#theon greyjoy x reader fic

[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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Game of Thrones tags: @izbelross @ietss

[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."

[asa-do-your-thing]

Helloo, could you do a Theon Greyjoy smut were the reader is a mermaid? Ty ♡♡

Swim to me; let me enfold you

18+ MINORS DNI Theon Greyjoy x Selkie!Reader 5.8 k Warnings: P in V sex, porn w/o plot, smut, oral sex, kind of orgasm denial? soft smut, theon's a bit of a misogynist but that was to be expected, sub theon thank you for the ask, I couldn't fall asleep so I had to write this, I hope you like it <3 oh and I might've gone overboard with the sea alliterations. whoops!

Leaning against an old oak, Theon shivered and took another sip of his mead, staring off into the distant darkness on Bear Island. Lord Stark had something private to discuss with Lady Maege Mormont, leaving him to his own devices. Robb, ever the good heir, had decided to go to bed early and the Mormont ladies - if one could even call them thusly - had fun with their friends.

Sighing, he slowly walked closer to the sea, watching the dark waves crashing and gurgling menacingly against the slick, black stones of the shoreline.

The sea… Something he used to see on a daily basis but now was as strange to him as the concept of being close to Mother, talking to Asha, being on Pyke.

He kicked a small stone into the dark waters and turned, cursing Lord Stark for choosing to come to this desolate place. Why couldn't they have gone to White Harbour? There, he could have his pick of whores without any worries. But here, he had to be careful not to get picked up by one of the women and dragged into their makeshift huts.

"What a pretty boy," one had said with a wide grin and strong arms, eyeing Theon up and down at the feast. "His hair looks so soft, and I'm sure he moans just as softly."

Theon shuddered at the memory, quickly draining the last of his mead to wash away the taste of disgust that lingered in his mouth. The empty horn dangled from his fingers as he cast one last glance at the churning sea, its inky blackness now seeming to mirror the void in his chest. With a resigned sigh, he turned and made his way back to the Mormont's hall, his footsteps muffled by the damp moss beneath his feet.

The hall was mercifully quiet as he slipped inside, the earlier revelry having died down to a low murmur of conversation and the occasional clink of cups. Theon's eyes darted around, searching for any sign of the she-bears that had made him so uncomfortable earlier. Seeing none, he quickly made his way to the large oak barrel in the corner, filling his horn with fresh, golden mead that glowed warmly in the flickering firelight.

Clutching his prize, Theon hurried back outside, the cool night air a welcome respite from the stuffy interior. He paused for a moment, allowing his eyes to readjust to the darkness, before making his way back towards his earlier perch by the old oak tree. As he approached, however, he noticed a slender silhouette standing where he had been just moments before.

Drawing closer, Theon's breath caught in his throat. There, bathed in the soft silver light of the moon, stood a young woman. Her long, slick hair looked strangely damp and her skin had the same light colour as her strange cloak. Squinting, Theon could make out that it was a sealskin - what was this girl doing here with a skagosi coat?

“If I knew you would return I would have asked for a horn as well,” she whispered gently and turned around, giving Theon a small, shy smile. “I’ve never seen such a man as yourself here.”

With an overexaggerated bow, Theon offered her his horn. Gods, she was stunning - Theon did not know if he had ever seen a woman with such a natural beauty as her, even if she looked as if she just came out of a bout of rain, her plain dress clinging to her. “Take it, my Lady. I can always just get myself a second one.”

Studying her closer, he raised an eyebrow and leaned against the tree once more, his arm above her. He had not seen her during the feast, yet she looked far too gentle, too soft to be a servant or a fisherman’s wife, not to mention being a warrior. “So you’ve been watching me then, huh? Then how come I haven’t seen you?”

The woman's smile widened, revealing teeth that seemed to gleam unnaturally in the moonlight. She accepted the horn with a graceful nod, her fingers brushing against Theon's as she took it. A shiver ran through him at the touch - her skin was cool and slightly damp, like the mist rolling in from the sea.

"Perhaps you weren't looking in the right places," she replied, her voice as soft and alluring as the gentle lapping of waves against the shore. "I prefer to keep to the shadows, away from the noise and chaos of your feasts."

Theon found himself drawn in by her mysterious aura, unable to look away from her mesmerizing gaze. Her eyes were the color of the sea at twilight, deep and unfathomable. Whatever did she mean with ‘your feasts’? Surely such a lovely thing could not be low-born. She didn’t look like she was from Bear Island either. Was she a bastard? Maybe Jorah Mormont’s?

"And what brings a lovely girl such as yourself out here on a night like this?" Theon asked, his usual cocky grin spreading across his face. "Surely not just to admire the view? The winds are cold and the feast is almost over. Or are you waiting for someone…?"

The woman took a sip of mead, her eyes never leaving Theon's. "I come here often, to listen to the sea and feel the wind on my skin. It calls to me, you see."

She gestured towards the churning waters with her free hand, and Theon could have sworn he saw webbing between her fingers for just a moment before she lowered it again. Although… didn’t the Sistermen have that as well?

"But tonight," she continued, her voice dropping to a whisper, "I sensed something different. Something... foreign. I was right,” she said, giving him the horn back. “You are of the drowned islands, are you not? Your sharp face tells me so, ‘tis a handsome one. It would have been wrong of me not to find you tonight.”

