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freakassfemme · 8 months ago

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(Smut) Captain's Quarters - Yara Greyjoy x CisF!Reader

Summary: Princess Y/N, sibling of Queen Daenerys, has returned with her sister for a visit to the Iron Islands. These visits used to be more commonplace, but the two have not visited the islands since before the Battle of Winterfell. Y/N has a strong attachment to the islands, but finds her attachment has extended to its reigning monarch in a new, unfamiliar way.

Word Count: 4.2K

Warnings: loss of virginity, oral sex, fingering, praise kink (kinda), the works

A/N: Long time no see! I got so sick and tired of there being no reader insert for Yara that I arose from the dead with 4.2K words of yara-posting. Yara-yearning, if you will.

NO MINORS BEYOND THIS POINT

The night was surprisingly warm for the Iron Islands, and the salty mist of the beaches hung heavy in the air and clung to the sway of your hips and undone hair. Your hands clutched your silken robe shut as you leisured through the sand, a soothing waft of lavender from your recent bubble bath hitting your nose with a gentle breeze.

You paused at the base of the shore, where the brine nipped at your toes and you tilted your head back, deeply inhaling into your chest. Your eyes slipped shut.

It wasn't often you and your sister were able to visit the islands, but gods above, you had missed it. Queen Yara had earned a special place in Daeneyrs's heart after her proven loyalty to the Dragon Queen, and thus routine visits were necessary to uphold the alliance between the Greyjoys and the remaining Targaryens. Sometimes it felt like you had grown up here, and sometimes the coldness of Pyke felt more familiar to you than anything back home, despite how long it had been since you had returned.

You would never admit it, but something about the sea and the people on this particular side of the world had consumed you during all these years of visits. Something about the people's wildness and the way it mimicked the ocean that mothered the island spoke to you and whispered to you at night and danced on your eyelids in spirals and swirls.

Some other nights, when the whispers never came, you would hold a large shell up to your ear and pray. The beloved gift had always answered you with the melodic pounding of waves against rocks, against ships, and lured you to sleep. In your dreams, you would sink into your deepest desires.

In this realm, much below the surface level of what was true and probable, you would find yourself standing beside an iron throne. This was not unusual for you -- you had been born to stand behind your brother, and then readjusted to beside your sister. Your duty had always been protecting the honor of this seat and whomever presides in it, and yet this integral piece of your mind, heart, body and soul vanished in these moments, and instead, you found yourself for once atop of the throne.

Well, atop of its monarch.

Clawing at the throne, which was not particularly jagged and sharp like the one your sister sat upon, and clawing at the crowned, whose calloused hands curled inside you and rough lips whispered filthy promises to you in a voice that sounded an awful lot like

"Yara!"

You stumbled away from the shore, whose once soothing pulls had now gone ice cold and stabbed at your feet and at hem of your robe. Your hand readjusted the collar of your robe out of instinct, as your sense slowly settled, though your burning cheeks lingered a bit too long.

Turning towards the disturbance, your eyes caught on the closest (and largest) docked ship, whose windows and deck harbored light and celebration. A group of sailors and soldiers drank merrily and called for a straggling participant, who marched towards the boat and waved them off, enjoying the attention in her own way. In this moment, you were grateful that the shadows of the cliffs behind you hid your so very clearly out of place figure.

Your attention followed Yara as she boarded the ship, and despite the distance, you could make out the way they all greeted her with a clasp on the shoulder, pat on the back, or smack on the bottom. The corners of your mouth turned up at the raw, unabashed display of admiration.

Shudders ran down your back and you ignored the way your stomach turned. For a moment, you thought about heading back to the castle. Nauseatingly, you thought about knocking on your sister's door and spilling these secrets to her and beg for direction, a command, anything.

Daenerys was the closest thing you had to a mother, and the urge to crawl into her arms and wait for guidance on this troubling issue consumed you as it always had, but you were a woman now, a delicate one, but blossomed and bled nonetheless, and you had witnessed your own sister's call to these womanly urges, and it was incredibly reminiscent of this pull you felt to the Ironborn Queen.

Your mind wandered back to your arrival this morning.

