. And you were possessive over your things to a dangerous degree. When someone threatened the safety and happiness of Theon, you took it personally. Who thought they had the authority to kill him? Only you did, but you would never.

Your slick already covered the insides of your upper thighs, dripping down onto your seat. The only thing to pull your focus away from Euron was Theon pulling down his breeches to reveal his swollen, feverish cock. Practically springing out and begging for your lips around it. The softness of his cloak cushions your knees as you slide off and in front of Theon. His hand lovingly brushes against the top of your head.

"I understand you in some degree, uncle." Theon's voice is raspy, your mouth opening and leaning forward to wrap around the bulbous tip of his dick. He lets you suckle for a moment before continuing "If she were not mine, I too would be driven to jealousy and perhaps want to kill whatever lucky man had the honor of sleeping next to her." His eyes rove over your face, a twitch to his cock at the hollowing of your cheeks and the bobbing of your head. Fingers tighten around the tresses that adorned the crown of your head. He slams his length all the way to the back of your throat, making you gag. Tears accumulate on your bottom lashes but you will your throat to relax. Expertly breathing through your nose as you take him. You could feel your throat bulge, barely able to contain his girth let alone allow it down your throat. Saliva dribbles out of the corner of your mouth. He face fucks you, each snap of his hips pulling out a gagging noise from you.

Obscene squelching emits from the velvety drag of his dick down your throat and along your tongue. Usually he enjoyed cumming in your mouth. Theon would have to restrain himself this time.

Sharply Theon's sharp canine tooth pierces the plump flesh of his lower lip as he uses all of his strength to yank you off of him. "Hands and knees, my love."

Maneuvering around him so that Euron could watch you position yourself in front of your king. Your ass raises high, exposing your puffy, wet pussy for Theon's gaze to feast on. He takes a moment to appreciate the work of messy art in front of him with a smug grin.

"To never know how it feels to fuck such a perfect pussy. . . I feel sorry for you." Flashing up to his uncle, Theon grabs the shaft of his cock and lined it up perfectly against your lower lips. You feel the blunt prodding as he makes small, experimental thrusts against you. A territorial growl rips from him that has your nipples hardening even more. "But you're lucky enough to witness this. For this to be the last thing you see before my queen severs your head from your neck."

Pulling back a margin, he propels his hips forward to fill you to the hilt. All you could do was pathetically grip at the fur pelt beneath you for any kind of stability. You let yourself be as loud as you want. Shamelessly so. Euron could see the whites of your eyes as Theon drilled into you with his cock. Your tits bounce with each snap of his hips. Skin on skin smacks together in a loud symphony that was accompanied by your high pitch cries and Theon's own sinful praises that he lavished upon your pussy.

Your upper body threatens to give out. "TH-Theon-" You rasp out between the slapping of his balls against your clit.

Reading your mind, he reaches under you and with a feather light finger starts to languidly stroke the hood of your clit; his thumb already toying with your swollen bead that could make you squirt if stimulated enough. Somehow he manages to lift you up without jostling you much so that your back was pressed against his bare chest. His hand holds your neck, the other going to support a thigh as he continues to fuck you. At least now you could see his cock impale you, breaking past your pussy lips and disappearing deep inside of you.

He feels your walls constrict at the new angle he was taking you from. Squeezing contractions that massaged his cock in the way that made him feel like he was but a wild beast, reduced to his baser instincts of simply rutting into you. Theon's vision grows blurry, his head hot.

When he feels you spasm around him, seizing up and squeezing the life out of his cock in your own euphoria, that's when Theon allowed himself to break. He shudders and grips you tightly against him. Teeth bite into your shoulder to help him ride out his orgasm.

You yourself feel light headed, delirious and almost forgetting where the two of you were. Everything around you melts into nothingness. There's just you and Theon, stuck together. His panting matching your own.

Theon's tender voice is barely audible in your ringing ears. There was something he was reminding you to do. Your faculties were shut down as you were slowly coming down.

Patiently chuckling, Theon kisses your cheek. "My love, we can continue this in our room. But there's something you need to do first."

That's right.

Euron's cheeks were flushed and there was a tent formed in his pants. You smirk thinking that he would die with a hard-on.

On wobbly legs, Theon helps you stabilize before handing you your sword.

More muffling comes from your uncle with each step you took toward him. Still naked and glowing with a light sheen of sweat.

He's offered no last words.

Your blade strikes fast and true, slicing past bone and cartilage; tearing arteries and veins so that his warm blood sprays onto your skin.

Thus was the fate of any man or woman who dared to think they could take your Theon away from you.

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[welldonebeca]

Lookalike (I)

Summary: When Jon Snow’s name day arrives, Theon Greyjoy hires you as a gift for him. But will you awake feelings they’ve been trying to hide from themselves? WC: 2.9k words Warnings: Canon divergence. Smut. Role play. Virginity Kink. Innocence Kink. Dirty talk. Prostitution.

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Masterlist

You were wearing your prettiest dress when you arrived at Winterfell, riding your horse into the gates just as the sun set down.

It was very nice, looking like a lady sometimes, with your hair up and people looking at you respectfully, and not trying to take a bite out of you.

The guards even let you step inside, and one of them showed you a place where your old girl could rest and eat a little bit, and didn’t ask you too many questions.

You weren’t even finished tying her into place when the young ward who’d brought you here arrived to get you.

Theon Greyjoy.

You were very familiar with him. This wasn’t the first time you saw one another - and probably wouldn’t be the last - but your interaction was new. All of the other times, it was he who came to you, visiting your brothel, but tonight seemed to be special enough that he had requested that you came to see him in Winterfell.

“My lady,” he smirked at you, cocky.

“Lord Greyjoy,” you scoffed, picking your bag from her.

Very funny of him.

“Oh, come on,” he rolled his eyes and gestured to you. “You are wearing away too much for a whore.”

You shook your head, moving to his side, and he slapped your ass, pulling your body close.

“Let me see what’s underneath that under a better light,” he teased you.

You skimmed away from him, slapping his hand out of the way.

“I don’t think Lord Stark will appreciate you groping a whore in his yard,” you remarked. “Much less my presence in his castle.”

He scoffed.

“I told them you are here to assist in the kitchen,” he told you. “And you are going to leave tomorrow because you were intimidated by me. It’s simple.”

Gods, what a mess.

“Oh, yes,” you taunted him. “Intimidated by the big and strong ward of Winterfell. Oh, Lord Greyjoy, don’t seduce me, I’m saving myself for farmboy lover. He promised he will marry me as soon as his father allows it.”

Your words were very quick to sour his mood, and he grabbed your elbow.

“Just get inside,” he grunted. l

You followed Theon through the walls silently. Winterfell was a big castle, and a true fortress. One could walk through it for days and never see all of it.

"What's in the bag?" he threw a look over his shoulder as you walked into his chambers.

When the owner of your brothel told you to come, she said Theon wanted you to look like you were going to stay in the castle, and not spend a single night. So, as to look convincing, you took your trip as a time you could use to buy a few supplies for yourself and the other girls.

"Needles, fabric, some herbs, oils..." you listed. "Nothing you would be interested in.'

He perked up.

"Is it a special kind of oil?" he asked. "Because I want to stretch you out, little whore."

You wanted to scoff but knew not to push it. Theon wasn't the biggest man you had ever had in your life, though he wanted you to act like he was.

"Some of them," you raised your chin. "Some are just to make us smell good."

He pulled you close, and this time you didn't reject him, just stretching your neck to the side so he could sniff you.

"And you always smell so good, don't you?" he ran his nose on your skin.

“I do,” you hummed.

Theon pulled away suddenly, and you watched as he moved to his bedside.

“Well, I need you to smell different tonight,” he loosened his cloak, tossing it on his bed. “You are… a bit of a gift tonight.”

You watched him closely. Of course, you knew this wasn’t a simple visit. You weren’t dumb to think he just wanted to change his usual environment.

“I believe you heard that Lord Stark’s bastard just recently turned 18,” he pointed out. “Jon Snow.”

There was no one in the Seven Kingdoms who hadn’t heard of Jon Snow. Lord Stark’s only fault, the torn in his flash. His little bastard boy.

The event, of course, was overshadowed by Lord Stark’s firstborn’s nameday, just a few days before his dear brother.

“And I’m his nameday gift?” you asked.

He grabbed a little bottle of oil and dangled it in his hands, walking to you.

“And since I’m a good friend, I got him the best whore in Wintertown,” he smirked.

He opened the bottle, and raised it to your nose, so you could give it a little sniff before he dabbed it on the two sides of your neck.

It was a rose perfume - and a very expensive one, considering how strong it smelt.

“So tomorrow, you are going to bathe, and put on this sweet oil,” he closed the bottle again. “You’ll braid your hair all nicely, and wear that pretty dress of yours, and you are going to surprise our Lord Snow.”

Tomorrow.

“And tonight?” you asked.

Theon smirked.

“You don’t think I would have you come all the way here and then not fuck you, right?” he asked.

You simply nodded. It made a lot of sense.

“And you’re going to fuck me in your bed?” you teased him.

“All night long,” he moved his hands to your dress, untying from around your waist. “It might be his nameday, but he isn’t the only one who deserves some fun, right?”

Theon kissed your lips before you could think much more, and you let him guide you along as your dress fell to the floor, and he did the same thing with the shift you were wearing underneath for warmth before pulling you along to his bed.

“You are a very sweet whore,” he touched your chin, raising your chin and moving his thumb over your lips. “But I need you to be an innocent girl for me tonight. That’s how you’ll be for Jon."

You raised your eyebrows in surprise.

“Innocent?” you asked.

Theon pushed your hair out of your shoulders, caressing your skin.

“An innocent little girl,” he spoke softly. “A virgin whore, if I may say.”

You had never been a virgin whore. A virgin? Yes. A whore? You’ve been that for a long time, but you were already fucking when you decided it was best to be paid for it.

“Milord,” you shuddered. “I… maybe you’ve asked for the wrong woman? I’ve… I’ve never done it before, I’ve never been with a man.”

His face showed a bit of confusion for a moment, but Theon relaxed the moment he seemed to understand.

"Oh, no, I did not," Theon purred, brushing back your hair. "You think I haven’t seen you? Teasing me down the halls? As your bosom blossoms…”

You forced your face to stay innocent as he spoke, and he caressed your neck.

"Do you know how much I wanted to have you for me, pretty girl?" he asked you.

You shook your head.

"I wanted to be your first man," he cooed. "Show you how good you can feel, how much pleasure I can give you."

"But milord!" you gasped. "We aren't even married."

Theon chuckled.

"You are going to be a virgin whore for Jon," he reminded you, very stern. "But to me..."

You waited. Of course.

"We don't have to be married, little love," he spoke softly. "It's alright."

He moved his face to your neck, kissing your skin, and you shivered.

"What about my father?" you gasped.

Theon licked and nibbled on your skin.

"Don’t worry about out that," he whispered. "It won't count."

He took his hands to your breasts, caressing your naked tits, pinching your skin.

“We won’t do much,” he promised. “I won’t spill inside you.”

You rubbed your thighs together, a little more excited than you wished he knew.

It was a sweet scenario, this one. One you had thought about in the nights when you had to warm your own cunt and make yourself wet for clients with good gold, but not much consideration.

Theon wrapped his arms around your waist and lifted you up, carrying you to his bed and tossing you on it, and you were quick to close your legs and pull his cloak to cover your body, earning a lustful look from him.

“It’s alright, my little maiden,” he reached for you, taking your foot and slowly massaging it. “Don’t you trust me?”

You gulped, but nodded, knowing better than to drag this.

“I trust you, milord,” you whispered.

Theon smirked wickedly.

“Such a sweet girl.”

He reached for you, and undressed you once again.

“So pretty,” he purred. “Look at those perky little tits. I can’t believe you hide them away.”

You covered your tits with your half-assedly.

"Mother says I'm still young," you affirmed, feigning embarrassment. "That they'll still grow more."

He hummed along, clicking his tongue.

“I can make them grow for you,” he cooed. “Make your tits big and heavy, if you want to.”

You eyed him suspiciously.

“How?”

Theon smirked and climbed on top of you, kissing your collarbones before moving his lips to your breasts, and kissing your tit before wrapping his lips around your nipple, licking and sucking on it.

You gasped at the sudden touch, but soon it became a moan as he continued to lick, and suck and nibble, pulling on your nipple with his teeth scrapping your skin, and using his free hand to knead and squeeze your free breast before repeating his mouth movements with his fingers.

“You’re such a beauty,” he moved his lips away from your skin, moving his hands to your legs. “Men are going to kill for you, but they won’t know I was the first… the first one you let in…”

Theon kissed your stomach, licking the skin of your navel, and you shuddered.

He wasn’t… was he?

“The first one who ever got to get his eyes on this cunt,” he hummed. “And such a pretty cunt it is.”

You squirmed under his gaze, a little unease. Men didn’t take a lot of time looking at your cunt. Maybe at your tits, and at your naked bodies, but they never gazed at your cunt.

“Look at those fiery red locks,” he exhaled, touching you with his finger, and you sucked in a breath, startled.

Theon looked up at you, but didn’t seem much interested in the reasoning behind it.

“Pretty lady,” he rubbed you up and down, from your entrance to the button above it. “With a pretty cunt.”

You squirmed.

“Milord,” you whimpered. “What are you doing?”

“My Lord,” he corrected you softly.

“My lord,” you repeated.

He hummed along, reaching for you, and his finger reached your entrance, circling it slowly.

“Fingering you, sweet girl,” he said simply.

You panted, eager. His finger was slowly circling you, dipping in and then pulling out, not giving you anything.

“But my maidenhead,” you protested.

Theon didn't seem any detained, once again dipping his finger and pulling back.

"It won't break with just my fingers," he rested her leg on his shoulder.

A blatant lie, clearly.

"Are you sure?" you panted, a little needy.

Would he just fucking put that finger in?

"I am, my little lady," he kissed her thigh. "And you trust me, don't you? Your sweet Theon."

You nodded, looking for the meaning of his words.

"I do," you shuddered.