Theon laughed and gratefully took a sip of mead to try and calm his beating heart and the hardness in his breeches. She spoke plenty strangely, surely, yet she was so beautiful and spoke so frankly, yet so sweetly… and it seemed like she was truly eager to spend time, if not even the night, with him.

His laugh faded as he studied the mysterious woman more closely. Her words stirred something deep within him, a longing for home he usually tried to bury beneath bravado and drink.

"Aye, I'm from the Iron Islands," he admitted, his voice rougher than he intended. "Though it's been many years since I've seen those shores."

The woman's eyes seemed to glimmer with an otherworldly light as she stepped closer to him. The scent of salt and seaweed clung to her, intoxicating and familiar.

"The sea never forgets her children," she murmured, reaching out to trace the line of his sharp jaw with cool fingers. "Even when they're taken far from her embrace."

Theon shivered at her touch, desire and an inexplicable sense of danger warring within him. "And what of you?" he asked, trying to regain his composure. "You're clearly not from Bear Island. Where do you call home?"

A sad smile played across her lips as she gazed out at the dark waters. "My home is everywhere and nowhere," she said softly. "Wherever the tides take me. Like… what do you call them… a salt wife, but I have no master. My mistress is the sea. "

She turned back to him, her hands searching his. Something about her made him so wild, he did not even know what it was. Her quiet confidence? Her Beauty? The mystery in her voice? "But tonight, I'm here with you, my Theon of the Iron Islands. Would you like to feel the sea's embrace once more? My hut is not like the Lord Bears’ big one, but it is warm and the sea is oh so near.”

Theon hesitated for a moment, his mind racing. This woman was unlike any he had ever encountered, and something about her both thrilled and unnerved him. But the mead coursing through his veins and the ache of loneliness in his chest pushed him forward.

"Lead the way, my mysterious lady," he said with a roguish grin, offering her his arm.

She smiled, a secret dancing in her eyes, and took his arm. As they walked along the rocky shore, Theon noticed that her feet seemed to barely touch the ground, moving with an otherworldly grace over the uneven terrain. The sound of the waves grew louder, drowning out the distant noises from the Mormont hall.

Soon, they came upon a small hut nestled among the rocks, so well-hidden that Theon would have missed it entirely if not for his guide. It was a simple structure, made of driftwood and covered in seaweed, looking as if it had grown organically from the shore itself.

The woman pushed open the door, revealing a cozy interior lit by the soft glow of thick, brown candles in jars. The scent of the sea was even stronger here, mixed with something else Theon couldn't quite place – something ancient and primal, but drink and fatigue made him careless, so as soon as she closed the door behind herself, he pressed her against it and kissed her hungrily.

He could feel her smiling against his kiss. "Welcome to my humble home," she said, her voice barely audible over the crashing waves just outside as she broke away. "Would you mind if I take my coat off first and light a fire? It would be a bit more… comfortable.”

Theon reluctantly pulled away, his breath coming in short gasps. "Of course, my lady," he said with a playful bow. "Allow me to start the fire for you. It's the least I can do for such gracious hospitality."

He moved to the small hearth, gathering driftwood and kindling from a neat pile nearby. As he worked to coax a flame to life, he couldn't resist stealing glances at the mysterious woman. She stood with her back to him, slowly unfastening her sealskin coat.

"So, tell me," Theon said, his voice husky with desire, "do you often lure handsome strangers to your hidden abode? Or am I a special case?"

The firelight danced across her pale skin as she carefully folded the coat and placed it on a nearby chair. Theon's breath caught in his throat as she began to unlace her simple dress, the fabric sliding off her shoulders to pool at her feet.

She laughed softly, a sound like waves lapping at the shore. "You are indeed special, Theon of the Iron Islands. It's not often I meet someone who understands the call of the sea as I do."

She turned to face him, now clad only in a thin shift that clung to her curves like sea foam on the shore. The flickering flames cast a warm glow on her features, softening the otherworldly quality that had first captivated him.

In this light, she looked more human, more real, yet no less beautiful.

Her long hair, no longer seeming damp, cascaded down her back in waves that rivaled the sea itself. Her eyes, which had appeared so dark and fathomless outside, now shone with a warm, amber hue that reminded Theon of the mead they just drank.

"And what of you?" she asked, turning to face him. "Do you often follow mysterious women into the night?"

Theon grinned, rising from his crouched position by the now-crackling fire. "Only the exceptionally beautiful ones," he quipped, “and ones that do not wish for my gold before they have even spoken to me.”

The girl laughed and stepped closer to him, untying his own cloak and unbuttoning his black doublet. “Gold means nothing to me.”

“Really? I think you are the first woman I’ve ever heard saying something like that,” Theon muttered, trying to keep his breathing calm as her hands came to the bottom buttons of his doublet, accidentally brushing over his hardness.

“Hm,” she muttered and looked up, giving him a grin that was as coy as his own as she slipped it off him with almost unnatural grace, before she stood before him once more, gently pushing him onto her bed so she stood over him, her chest dangerously close to his face.