"It has been so long since I've returned," you said to Daenerys as you marveled over the aged walls of Pyke. Your hand danced across the slotted stone, digging your finger into chipped areas and rubbing your thumb against the in-between space.

Daenerys smiled knowingly, hands clasped softly in front of her. Missendei, Tyrion, and Greyworm trailed closely behind.

"How long has it been?" You murmured, mostly to yourself.

"Not since before the war, my lady," Tyrion added, and you turned to him, nodding with a solemn smile.

"It has been nearly that long since I have seen the rest of the Greyjoys, as well. Not since Theon."

Tyrion and Daenerys nod respectfully, reminiscing on Theon's death and the bravery that presumed it. A small silence ensued.

"I never understood how you have adapted so well to this cold, my lady," Missendei said, sweetly cutting the silence.

"She is a dragon," Daenerys replied, reaching out to brush a bit of her sister's hair back into place. "She provides her own warmth."

The throne room was modest in size but exuberant in its carvings, luxurious enough to suggest status but rugged enough to represent the people it ruled. You couldn't help but admire it all, it being so vastly different from the outright lushness of Mereen or even Dragonstone.

Of course, the architecture was not the only thing you were interested in. You turned your attention to the throne, and immediately stopped. Your sister continued for only a few steps more, taking her place in front of you.

"Yara," Daeneyrs greeted with a warm smile.

Yara strutted forward with an unmatched level of confidence, and you couldn't help but stare at the way her leather tunic hugged her strong shoulders. You were used to Yara not dressing like any other lady you had known, but couldn't help but always think the natural defiance in her pants and boots exuded power and self-assurance. Yara looked somehow more bold and stronger than you had ever seen her, and it was admirable in an unfamiliar, indescribable way.

"My queen," Yara bowed in her own way, a half-smirk ever-present, "It is an honor."

The two clasped arms, and Daenerys smiled before turning to you.

"I'm sure you remember my little sister, Princess Y/N."

Yara's attention followed, and you couldn't help the way you held your breath and stared up at her with widened eyes. It was like you were seeing her for the first time.

"Princess Y/N."

Yara said your name like she was trying it on, but in truth she had always used formalities in this way, especially towards you. In your aw-stricken mind, you'd like to think that her gaze softened a bit. She had never looked at you like this before.

"Your return has been long-awaited."

She outstretched her hand, and you took it with both of your hands, feeling yourself relax into it. Your eyes watered a bit, and you squeezed, unable to avoid the way you beamed up at her.

"I have missed the islands dearly."

Your sister had given in to her own desires, and she had lived to tell the tale. Perhaps you would too.

The ground seemed to push you towards the ship, and by the time your eyes unglossed and you regained clarity, you found yourself standing at the base of the footway. You of course had been on many vessels that belonged to the Iron Fleet, and you knew the people on board rather well, but you couldn't help but feel nervous now. These men were rather drunk, and you knew you probably should have an escort this late. Not even status could always safeguard a lady from the hands of depravity and sin. Stupidly, you grabbed on to the ropes of the ramp and pulled yourself aboard.

Immediately the overwhelming stench of ale and piss cause you to wrinkle your nose.

"Gods above," you whispered to yourself. Though you had been quiet, the sailors very quickly took notice of your presence.

"Princess!" one called, waving at you with his mug of ale. It sloshed over the sides and splashed, narrowly missing you. The men around him jokingly scolded him.

"Come on Ravos, you don't want to ruin her dress," a dark haired, stout man called Yohn slurred.

"Don't look like she's wearing much of a dress to me."

The men turned to you once more, and your ears burned, now with a much more uncomfortable feeling as they eyed you. One coughed and shifted on his feet.

You wrapped your robe tighter, straightening yourself up like you had been taught. You narrowed your eyes slightly, and responded directly to Ravos.

"Where can I find Yara?" You asked, hoping you exuded more authority than the piece of meat you felt like.

Reacting much more appropriately, he turned and pointing towards the North end of the ship.

"Captain's quarters," he grunted, avoiding eye contact.

You nodded, and the fifteen or so men stumbled backwards to allow for a path.

Carefully you stepped over puddles of questionable substances and shards of glass, maintaining as much grace and fierceness as you could muster. Behind you, the men resumed their activities, seemingly already over the drunken encounter. You knocked once on the Captain's door, before hurriedly slipping inside, eager to escape the sailors.