He slid a single finger into you, and you relaxed in relief, whimpering when he just pushed a second one right after, probably thinking it didn't matter for a whore like you.

"There you go," he purred. "There you go, my sweet lady."

"Theon," you moNed, not stopping to correct yourself.

He squeezed your thigh a little closer, curling his fingers.

"Yes, my sweet lady " he exhaled. "Do you like it when I touch you?"

"Yes," she confirmed, breathless.

He moved up your body, kissing your neck and chest as he fingered you,  spreading you open, so sweet and patient he didn't even feel like himself.

"Theon," you whined as he pushed a third finger.

He angled his hand, and you moaned when the heel of his hand finally came to rub your bud.

Seven hells, you just wanted to peak! Couldn't he be merciful?

"Theon," you whined. "Please."

He nuzzled your neck.

"Please what, my sweet lady?"

You bit back your tongue.

"I... I..." you stuttered. "I don't know, just... Please. Please."

"Here?" he pressed harder against your bud. "This place, sweet girl?"

"Yes," you gasped.

He hummed along.

"And what do you need?" he purred.

You squirmed, and he fucked you harder with his fingers.

"I don't know," you arched your hips.

Greyjoy nearly growled.

"My sweet little lady," he cooed. "Your cunt is squeezing my fingers so much. Don't you know what that means?"

"It's strange," you panted. "I feel strange."

"It's alright," he assured you. "It's going to feel food in just a second. Let it happen, sweet girl."

You closed your eyes, moaning and arching your body, letting the pleasure take you.

"Theon," you cried. "Theon!"

"Peak for me, sweet girl," he hummed into your neck. "Let me feel your cunt squeeze my fingers, my lady."

You finally broke, peaking and crying as he continued to fuck you and play with you.

"There you go," he whispered into your neck. "There you go, sweet Sansa."

And finally, it made sense.

This wasn't the first time someone hinted or outrightly said you looked like Lady Sansa. You were older than her, and she was much prettier, but in the dark, all tall girls with red hair and blue eyes could be the daughter of the Lord of Winterfell.

All men wanted to fuck noble ladies. Many wanted to fuck the young innocent daughter of Lord Stark.

His ward wasn't any different.

He kissed you right after, devouring your lips hungrily, holding you close with his free hand.

“Theon,” you panted.

“Let me show you more,” he settled between your legs, and you could feel his hard cock against your entrance. “Please, sweet girl.”

You rubbed your nose on his.

“Sansa,” you whispered to him. “I’m your Sansa, Theon.”

His cock twitched under you.

“Sweet Sansa,” he held you tighter. “Let me make you feel good.”

You moaned, arching your hips, and he his cock into you, the thick head breaching your cunt’s entrance.

“You want me don’t you?” he hissed into your neck, breathing in deep, sniffing your perfumed skin. “Sneaking glances at me at dinner, letting me listen to your sweet songs?”

“I do,” you panted.

He pushed more into you.

“I want you so much,” you panted. “My Theon.”

Theon pulled your hips up tight, lifting your legs and putting them on his shoulders as he pushed his cock deep into you, making you gasp.

“I’ll fucking show you,” he growled. “I’ll be so good for you, sweet Sansa, I promise I will.”

You put your arms around his body, squeezing him close, knowing he wanted his fanstasy and giving it to him.

His hips moved in a sweet pace, fucking you slowly, as if to a little virgin he wanted to cherish and didn’t want to hurt.

“I’ll mark you as mine,” he nosed your neck, hungry. “Gonna breed you, give you a baby.”

You moaned, holding him closer.

“I’ll make you the lady of the Iron Islands,” he growled into your neck. “Fill that place with little redhead boys, show everyone how I fuck you every night, I’ll keep you pregnant all the time.”

Fucking beast of a man.

“Yes, Theon,” you moaned, and cried when his cock hit your sweet spot. “Please, make me your wife.”

His hand moved to your mouth, quickly covering it up with his hand.

“Careful, sweet Sansa,” he panted. “You father mustn’t know.”

You nodded, though still moaned when his cock brushed against your sweet spot again.

Theon was a fast learner. When he felt generous, he knew exactly when to make you feel pleasure.

And right now, you were his sweet Sansa, of course he would want you to feel the most pleasure.

Your peak threatened you again, and you arched your hips to him.

“Theon,” you panted, innocent, against his hand. “It’s… please… again.”

He growled into your neck.

“You’re going to peak for me again, sweet Sansa?” he asked. “I can feel your cunt squeezing my cock. Such a strong grip, my little maiden.”

“Please,” you panted. “I don’t know-”

“It’s alright,” he kissed your skin. “I can do it for you, sweet girl. Just take it. Keep giving me your sweet moans and I’ll do everything for you.”

You let him, and just rode your pleasure, peaking around his cock and taking it when you felt him trembling over you, spilling into your cunt as you still felt the sweet shocks.

He stayed inside you for a moment, tangled with you, sniffing your neck and holding you close, and you could feel the moment he remembered who he was laying with. Not his sweet Sansa, but just a whore.

“Alright,” he huffled, pulling away from you. “You can go now. Come back before the sun is down and I’ll help you dress up right to go to Jon.”

You frowned, confused.

“Go?” you asked. “Where?”

He rolled his eyes.

“Go down to the servants quarters or something,” he grunted. “They are waiting for a kitchen girl, anyway.”

You sighed, but picked up your things, dressing up and putting on your cloak, grabbing your bag.

“Fine,” you mumbled.

“I’ll pay you when you are done with Jon,” he warned you.

You nodded before leaving.

At least you would have a warm bed for the night.

. . .

"Lookalike" was posted on my Patreon back in October 2022! To read it before anyone else and have early access to my stories, consider subscribing to my page! It's just $2 a month, and it helps a lot!

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[myocsfanfictions]

The Wolf, the Stag and the Snake (Book 2)

ASOIAF Fanfiction

After the new King of the Seven Kingdoms had killed Lord Stark many things had happened. Life is no longer how it used to be, with the War of the Five Kings beginning, follow Antea Stark, Cassandra Baratheon and Cyel Sand trying to survive in a world that is becoming everyday more dark and dangerous.

MASTERLIST

《 Previous - Next 》

Chapter 2

ANTEA

Her nights had become rather restless. After learning about her Lord father’s execution, Antea Stark had trouble falling asleep. The anger she felt was so great that it made her tremble. The sorrow that she felt was so painful that every time she had the chance to be alone, she’d cry and scream. She had noticed many lords looked at her as if she was crazy.

She is a woman. She is too soft. They liked to say.

But they had no idea what it felt like to be her. Antea had no way to release that fire of anger that had been lit up inside her. She hated the Lannisters, yet she could only hate them. She had no way of getting close to those men. She could not take a sword and twist it in the belly of Joffrey Baratheon. She couldn’t. But she could hate them. I hate that cowardly boy who had no shame in killing her Father with false accusations. She could only hate them. And that was how she spent the nights when she could not sleep. She prayed to all the gods she knew so that something terrible would happen to every living Lannister and that they could lose everything they hold dear and die in despair.

“I feel your anger, sister. But you need to gain back your senses,” Robb had said one night, visiting the chamber that had been given to her. Their journey had brought them all to Riverrun, the castle where her mother had lived her youth, where both Robb and Antea had come into the world fifteen years before.

Antea had turned to him with crossed arms. Shadow was now always with her, sitting at her feet to not let anyone get close. “I’ve got my senses, brother,” she spoke, “I’ve never had my mind more clear.”

“Antea, people talk,” Antea scoffed.

“Let them!” She exclaimed, “My Father had been killed. I’m never going to see him again,” Robb took a breath, looking down, “They have destroyed us, Robb,” she said sadly, “They’ve destroyed us since they walked through the gates of Winterfell.”

Her twin brother, now the King of the North, walked to her, taking her hands. “I swear to you, Antea. I’ll bring justice. I’ll avenge Father.”

Antea felt the tears in her eyes as she observed her brother. Her hands moved, taking his face between her hands so that their forehead could touch each other, “We’ve lost father, Sansa is in the Lannister’s hands, only the gods know what was of Arya, and we almost lost Bran, and you are fighting a war. We are scattered,” she let out a sob, “I’m so angry.”

“My sweet sister,” Robb said, taking her hands to have her look at him, “We’ll be back at Winterfell soon enough, but I need you to keep yourself grounded. I'm king now, the lords holds expectations.”

Antea got free from her brother's hold, “Expectation...”

“My King,” the voice of the guard outside her tent made the two turn towards the entrance, “Theon Greyjoy, my King.”

Antea took a breath, brushing away her tears.

Her brother spoke, “Let him through.”

Shadow nudged Antea’s leg, making the girl look down so that their eyes could meet. Shadow understood her. Like always.

The sound of Theon’s steps made her look at the boy. He was wearing his jerkin. The golden kraken was embroidered on his chest. His eyes traveled between Robb and Antea, indulging on her face longer. Action that made her look away. She didn’t want him to see her cry.

“Lord Edmure is looking for you,” Theon said to Robb. Antea heard her brother take a deep breath before turning to his sister.

“Try to stay calm,” he said, holding her hand, “Sleep. Rest. I’ll see you in the morrow. Agreed?” He asked with a firm tone when she didn’t look at him. “Antea.”

Antea bit her lips, “Yes, my king.” Robb had not appreciated her answer, but he had no time to stay and fight with her. He took a frustrated breath before leaving the tent.

“Am I sensing a tense feeling in here?” Theon said, still not leaving. That was not new to Antea. Lately, he had been observing her closely. She had seen him looking at her at every opportunity that he had. But not only. Since the death of her father, Theon had been by her side more often than not.

“You don’t have to tell me how to behave,” she told him with a nervous tone, pacing back and forth, “The King had already spoken his mind.”

“I’m not here to tell you how to behave,” Theon said with a frown, surprising her when his lips turned up into a smirk, “My lady wouldn't listen anyway."

When they got the chance to be alone, Theon did not use her new title. Being called princess was still a foreign sound to her ears. A sound full of sorrow. If her father were still alive, she'd still be a lady and her brother heir to Winterfell, not the King in the North.

“Yet, it pains me to see you like this,” that made her scoff in frustration.

“Is it a sight so unbearable? To watch a daughter who lost her father?” She asked, clenching her fingers into a fist as she turned her back to the young man, “I’ve lost so much more than just my lord. Yet you all can’t stand it. Why do my feelings bother you so much? Why is feeling considered a weakness by men?”

She knew they all said that. Antea had listened with her own ears. The lord of the North observed her as if she was a twig on the verge of breaking. They liked to underestimate her because she was a woman. But that had nothing to do with women or weakness.

Antea had always been known to be different from her siblings in matters of feelings and expressing them. She had a hard time controlling her emotions, but she managed most of the time. Yet, this was a new kind of feeling. Much greater than she had ever felt. And she felt as if it was impossible to keep it in.

“You’ve mistaken my words,” Theon spoke, “I consider you anything but weak,” Antea dared not to say anything, letting him continue, “I’ve watched you for ten years, and I figured you’ve got a temper, and your stubbornness can be unbearable,” he let out a little nostalgic laugh, as she could hear him moving closer, “But I also know that you are protective and generous and your smile is the most beautiful sight I’ve ever lay my eyes upon," when he gently touched her arm, Antea could not help but let him move her so that their eyes could meet. Her heart was beating loudly in her chest, feeling him so close. "It pains me to see you filled with so much sorrow, knowing there's little I can do."

A tear rolled down her, wetting her cheek. Her breath got stuck in her throat when she felt his hand coming to touch her face. Drying her tear with his thumb.

"Theon..." she whispered as her eyes moved from his eyes to his lips. He was so close to her.

"Theon loves you, Antea," she remembered her sweet sister Sansa's voice. Those words made her blush as she looked over to Septa Mordane to be sure she hadn't heard. "Cyel, tell her it's the truth," Sansa said, almost begging the girl to keep with her needlework. But Antea didn't miss her smile.

"Love is a big word, sweet sister," Antea had whispered. But Sansa had looked at her as if she was really silly.

"He always looks at you," she had explained, "And he smiles."

Antea rolled her eyes, "He always smiles," she had answered. But Sansa had shook her head elegantly, like always.

"It's a different kind of smile."

Antea was close to thirteen when Sansa shared her thoughts. And Antea had blushed deeply. Theon was older than her and handsome and charming. She remembered that she hadn't been able to talk to him for the entire day after what Sansa had told her. Suddenly, feeling shy in his presence.

Maybe it's true, she had wandered. Maybe he truly has feelings for me.

She had kept thinking when they had danced together, not so long after.

But that good feeling soon had been replaced by realization when she had heard Theon speak with her twin brother about a girl he had bedded.

Antea had never realized that Theon could indulge in such behavior, but then she heard servant talk, and she had seen girls blush at his passage. That had cut deeper than she thought.

So, she kept on with her life, thinking of Theon as a dear friend. Not sharing her thoughts with anyone, not even Cyel. Theon liked women, but he did not have any interest in her.

But now, what was happening was something that she had not expected to happen. She felt confused, surely due to all those sleepless nights, but at the same time, his touch was so comforting. The same way it had comforted her when she had known about her father's death.

"My lady," he whispered, moving closer. His hand remained against her cheek. Antea moved her fingers to rest on his wrist. But not to move him away, if anything, to keep him close to her. Her eyes were full of tears.

"I'm so tired, Theon," Antea admitted after a moment of silence, "I feel nothing but pain."

His hold on her tightened, "I'd do anything to ease your heart, my lady." Antea let out a little sob.

"Why?" She asked before he could make sure she'd look into his eyes.

"Don't you know?" He asked, making her blush as he leaned forward, slowly pushing his lips against hers.

That was a strange feeling, the one Antea felt when their lips touched. She had never been kissed before, but with ease, she found herself kissing Theon's back. She had been hesitant at the beginning, not knowing exactly what to do. But the more she followed his movement, the more she found herself comfortable feeling his touch. Her hands traveled from his arms to his chest, gripping the cloth of his vest, as she was afraid he would walk away. But he didn't. Theon kept kissing her, holding her close when his hands found her hips. His touch and his lips brought her so much warmth, a feeling that she had almost forgotten those days. Feeling all those judging faces of the other lords. Of her king. But there in Theon's arms, she felt much more safe. Understood.