“On the drowned islands they also do not talk of gold. They talk of iron, my Theon. Although… it seems like you know the hardness of it. So, in turn, for tonight, I shall wish for it to mean something to me. Do you think you can do that?”

Theon's breath hitched as he gazed up at the mysterious woman, her beauty almost otherworldly in the flickering firelight. His hands found her hips, pulling her closer as he leaned in to press his lips to her stomach through the thin fabric of her shift.

"I think I can manage that," he murmured against her skin, his voice low and husky with desire. "Though I warn you, my lady, I may ruin you for all other men."

She laughed softly, running her fingers through his hair. "Oh, my sweet Theon," she whispered, "I don't think you quite understand what you've gotten yourself into."

With surprising strength, she pushed him back onto the bed, straddling his hips in one fluid motion. Theon gasped as she ground against him, the friction sending sparks of pleasure through his body. He reached up to caress her face, but she caught his wrists, pinning them above his head.

"Tell me," she purred, her lips brushing against his ear, "do you know the old stories of the sea folk? The ones who lure unsuspecting sailors to their doom?"

Theon's heart raced, a mix of excitement and unease coursing through him. "Aye," he managed to say, his voice strained. "But those are just tales to frighten children."

She pulled back slightly, her eyes meeting his. In the dim light, they seemed to shift and change, one moment they were human and the other… bigger. Darker. Just like a seal’s. “At first the tales will scare you, then they will make you long for us, before you forget them. But, my dear Theon, we exist,” she whispered, grinning widely, her hand reaching down to untie the laces of his breeches.

“Do not fear, though… I won’t bite. Not unless you ask me to, at least,” she mumbled, pushing them down, freeing his hard member, on which she sat down with a wicked grin, rubbing her moist slit gently against him, sighing contentedly. “You are of the sea - you are sweet. I will not hurt you, no, you’re too pretty for that.”

Theon's mind reeled, torn between desire and a growing sense of unease. The woman atop him was unlike any he had ever known, her beauty both alluring and terrifying. As she moved against him, he felt as if he were being pulled into the depths of the sea itself, helpless against the tide of pleasure threatening to overwhelm him.

"What... what are you?" he gasped, his hips involuntarily bucking upwards, seeking more contact, seeking to enter her, yet he was under her, he was trapped.

She leaned down, her lips brushing against his as she spoke. "I am the foam on the waves, the salt in the air, the call of the deep that echoes in your blood," she whispered. "I am what your people call a selkie."

With nimble fingers, the selkie tugged at Theon's breeches, sliding them down his legs and tossing them aside. Her eyes roamed over his body, drinking in every detail as if committing him to memory. Theon shivered, feeling exposed and vulnerable under her intense gaze.

"Beautiful," she murmured, her voice like the whisper of waves on sand. "You are a true son of the sea."

She rose gracefully, her movements fluid and hypnotic. Slowly, deliberately, she pulled her shift over her head, revealing skin as pale and smooth as polished seashells. Moonlight from the small window danced across her curves, casting her in an otherworldly glow.

Theon's breath caught in his throat as she crawled between his legs, her hair cascading around her shoulders like a waterfall of dark silk. Her cool fingers wrapped around his shaft, stroking him with a touch both gentle and confident. He gasped, his hips lifting involuntarily off the bed.

"So responsive," she purred, her eyes gleaming with approval. "Your body remembers the sea's embrace, even if your mind has forgotten."

Her thumb circled the tip of his manhood, spreading the moisture gathered there. Theon moaned, torn between the pleasure of her touch and the lingering fear of the unknown. The selkie continued her ministrations, alternating between long, languid strokes and quick, teasing caresses.

"You're even more desperate than I am,” she muttered, glancing up at him before slowly, almost shyly, licking a stripe over his cock, taking it carefully in her wonderfully soft, warm mouth.

Theon gasped as her mouth enveloped him, warm and wet like the sea itself. His fingers tangled in her hair, silky strands slipping through his grasp like water. The selkie's tongue swirled around his length, teasing and exploring with an expertise that left him breathless.

"Gods," he groaned, his head falling back against the pillow. The pleasure was intense, almost overwhelming, yet there was something else - a strange tingling sensation that spread from where her lips met his skin, flowing through his veins like the tide.

She hummed in response, the vibrations sending shocks of pleasure up his spine. Her hands caressed his thighs, nails lightly scraping against his skin. Theon's hips bucked involuntarily, driving himself deeper into her mouth.

The selkie pulled back slightly, releasing him with a soft pop. Her eyes, dark and fathomless as the deep sea, met his. "Patience, my iron prince," she murmured, her voice husky with desire. "The night is young, and I wish to see if you understand."

She crawled up his body, her skin cool and slightly damp against his. Theon reached for her, pulling her close and capturing her lips in a passionate kiss. He could taste salt on her tongue, along with his own musk.

As they kissed, she laid down next to him, evidently waiting for his next move. But what was he he to do with a girl, a woman, a being like her? Whores usually quickly satified his needs but with her… he just couldn’t bring himself to use her in such a way.

Theon hesitated, his hands hovering uncertainly over the selkie's body. She was unlike any woman he had ever been with, and he found himself at a loss. Her otherworldly beauty and mysterious nature both thrilled and intimidated him.