As you shut the door and turned to face her, you had to carefully force out a normal respiration rate. Yara was propped up in her chair with her boots resting on the desk, holding her own stein, though her sobriety seemed much more intact.

"Hello, princess."

Yara didn't bother hiding her surprise. She set her stein down and dropped her arms to the ends of her arm rest. A smirk creeped across her face, and she leaned her head back as she very obviously eyed you up and down, legs spreading a bit for a better view. Despite her brute persona, she did seem to try to hide the way she stuttered over the V of your robe.

You noticed anyways.

"A little far from the dressing room, are we?" She nodded at your outfit. You blushed and nodded with a smile. She smiled back and sat up. "You should know better than to walk around alone at night like that, especially here."

"I'm not alone now," you replied softly. Here in the candlelight, she was able to see you fully.

Yara took notice of the way you wrung your hands together, the way your eyes were glued to the loose laces of her tunic, the rose hue of your cheeks and ears, and your long, snow-white hair falling in loose curls around you.

Yara had known you for half a decade at this point. When she first met you, you were a scrawny, timid little girl who watched from Daeneyrs's shadow. To be fair, you were still quite shy, but you were a woman now, not nearly the little bird of a lady that you used to be. Now, in the warm lighting, she could see that these days you were more of a snow leopard than a cub, and you looked almost regal.

For a moment, Yara wondered what you would look like on the throne instead of your sister. Her hands squeezed at her chair at the idea, and she concluded that that was an image that would inspire millions.

Yara's eyes returned to your face, recomposing her commanding demeanor. She shrugged and stood, traipsing leisurely towards you.

Your eyes' followed each other, studying the other until they met. Yara had never looked at you this way, not that you could recall, and the curiosity in her face sent a thrill down your spine and fueled your ego.

"Oh, but I am as much as of a predator as any man out there, princess," Yara countered.

Peculiarly, you stepped forward, taking Yara by surprise at this newfound confidence. She watched you, and noticed something lurking behind your irises, something Yara was very familiar with and could feel exuding off of your body, but ten fold. She knew why you had come.

"And I am a dragon," You murmured, meeting her eyes without hesitation. Up close, you looked even more feral than before, with the sea spray making a wild mess of your hair, and each rock of the boat interrupting your breaths.

Yara backed up to sit on the edge of her desk, and you followed, keeping the distance small but not yet close enough. Yara waited for you to make a move with unusual patience. You raised your hand to caress the open area of her shirt with your palm, then push it aside just a few inches to trace her collarbone with your index and middle finger.

"Are you scared of dragons, Yara?"

"Anyone in their bloody right mind is scared of dragons," she replied, watching your hand as her breathing grew heavy. You giggled, reaching your hand around to cup the space between her ear and neck, letting your thumb rub her jaw.

"Are you scared of me?" You spoke quietly, like it was a secret meant to be kept safe between the two of you.

"I'm hungry for you," she growled, eyes heavy with desire. You felt your core throb in an entirely new way, letting out a small whimper at the feeling.

Finally, Yara reached out, hand splaying across your lower back, where she could finally feel that the robe was the only thing preserving your modesty, and she could've fainted at the realization.

"I've never been with a dragon before," Yara confessed, halfway a joke, yet halfway entirely all too true. You brought up her other hand to truly cup her face, bring her attention to you.

"I've never been with anyone before," You whispered, and for a second Yara could see that familiar timidness she knew of you flicker between the lust clouding your vision. "You are the only person I've ever wanted."

Yara let out a small noise at this. "Then you must be starved."

You nodded, eyes falling to her lips.

"Can I?"

"Please."

The first thing Yara noticed was how warm you are. Your lips against hers were like fire, and your soft whimpers made her want to crawl inside the flames and be burnt alive. You practically fell against her, knees going week, but she grasped you with both hands and held you up.

This alone was like nothing you had ever experienced. Your ears rung from the intensity and your nails dug into Yara's skin ever so slightly, illiciting a gasp from her that you greedily swallowed.