Soon, her fingers found his hair, pulling him closer. Allowing him to explore her mouth as it pleased him. And she savored every moment, feeling at ease in his arms.

"Antea," he whispered against her lips, "You're crying, my lady," but she took his face in her hands, stopping him from moving away. "Please, Theon." She whispered. He kissed her tears before his lips found hers again.

Antea closed her eyes, getting lost in that pleasurable feeling that was taking over her. She liked how his hand touched her hip, bringing her closer to his chest. She did the same, feeling the need to have him close.

"Princess Antea," the guard outside her chamber spoke, interrupting them. "The lady Catelyn is here for you."

Dread took over Antea as she took a step back from Theon, who looked at the door.

"Yes," Antea had been quick to answer, still short of breath.

"Meet me in the morrow," Theon was quick to whisper.

"What?" She whispered, eyeing the door.

"Meet me in the morrow," he repeated, "In the gardens." Antea found herself nodding her head. Her gesture made him smile.

Theon was quick to turn when the door opened to let Antea's mother enter her chamber. And only by the look on her face, she could see that the Lady Stark was not pleased by what she was looking at.

"My lady," Theon was quick to bow to her mother. Who looked at him rather coldly. "I'll take my leave, now," then he turned to Antea, bowing to her, "My princess," she didn't answer, but she had to do everything that she could not to let her cheek get red when she saw the smirk on his face when he looked at her.

Antea observed him walk away, still feeling his lips against her own. But her memory of the kiss the two had just shared had to be put aside. She had to face her mother.

"Why was Theon here?" The woman asked, with a tone that got Antea a shiver on her back.

"Robb was here as well," Antea was quick to answer, "But then he had to meet with Uncle Edmure." But her answer didn't ease her mother's gaze.

"But why was Theon here?" She asked.

Antea took a breath, sitting on her bed, immediately followed by Shadow, who sat at her feet.

"I was crying, Mother," she answered, "Theon was... comforting me."

Her mother studied her expression. And Antea prayed to all the gods that she wasn't showing any sign of flushing on her face.

"It is not appropriate for him to be in your chambers alone," her mother said.

Antea caressed Shadow's head, "Nothing happened," she lied, "How's grandfather?" She asked, trying to move away from the subject of Theon.

"Not well at all, I'm afraid," her mother's eyes were different from what had happened to Antea's father. She was hiding it well, but Antea fell her close. Sharing the same sadness. And the condition of Lord Hoster Tully was perceived even heavier now.

"As I've noticed your sorrow," her mother spoke, coming to sit next to her daughter, "I know you are suffering," Antea didn't answer, "But it's time for you to get back your strength. Your brother needs you," her mother said touching her hair.

"You know I would do anything for our family," Antea answered with honesty, "But I've felt so angry since my father..."

"I know, child," her mother said, "But since this war is far from over, we need to make the lords see that our house still stands."

"I do not want people to see me as weak, Mother," she said.

"They won't," her mother answered.

Theon doesn't, Antea thought. Feeling again the pressure of the boy's lips on hers. And that made her heart race.

"I've sent a raven to Winterfell," his mother said, getting Antea's attention back. She often wondered about her little brothers and how Rickon was growing up. How Bran was feeling. "Bran is to be wed. Not now, of course, but soon the ravens with words of his engagement will fly in the Seven Kingdoms."

"With Cyel?" Antea asked with wide eyes.

Her mother nodded her head, "It's time for all of us to do our part."

The night had passed with Antea tossing and turning. The expectation on herself, the words of her mother, Theon’s lips. Everything was spinning in her head. There was so much that she felt. The sorrow for her family, the anger towards those judging lords, the weight of reality, knowing that she indeed had to do what was expected of her, and guilt. Guilt because if she thought about Theon’s touch, she had finally felt a moment of peace. But was it fair to her father’s memory?

In the morrow, Antea had joined her brother to break their fast. It had been a quiet meal, and both still felt very sensitive about their argument from the night before. But Antea had another reason to feel queer with her brother. She had never held secrets with him, yet she did not want him to know what had happened between her and Theon.

“They are forging my crown,” Robb said as he ate. “They want to make it look like the crown of the Kings in the North.”

Antea took a sip of milk, “Does it make you eager?” Robb scoffed.

“You’re angry at me for some reason?” Antea lowered her eyes. It was strange. She knew he was her brother, she was looking at her beloved twin. And yet, his new title was heavy on everyone. She had been one of those agreeing with him. But she had not thought about the consequences. Her brother was now more exposed to risk than ever.

“I do not wish to lose you, Robb,” she admitted without rage in her voice, “Loosing father had been a pain so great that I fear I’d lose myself if something like that would happen again,” she felt Shadow resting her snout on her legs, and Antea was quick to caress her head.

Every time Antea felt something very strongly, it was like her direwolf would feel it as well and share it with her. She had been so attached to her pup that sometimes she dreamt of being her, running and hunting with Grey Wind.

In moments of sorrow, Shadow felt the only one who could understand her truly.

“I promise, it’s not going to happen,” Robb said, taking back her attention. “I’m in talks with the lords to look for another solution. One that will not require battlefields and fights.”

Antea’s eyes widened, “Truly?”

Her brother smiled. It was so strange to see his face covered with a beard. He seemed so much older. “I still need time, but I’ll try this solution.”

The girl nodded, feeling relieved that her brother didn’t have to fight anymore. Or Theon.

She remembered how she had feared during the battle to take back Riverrun from the Lannisters, how she had waited for her brother to return and how she felt relieved when she saw him ride back with words of victory, how she had looked at Theon, feeling tears when she saw his usual smirk on his face. All of that was coming to an end. And of that, she was glad. But there was a thought that lingered in the back of her mind.

“What of the Kingslayer, though?” She asked. They couldn’t let him go, even with peace.

“I do not intend to free him,” Robb answered. Antea had no permission to talk to the prisoner. Her brother had forbidden her to. Robb knew how much she hated him for what he had done to Bran. But he knew well how much she hated the Lannisters and how Shadiw was quick to attack every time Antea got angry. Her pup could be very quiet and calm, as she could attack a man without a second thought. That happened when Antea had enough of those lords observing her. She still remembered Lord Bolton’s face as the soldier held his arm.

After she had broken her fast, her brother, the King, was required by the lords. And Antea could not go. But she had somewhere to be.

She walked through the corridors of Riverrun. She had been born in that castle, but she had no memory of it. She had been nothing but a child attached to breast when it had been possible for her to go home. Winterfell.

Riverrun was different from her castle. And its defenses were impressive, by what she came to know. They could easily open the gates to transform the castle into an island surrounded by water on all sides. She knew it would have been a sight. But a sight she did not wish to see.

Antea made her way to the gardens. Her hands were sweating, and her heart was racing at the thought of seeing Theon after what happened. She had no idea what to expect.

When she stepped outside, she saw Theon standing on a side, bowing his head when Lord Rickard Karstark passed. Antea did not know what to do.

What should I say? The girl asked herself. But when Richard Karstark noticed her presence, he bowed, “Good morrow, Princess Antea,” she felt her cheeks burn when she saw Theon turning in her direction.

“Good morrow, my lord,” Antea answered politely.

“Your beauty is a welcoming sight, my princess,” the man said. There was a hint of sorrow in his voice. Antea knew why and could understand. He was still mourning his sons, lost during the Battle of the Whispering Woods. His sons had saved Robb’s life. An act she would never forget.

“The King will be pleased by your presence, my lord,” she said with courtesy. The man bowed one last time before entering the castle. When the heavy door closed at her back, Antea started to feel nervous again as her eyes met Theon’s.

“I’m glad you’re here, my lady,” he said, stepping closer. Antea felt the shyness grow inside of her. Remembering the kiss they’ve shared, “For a moment, I thought you would not be coming.”

The smile never left his face as he spoke to her. “I wanted to meet you,” she said, lowering her gaze for a moment, “I think we need to talk about what happened.”

Theon took a breath before nodding his head. Then he offered his arm to her to take. “Shall we take a walk?”

It would have been more fitting. She didn’t want her mother to know what had happened. So Antea accepted his arm, letting him guide her through the gardens. Shadow had already disappeared. But she was there. Antea could feel her eyes on her.

“What did you want to talk about?” Asked Theon, making her glare at him.

“You know,” she answered, trying to speak with a hushed voice. That seemed to amuse him.

“You are too shy to call it by its name?” He said, righting his grip on her arm when he felt her try to pull back.

“I will not be mocked, Theon,” she argued as the boy tilted his head to the side.

“That’s not my intent, my lady,” he said, the smile never leaving his face, as he leaned forward, “It’s just, you’re so lovely, I might want to kiss you again.”

“Theon…” she whispered, giving a quick look at their surroundings to be sure no one was around.

“You don’t want me to?” He asked, not moving away.

I want you to, she thought. Her eyes moved to his lips so close to hers. She would have liked to feel them pressed on hers again.

“Why did you kiss me?” She asked instead. Theon lowered his gaze for a moment.

“Because I’ve wanted to for quite some time,” he answered. For quite some time? What did he mean? For how long? But before she could ask anything else, he kept walking once again. “But I wanted for you to try something this day.” Theon leads her through the gardens, further from the castle. Until she saw a bow resting on the ground next to a target to practice. Something like twenty arrows were stuck on the ground.

“Archery?” She asked, turning to the young man next to her, who showed his smile.

“I wanted to take your mind away from sad thoughts,” he answered, “I meant it when I said my heart ache not to see your smile again.”

Antea looked at him, moved by everything he was doing for her. But a single question came to her mind, “Why?”

Theon smiled, taking her face gently between his hands, caressing her cheeks with his thumbs, “Don’t you know?” He asked her before leaning forward and pressing his lips on hers once again. And Antea found herself closing her eyes, savoring that kiss that filled her with all those same sweet feelings of the night before.

*************

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[peterjakes]

Theon Greyjoy - ‘they see right through me’

Theon Greyjoy survived The Long Night. He helped saved Winterfell. He has atoned. The Hero of the Godswood.

But things don't always go to plan. His uncle killed his sister, Yara. This can only mean one thing. Theon Greyjoy is Lord of The Iron Islands. The one thing he had always wanted as a boy, he now has. The one thing he doesn't want, he now has. The one thing he didn't believe he deserved, he now has.

But at what cost?

back when s8 aired, I had some thoughts about what would happen if yara died instead of theon (mostly bc of selfish reasons) but I thought it would be interesting to look at theon's potential feelings about this and possibly what would happen if he was named the last remaining heir of The Iron Islands

thanks for reading x

also posted on ao3; https://archiveofourown.org/works/45919603

Theon Greyjoy had, against all odds, survived the Long Night. He had survived the Godswood. Survived the Night King. He could go home. Wherever home was. Theon was still unsure of that. He had rescued his sister from his uncle, made sure the Iron Islands had its Queen. But then he had left her, for a place he never truly believed he would set foot in again. He had left his sister for Winterfell, to fight for the North, to fight for the Starks. Could Pyke ever be his home again? Would he want it to be? Being back at Winterfell, back at the place that caused so much anger and anguish in Theon, the place where he had destroyed so much, it brought up some strange memories, some strange feelings. Could Winterfell be his home? Could he stay here, a now honorary Northerner? Theon wasn’t so sure.  

Volunteering to protect Bran in the Godswood, Theon knew what that meant. He knew it had to be him. He had to make up for his crimes against Winterfell, against the Starks, against Bran himself. He was sure everyone else who had watched him say those words knew too. Jon, Sansa, Arya, Bran. They all knew what it had meant. Theon didn’t want to be thanked. Didn’t want to be celebrated. It was what he had to do. For all of them. It was the only real way he could ever make it up to them. Not only for betraying them, their family, their brother, their mother, their father. But betraying himself. For believing he was anything but part of them. He was, in truth, he just hadn’t realised it yet.  

As Jon had said, Ned Stark was a part of him. But it wasn’t just him, it was all of the Starks. It was Jon, who had told him he was both a Greyjoy and a Stark. Who had forgiven him for what he had done. It was Sansa, who had embraced him with such kindness and warmth. Who had relied so heavily on him during Ramsey’s reign of terror and had forgiven him. It was even Bran, who didn’t seem like the young boy Theon had once terrorised, who had told Theon he was a good man. Who had thanked him. It was all of these moments, so important and perhaps maybe so insignificant to anyone else, that had made Theon realise something.  

He had done things, truly terrible things, to the Starks, to Winterfell and to the North. He didn’t deserve any kindness, any forgiveness. He just felt regret, remorse and guilt. Every single day. And every single night. But regardless of that, he had been forgiven. He had been rewarded with kindness. With something he never thought he would get. He had been redeemed. Even before he had stayed in the Godswood with the Iron Born. Before he pledged to fight for Winterfell. Before he had saved his sister. But Theon just hadn’t realised that yet. Theon had been given a second chance, more than once. Saving and getting Sansa to safety. Citing Yara as his Queen. Fighting for Winterfell. Theon had been given so much more than he believed he had deserved. The Theon Greyjoy who grew up at Winterfell no longer existed. Nor did the Theon who took Winterfell and betrayed the Starks. The Theon who was tortured by Ramsey, gone. Reek? Gone, gone. Theon Greyjoy had been reborn; he had been redeemed completely. Theon had survived, not just the Long Night. Not just his uncle. But every single thing that had led him to that moment in the Godswood, he had survived. He could do more than that now. He could live.  

It was his sister he’d wanted to see. Wanted to apologise again, although Theon wasn’t sure about what. He had left her, but she had allowed him to do that. He still felt some guilt. He was a Greyjoy, he had pledged to follow her, she was his Queen. But at that moment, going back to Winterfell was the most important thing for Theon. He had to face those ghosts one last time.  

But that wasn’t going to happen, not for Theon. It was late afternoon when Sansa had told him. She looked weary and tired, clearly things had not been going well in King’s Landing. But she didn’t mention that, only of Theon’s news.  

“Yara’s dead.”  