"What's wrong, my iron prince?" she asked, her voice a soft whisper that seemed to caress his skin. "Are you not used to a woman who knows what she wants?"

Theon swallowed hard, his pride stung by her words. "I... I've been with plenty of women," he said, trying to sound confident. "But you're different. I don't know what you want from me."

The selkie's laugh was like the tinkling of sea glass in the surf. She took his hand in hers, guiding it to her breast. Her skin was cool and smooth, like polished stone worn by the sea.

"I want you to touch me," she murmured, her eyes locked on his. "I want you to explore me as if I were uncharted waters. Can you do that, Theon of the Iron Islands?"

Her words ignited something within him, a mixture of desire and curiosity that overwhelmed his hesitation. Slowly, reverently, he began to caress her body, marveling at the way her skin seemed to shimmer in the dim light.

His fingers traced the curve of her hip, the dip of her waist, the swell of her breast. She sighed contentedly, smilig into the dimness of the hut. “More, Theon, I will not break… Show me your strength…,” she whispered.

Emboldened by her words, Theon's touch became more confident. He cupped her breast, feeling the weight of it in his palm, his thumb brushing over her nipple. The selkie arched into his touch, a soft moan escaping her lips.

Theon leaned in, pressing his lips to the curve of her neck. He could taste salt on her skin, reminding him of sea spray on a windy day. His kisses trailed lower, across her collarbone and down to her breast. He took her nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the hardened peak.

The selkie's fingers tangled in his hair, holding him close. "Yes," she breathed, her voice husky with desire. "Just like that."

Encouraged by her response, Theon's hand slid lower, tracing the curve of her hip and thigh. He hesitated for a moment before dipping between her legs, finding her already slick with desire. The selkie gasped as he explored her folds, her hips rolling against his hand.

"You're so wet," Theon murmured against her skin, his fingers circling her most sensitive spot.

"I am of the sea," she reminded him, her voice breathy. "Always ready to embrace those who seek me."

Theon groaned at her words, his own desire mounting. He kissed his way down her body, pausing to nip at the soft skin of her inner thigh, before he parted her soft curls with his fingers, settling between her thighs just as she had done before.

Her scent - gods - he had not even fully tasted her, yet he did not wish to part with her already, his tongue slowly touching her cunny.

The selkie gasped as Theon's tongue made contact with her most intimate place. Her fingers tightened in his hair, urging him closer. Theon obliged, his tongue exploring her folds with growing enthusiasm.

She tasted of the sea - salt and brine mingled with her own unique flavor. It was intoxicating, and Theon found himself lost in the act, his world narrowing to the sound of her soft moans and the feel of her beneath his lips and tongue.

His hands gripped her thighs, holding her steady as he worked. He traced patterns with his tongue, alternating between broad strokes and focused attention on her most sensitive spots. The selkie's hips rolled against his face.

"Oh, Theon," she breathed, her voice thick with pleasure. "You truly are a son of the sea. You know just how to please me."

Her words sent a thrill through him, spurring him on. He redoubled his efforts, sucking gently on her pearl while his fingers teased her entrance. The selkie cried out, her back arching off the bed.

Theon could feel her trembling beneath him, teetering on the edge of release. He quickly sat up, kissing her like a starved man, before pushing himself into her.

The selkie's eyes flashed with a mixture of pleasure and frustration as Theon entered her. In one fluid motion, she hooked her leg around his waist and flipped him onto his back, pinning him beneath her with surprising strength.

"Tsk, tsk," she chided, her voice a low, dangerous purr. "So eager, my iron prince. Did you forget that the sea demands patience?"

Theon gasped, overwhelmed by the sensation of being sheathed within her. Her inner walls pulsed around him, cool and slick like the embrace of the tide. He tried to thrust upward, seeking more friction, but the selkie held him firmly in place.

"I... I'm sorry," he managed to stammer, his hands instinctively moving to her hips.

The selkie caught his wrists, pinning them above his head with surprising strength. "Oh, you will be," she whispered, a wicked gleam in her eye. "The sea is patient, Theon of the Iron Islands. And so am I."

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, she began to move. Her hips rolled in a hypnotic rhythm, rising and falling like the swell of waves. Theon groaned, his hands grasping at her hips, trying to urge her to move faster. But the selkie was unyielding, setting her own pace.

She rode him with the patience of the eternal sea, each movement precise and deliberate. Her skin gleamed with a faint, otherworldly luminescence in the dim light, like moonlight on water. Theon watched, mesmerized, as droplets of moisture beaded on her skin, rolling down her body like rivulets of seawater. He longed to taste them, to run his tongue along the curves of her body, but she kept him pinned beneath her, at her mercy.

"Please," Theon gasped, his voice hoarse with need. "I need... I need..."

The selkie smiled, a predatory gleam in her eyes. "What do you need, my iron prince? Tell me."

"More," he groaned. "Faster. I need to feel you."

She leaned down, her lips brushing against his ear. "The sea gives and takes as she pleases," she whispered. "And tonight, I am the sea."

With those words, she began to move faster, her hips undulating in a rhythm that matched the crashing waves outside. Theon moaned, lost in the sensation of her around him, the cool silk of her skin against his, the intoxicating scent of salt and sex that filled the air.