Yara reached back with one hand, pushing herself off to stand, keeping you slotted between her legs. She turned you both, pushing you against the desk until you were sitting atop it now. You raked your hands over her shirt, grasping at it and pulling her as close as you could. Yara put her hands between you and undid the tie to your robe, hurriedly pulling it off your shoulders. She reached under your thighs, lifting you up by them and letting the robe fall on to the floor.

As Yara angled you on to the desk, you propped your arms behind yourself, baring your legs to her. She paused, staring at your bare form and licked her lips.

"Gods below," she growled, running her hands up your body. You shivered as they danced over your thighs and ghosted over your breasts. "You're fucking stunning."

Yara pushed back between your legs. The warmth of her skin against yours and the cold leather of her pants pressing against your bare sex made you moan. Yara shoved her hand back behind your back and laid you down flat.

"Such a pretty cunt," she whispered, tracing her thumb over you. You gasped at the touch, and watched as she brought it up.

"Do you know what this is, sweet girl?" Yara watched the way the wetness glistened on her finger, and you nodded your head.

She grinned, then brought her thumb to her mouth and sucked it clean. You whimpered at the sight, nearly panting now in desperation.

She leaned down to kiss to you and forced her tongue into your mouth. You moaned at the feeling and at the taste, grabbing on to the back of her head and pushing back with your own tongue. Yara groaned into your mouth and grabbed you by the neck, deepening the kiss, if that was even possible.

Yara's scent and touch and taste consumed you, feeding into every one of your senses and bleaching them until all that was left was her.

Finally, Yara put her hand against your chest and pushed you back against the desk.

"Be a good girl and open your legs a bit more for me," she commanded, and without a single underlying thought, you obeyed, gasping at the way your stomach turned at the petname. You watched with slightly parted lips, panting, as Yara sunk to her knees, staring into your eyes so intensely that you couldn't even think about looking away.

She settled between your legs and brought her hands to rest up on your thighs, just in case. You pushed up on your elbows, trying to see what she was going to do, when she pressed a firm kiss to your sex. You groaned, cheeks going pink, and Yara reacted similarly.

She kissed again, this time open mouthed, and gently sucked on your growing bud. You could feel your cunt pulsing, and your thighs quivered around Yara's head, but she held firm.

She licked stripes around your clit, teasing you before giving it a direct swipe that had you balling your fists and curling your toes.

"Yara!" You gasped, perhaps a little too loudly, because the voices outside of the room suddenly quieted. You froze, looking down at her in panic, but she didn't share the same concern.

Instead, Yara chuckled, murmured your own name against your cunt almost tauntingly, and without any warning, eased her tongue inside of you. Your whole body stuttered, and you slammed your hand against the desk. Yara gripped your legs even tighter and repeated the motion, and you couldn't find it in you to keep quiet, not with the way Yara was working you like she was eating her last meal.

"Fuck," you groaned, back arching. You head fell back, curls falling with it, and Yara swore she had never seen anything more stunning or satisfying. Yara's own cunt throbbed impossibly hard, but she continued her merciless assault, drawing curse after curse from you, until Yara was certain the men outside knew exactly what was going on and with whom.

Yara stood and pulled your hips closer to the edge of the desk. Holding you by your hips, she rocked her hips against your core, and you gasped at the new sensation. You grabbed her shoulder, holding yourself up.

Yara cradled your face with one hand, and you buried yourself in her arm, ear pressed against her chest, whining and whimpering. She pressed kisses into your neck, nipping at it and bruising it. Slowly, Yara stopped her hips, and just as you started to get question it, she spoke.

"You want me to fuck you, sweetheart?" She teased, and you cried out, nodding desperately into her arm. Yara laughed, and then when you felt her middle and ring finger prodded at your entrance, you clenched down, gasping.

"Relax, sweetheart," she whispered, kissing right behind your ear. "I'm going to take good care of you."

You shuddered against her, but tried your best to settle down. Yara started pushing in again, and you clenched again out of instinct, this time clamping down on her fingers. She groaned into your ear.

"You're so tight," she whispered, and you pulsed around her fingers, whining. Once she was entirely inside, Yara curled her fingers, and your whole body reacted.

Your legs wrapped around her, holding her in place, and your fingers dug into her lower back while you saw stars. You bit down on her arm, at least still attempting to keep quiet, and Yara moaned loudly. When you finally loosened you grip on her arm, she pulled your face back by your hair.