After those two words, everything else seemed to stop. Theon had stopped listening to Sansa, although he wasn’t sure she had said anything else. It was possible she let the news sit with Theon, let it sink in, until Theon finally realised what she had just told him. His vision became blurred, he could only see the red from Sansa’s hair in the distance, the black from her dress. Everything else was gone. His breathing seemed to pitch up and his blinking, could he blink? Theon wasn’t so sure. Theon had not been awake that long after the battle, he was supposed to recover, supposed to heal. But he could only think of one thing. His sister.

Theon was the one who was supposed to die. He was the one who would sacrifice himself, finally atoning for what he had done. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Yara...she couldn’t be dead. It wasn’t right. Everything that had happened had led to her ruling the Iron Islands, the way it was supposed to be. Theon was never sure whether he would be able to stand by her side, but now he never would. No one would. She had been taken, by the waves, by the sea. She had drowned, the gods had taken her. Never to be seen again. She had floated out into the distance, where Theon couldn’t reach her.  

Theon wasn’t going to pretend he and Yara had the best relationship. He didn’t remember much about her growing up. He’d told her she looked like a fat, little boy when he was taken from Pyke. As a baby he would cry and cry and cry. But Theon didn’t remember that. His memories of Pyke, his memories of his father, his mother, his brothers, his sister, even they were never clear enough. Everything was always over-clouded, overshadowed by the North. There were bits and pieces he would remember if he thought about it hard enough. His mother’s smile. His brother’s play fighting by the sea. A fat finger prodding him all over. His father’s angry expression. But nothing concrete. It didn’t matter. Theon wasn’t angry or upset. Those memories were not who he was. They didn’t define him. They never could.  

But the memories of Winterfell always seemed far clearer. Robb’s laughter at any of Theon’s jokes. His anger. Lord and Lady Stark, their stern faces. Arya practicing with Theon’s bow. Sansa and her long, auburn hair. Little Bran and Rickon. The Maester. Ser Rodrik. These memories were now ruined, however, by what Theon had done. Taking Winterfell. Beheading Ser Rodrik. Burning the two little bodies. And then Reek’s memories, they would always come back to him. The ones he thought for long he deserved. Maybe he still did. Ramsey’s strange touch. The scars. The smell. The kennels. The hounds. Sansa. Her wedding dress. That night. Betraying her again. Escaping. Letting her go.  

New memories sometimes found themselves in Theon’s mind. Returning to his sister. Travelling to Mereen. Standing by his sister’s side. Dragonstone. Jon’s kind words. Saving his sister. Winterfell. Sansa. The Godswood. Waking up, realizing he had made it. Theon’s memories had reborn; they had become something else.  He had been given the chance to make new ones. Whether that was on Pyke or somewhere else, Theon did not know. But perhaps he shouldn’t waste it. Yara would not want him to waste it. Even with everything that had happened, he was her brother, and she loved him, in her way.

Meeting her again after so long away, Theon hadn’t given the best impression of her younger brother. Thinking back to how he had acted then, Theon felt ashamed. He felt ashamed about so many things, still now, particularly about that time. He knew that feeling would never leave him. This was the price he must pay to live, the Iron Price. He knew that now, though he wasn’t sure whether he had accepted it. Did he deserve to live? Deserve to want to live? He had hurt so many people, including his sister. But he had come back to her, to the Iron Islands, to Pyke. He had named her as his Queen, supported her and escaped Euron with her. It was something, something Theon could hang onto. He would have to. There were not many happy memories between the two and now there wouldn’t be.

But none of that mattered now, not truly. She was gone, and she wasn’t coming back. Theon was alone in the world. The only Greyjoy left. This wasn’t right. He couldn’t be the last one, it should never have been him. Yara, it was supposed to be Yara. It should always have been Yara. She would have taken great pride in being the last one, she would have made sure all of Westeros remembered the Greyjoys, remembered the name. Theon knew he couldn’t do that. He wasn’t up to that. Yara and Theon were so different. He wasn’t her and she wasn’t him. He couldn’t do anything for her memory. Not one thing.  

It wasn’t until Sansa brought up the subject that Theon realised with both Yara and Euron gone, there was only one person left who could rule the Iron Islands. Theon. But no. Theon couldn’t. He wasn’t fit to rule. He didn’t deserve to rule. He didn’t want to. But he was the last Greyjoy left. He was the last link to his father. His father, Balon Greyjoy. His father, who had shipped him away to the North. His father, who had bent the knee. His father, who never seemed to have any love for Theon. His father, who named Yara as his heir. His father, who died alone. What a father he was. Jon had once told Theon that Ned Stark was more of a father than the Greyjoy Lord ever was. Theon’s real father had lost his head at King’s Landing. Wasn’t that what Theon had told Ramsey once? What connection did Theon have with his father? Not one that mattered. His connection was stronger with the Starks, with Winterfell and the North.  

Theon couldn’t rule, he just couldn’t. He didn’t deserve that. He didn’t deserve to be the reigning Lord over a place he could hardly remember. It was supposed to be Yara. They were supposed to have their Queen. Their first Queen. After everything, how could he go back? He couldn’t go back, not there. He didn’t deserve to go back. Theon spent so much of his life being torn between Winterfell and Pyke. He seemed to belong to neither, floating between the two. The Northerners always saw him as an outsider, a sheep in wolf clothing. And when he went back to Pyke, he didn’t belong there. He didn’t dress like the Iron Born, sound like the Iron Born, didn’t look like the Iron Born. He wasn’t Iron Born.

But how could he desert the Iron Born? The ones who were left. So many died as Theon should have in the Godswood. Yara had taken her remaining ships home or had intended to. She hadn’t made it. And Euron, he was gone too. Killed by Jaime Lannister. How was this possible? This wasn’t the way it was supposed to happen. Theon knew what had to happen. He had it all planned out in his head. His death, his sacrifice, was one of the first things he would have control over again. How could it have gone so wrong? And what about the Iron Born? The men who had followed Yara with no real idea how it would end for them. They didn’t want Theon as their ruler, they wanted Yara. What could Theon do for them? He wasn’t worthy of it. Wasn’t worthy of anything.  

Yara was sworn by duty to lead her men, the Iron Born to do what had to be done. It was something that Theon admired about her. She seemed to know what the right thing was to do, always. Whether anyone else thought it was right was another thing completely. Theon didn’t share that quality with his sister. There always seemed to be a choice he had to make, an impossible one. But maybe there wasn’t one now. The Iron Islands had been ruled by the Greyjoys for so long, would he really be the last Greyjoy? The one to end that. Yara had a duty. But she was gone. Was that duty now Theon’s?  

Self-doubt and self-hatred were only two feelings that occupied Theon. They had occupied him for so long now, they had become a part of him. These feelings were why Theon couldn’t do it, he couldn’t take his sisters place. He was not like Yara, he never was and never could be. Even when he would pretend, he and everyone else knew it was all a front, knew it was not real. How would Theon even rule? Could he even do it? Could he replace his sister? No, no one could. Theon had spent many years at Winterfell wishing to go home, knowing that when he returned, he would be treated like a King, the heir of the Iron Islands, they had been waiting for him. But that didn’t happen, of course it didn’t. He was a fool. A stupid, fool. But worse men had been a Lord of a great house. This didn’t make Theon feel any better, however. Just worse.

This did mean something, however. Theon could do home. His family home. Where he was born. Where he was supposed to grow up. But Pyke never truly felt like Theon’s home. There was a part of Theon that knew he couldn’t leave the Iron Islands. He couldn’t let the people, the Iron Born fend for themselves. But he didn’t want to leave the North now, not when he had come back. Winterfell didn’t feel like a home growing up, but Theon thought now that his younger self never allowed it to be a home. He didn’t even try. Even though Theon spent so many years wishing it was his home, wishing he was a real Northerner, wishing he was a Stark, he couldn’t let himself wish too much.

Theon had spent so many years at Winterfell. Those years under Ramsey’s belt didn’t make it feel like a home, but a nightmare. Regardless of that, there was someone at Winterfell who understood completely, who was probably dealing with the same feelings of confusion. Sansa. She was here, she was at Winterfell, she was surviving. If she could do it, why not Theon? Sansa had seemingly overcome everything that had happened to her. She had changed, it had made her who she was. She was strong. Stronger than Theon ever could be. She was healing. She had lost people too. She had lost siblings, just as Theon had. But she wasn’t the last Stark, she still had a family. Something Theon could only dream of.

But there was a family who would welcome Theon, maybe not with welcome arms, but still, they would want him. He had seemingly always been a part of this family, even when he didn’t believe it himself. He was part of this family when he first arrived in the North. When he would sit next to Robb in the great hall. When he would practice his archery in the courtyard. When he would tease little Arya. It was unconventional, that was true, but the Starks were more of a family than the Greyjoys ever were. They were not given the chance too. Two brothers dead. A mother dead. A father filled with so much hatred. And a sister…a sister. Gods, Theon didn’t want to think about it. He couldn’t. How could they ever be a family? How could Theon ever have one? Theon wondered if he asked to stay at Winterfell, whether they would let him. Sansa, maybe. The way she hugged him tight when he arrived back, that seemed to signal something.

That sense of divided loyalty, that feeling Theon felt for almost all of his life, it wasn’t going to control Theon anymore. He didn’t have to choose. He was connected to both Pyke and Winterfell. To both the North and the Iron Islands. He was both a Greyjoy and a Stark. And he was going to be Lord of the Iron Islands whether he liked it or not. He knew this was what he had to do. Knew it was important. For Yara.

#theon greyjoy #got #game of thrones #got fic #got fanfic #got fanfiction #game of thrones fic #game of thrones fanfic #game of thrones fanfiction #theon greyjoy fic #theon greyjoy fanfic #theon greyjoy fanfiction #mine #my writing #they see right through me

[alwayssmiled]

THE IRON BLOOD [ vol.2]

part of:

CHAPTER X ~ fallen hero of pyke ~

characters: Theon Greyjoy, Aeron Greyjoy, Lysandra Stark | my oryginal character |

synopsis/au: Theon left Ramsay earlier than in canon, and he comes to Kingsmoot with Asha and Lys and first time after his return to Iron Islands, he meet uncle Aeron.

As the procession of their ships approached Old Wyk, Theon concluded that he had only seen this quantity of drakkars gathered in one place only twice in his life. The first time he was a boy was when his father started a rebellion against the Crown. He remembered that the sight had made him uneasy then. He was old enough to understand what the war was about. And when he remembered about the second time, he still couldn't believe how stupid the boy he was. How naive it was to believe that his father had assembled all these ships especially for him, so that he could aid Robb Stark's war with them.

This time he knew that naivety was over.

Ships drifted across the surface of the sea, hidden in the mist that enveloped the whole of Old Wyk. Theon had never been there before, but he remembered all the stories depicting the mysticism of this place. There was no doubt that there were completely different rules that ordinary people could not comprehend.

Theon kept telling the crew not to change their sails. He did not want news of the arrival of Balon Greyjoy's only son immediately come to light. It was enough that their lineage so far represented Ash.

After reaching the shore, all the crews of their ships set up huge tents, among which the flags of Greyjoy and their families were planted. Theon stared at it all from the side, cloaked in a black cloak, his memories involuntarily taking him back to the time when he had fought for the Stark family in the Whispering Forest. Back then, there were tents and banners everywhere, but instead of the Ironborn’s coats of arms, the emblems of the North flew. There were so many of them, and he was left alone, the broken ghost of Robb Stark's failure.

The island was teeming with life all day and night. There were fires everywhere, where food was prepared and torches were lit during services to the Drowned God. Theon took it upon himself to find Uncle Aeron, whom he planned to bring to their camp. For he knew a lot more about Euron and the others who had chosen to claim the throne of the sea stone, and Theon and Asha needed this information badly.

It was late in the evening when Theon and Lysandra left for the seashore, where the rite was being held. There were a lot of people there. They stood intently repeating the words of some prayers as well as numerous ritualistic activities. Theon and Lysandra blended into the crowd, standing right on the shore. Lys felt treacherous towards her gods, but watched the service with curiosity. She could see that Theon was doing a bit of it. She smiled gently as she watched as under the words of prayers a calm crept on his face. She also noticed many acolytes among the faithful, dressed the same as those they had seen in the port a few days earlier. In addition to them, there were also young vestals, with heads adorned with strange crowns of shells and pearls, which sang glorious songs in honor of the Sea Deity.

- Let us pray that our Lord enlighten us, that we choose a worthy successor for King Balon Greyjoy. Almighty Drowned God, give us a ruler made of iron and bless him with all virtues. Give him strength, give him pride and faith to lead us to glory. Make the Ironborn your followers a world power.

Aeron prayed earnestly, raising his arms.

- Our God, look after the soul of the last king, Balon Greyjoy. Let him sit at your table and feast beside him until the end of the world. Allow this honor to all his fallen sons, the heroes of Pyke, who gave their lives fighting for the glory of their homeland, Dukes Rodrik and Maron Greyjoy who fell under the walls of Seagard, and Prince Theon Greyjoy, who died at Winterfell. Bless this fire with holy water to shine on their souls forever.

The torches burned with a hiss as the high priest consecrated them with the sprinkler seawater.

- [...] Bless all the faithful with steel, bless them with salt, bless them with iron ...

As he spoke, he sprinkled water on the crowd of followers, while they fell to their knees, bowing their heads low. Theon grabbed Lysandra's hand, pulling her down so they were kept from the crowd. There was silence. Seconds passed, during which no one spoke or moved, but after some time the faithful slowly began to get up and go their way, which heralded the end of the service.

- How is it when someone prays for your soul in the afterlife while alive? - Lysandra whispered, turning her head slowly towards Theon.

— It's a little uncomfortable to listen to. Theon smirked, as if he didn't know if that should amuse him. - But I'm more interested in what Aeron will say about the resurrection.

The priest stood by the shore ritually cleansing all the items used in the rite, but as Theon and Lys strode towards him in the light of numerous torches, he seemed to be waiting for them. Lysandra had heard of the Dampfhair from Theon's story, but seeing him live, she was amazed. His dark hair, interspersed with gray strands, reached down to his waist, just like a thick beard, adorned here and there with thin braids with various golden ornaments and gifts of the sea. In one hand he was holding a stick with a peculiar ball that consisted of multicolored shells and pearls stuck together.