The selkie's movements grew more frenzied, her breath coming in short gasps. She released Theon's wrists, bracing herself against his chest as she rode him. Freed from her grip, Theon's hands roamed her body, caressing her breasts, her hips, her thighs.

"Yes," she hissed, her head thrown back in ecstasy. "Touch me, Theon."

Theon's hands roamed the selkie's body feverishly, tracing the curves and dips of her otherworldly form. Her skin seemed to ripple beneath his touch, as if tiny waves were coursing just beneath the surface. He could feel the power of the sea thrumming through her, wild and untamed.

The selkie's movements grew more frenzied, her hips rolling and crashing against his like storm-tossed waves. Theon felt himself being pulled under, drowning in sensation. His entire world narrowed to the feel of her around him, the salt-sweet taste of her skin, the sound of her gasps and moans mingling with the distant roar of the sea.

He was close, so close. The pressure built within him like a tide ready to break. His fingers dug into her hips, pulling her down harder onto him. The selkie's inner walls clenched around him, pulsing with a rhythm that seemed to match the beating of his heart.

"Oh gods," Theon groaned, his back arching off the bed. "I'm going to-"

Suddenly, the selkie stilled. In one fluid motion, she lifted herself off him, leaving Theon gasping and desperate. He reached for her, but she evaded his grasp with a teasing smile, instead laying down on her stomach with a wicked little smile.

"Now you know what it feels like," she purred, her voice low and husky. "I am not done and neither are you."

Theon groaned in frustration, his body aching with unfulfilled desire. The selkie's eyes glimmered with mischief as she looked back at him over her shoulder, her hair cascading down her back like dark seaweed.

"Come, my iron prince," she cooed, arching her back invitingly, wiggling her full buttocks. "Show me the strength of the storm."

Theon didn't need to be told twice. He moved behind her, his hands caressing the smooth curve of her hips. The selkie sighed contentedly as he positioned himself, teasing her entrance with the tip of his manhood.

"Don't make me wait," she breathed, pushing back against him.

With a low growl, Theon thrust into her, burying himself to the hilt. The selkie cried out in pleasure, her fingers gripping the furs beneath them. Theon set a punishing pace, driven by his earlier denied release and the intoxicating power of the creature beneath him.

The sound of flesh meeting flesh mingled with their gasps and moans, creating a primal rhythm that seemed to echo the crashing waves outside. Theon's hands roamed her body, caressing her breasts, her stomach, her thighs. Every touch sent sparks of pleasure through him, as if her very skin conducted the raw energy of the sea.

The selkie met him thrust for thrust, her body undulating like the tide. She turned her head, capturing his lips in a fierce kiss. Theon kissed her back hungrily, tasting salt and desire on her lips. His hands tangled in her hair, pulling her closer as he continued to drive into her. The selkie moaned into his mouth, her body trembling beneath him.

Breaking the kiss, she gasped, "Yes, Theon. Just like that. Be good for me, please… give me… just like…."

Her words ignited something primal within him. Theon's thrusts became more forceful, more desperate. He could feel the pressure building again, a tidal wave of pleasure threatening to overwhelm him.

The selkie's inner walls clenched around him, her body shuddering with each thrust. She buried her face in the furs, muffling her cries of ecstasy. Theon could feel her climax approaching, her muscles tensing beneath his hands.

"Look at me," he growled, surprising himself with the command in his voice. "I want to see your face when you come undone."

The selkie turned her head, her eyes meeting his. In that moment, Theon saw the vastness of the sea in her gaze - deep, mysterious, and utterly wild. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

With a final, powerful thrust, Theon felt himself tipping over the edge. The selkie cried out, her body arching beneath him as her own release crashed over her. Theon groaned, burying himself deep inside her as wave after wave of pleasure washed over him. It felt like he was being pulled into the depths of the sea itself, drowning in ecstasy.

As the intensity of their shared climax began to ebb, Theon collapsed onto the selkie's back, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He could feel her heart racing beneath him, her skin cool and slightly damp against his chest. For a long moment, they lay there, intertwined and breathless.

Slowly, carefully, Theon rolled off her, falling onto his back beside her on the narrow bed. The selkie turned to face him, her eyes now soft and warm like the sea on a calm summer day. She reached out, tracing the line of his jaw with gentle fingers.

"You have pleased me well, my iron prince," she murmured, her voice rich with satisfaction. "The sea will remember you fondly."

Theon chuckled weakly, still trying to catch his breath. "I don't think I'll ever forget this night," he said, turning his head to meet her gaze. "Or you."

The selkie smiled, a hint of sadness in her eyes. "Perhaps," she said softly. "But the memories of men are often as fleeting as seafoam on the shore."

She leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips before rising from the bed. Theon watched, mesmerized, as she moved about the small hut, her body glowing faintly in the dim light. She retrieved her cloak, fastening it around her shoulders, and gave him a sad, sorrowful little smile. “Go back to the bears now, my kraken. I’m sure you are missed.”

“But… can you not just… stay here? For a while at least?”, Theon asked, quickly gathering up his own clothing. Normally he would’ve left just as quickly as she was about to, yet she was no Ros, no Wintertown whore.