"Does that feel good?" She whispered against your lips, and you panted, pressing kisses between each breath.

"Yes, y-yes," You cried out, and she pressed a knowing kiss to your temple.

"I'm going to move them," she warned, and you nodded, eyes glassed over and lips parted. She kissed your fiercely, then held eye contact as she started pumping her fingers. You groaned loudly, then started moving your hips to meet her hand. As your body adjusted to the foreign feeling, you grew confident.

The sound coming from it was obscene, and you pulled Yara down to sloppily kiss her. Yara pushed harder, and so did you. Soon, you developed a rythym, and you could feel a pressure building up in your stomach. Yara glanced down at her hand, then back up at you, eyes unbelievably filled with even more lust. You followed her gaze and practically melted at the sight.

Thick, hot cream spilled out of you and on to Yara's hand, and gods above, her hand was huge. Her palm practically framed your whole cunt, and the sight made you dizzy.

Yara flicked her thumb over your clit, and you choked, grabbing her neck to hold you up from falling backwards. Your whole spine tingled, and your vision started to blur.

"Y-Yara, I'm," you gasped, but you weren't entirely sure what was going on. "I'm, I think I'm gonna -"

"Cum, sweetheart," Yara groaned. "You're going to cum for me." She pumped her fingers harder, and you sobbed into her arms, feeling your stomach ball up tighter, tighter, tighter, and then burst.

You screamed into her shoulder as your cunt gushed over her hand, and Yara moaned your name into your ear at the feeling. Your hips stuttered, but Yara kept pumping until you were shaking uncontrollably and babbling nonsense. Then, she eased out of you.

She tilted your head up with one hand, then brought the other soiled one between the two of you. You looked up with watery eyes and red cheeks, and watched as Yara licked your cum off of a few of her fingers. Then, she prodded your lips with the remaining two, and you opened your mouth, accepting it gratefully.

You pushed her fingers farther and farther down your throat, chasing that high and letting the bittersweet flavor swirl and cloud your taste and mind. You looked up at Yara through wet lashes, and she swore she could've creamed herself.

"Fucking hell," she groaned, and pulled her fingers out of your mouth, worried you'd probably suffocate yourself on them if she let you work at them any more.

You coughed and gasped, and regained your breath just before she pressed a firm kiss against your mouth. When she pulled away, you stared at her with wide eyes and she panted down at you. You couldn't pull a single word to say off your tongue.

She kissed your temple, then the side of your head, and rested her forehead against yours. "Gods below, are you sure that was your first time?"

You nodded breathlessly, swallowing thickly.

"You fuck like a-"

"- I want to do it again."

Yara pulled back, studying your face. Her face was expressionless, and for a moment during the silence, you were worried you had angered her, or somehow shamed her skill. Then, the corners of her mouth curved into a smirk.

"You want to do it again?" She asked, tilting her head until her lips were almost slotted against yours. You nodded your head.

"Is that okay?" You asked, no shyness left to spare.

Yara laughed loudly and kissed you. She stepped away, running her hands through her hair.

"Yes, fucking absolutely," she assured. She reached down and grabbed your robe. "But not in here, I have other things to show you."

You quickly got dressed. Your body shook, so Yara helped you with it extensively, and kept you steady. You looked up at her quizzically. "Other things like what?"

She grinned wickedly before pulling you up into her arms, one arm under yours and the other under your knees.

"You'll see, princess," she assured.

In her brutish style, Yara kicked open the door to her quarter's. The soldiers remaining on deck went absolutely silent, staring at the two of you with both terrified and amused expressions.

Yara coughed loudly and you buried your face into her shoulder to hide your embarrassment.

"If you gentleman will excuse me, me and the lady are going to retire for the night."

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freakassfemme · 8 months ago

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[i'll crawl home to her] pt 2: shut the fuck up - yara greyjoy x brienne of tarth

Summary: Brienne of Tarth, after escaping the grasp of the Ironborn queen, finds herself wandering back to Yara Greyjoy instead of the safety offered to her at Winterfell.