- Shall I bless you, on behalf of the Drowned God? — Aeron asked in a calm voice when they got close enough.

Theon couldn't help but smile. And although the last time he and Aeron was not on his way, he never forgot that as a child he was his favorite uncle, next to Dagmer, who always made sure that he did not run out of anything. Much more than the father.

— All you have to do is bless my soul for me to sit at the table of the Drowned God in the afterlife, uncle. — He replied quietly, then removed the large hood from his head. "Fallen hero of Pyke," he came home.

Aeron regarded him for a moment in disbelief, narrowing his eyes. Theon watched as his uncle's expression changed with the successive changes in his appearance, finally assuming an expression of fear.

— Theon ... By God only! — He gripped his arms tightly, turning towards the light to get a better look. — It's really you ... How did it happen? Are you back from the dead boy? — He asked almost in a whisper.

— What is dead cannot die — Theon replied slowly.

— But it is rise again harder and stronger. —Aeron finished solemnly. — Your return, Theon, looks like God's will.

#theon greyjoy fanfiction #theon greyjoy #asoiaf #house greyjoy #headcanon #valyrianscrolls #fanfic #aeron greyjoy #ironislands #ironborn #asoiaf religiom #asoiaf headcanon

[llonelygoddess]

Yandere House Stark Headcanons

A/N: I ended up not doing Bran and Rickon only because I wanted to get this out sooner rather than later and they were a little difficult to write for. If you'd like to see headcanons for them I can definitely make another post for them, just let me know.

Let's say you are a low born person looking for refuge in Winterfell after your village was sacked by Wildlings. You had hoped to find some tavern to hold up in or even a brothel, but unbeknownst to you the Stark family kept an eye on newcomers. When they received news of your arrival, they requested your presence. It was only to talk about the possibility of nearby Wildlings, but when YOU showed up beaten and scared for your life- how could they not offer their Stark hospitality?

This is where the yandere tendencies begin.

Ned Stark, as a yandere, is protective and definitely has a savior complex. He's an honorable and just man that can't help but bring home strays, so when he sees you it's like finding Jon all over again. A deep sense of responsibility comes over him and he knows in that moment that you are just as much his as any of his kids. From that day forward he assigns a room for you in the castle and a handmaiden to keep you company, not that you'll be needing it. The family of course is shocked at his sudden interest, but they all love to see him happy and nothing makes him more happy than seeing you taken care of.

Now Catelyn is initially worried that Ned has taken a romantic interest in you, but when she sees the way you both interact she understands the fatherly bond he is trying to create very similar to his own kids. It didn't take long for her to fall into her own yandere tendencies; checking in on you in the mornings, making prayer wheels even when you're not sick, helping in the kitchen to make sure your food was perfect ( and not poisoned). She takes her role as your surrogate mother very seriously,sometimes to the extent of watching you sleep or ordering guards to discreetly watch over you and report back. Her biggest worry is that you'll be taken away from them so she takes extra precautions to keep you safe.

Robb is head over heels for you instantly. Man is down bad. Much like his father, Robb has a savior complex and finds himself wanting to be YOUR savior always. He does this by training extra hard with Jon, keeping an eye on you at all times, and giving threatening looks to any man or woman who gets too close to you. He doesn’t mean to scare away any potential friends but he does mean to scare away potential lovers. He couldn’t bear to see you with anyone outside the family, and even then he has a sword up his butt about it. 

On the other hand, Jon takes a while to warm up to you. He loves his family and is vicious to outsiders who could harm them. Eventually, seeing how you interact with everyone makes him a tad jealous. Not of you, but of his family and how easily they can approach you. I definitely see Jon as an overprotective/stalker yandere with strong jealous tendencies that make him beg for your approval. He finds himself wherever you are, lurking in the background, waiting for the right moment to catch you alone. Jon feels like himself around you and the more time you spend together the more addicted to your presence he becomes. 

Theon is hands down THE worshiper of the group. It's a hot take for sure but as a yandere, I see Theon's insecurities and fears taking over, slightly similar to reek!Theon. He sees you as a deity, above the Lords and Ladies, even above the King/Queen themself. If it were up to him he'd be the one giving you your meals, running your baths, standing by your side as guard. He cherishes your very presence and hopes one day you'll see his never ending loyalty to you and only you. 

Sansa is very quiet about her obsession, you almost couldn't tell. She's the perfect friend, always sitting next to you at meals, gossiping about the Lords and Lady's of court, and helping you stock your wardrobe. Whatever hobby you choose to pick up, she's always there to praise you in your efforts and guide you in whatever way she can. She especially loves teaching you how to embroider as it's her specialty. It was all but normal until you came upon her private journal filled with both your names in beautiful cursive surrounded by hearts. You begin to notice the closeness she silently demands, eyeing everyone else to stay away. You see the way she longingly watches you from afar when you choose to spend time with anyone else. And your dresses, that you both so carefully picked out, seem to have a little embroidered "SS" on the nape of your neck.

Arya sees you as her golden older sibling, the one who can do no wrong. She is constantly dragging you around Winterfell - riding horses and trying to shoot arrows (and failing lol). She finds comfort within you, the only person who doesn't expect anything of her except to be herself. And for that she will never leave your side. Most nights you'll find her trying to sneak into your room to share a bed, but whether she can get past the guards Ned and Catelyn have posted outside your door is another story.

#female yandere #soft yandere #yandere headcanons #yandere game of thrones #yandere male #platonic yandere #yandere got #jon snow x reader #ned stark x reader #theon greyjoy x reader #robb stark x reader #yandere robb stark #sansa stark x reader #yandere arya stark #game of thrones #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones preferences #got #a song of ice and fire #yandere house stark

[feyhunter78]

Description: During your Uncle Robert's Royal Procession, you find yourself enraptured with Ned Starks' bastard son. While Jon has never dreamed so vividly until your arrival, a thread seems to exist between you and him, pulling you together. Luckily for you both, your father Tyrion sees the need for a sworn sword in his beloved daughter's life.

Ch 2

You should know better, truly you should, but you’ve always had a weakness for pitiful-looking creatures, or at least that’s what your father has always said. He stands a pace ahead of you, watching as your uncle, the King Robert, embraces Lord Ned Stark with a boyish joy you have never seen in your uncle. Your Aunt Cersei stands to the side of them, smiling politely at the Lady Catelyn Stark, Joffery all but hanging from her skirts, demanding attention. Usually, you would scowl at the back of the boy’s head, but the sight of Ned Stark’s bastard son has you quite distracted.

He is pitiful, even his name, Jon, it’s so common, so often used it cannot differentiate him from others. He stands stiffly, with gray eyes so dark they almost seem black set beneath thick brows. He has curly dark hair that frames his face, an unchanging frown upon his face, and his hands clasp and unclasp nervously as he watches the mingling of your two families. Jon’s dressed like all the other Starks, but somehow lesser, as if he has chosen only the drabbest of colors in an effort to blend into the dreary landscape. There’s a solemn softness to him that intrigues you. What secrets does he keep? Why does he look so mired in grief? He notices your gaze, and his face tints pink as he ducks his head further into the fur collar of his cloak. You bite back a laugh, for a moment he looked like a turtle.

The boy beside him, Robb, stands an inch or so taller with cornflower blue eyes, and auburn hair. The clear son of Lady Catelyn radiates confidence, nearly bordering on arrogance, as he surveys the servants unloading your family’s belongings from the wheelhouses. Beside him stands a boy whose arrogance you wouldn’t mistake for confidence, even if you were less astute than you are. But the arrogance rings false, you can see the cracks in his bravado, the insecurity leaking from every pore. It’s in the way he hovers so close to Robb, as if he fears to be away from him would be his undoing. This one you know inside and out; your father had drilled you on everyone you were going to meet before you even stepped foot outside King’s Landing.

Theon Greyjoy, last surviving son of Balon Greyjoy, a war prisoner disguised as a ward, the closest companion to Robb Stark, both accepted and held at a distance, Lord Stark’s sword an ever-looming threat should his father ever revolt once more. Theon has eyes like the sea and tousled hair the color reminiscent of the mahogany desk in your father’s study. He is lankier than the other two, hungrier, and when your eyes meet his, he winks. You resist the urge to wrinkle your nose in response, you were a lady, a Lannister, you were not so easily swayed. Theon is handsome, but if your father’s reports were true, he spent much of his time in brothels. The tactics that worked there would not work on you.

“And this is my eldest daughter, Sansa.” Lord Stark says, motioning to a girl that was perhaps two or so years younger than you. She is beautiful, with fiery red hair, eyes like Robb’s, and high, graceful cheekbones. She curtsies with the air of a Southern lady, and smiles when you do the same. This is who you are meant to befriend, and it does not seem it will be too difficult, Sansa’s eyes eagerly drink in every aspect of your being, as if she wishes to glen all she can of Southern life before it is ripped away from her.

“She is as beautiful as her mother.” Your father says, giving her then Lady Catelyn a smile.

They both thank him, Lady Catelyn beaming at the praise, while you notice Sansa’s cheeks flush with color. She is easily flattered; you must remember that.

“Allow me to introduce my own daughter, Y/N Lannister.” Your father introduces you, putting emphasis on your surname, the very fact that you have one. You are not a bastard, no matter what awful Joffrey likes to say. Your mother and father had married in secret, she died giving birth to you, it was tragic and left your father quite saddened, but you were not a bastard.

Your eyes dart back to Jon taking him in subtlety. You wish to see him blush again, but you will not make your actions so easily observed.

“It is too cold, why must we stand here all day?” Joffrey whines, crossing his arms over his chest and stomping his foot resoundingly.

Your aunt fusses over him, and Lord Stark leads you all inside, talking jovially with your uncle as you hurry to catch up with your father.

It is loud in the Great Hall of Winterfell, made of gray stone and smelling of smoke, meat, and a hint of dog, which you must assume is from the Direwolves. It is well lit and filled with people, all enjoying the bountiful feast set before them on long wooden tables. You’re seated away from your father, something you despise. He is closer to your Uncle Jaime, nearer to the King and Lord Stark, while you have been seated with the other children. It has only been you and your father for so very long, a part of you feels anxious to be separated from him, but you are a Lannister, if you cannot charm the strangers around you then can you truly call yourself such?

“Will you tell me more of King’s Landing, Lady y/n?” Sansa asks, looking enraptured by the mere thought of it. She is dressed in a gown of blue silk, her fur lined cloak on the back of her chair, her hair done up in a style you’re quite familiar with. She is very beautiful, and you spot many men staring at her, one of them being Theon who is seated at the lower tables. You catch his eye and smile knowingly. In response, he scowls and ducks his head.

You must mention this observation to your father.

You smile and return your attention to Sansa, regaling her with tales of festivals and feasts, of tourneys and services in the Great Sept. Her siblings either listen as well or turn their attention elsewhere, which you don’t mind. They are not who you are here to befriend.

Sansa sighs dreamily and turns her gaze to Joffrey, who is seated next to his mother further up the table and is staring down at his food as if it has offended him. “And what of Joffrey? Surely you must be close?”

Your cousin, and closest companion, Myrcella snorts into her drink, and you shoot her a look. Myrcella was meant to be sitting next to Joffrey but had convinced someone to switch with her so that she could be next to you.

“Joffrey is a…spirited boy, he has many…passions.” You say carefully, running your finger along the rim of your glass.

Your father suspects Robert will wish to wed Sansa and Joffrey. It’s a strategic match, but your cousin is a horrible bully, you have marks hidden beneath your sleeves to prove your words, and you do not wish to see innocent Sansa suffer in such a way. True, you have not spent much time with her, but she has been warm and welcoming, her innocence shining through like the sun on a spring day.

“Does he enjoy tourneys? I have heard the King was quite the warrior, he and father fought together.” Sansa continues, resting her chin in her hand.

You smooth out the nonexistent wrinkles in your skirts. “Joffrey has not competed in any tourneys quite yet, Lady Sansa, he is too young.”

“He is three and ten, is he not? Most squire by one and ten, why has he not been sent to one of your bannermen like his uncle?” Robb says, taking a long drink from his glass.

“My mother does not wish for him to get injured; he is heir to the throne, after all.” Myrcella chimes in, saving you from coming up with another excuse for why Joffrey has not been allowed to leave King’s Landing.

Sansa nods and gazes longingly at Joffrey once more. “That seems most wise, what a dutiful mother Queen Cersei is.”

“Where is your mother, Lady y/n? I did not see anyone else arrive.” Bran, one of the younger Starks asks, his round innocent face not dulling the sting of his words at all.

Myrcella takes your hand under the tables and squeezes it. She has been privy to the nights of crying, of mourning the mother you would never know.

“Bran, that is not polite.” Sansa hisses.

You shake your head, a soft smile on your face. “My mother died giving birth to me, but I am told she held me in her arms before the Stranger came for her, that she named me and spoke of how dearly she loved me.”

Bran makes a soft noise of apology, and the conversation lulls, until finally you have finished your meal and are free to retire to your chambers.

You wave off any offer to escort you, telling them all you wish to admire the architecture of Winterfell in solitude.

It’s not wholly a lie, though you cannot say you ever wish to be alone , you enjoy the company of others, are invigorated by it, but tonight feels different. Perhaps it is the mention of your mother, or the false face Joffrey is putting on for the Starks and their bannermen, the sound of his laughter ringing about the hall. You wander the halls of Winterfell with a faint knowledge of where the guest chambers lie, when you find yourself approaching the training yard. The night is quiet, snow falling gently, the brisk air seizes your lungs, purifying them with an icy chill.

You are not alone, the thud of blunt metal upon wood, the sounds of exertion, the turn of boots in snow covered dirt. You slowly move towards the sound, knowing your father will scold you later for such carelessness. There are countless people here, and you cannot be assured they all wish you well.

Jon Snow, the ever so distracting bastard, stands in the middle of the yard, training alone, the moonlight shining down on him, making his pale skin glisten. You rest your hand on the stone archway, one foot on the dirt, the other still firmly planted on the stone. You should leave him alone, you know it, but you’re mesmerized by the sight, the tension in his muscles, the expanse of his back, the strength in his arms. He is a little older than you, six and ten to your five and ten, both old enough to be married, yet both remaining unbetrothed.