The selkie paused, her hand on the door. She turned back to Theon, her eyes softening with a mixture of fondness and regret.

"Oh, my sweet iron prince," she said softly. "Your words warm my heart, but I cannot stay. The sea calls to me, as it always has and always will."

Theon felt a pang in his chest, a longing he couldn't quite name. He stood, still naked, and took a step towards her. "Then let me come with you," he said impulsively. "Just for a while. I... I miss the sea."

The selkie's smile was sad and knowing. She reached out, cupping his cheek in her cool hand. "You are not ready for my world, Theon of the Iron Islands. Your path lies elsewhere, at least for now."

She leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. Theon could taste the salt of the sea on her breath, feel the pull of the tide in her touch. When she pulled away, her eyes seemed to shimmer with unshed tears.

"But know this," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the crashing waves outside. "The sea never forgets her children. When the time comes, if you truly wish it, you may find your way back to us."

With those words, she slipped out the door and into the night. Theon rushed after her, but as he stepped outside, he saw only the empty beach and the vast, freezing waters, the selkie’s figure retreating into the waves.

Theon stood on the shore, the cool night air raising goosebumps on his bare skin. He watched the waves crash against the rocky beach, searching for any sign of the mysterious selkie, but she had vanished as completely as if she had never existed. The only evidence of their encounter was the lingering taste of salt on his lips and the slight ache in his muscles.

With a heavy sigh, Theon turned back to the small hut. The interior still smelled of sea and sex, and for a moment, he wondered if he had dreamed the entire encounter. But no, his clothes were strewn about the floor, and he could still feel the ghost of her touch on his skin.

Slowly, he began to dress himself. His fingers fumbled with the laces of his breeches, his mind still clouded with the intoxicating memory of the selkie. As he pulled on his tunic, he noticed it smelled faintly of seaweed and brine. He wondered idly if Lord Stark would notice, then dismissed the thought. The old wolf rarely paid him much attention anyway.

Theon retrieved his cloak from where it had fallen, shaking out the sand before fastening it around his shoulders. He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to tame the wild locks that the selkie had so eagerly mussed. As he did so, he felt something caught in the strands – a single, iridescent scale that gleamed in the dim light. He stared at it and reverently tucked it into his satchel.

Stepping out of the hut, Theon took one last look at the sea. The moon hung low on the horizon, its reflection shimmering on the dark waters. For a moment, he thought he saw a seal's head bobbing in the waves, watching him with knowing eyes. But when he blinked, it was gone. The sea had claimed him, he thought, and he would honour it.

[hd-junglebook]

From Beyond The Wall

Part 1

The wind begins to howl mournfully, swirling snowflakes dancing in the air like lost spirits. The mountain remained still as night began to fall, leaving the brothers of the nights watch in the darkness of the north.

The fire crackles weakly, struggling against the encroaching cold, casting long shadows that flicker and dance across the frozen ground.

"Can you feel it, Jon?" one brother mutters, his teeth chattering as he huddles closer to the feeble warmth.

"A storm's coming. I can smell it in the air." Jon, his cloak pulled tight around him, nods solemnly. "Aye, a blizzard's upon us. We'll need to find better shelter if we're to survive the night."

In the cover of darkness beyond the glow of the fire, Y/n and her group lurk like shadows, their breath forming wisps of vapor in the frigid air. Ygritte, her fiery hair barely visible in the dim light, leans in close to Y/n, her voice barely above a whisper.

"We strike now, while they're weak and unprepared," she says, her blue eyes gleaming with determination. "We'll catch them by surprise, before the blizzard engulfs us all."

Y/n nods, her fingers tightening around the reins of her white horse, its breath steaming in the cold night air. "Agreed. Move on my signal.”

Y/n continue to watch in silence, glancing between the brothers and the free folk. She nodded to Ygritte, grasping her bow from the leather pouch. Y/n and her group emerge from the darkness, the crunch of snow beneath their boots muffled by the howling wind.

The brothers of the Night's Watch startle at the sudden onslaught, scrambling for their weapons as Y/n's group descends upon them like a winter storm unleashed.

"Take no prisoners!" Ygritte's voice rings out above the chaos, her bow singing as she looses arrow after arrow into the heart of the fray. the blizzard finally descends in full force, swallowing the scene in a swirling white blanket of snow and ice.

After a few minutes of the bloody onslaught Jon realizes his efforts were pointless as he is now surrounded.

Confused and heaving out heavy breaths he looks around to grasp his situation. He pauses mid turn at the sight of Y/n dismounting her horse gracefully, still holding her bow.

“Hold.” she raises her hand, signaling for them to hold their fire. The clash of swords and the cries of men fade into the background as Jon's gaze meets hers, his eyes locked on her figure clad in a fur cloak and a dress as white as the snow.

She approaches Jon with purpose, her footsteps leaving shallow imprints in the fresh snow. The wind tugs at her cloak, sending strands of hair swirling around her face like tendrils of shadow.

“Who are you?” he mumbles out, trying to find the words. He raises his hands slowly, his eyes flicking between Y/n and the members of her group surrounding him.

Y/n's lips curl into a confident smile as she keeps her arrow trained on Jon. "I am Y/n, Princess of the Free Folk," she declares, her voice ringing out clear despite the howling wind.