Warnings: smut (nothing too raunchy yet tho), lesbianism (but that's a blessing), drinking, swearing, canon divergence, etc.,

Word Count: 1.5k

A/N: PLEASE THEY HAVE SO MUCH CHEMISTRY IM SHAKING IN MY FUCKING BOOTS! I need to make them fuck. I will make them fuck LMFAO. But for now ridiculous flirting and bickering and arguing and jealousy and angry Brienne. Let them eat cake.

NO MINORS BEYOND THIS POINT

For what seemed like an incredibly long lapse of time, Yara stared at the knight, expression unreadable.

Brienne's stomach flipped as Yara's eyes raked over Brienne and the red-headed woman from top to bottom, then back up to Brienne's face. Still, she said nothing, didn't even seem to feel anything.

Yara turned back to the blonde woman in her lap.

Brienne watched in almost disbelief as Yara wrapped her other arm around the woman, pulling her aggressively down on to her own fingers. Brienne watched as the blonde arched her back further, letting out a loud moan that elicited laughs from other visitors in the tavern.

Then, Yara laughed flatly, smiling without her eyes. She spoke to a man behind her, gesturing him over, and soon, a crowd of men formed around Yara and the blonde. They took turns verbally teasing her as Yara worked her up, all the while completely ignoring Brienne and her gaping stare.

Gods above, Yara was a shameless fuck.

The redhead turned then, stopping her assault on Brienne's neck, to let her attention follow the crowd. Brienne tore her eyes away from Yara and down to the woman. She winched a bit at the soreness on her throat, but quickly covered up her discomfort as the woman turned back to her.

"Cecilia always get herself into the most fun," she whispered giddily, only a twinge of jealously in her words. "She's the lady's favorite."

Ah, so Yara was a regular here now. Enough to be well-known amongst the prostitutes.

How pleasant, Brienne thought to herself, not bothering to hide the annoyance on her face but trying to ignore the uneasy pull in her throat.

Thankfully, the redheaded woman did not notice, and instead pranced off, enticed by Yara and Cecilia just as much as all the others. Brienne, on the other hand, kept her distance, though even she could not look away from the spectacle.

"That's a good girl," she heard Yara coo, almost tauntingly, and over the heads of the people, she could see Yara pressing her hand against Cecilia's lower stomach, pushing her back just enough to allow others to watch Cecilia's so obviously dripping cunt fall on to Yara's waiting fingers.

The men laughed at Cecilia's responsive whine, and Brienne felt her ears turn red. Not only at the outrageous display, but at Yara's obvious efforts to seem unconcerned Brienne's presence and make a show out of it all. It irritated Brienne to no end, especially when she considered how much different Yara had looked at her when she was sitting on Brienne's lap.

"Ah, shit," Yara cursed. Her head fell forward, brown locks framing their panting faces as the two ground their hips against each other in an almost perfect sync.

Brienne worked her fingers inside Yara, curving them into her and running her thumb over her clit, just as Yara had showed her to.

"Like this?" Brienne asked, eyes watching Yara's face for any reaction. Their hips pushed Brienne's fingers impossibly deeper, and Yara groaned loudly. She squeezed her eyes shut and nodded frantically, hand pressed to the bedframe behind Brienne's head.

"God, yes," Yara moaned.

A loud wail snapped Brienne out of her thoughts. She shifted uncomfortably in her spot, almost cringing at Cecilia's pitch as she climaxed in Yara's hand, though Brienne swore if she hadn't been watching, she would've thought Yara slaughtered a cow instead.

"Good heavens," Brienne muttered to herself. She rolled her eyes and pushed herself off of the wall as Cecilia was whisked off Yara's lap, now free for the other men now that Yara had had her first dibs.

The crowd slowly dispersed, leaving Yara drinking her ale. She would've looked nonchalant if Brienne hadn't memorized the stiffness of her shoulders and if she wasn't white-knuckling her stein.

Brienne worked her way to Yara's table, walking around the side of it to stop across from her, where their eyes could meet if only Yara would fucking look up.

They both stayed silent for a long moment, letting the intensity bloat itself until it was insufferable and suffocating the two. Brienne's breathing grew heavy again, and the tips of her fingers trembled where Yara couldn't see them. Yara, on the other hand, set her cup down and ran the soiled tip of her own finger around the rim. Brienne wrinkled her nose, then opened her mouth to speak.