There had been offers for your hand, even though you were the imp’s child, and many wondered if you would sire broken children, if you would pass on your father’s curse. But for the gold that backed your name many were willing to risk it. You didn’t like your suitors, they were too brash, too lewd, too old, or simply just not right.

Jon stops and lifts his tunic to wipe the sweat from his brow. His stomach is toned, his skin mostly smooth, though there are some faded scars.

Yes, they were simply not right, they did not look like that.

You feel heat rise to your cheeks and you avert your eyes. What were you, a child? A lovesick maid? You have spent no more than mere minutes in his presence, and already you are lusting after him like some silk street whore? It must be the chill that is muddling your mind, yes, the chill. Not the kindness that you saw within him as he played with Arya and Bran in the courtyard earlier in the day. Or the way he stood stiff lipped while Joffrey threw barbed insults at him as he passed him in the hall, or the stack of novels you had overheard the maester say were to be set aside for him. Merely the chill. The chill and the flights of fancy all young girls are prone to.

With that in mind, you wait until he has returned his tunic to its rightful place and step fully into the snow.

He turns on his heel, weapon at the ready. He is perceptive, you note, good reflexes, excellent hearing, fine form, carved from marble, glowing like a god in the moonlight.

Gods y/n, pull yourself together.

“My apologies, I did not mean to startle you.” You say, wrapping your cloak tighter around you. It is thin, far too thin to wear in the chill of night.

Jon lowers his sword. “Lady Lannister, why are you not inside at the feast? Are you lost?”

“Yes.” You lie, batting your eyelashes at him, crafting your expression into one of helplessness. “I wished to return to my chamber, but I lost my way.”

Jon stows his sword and retrieves his cloak from a nearby rack. “I will escort you, if you do not take offense?”

You tilt your head in faux confusion. “Why would I take offense?”

He shuffles his feet and busies himself with his cloak. “You are a lady of a great house, and I am…” He lets the unspoken words hang in the air, and you have the grace to act surprised.

“Oh, yes, right, you are a Snow.” You say, taking a step towards him and extending your hand, waiting to set it on his arm. “Well, I care not if you are a Stark or a Snow, I am sure you are more than capable of escorting me to the guest chambers of your home.”

He ducks his head, that delightful blush returning to his cheeks, and he holds out his arm for you.

You take it gratefully, allowing him to guide you back towards the way you came. The wind blows through the yard as you walk and cuts straight through your thin cloak, a shiver shooting down your spine.

Before you can blink, Jon has draped his cloak over you, clasping it shut with a surprising boldness. “It is far too cold for such a thin cloak; you must remember to wear your furs if you find yourself wandering out here once more.”

You look up at him through your lashes, your heart skipping a beat at the proximity between you and him, the depth of his dark eyes. “And if I were to wander out here again…might I be able to count on you to escort me? I must confess I find the halls of Winterfell quite confusing.”

He lingers for a moment, drinking you in, his head nodding almost imperceptibly, then he wrenches himself away, his gaze set forward. “Anyone in Winterfell would be more than able to escort you, My Lady.”

You nod, feeling the sting of rejection. It’s no matter, this is only the first night, there’s still plenty of time.

Yes I used a Hozier line bc it's perfect for the vibe of this fic

#meg's writing #jon snow x reader #jon snow x you #jon snow x oc #jon snow imagine #jon snow #tyrion lannister #lannister!reader #new series alert! #I know y'all don't want this but I wanted to make the title thing so bad #tyrion's daughter #theon greyjoy x sansa stark #theon greyjoy #sansa stark #got fanfiction #robb stark

[ichorai]

OK COMPUTER ; the series.

a series based on the album ok computer by radiohead for our 8k milestone! fandoms included ; marvel, succession, harry potter, the walking dead, arcane, dc, game of thrones, and bridgerton.

main masterlist. about.

TRACKLIST.

ONE. airbag ; steve rogers (4.3k) five time steve tries to propose to you, and one time he actually does.

TWO. paranoid android ; coriolanus snow. (27k+) when you laughed, airy and light and reminiscent to that of wind chimes, coryo wished he could bottle up the sound and keep it as his, only his.

THREE. subterranean homesick alien ; fred weasley. you were looking up at the stars, and fred was staring right at you, a dopey, lovesick sort of smile playing at the corner of his lips. “do you think there’s life out there?” you asked, but instead of getting an answer, fred surged forward, a hand curling over the back of your neck to pull you closer, freckled nose bumping against your cheek, his warm lips slotting over yours, extinguishing any and all lingering existential questions on the tip of your tongue. 

FOUR. exit music (for a film) ; rick grimes. blood all over your torn shirt, giving way to teeth marks. his horrified eyes met yours. you were bit, it was clear as day—and you had to make sure rick knew a couple things before you left for good.

FIVE. let down ; viktor (arcane). it was his fault, really. he knew better than to fall in love with his coworker, who was just recently engaged to someone else. someone better than him.

SIX. karma police ; dick grayson. he skimmed his fingers down your side—your waist, your hips, your thighs. your chest was rising and falling rhythmically, features mellowed with sleep. he couldn’t help but wonder if “no strings attached” was really a good idea.

SEVEN. fitter happier ; miguel o’hara. there was a dangerous red glint to miguel’s eyes as you stepped between him and the kid. a muttered curse, a clenched fist, a twitching jaw. you weren’t afraid of the man you loved—but maybe you should be.

EIGHT. electioneering ; siobhan roy. tom had said he wanted to watch the two of you—but he didn’t exactly want to, not really. shiv didn’t quite care. it was his loss, after all.

NINE. climbing up the walls ; sansa stark. sansa begins to pull away from you after her father’s death.

TEN. no surprises ; sam wilson. the two of you go off to look for wanda, supposedly in a quaint little town called westview. but in a blink of an eye—you’re a smiling housewife and sam is your loving husband, trapped in a house that didn’t quite feel like home. 

ELEVEN. lucky ; theon greyjoy.  he thinks you look so very pretty laying on the snow, frost clinging to your lashes.

TWELVE. the tourist ; benedict bridgerton. it was typical of him, of course. to fall in love with the traveling artist with keen eyes and calloused hands.

#ok computer #steve rogers x reader #fred weasley x reader #rick grimes x reader #arcane viktor x reader #dick grayson x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #siobhan roy x reader #sansa stark x reader #sam wilson x reader #theon greyjoy x reader #benedict bridgerton x reader #marvel fanfiction #succession fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #the walking dead fanfiction #dc fanfiction #arcane fanfiction #game of thrones fanfiction #bridgerton fanfiction #my fourth milestone series !! <3 #coriolanus snow x reader

[harumunyari]

Colour of breath

Transparent bubbles shimmering in the sea

Soft pearly vapours

A captive boy who remembers that he has come to a land far from home every time he sees the colour of his breath.

#theon greyjoy #got fanart #got fanfiction

[queerfics]

(Smut/Drabble) Is It Casual Now? CisF! Reader x Yara Greyjoy

Summary: Y/N, a member of Yara's crew and longtime fling, finds herself struggling to face the reality of the Ironborn serving a Targaryen tyrant, especially after Yara's confession.

Word Count: 1.4K

Warnings: ANGST ANGST ANGST! It's horny but it's sad. Oral sex, f/f, lesbianism (but that's a blessing), angsty sex, sad sex, crying

A/N: YES the title is based off of Casual by Chappell Roan. Every time I listen to it I can't help but imagine something angsty with Yara.

NO MINORS BEYOND THIS POINT

The boat crashing against the rage of the sea only slammed your hips farther onto Yara's fingers as you struggled to keep yourself upright. Her hips worked some to hold you in place on top of the crate you sat upon, but still you tethered yourself on a rope hanging from the ceiling of the steerage.

Your moans were partially washed out by the creaking of the boat and partially by the way she smothered your lips in her own, and when she groaned back into you, your hand dropped and wrapped around her neck, deepening the kiss in a clash of teeth and tongue.

This wasn't unusual for the two of you. You'd been the only female member of her crew for quite some time, and like any of the men on board, you two preferred to find solace in the arms of a woman. It had never been anything serious, and it had always been something kept mostly private. Yara loved good company, but with a member of her crew could put her authority in jeopardy.

However, there was something unusual about the way Yara's mouth wandered to your neck. There was something entirely unusual about the way that she, rather than a simple bite on the shoulder to stifle her own noises, worked a deliberate mark right at the base of your jaw. In all three years of your little secret, Yara had never made such intentions present.

This new sensation pulled little gasps from you that floated right to Yara's spine, sending a shiver down it, so she continued placing her claim at the base of your throat, in the dip of your neck, under your ear, creating bruises that eventually washed to the other side of your throat as well.

Her fingers pumped ferociously inside of you, carelessly bruising every sweet spot like it was her last moments on this earth. When you cried out against her, she cooed into your ear so sweetly that you couldn't even form the words to tell her to stop (not that you would want to).

"Are you going to cum for me, sweetheart?" She whispered into your ear, and you shuddered, letting out a breathy laugh.

"N-no," you said, knowing it was the complete opposite of the truth. It was impossible for you to not to, especially when you knew she could feel the way you pulsed around her fingers, the way you gushed into her palm with every push, and the twitch of your thighs with every gentle curl.

"I don't think so," you murmured, letting a teasing smile slip.

Yara shook her head, chuckling and digging her fingers into a particular spot that had you almost jumping out of your seat. She watched, lips parted as your head fell back against the wall of the ship and your eyes fought not to squeeze shut.

"Your cunt is telling me a different story," she growled. She pressed her hand into your lower stomach, building another toe-curling pressure inside you as she held you in place. She kissed you sweetly after you let out a small cry, then sank to her knees.

You watched as Yara turned her focus to mouth at your clit, the vulnerability in her kneeling not slipping past you. The admiration in her eyes, the intensity of her passion - these things did not go unnoticed, and you felt your eyes begin to water. Tingles worked their way up your shoulder, and your ears rang as she pulled moan after moan from you. Your fingers dug into the crate, and you looked down at her with flushed cheeks.

Your heart pounded in your chest, but every other beat pulled a painful chord in your chest, and Yara could feel the way you began to choke up. Her hand slipped down to rub your thigh affectionately, but you instinctively grabbed it, interlacing your fingers.

Your eyes began to burn and blur as salty tears slipped down your rosy cheeks, and Yara squeezed your hand, watching the way you rested your other hand over your forehead, too mixed up between the climaxing pleasure and your longing heart to stay still.

"Yara," you whimpered out, "I'm, I'm-" But you couldn't get it out. It was all too much, the banging in your chest, the way Yara's fingers opened you up as easily as two flower petals, the way she made out with your sex like it was the love of her life, the way she had made it obvious to anyone who looked at you for the next week what had happened, and how they would know exactly who did it--

-- if you made it to the end of the week.

Tensions were high in all parts of the world, and the recent alliance between the Iron Islands and Daenerys Stormborn had completed changed the basis of the Ironborn way of life, and every member of the fleet in particular was feeling the effects of it.

Being pulled so far away from home, losing friends and family members too far from the sea to even retrieve them, and now you were following the trail of the dead with Yara to meet the queen who had started all of this, who had threatened and reconstructed an ancient way of life.

"What do you mean you don't want to go?" Yara stuttered, looking at you in disbelief. "That's not your decision to make, Y/N."

You stood on the other side of the room, running your hands through your hair. Your fight had echoed through the halls of Pyke until Yara had had enough and pulled you into a private room, but even now, passerby stopped to listen in.

It wasn't that you were a particularly disobedient soldier. You had always trusted Yara with your life, obeyed every command, even if that meant returning to her drenched in blood and void of emotion. She was your Captain, your Queen, and you had promised your life to her.

"Why are you serving her?" You exclaimed, throwing your hands up. "She's not even Ironborn, and you've known her for all but a few weeks, and now you've bent the knee?"

"Y/N," Yara stepped forward cautiously, but you waved her off, stepping back. She could feel the heat radiating off of you, feel the anger ripping at the air, threatening the foundation of this offhand non-commitment commitment you had to each other.

"No, Yara!" You exclaimed, "I won't go off to die in the middle of some fucking sea-less dessert for some woman I've never met!"

"She is the Dragon Queen!" Yara argued back, slowly letting her own temper slip from her. "She is the breaker of chains! She will bring no harm to the islands - you know I would not allow that."

You turned to her, eyes burning with rage, and met her face.

"Oh, but you have so willingly sacrificed everything the Ironborn stand for and everything we are for her!" You screamed. Yara stared fiercely down at you, though she did not respond. "And for what? What do we receive in return?"

Still, Yara said nothing. This irritated you even further, so you went further, going so far as to push Yara back. She let you, still quiet.

"You cannot kill another Ironborn, so what, you've taken to dragging us far away and drowning us all in her name?" You hissed. "What has she promised you? Or are you truly just so wound up in some foreign woman's cunt you would erase everything we have worked for?"

You went to push her again, but Yara grabbed on to your wrists. She dragged you forward, bringing you until you were so close you thought she might kiss you if it weren't for the circumstances.

For a long moment, you stared at each other, rage stirring and boiling at the very sight of each other, at the implications you had grown to believe about each other during this fight.

Then, Yara opened her mouth.

Nothing came out at first, simply a few stuttered breaths, then a glance away. And though you had quite a few times before worked Yara up to the point of chosen silence, never had you rendered Yara speechless.

Then, she looked back down at you, and swallowed thickly. Her expression had changed, twisted into a much more somber one.

"If I die out there," she whispered, "I cannot die without you."

#yara greyjoy smut #yara greyjoy x reader #yara x reader #reader insert #game of thrones #daenerys targaryen #daenerys stormborn #robb stark #stark #Jon snow #sansa stark #tyrion lannister #angst #smut #fanfiction #got #house of dragons #house of the dragon #ironborn #iron islands #Theon greyjoy #lesbian reader #female reader #wlw #sapphic #lesbian

[alleyskywalker]

Another amazing piece I won in the 2023 round of @fandomtrumpshate. This one is by the incredible arts_and_seabass (IG).