Jon's eyes widen in surprise at her proclamation, a flicker of realization dawning in his expression. He lowers his hands slowly, his gaze never leaving Y/n's face. "Princess of the Free Folk," he repeats, as if testing the words on his tongue.

Y/n nods, her grip tightening on her bow. "Indeed. And now, I command you to throw down your weapon and stand," she orders, her voice leaving no room for argument.

Jon hesitates for a moment, his gaze darting between Y/n and the looming figures of her group. But then, with a resigned sigh, he unclasps his sword belt and lets it fall to the ground with a heavy thud.

He stands tall, meeting Y/n's gaze, she studies Jon Snow intently as he stands before her, his demeanor composed despite the circumstances. "And who are you, truly?" Y/n asks, her voice softened but still firm.

Jon's gaze remains fixed on her, his expression unreadable behind the mask of snowflakes that cling to his beard. "I am Jon Snow, a brother of the Night's Watch," he replies. A laugh escapes her at the name. “Mhmm snow. You’re a Stark. Ned Starks bastard son.”

Hearing her call his name and addressing him as a Stark made his heart skip a beat. Yet he remained cautious, seeing how easily the wildings obeyed her. “I am…How did you know?” he asked, as he slowly took a step back.

“It’s not me who knows, its my brother. what business does the Night's Watch have this far beyond the Wall? Us wildings? White walkers?” He nods to both causing her to sigh.

Y/n turns to her companions, her gaze sweeping over them with authority. "Tie him up. We're bringing him home," she commands, her voice firm and resolute.

He is stunned by her order, his body freezes still where he stands. The wildlings nod in silent acknowledgment, swiftly moving to obey Y/n's orders.

They bind Jon Snow's hands tightly with rope, ensuring he poses no immediate threat as they prepare to escort him back to their camp.

Y/n's eyes then find Ygritte, who stands nearby, her bow at the ready. "Ygritte, you'll watch him from now on," Y/n instructs, her voice carrying a note of trust.

"Make sure he doesn't try anything foolish." They hand the rope to Ygritte, who accepts it with a nod of gratitude.

With a swift motion, she mounts her horse, her cloak billowing behind her like a banner of authority. As she settles into the saddle, her eyes meet Jon's, and there's a flicker of something unspoken between them, a tension that crackles in the frigid air like lightning.

"Let's go," she commands, her voice cutting through the howling wind. "We have to make it back before dawn."

Jon's heart races as he watches her, his breath catching in his throat at the sight of her. A sudden chill runs through his back, he struggles against his restraints, approaching your horse slowly. “You really won’t say anything, huh? Just going to tie me up and drag me with you.”

Y/n meets his gaze, a spark of mischief dancing in her eyes. “That’s how I like my men, Snow.” She stated with a devious grin. A cold look appears on his face immediately realizing what she meant by those words. Yet all he can do is be silent and follow behind you, keeping up as his body is pushed every which way by the pelting snow.

…

They finally reach the Wildling camp, Y/n dismounts her horse with a graceful ease and gives her horse a gentle pat on the neck, murmuring words of gratitude as she glances toward the towering big tent that serves as the heart of their encampment.

The women of the camp emerged from their makeshift shelters, their laughter and chatter filling the air as they danced with their children under the fading light of the day.

Giants lumbered about, their massive forms silhouetted against the twilight sky as they worked alongside the Free Folk, tending to the needs of the camp with quiet efficiency.

With a nod to Ygritte, who stands by Jon Snow's side with a watchful gaze, Y/n orders, "Bring the crow with you." she takes hold of Jon's arm, guiding him towards the tent alongside her.

Pushing open the flap of the tent, Y/n steps inside, the warmth of the fire within enveloping her like a comforting embrace.

Ygritte and Jon enter behind her, Y/n's gaze sweeps over the assembled group, taking in the familiar faces of her companions, as well as the curious glances directed towards their captive.

“Oh dear brother. I have a gift.” Mance, ever the troubadour, sat in a corner, his fingers strumming a haunting melody on his lute, the notes drifting through the air like whispers on the wind, weaving a tale of a Dornish woman's forbidden love.

He departs from his pregnant wife’s side. "What's this?" he asked, his gaze sweeping over Ygritte, Rattleshirt, and the newcomer with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. "A crow?"

“Ygritte found the crow, Jon Snow, the bastard of Winterfell!” she introduced. “Release him.” With a collective nod, Ygritte moves to obey, her hands deftly untying the ropes that bind Jon's wrists before pushing him forward.

Mance's piercing blue eyes fix on Jon, assessing him with a shrewd intensity. "A crow," he remarks, his voice low and measured. "What brings you so far beyond your Wall?"

Jon meets Mance's gaze with a steady stare, his jaw set with determination. "I seek answers," he replies, his voice steady despite the weight of his words. "Answers about the darkness that threatens to engulf us all."

Mance nods thoughtfully, his expression unreadable. "And what answers do you hope to find here, among the Free Folk?"

Jon's gaze flickers with resolve as he speaks. "I seek allies," he declares, his voice ringing out clear and strong. "Allies in the fight against the true enemy, the Night King and his army of the dead."