"Is this where you've ended up, then?" Yara said, beating her to the chase, just as she always did.

Slowly, Yara looked up at her, letting hungry, steel-colored eyes meet Brienne's uneasy blues. Brienne's breath caught in her throat.

"I have to admit, I'm surprised, I didn't think this type of work was really your thing."

"Oh shut the fuck up."

Brienne snapped out of her anxiety at Yara's accusation, and she rolled her eyes. She pulled the chair across from Yara back and fell into it. Yara chuckled and propped her feet up on the table, leaning back casually, territorially. She put her hands up in a satirical surrender.

"I yield, my lady!" She said, looking over Brienne intensely, eyes still holding that unreadable blankness that made Brienne's stomach churn.

"Ser," Brienne corrected.

"Right," Yara said, smiling dangerously. "You're a knight now, aren't you?"

Brienne nodded slowly, glancing away from Yara's predatory gaze. Yara's eyes widened, nodding condescendingly as if praising Brienne for being correct.

"And I am the lady," she corrected, raising her cup up before taking a hefty swig. Still, she never looked away, watching Brienne over the rim of her stein. Brienne did not speak, and so Yara set her cup down.

With a loud thump, her feet dropped to the floor. It took the table, and Brienne jumped, looking up at Yara. She watched as Yara's legs spread, taking up more space, and Yara leaned her arm back against the rest of her chair.

"What are you doing here then, Brienne?" Yara asked, voice lower but still holding that icy tone that sent chills down Brienne's back.

Yara didn't say the obvious, but Brienne felt it floating in the air between them, hovering stagnantly.

You should've known better than to come back.

"Did the Starks send you on another goose chase, sweetheart?"

Brienne stiffened at the term of endearment. She folded her hands in her lap and shifted in her seat uncomfortably. She took a long breath, then leaned back, trying to exude some confidence of her own.

"I have been relieved of my duties to the Starks," Brienne said, finally speaking.

She grinned, taking in Brienne's nervousness like fuel for her own ego.

"And how did you accomplish that one?" Yara asked. "The Starks are not people who.. let go so easily, as I'm sure you know."

Brienne bit her lip, glancing away again.

"I had other business to attend to."

Yara raised her eyebrows in surprise. She chuckled and then ran her tongue over her teeth.

"Business so important that Brienne of Tarth broke her oath?"

"I did not break my oath," Brienne snapped, "I was relieved of my duty."

"Right," Yara said, face falling bank to that empty slate. Brienne shuddered. "I'll have to send Sansa my regards. You do have a way of worming your way out of duty."

Fuck, there it was.

Now it was Brienne's turn to chuckle. Still a bit drunken, she covered her mouth with a single finger, then pointed at Yara as she spoke.

"I still can't believe you really thought I was really going to leave the Starks for you," Brienne said, halfway amused.

"Yet, here you are," Yara said, smirk growing wider. "Not your smartest idea, I must admit."

"Which part?" Brienne challenged, leaning froward. "Fucking you? Lying to you? Or coming back?"

Yara's eyes narrowed.

"I could have your head for treason," Yara said.

"I never swore an oath to you."

"You implied-"

"I. Never. Swore. An. Oath. To. You," Brienne hissed. She glared at Yara as she annunciated every word. Yara stared back, sucking on her teeth with a cold expression. "You cannot execute me for betraying a queen I do not serve."

"I could have your head anyways."

Brienne tried to suppress a laugh at the double meaning Yara had not-so-purposefully slipped into her words. Yara furrowed her eyebrows, then rolled her eyes.

"Oh, shut the fuck up," Yara said, taking a drink of her ale and relaxing back into her seat.

"I didn't say anything," Brienne said, still smiling cheekily.

"No, I'm sure your mouth was preoccupied."

Brienne chuckled, shrugging. "Not the way you were."

Yara's eyebrows went up again, and a cocky smirk bloomed across her face. Brienne's cheeks went red at her own realization. Her heart jumped as the tables turned, catching Brienne's words this time and the realization the followed them.

Yara tilted her head, laughing softly in slight disbelief.

"I knew you watched."

44 notes · View notes