This one has a bit of a context! It's an illustration of two scenes, one from my fic, Carry Me Home, and the other from i know my kingdom awaits by @hell-heron (go, go read it, it's amazing!). The scenes parallel each other somewhat intentionally, as IKMKA is an AU of CMH. Back-to-back shots of two different instances of Theon saving his younger, redhead "foster brother" who looks up to him, Robb Stark in the first and Greydon Goodbrother in the second.

#asoiaf #fanart #theon greyjoy #robb stark #greydon goodbrother #fanfiction #op

[lovelyladyabsinthewrites]

I recently read your theon fic and it's so good!! If you're still taking requests, would you consider writing something for theon again? Maybe a childhood friends to lovers with a Stark reader? It can be as short or long as you want and feel free to make it smutty!! And again love your writing! Going through the rest of your GoT fics now hehe

Omission

Pairing: Theon Greyjoy x Stark!Reader

Warnings: smut cuz anon told me i could! 😂, implied sex work in the winter town, slightly manipulative reader? 🤔, cunnilingus, face riding, praise kink, first orgasms, secret relationship 🤫, nipple biting, implied childhood friends, mentions of periods, mentioned past face riding

Words: 2432

"Oh shut up, Robb." Giving your twin brother a harsh shove, Robb merely laughs at you as you pummel your gloved fists against his shoulders. "Now I know you're just teasing me."

"Sweet (y/n), do you really think I would lie to my dear twin?"

Your eyes round as you gape at him. "You lie to me on a daily basis, Robb Stark!" Dealing him another smack on the head, Robb pleads for mercy from your tiny fists of fury. Seeing that he's given up, you let your arms fall back to your side, glaring at him. "There's no way. I've seen the two of you sneaking out to the winter towns. Probably to the brothels."

"You think so little of us men, don't you." He sighs and leans his back against the ominous face of the heart tree. To southerners, the face may appear quite macabre with the streams of red that streak out of it's eyes. Having been around it since the day you were born, it was never something to fear. Something to cower away from.

The castle of Winterfell was always hustling and bustling with the work of the many hands that were required to smoothly run it. Along with those of the large Stark family. Eight children including the Greyjoy ward, Theon, had the halls filled with loud shouting, singing, or laughing.

Out in the personal godswood that your family possessed, you and your twin brother liked to get away just to catch up. He was heir of Winterfell being the first born boy. You were separated from him and given the education that any other prestigious young lady of Westeros received. Unfortunately you never had lessons that overlapped with one another, despite your many complaints to your parents.

And what was your dear brother divulging to you? The fact that your father's ward Theon was so obviously smitten with you that even you were aware of his affections. You'd indulge your brother though and pretend not to know a thing. You'll keep your knowledge to yourself and utilize later. Pretend that you hadn't just been making out with Theon just a few hours prior. Robb may be your other half, but this was a secret that you couldn't truly share with him and swore Theon to secrecy. No, Robb was too close to Ned. He could accidentally let something slip to indicate your true relationship with the kraken boy.

A potential suitor for you, the eldest of Ned's daughters, hadn't been discussed fully though you'd heard whispers from the maids and lords in the halls. Trying to guess who your father would give you away to. Theon would not be a candidate.

"I just thought you should know how he feels." Robb hums.

"You know nothing real can come from it." Pointing out, you feel something seize in your chest. It thickens your throat so that pushing out your words was a struggle. "Theon and I. . . Even if- and I'm not saying I like him that way- even if we got together father would never allow it."

He purses his lips in response. "If we bring up the case properly, I believe father will hear us out."

You shake your head. Robb was ever the optimist.

"Don't say anything about it to father." Simply telling him, you use the trunk of the tree to help yourself get up. The weight of your gown skirts tend to pull you down. In response, Robb gets up as well and helps to dust you off. "Please Robb. I don't want Theon getting in trouble." That was the last thing the two of you needed was Ned to increase his surveillance toward Theon. While he cared for the boy, he was always wary due to the Greyjoy Rebellion. They'd proven to be untrustworthy and Ned being a realist always held concern that Theon would grow to be just like Balon Greyjoy.

You didn't know the Lord of the Iron Islands and Theon didn't speak much about him but from what little you were able to gather, you'd say Theon would be nothing like his sire. Lord Ned already felt like Theon was a bad influence on Robb with his cocky attitude and cavalier nature. He did not desire any of his children to adopt those traits.

"Okay okay." He's holding your hand as the two of you trudge through snow to get back to the warmth of the castle. "But. . . do you think you can be a little nicer to him now that you know he holds a flame for you? It's bad enough Sansa and mother always treat him coldly."

Frowning you glance at him. "I'm always nice."

You hate how he rolls his Tully blue eyes. "You're always frigid when he's around. You weren't like that when we were all children. You used to hang off him. But you've changed since. . . since you flowered. . ."

Again he finds your hands smacking his arm. "Please don't EVER mention my cycles again." Your cheeks were burning, embarrassed that Robb was even aware when you'd had your first moonblood.

As you enter through the kitchens, Robb's laughter rings above the other chattering. "My apologies. I forget that you're a proper lady now. Like mother and Sansa." He fake curtsies and you have half the mind to kick his shin until your septa shows up; breathless like she's been running around all over Winterfell.

"There you are!" She hisses and stomps toward you.

Robb abandons you to flee and save himself.

Even with your slippers covering your feet, the piercing cold of the stone floor got past even the thickest of wool. Frozen toes were a small price to pay; especially when Theon will happily warm them up once you get to his room. There were a few obstacles you had to bypass in your route. Nothing you couldn't handle.

You'd made this journey many times in the past two years.

Robb wasn't being dramatic when he claimed your change toward Theon. From innocent children to teenagers, everything happened so fast that you weren't really able to comprehend what was going on with your own head. When Theon first arrived to your family, you were a small child. You and Robb grew attached to him immediately. For so long you saw him as a brother. Then it just stopped the moment you bled.

That's when you saw Theon. . . differently.

"I was wondering if you'd make it tonight." Barely stepping in front of his door but a second ago, you grin at his eagerness and let him pull you in. Quietly shutting his door as to not alarm anyone, Theon spins around and envelops you in his arms.

Nuzzling into the warmth of his chest, you sigh in contentment. All the stress of your day rolling right off of you. Even within the security of his room, you still kept your voice to barely above a whisper. "I thought about it. . . Robb's onto you, you know. I'm worried he'll discover the truth."

Theon sits you down on his bed, wrapping one of his fur blankets around you so that you could warm yourself up. Wandering off to the table in his room, he pours two chalices of wine. "Just tell him. I keep telling you he'd take the secret to his grave. Your brother would never risk getting you in that much trouble."

"Not consciously." Pulling the fur tighter, you focus on the softness. "He might imply something to our father in his attempt to help us. Robb thinks our lord father can be reasoned with about a relationship between the two of us."

He's quiet with his back turned to you, busying himself with stoking the fire in the hearth. You watch shadows cast by the fire dance along the broad width of his shoulders.

"Why wouldn't your father marry you to me?" Theon asks after a moment of quiet contemplation. When he faces you again, there's a streak of hurt in his eyes that makes your stomach drop. "It would strengthen bonds between the north and the Iron Islands. And I can't imagine you marrying anyone else but me. I knew from the moment we met that you would be my bride."

Any other time you might have laughed at the idea. Empathetic, you rise from the bed and float over to him; caressing his stubbled cheeks with both of your hands and drawing him closer. In a perfect world MAYBE your father would have considered marrying you off to the last surviving Greyjoy son. His blood was too precious to him though and you knew Ned would only ever choose a husband for you that hailed from the north. Especially since he knew Robb would raise hell if you were given to any other kingdom in Westeros. It was only right that twins stay together after all.

You know how to pull his mind away from such unpleasantness. If you fell victim to those thoughts. . . it would only make your life miserable. The way you handled your reality may not be healthy and this certainly should be addressed, but you were too scared to discuss it. Cowardice you knew it was. You covered it up with saccharine kisses that coaxed Theon to lower his guard.

Your world was full of lies. Perhaps not outright lies, but you were still omitting the truth to your entire family.

If it meant keeping Theon's kisses all to yourself, you didn't feel too bad about it.

This discussion would be brought up again in the future. That was inescapable. You rue the day when Ned finally decided on your husband. Theon would raise hell. You'd hold it off for as long as possible. The maiden in you wanted to believe in this fantasy that Theon thought would come true. Far more happy than what was in store for you in your future.

Having to bend slightly over your short form (you hated how much taller Sansa was than you. It wasn't fair. You were older than her yet you barely were an inch taller than Arya!), once both of you break the kiss for much needed air, Theon presses his forehead against your's, his nose brushing against you're cheek similar to the barn cat that you liked to cuddle with. Rubbing his scent onto you as a claim.

Swiftly his hands grab at your rear as he hoists you up into his arms, forcing you to wrap your legs around him for stability. His lips trail kisses along your neck up to the juncture of your neck.

"Do you remember when I first took you?" Theon asks, lips moving against your skin.

Your fingers curl, dragging him closer to you. If you truly could have things your way, you'd never let him go. Freezing the moment to never ending stillness. It was a selfish want, but you didn't care for you truly loved Theon; even if you could never say it out loud to him. If you did then he would do everything and anything to make sure you were wed to him. You didn't doubt that treason would be one of those options. You'd seen it in his eyes before when you let the discussion of getting married went on for too long. You couldn't indulge him.

How could you not remember the day he pierced your maidenhead? The very same day you broke down to him, admitting that you were uncontrollably attracted to him. Longing and desire replaced the once childish adoration you held for him. Ever since your first cycle, it was like your entire body was on fire when Theon was remotely near you.

When you admitted everything, Theon took you back to his room and. . . well. . . From between your legs he spouted nonstop words of adoration and utter devotion to you, his beloved Lady of the North. He confessed to going to the brothels in the winter towns but only so that he could learn how to please you in the bed in order to win you over. How else would he be able to compete against all the other lords that would come calling?

Honestly, you barely heard most of the words he was saying above the roaring of your heartbeat in your ears. A surprise that no one heard you screaming when you had your first climax. Terrified at first and not understanding what was happening to you, Theon ever so softly coaxed you with his tongue and soft touches until you relaxed and came. He encouraged you to shove your cunt into his face (his words, not your's). Even if you were afraid that you would suffocate him or break his nose. That would only make him more persistent. Your face was beaming bright red when he positions your entire body over his face and with the sheer strength of his arms, dips you up and down onto his tongue.

Theon folded you into positions you'd never imagined following that first encounter. From that moment on, you were his. And you couldn't imagine anyone else touching you like Theon did. When his fingers roamed over your skin, it was like he was reading from a book. All your sweet spots spelled out just for him in invisible ink.

From your hooded expression, Theon came to the proper conclusion that you did indeed remember that day which makes his lips curl into a wicked grin. His pupils are clearly blown out in the pools of blue.

Taking care to lay you down gently onto the surface of his bed, the furs around your shoulders fall and splay around you, revealing your nightgown and the small peaks of your erect nipples grazing against your shift.

Theon captures a nipple that poked from your shift. His front teeth softly put pressure making you mewl and writhe under him. You feel a hand glide up your thigh until it rests on your naked hip. "I think of it as the happiest day of my life. Not just because I finally got to fuck you, but also because you said you had feelings for me as I did for you."

Familiar warmth pushes past your lower lips that have you gasping and attempting to arch your back, but Theon makes sure you can't squirm.

Over the blood rushing through your ears and the numbing of your brain as he pumps his fingers in and out while easily sliding in a second and third one; you caught the low whisper of his voice.

"Whatever it takes. I'll make you my bride."

#reader insert #reader insert fanfiction #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones fanfic #game of thrones #asoiaf fanfiction #asoiaf fandom #a song of ice and fire fanfiction #asoiaf fanfic #a song of ice and fire fanfic #game of thrones reader insert #asoiaf reader insert #asoiaf fic #a song of ice and fire x you #a song of ice and fire x reader #theon greyjoy x you #theon greyjoy reader insert #theon greyjoy x reader #theon greyjoy fanfic #theon greyjoy fanfiction

[welldonebeca]

Lookalike - Masterlist

Summary: When Jon Snow’s name day arrives, Theon Greyjoy hires you as a gift for him. But will you awake feelings they’ve been trying to hide from themselves? (Theon and Jon pretend you are Sansa.) Warnings: Canon divergence. Smut. Role play. Virginity Kink. Innocence Kink. Dirty talk. Prostitution. 

If you like my work, consider buying me a coffee or subscribing to my Patreon. It’s just $2 a month and helps a lot while I go through these hard times.

Chapter 1 - Theon x Reader (Coming to Tumblr on the 30th of January)

Chapter 2- Jon x Reader (Coming to Tumblr on the 6th of February)

Bonus Chapter with @cosmic-darikano

Summary: Robb finds you leaving Winterfell and has an interesting proposal.

Bonus Chapter (Coming to Tumblr on the 13th of February)

"Lookalike" was posted on my Patreon back in October 2022! To read it before anyone else and have early access to my stories, consider subscribing to my page! It's just $2 a month, and it helps a lot!

. . .

Forever Tags: @emoryhemsworth​​​ @amythyststorm33​​​ @shaelyn102​​​ @yknott81​​​ ​​@maximofftrash​​​ @kgbrenner​​​ @thefridgeismybestie​​​ @magpiegirl80​​​ @mogaruke​​​ @shadowhunter7​​​ @musicalcoffeebean​​​ @megasimpleplan4ever​​​ @deemoriarty​​​ @05spn18​​​ @malindacath​​​ @kdcollinsauthor​​​ @random-fandom-fangirl2112​​​ @widowsfics​​​ @frozenhuntress67​​​ @averyrogers83​​​ @notyourtypicalrose​​​ @nerdypinupcrystal​ @giruvega​

Game of Thrones tags: @izbelross @ietss

#Lookalike Fanfiction Series #robb stark #robbsa #robb stark x reader #robb stark x reader fanfiction #robb stark x reader smut #robb stark x reader fluff #robb stark x reader fanfic #robb stark x reader fic #jon snow fanfiiction #jon snow smut #jonsa #jon snow x reader #jon snow x reader fanfiction #jon snow x reader smut #theon greyjoy #theon greyjoy fanfiction #theon greyjoy smut #theon greyjoy x reader #theon greyjoy x reader smut #theonsa #theonsa smut

[myocsfanfictions]

The Wolf, the Stag and the Snake (Book 2)

A Song of Ice and Fire Fanfiction

After the new King of the Seven Kingdoms had killed Lord Stark many things had happened. Life is no longer how it used to be, with the War of the Five Kings beginning, follow Antea Stark, Cassandra Baratheon and Cyel Sand trying to survive in a world that is becoming everyday more dark and dangerous.

MASTERLIST

《 Previous - Next 》

Chapter 3

CASSANDRA

Life at the Wall had been busier than usual. Lord Mormont and Lady Eloyse had been spending days organizing the mission behind the Wall to find Benjen and his group. Cassie felt for the man. She knew how strong Benjens Stark was, but being missing for so long was not giving her much hope. And her heart felt queer feelings at the thought of losing Benjen. Not after what had happened to Ned by the command of her brother, the new baby king. Joffrey Baratheon.

She knew that her brother could have been a course in the Seven Kingdoms, especially with her mother, Cersei Lannister, as Queen Regent. But starting a war was something that she would have never thought would have happened.

As she would not have thought of Robb Stark being crowned as King of the North. Or her uncle Renly and Stannis naming themselves as the rightful heir of the Seven Kingdoms.

That's an awful lot of kings these days, she has been thinking.

In any way this war was going to end, many lives would have been lost. And she didn't want to think about it. But she found herself being forced to think about that war constantly.

At the Wall, many people looked at her as if she shared the same vision as her family. As if she had been the one giving command to take Lord Eddard Stark.

I would have never hurt Lord Stark, she thought. Ned was a good man. The very best.

She often found herself thinking about the late Warden of the North. The man had been a more constant presence in her life than her father.

"You do not dance, princess?" He had asked her once. She was eight years old at the time. Her black hair was all tangled as she observed Antea, Sansa, and Cyel dancing in the Hall. They were dining. One of the feasts that lord Stark held with commoners as well. Robb and Jon were running around with Greyjoy. But Cassie had been watching the girls, moving gracefully even if they were just children.

"No, my lord," her younger self had answered with a shake of her head.

"And why is that?" Ned Stark had knelt by her side so that they both could be at the same height.

Cassandra shrugged her shoulders, trying to hide the blush on her cheeks behind her long black hair.

"I don't know how," she had muttered with a little pout. She already knew many things about fighting, but she had no idea how to look as graceful as other noble girls.

"Truly?" Ned asked with a gentle tone. Cassie did not answer, she only turned to look at him. Her expression made him chuckle before he reached out his hand, "Do we want to learn together?"

Cassandra looked at him with big blue eyes, "You do not know how to dance?" She had asked, a strange whistle left her mouth as she talked, due to her missing front tooth.

"Indeed," he answered with a nod. Cassie felt that he was lying, but she didn't care. She had accepted his hand, letting him lead her through the dance floor. And they danced and laughed every time Cassie stepped on the man's foot. She had so much fun looking up at Eddard Stark and wishing for him to be her father.

Those memories hurt her deeply. And she desperately wanted to push them aside, but she didn't manage. Cassie did not want to forget the affection that she held for Ned Stark or the gratitude for having shown her a shadow of what a family should look like.

A shadow was enough.

But it hurt her as well that people thought that she didn't care about what had happened. But she did not have to make them understand. She did not have to explain herself.

"Why are you moving cell, anyway?" He had asked her as he helped her move her few things into another cell. She had decided to move next to Jon's. No one slept on that side of Castle Black. Jon had been sleeping there so that he could take his albino direwolf with him. "We are leaving soon."

"Soon is not now," Cassie had answered, "And I prefer to be alone."

That made him let out a snort, "Next to my cell?"

She looked back at him, "I've got my own," she reminded him, "It's not like I'm sleeping with you."

They kept walking in silence for some more before Jon spoke again. "Things are still tense with Wylliana?"

Cassie lowered her eyes. She had not been speaking with Wylliana since their argument in the Hall. And none of them seemed to be willing to take back their words.

"I could talk to her," Jon proposed as they reached Cassie's new cell.

"I don't need your help, Jon Snow," she answered, putting her Valyrian Steel dagger in an old wooden closet. "She had spoken her mind. I don't care."

"You're so stubborn," he complained, sitting on her bed with a heavy sigh.

Cassie frowned, "She hates me."

"She wants you to talk to her," his answer made her turn to him with crossed arms.

"You've become really close, it seems."

"You're letting your temper talk, it seems," he fired back. His grey eyes observed her.

"Of course," Cassie said, throwing her hands in the air, "She is telling many things about me, and I can't stand it."

"I thought you didn't care what other people think about you," Jon declared, making her glare at him.

"I'm not like my family," she exclaimed with fierce. Jon went silent, "I'm nothing like them. I do not share their thoughts. And if I had been able, I would have done something!" She then took a deep breath, remembering Ned's gentle smile. The memory hurt her. "Everyone thinks this, I know."

"That's not true, Cassie," she scoffed, putting her hands on her hips. "I don't," Jon's words made her look at him.

She knew he didn't. And she was grateful for that even if she didn't know how to show this gratitude to him.

Cassie took a breath, "I've been trying to write to them. To understand. But they do not write back to me."

"Maybe because of the war," Jon said with a bit of bitterness in his tone. But Cassie let out a sarcastic scoff, sitting next to Jon.

"I wish," she said, "But this is not queer on their part."

That made him frown as he observed her. "No one ever writes to me from King's Landing."

"Why?" He asked, confused, and his expression made her chuckle.

"My family is very different from yours, Jon," Cassie admitted, "My father did not know me. Joffrey hates me. As I him. My younger siblings... I feel very little for them, mostly because of my mother."

"Your mother?" He asked gently. The gentle Jon Snow.

"She looks at me as if I'm an abomination. As if she had never seen something more hideous in her life," she scoffed bitterly, "She does not write to me even for my name-day."

Jon looked at her with pain in his eyes, "Why didn't you tell me?"

Cassie took a breath, "I don't care."

He shook his head, "That's not true," he was not attacking her. And the tone he was using was the only reason why she didn't feel rage. He understood her. It had been always like that. In a way or another, Jon Snow was always able to understand her.

"I've pushed it away, Jon," she said with a shrug of her shoulders.

"You can't do that forever, Cassie," Jon said.

The girl felt like rolling her eyes, "Why not?"

"Because you've got feelings," he said with a firm tone, "You cannot pretend to feel nothing."

"I'm not pretending," she insisted, "I'm stronger than those feelings."

Jon observed her for a moment, "You think it is strong not to feel, but that does not prevent you from feeling."

Cassie lowered her eyes, shaking her head, "I've never trembled, Jon. This means I'm strong. If I get lost in my feelings, it would make me weak."

He searched for her gaze, "Emotions are not something to fear, Cassie," he spoke.

Cassie smiled at him, "To me, they are."

*************

If you enjoyed it please leave a "♥️" and feel free to reblog!

If you want ho be added to the tag list, just write a comment.

#asoiaf fanfiction #asoiaf #asoiaf imagine #jon snow x oc #jon snow x reader #jon snow imagine #jon snow fanfiction #jon snow #bran stark #bran stark fanfiction #bran stark imagine #bran stark x oc #bran stark x reader #theon greyjoy x oc #theon greyjoy x reader #theon greyjoy imagine #theon greyjoy fanfiction #theon greyjoy #a song of ice and fire fanfiction #a song of ice and fire #a song of ice and fire imagine #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones

[direwolfrules]

The Weirwood Queen Memes Part 5: Because I was a passenger on a five hour drive and brought the wrong book

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Master Post

As always, spoilers for The Weirwood Queen by @redwolf17. 10/10 fic, go check it out.

#ramsay snow #ramsay bolton #greatjon umber #arya stark #sansa stark #Olyvar sand #aegon vi targaryen #tywin lannister #cersei lannister #Deziel Dalt #viserion #jaime lannister #theon greyjoy #aerys targaryen #aerys ii targaryen #the weirwood queen #twq #memes #fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic rec #fanfic meme #asoiaf #the weirwood queen memes

[januaryembrs]

MASTERMIND | Theon Greyjoy x Bolton!reader

Request: @marsconer says - hii!! hru? the requests are still open? if so i can request for a theon one, with mastermind by taylor swift as a prompt?

description: You knew you wanted him, none of it was accidental. Theon had no idea the Bolton bastards were masterminds.

Word count: 1.1k

trigger warnings: dark!reader. reader is not mentally well and believes Theon loves her even though he doesn't know her. RAMSAY KINDNESS? Ramsay loving the Reader as her brother. hints of Theon's torture.

main masterlist

authors notes: First I'm so sorry this is so late to be published things have taken a turn in my life and writing has had to be put on the back burner. but I'm back! and I'm trying something new, I've never done a dark reader before. I hope this was okay! I feel like its not but I'm trying :)

You knew you wanted him the moment you set your eyes on the Stark’s ward.

He wouldn’t recognise you, how could he? The last time you’d ever seen him he was a teenager, too busy chasing girls in pretty skirts and competing with Robb for the fair maiden’s attention to take note of such a plain, quiet girl like you. 

Ramsay noticed you staring almost immediately. Being your older brother, possibly the only person in the world who understood you and loved you since you were both Bolton bastards, he was determined to give his sweet, little monster anything she wanted. 

“He’s caught your eye, sister?” His ice-blue eyes followed your entranced gaze to see the scrawny Greyjoy boy, too busy yanking a maid’s pigtails to notice you looking. His eyebrows furrowed, “Are you sure you don’t want someone stronger? Someone who could protect you and whatever babes you give him,”

“He has a kind face,” The maid squealed, and noble Ned Stark leant forward to smack both Rob and Theon across the ears to set them in place. “You will get him for me one day, won’t you Ramsay?”

Ramsay looked down at you from your place at the back of the dining hall. Being bastard children, you were not permitted to sit with your father beside the noblemen. Instead, you were among the last to collect your supper, drank the dregs of the wine the other Stark council did not consume, sat near the chill of the open windows. You had less in this world one might think for those born to a nobleman like Roose, but Ramsay had always made sure you had the best he could get, even if it meant getting his knuckles bloodied as it did most of the time. 

“Of course, sweet-hearted. Anything you want is yours. When you’re of age to marry, he will be yours,” He smiled with too many teeth as he always did, making his face look sinister to others, but to you he was your dearest brother. The only one who understood the way your mind worked, in a way that others would call twisted you called unique.

Watching Theon Greyjoy that day, you knew your brother would never fail you. 

Ramsay made good on his promise as he always did. A few days after your ten and eighth birthday, he led you down to the lower passages of Dreadfort claiming he had a present for you. You had never quite forgotten about the Stark’s ward. But with the chaos the people were now calling the war of five kings, you had some trouble keeping up with his whereabouts. He had betrayed the Starks, killed the youngest two boys, boys he had grown up with like brothers, all for his own gain of power.

Nothing could make you so certain he was perfect for you. A man who would stab his company in the back in the name of helping his genuine family was exactly the man you wanted.

You had always known he would be special, that he would understand the way your mind ticked. While everyone called you cruel, he would love you the way you loved him.

So when he led you to Dreadfort dungeons, and there was Theon Greyjoy, strung to a flaying cross, you felt your heart swell in excitement.

“For you, my dear sister. Just as I always promised,” Ramsay presented the man, who looked scruffier than the last time you had seen him, just a few months before the war started. Again you had been just a fly on the wall in Winterfell, but this time was different. This time he would know who you were, know just as well as you did you were perfect for each other.

You squealed, squeezing your brother around the waist in a tight hug. “I knew you could do it, I knew you would never disappoint me,” 

“Please help me!” Theon begged, though his words fell on deaf ears as you moved closer to him, “Please let me go, I’m not supposed to be here,” 

“Of course you are, silly,” You said, reaching up to unbind his arm. You were smiling at him almost too wide, a crazed look in your eye that you shared with your brother, as though this was all a part of a bigger plan he knew nothing about. 

Theon was sure he had seen you before, sure he had felt those two eyes piercing his skull many a time before. But he didn’t know you. 

“W-what?” Theon asked, as his first hand was let free, and you began to undo the second, “What do you mean? I need to leave, I need to find my father,”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you just got here. We need to arrange the wedding first,” You said simply, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. Poor Theon was confused, and his battered face said as much. 

“Wedding? What wedding?”

“Ours, of course,” You replied, working away at the knots in the rope. Theon looked over your shoulder to see Ramsay’s face full of a silent fury, as though he was warning him against upsetting the woman who was trying to free him. 

But Theon being Theon was lost, curious. He was disoriented and tired and hungry, and you were making no sense. “Ours?” He cried in shock, “But, I have no idea who you are,”

You froze before the knot could be pulled free and immediately Theon felt the mistake he had made fall over the room in deadly silence.

Your eyes snapped to him, and the manic look was gone, replaced by pure hurt. “You don’t know who I am?”

“Should I?” Theon felt Ramsay’s eyes darken in the shadows of the dungeon. If what he had said before had been a mistake, then those two words felt like a death sentence. 

Your bottom lip started quivering. All you had ever wanted, ever dreamed of was fading right in front of your eyes. You were supposed to be his, the way he had always been yours. 

“Come, sister,” Ramsay jumped in, tucking you under his arm and leading you to the dungeon door, “I will have a word with your dearest fiance, I fear he is feeling a bit under the weather at the moment,” You retreated away from the Greyjoy boy, knowing sweet Ramsay would fix everything for you as he promised. “Let me have a word with him, make sure he remembers to cherish you even in his sickness,” 

You nodded solemnly, your sad eyes never leaving Theon’s fear stricken face as he realised the hidden threat in your brother’s words.

And within moments, the door was closed and he was left with the vengeful face of Ramsay Snow, and Theon wanted for nothing more than to have you back near him, promising him the world.

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