A murmur ripples through the gathered Wildlings at Jon's words, their faces reflecting a mixture of skepticism and curiosity. Mance, however, remains impassive, his gaze fixed on Jon with a calculating intensity.

"Allies," he repeats, his voice echoing in the tense silence of the tent. "The Night's Watch and the Free Folk, united against a common foe. A bold proposition, Jon Snow. But one that may yet prove to be our salvation."

…

The conversation with Mance concludes and the orders are given, Y/n watches as Ygritte leads Jon Snow and his direwolf away from the tent.

With a heavy sigh, Y/n turns away, her steps leading her back to her own tent. She sheds her fur cloak with a weary grace, allowing it to fall to the ground as she settles onto the floor, her legs crossed beneath her.

Closing her eyes, Y/n takes a deep breath, centering herself before allowing her mind to drift into the depths of warging. As her consciousness expands, she feels the pull of the nearby animals, their instincts calling out to her in the darkness.

With a gentle push, Y/n's spirit leaves her body, merging with that of a nearby fox. She feels the rush of freedom as she darts through the snow-covered landscape, her senses heightened by the wildness of her new form.

She approaches the bodies of the fallen Black Brothers, a sudden movement jolts her back to reality. The fox springs back in fear, its eyes locking with those of a figure rising from the snow.

Y/n's heart pounds in her chest as she stares into the ice-blue eyes of the reanimated corpse. The corpse lunges forward as it reaches out with cold dead hands.

With a burst of speed, the fox races southward, its breath coming in ragged gasps as it flees from the looming threat. Y/n's eyes snap open abruptly, her breath coming out raggedly as she sits up. She dons her fur cloak once more, the fabric billowing around her like a protective barrier against the biting cold.

Rushing from her tent, Y/n heads straight for Mance, her footsteps quick and purposeful in the snow. She finds him surrounded by his advisors, deep in conversation about their next move. "Mance, we need to leave now," Y/n declares, her voice urgent as she approaches him.

Mance turns to her, his brow furrowed in confusion. "We've just arrived at our camp. Surely we can afford to rest for a while."

But Y/n shakes her head adamantly, her eyes flashing with determination. "No, Mance. We can't afford to stay here any longer, thinking about Dalla" she insists, her voice unwavering.

Mance studies her for a moment, weighing her words carefully. But then, with a resigned sigh, he nods in reluctant agreement. "Very well, Y/n," he concedes, "We'll leave in a few days."

…

Y/n stood before the gathered clans, her hair blowing in the biting gusts as she surveyed the uneasy faces staring back at her.

"As you know, the white walkers arise once more from the dead," she called out, her voice carrying over the murmurs that rippled through the crowd. "As your Princess, I swear to lead you safely to the Wall."

She continued, her tone firm, "My brother has brought together the Free Folk like no one has before." Gesturing to Mance, who stood with his wife behind her, she emphasized, "But winter is coming—the harshest in memory. The dead will rise to join the White Walkers' army. They will not wait for spring!"

The truth of her words sank in among the Free Folk, glances exchanged as the severity of the situation settled upon them. Mance stepped forward, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

"The princess speaks true," he declared, his voice carrying authority. "The Wall is our only refuge against the storm. We must begin the march at once... before it is too late."

Agreement murmured through the clans, and Y/n nodded gratefully to Mance. Drawing her furs tighter against the cold, she caught sight of Jon Snow, his gaze meeting hers for a fleeting moment before flickering away.

…

In the wake of her stirring speech, preparations for the journey to the Wall began in earnest. The clans bustled with activity, packing supplies, sharpening weapons, and tending to their families in anticipation of the arduous trek ahead.

The moon hung low in the sky, casting its silvery light over the rugged landscape, and the distant howls of wolves echoed through the valleys.

It was there, in the quiet stillness of the night, that Y/n encountered her brother's pregnant wife once more. She stood alone, her silhouette outlined against the moonlit horizon, a solitary figure in the darkness.

"Are you all right?" Y/n asked softly as she turned to face her, her expression unreadable in the dim light. Y/n walked closer to where she was standing, her boots crunching on the frozen ground. "I'm fine," she replied curtly.

Y/n studied her for a moment, sensing the weight of her burden in the lines of her face and the tension in her shoulders. There was a distance between them, a chasm that seemed insurmountable.

"I wanted to thank you," Y/n said earnestly, breaking the silence that hung heavy between them. "For standing with me back there. Your support means more to me than you know."

Her gaze softened, a flicker of warmth in the depths of her eyes. "You don't have to thank me," she replied, her voice gentle. "We're in this together, whether we like it or not." There was a moment of quiet understanding between them as they stood together beneath the starlit sky.

…

give me some feedback, i'd like to know if this sucks lol

[h3llrac3r]

˗ˏˋ For all eternity ´ˎ˗

Theon Greyjoy x stark!reader oneshot

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

Warnings: angst, veeery briefly mentioned light smut, death, hurt no comfort, violence, lil bit of gore/ blood ? kinda cringe honestly, Horrible writing, 08x03 spoilers but I changed the episode's plot a little

Summary: I guess there’s nothing more romantic than dying in your lovers arms <3

Word count: ~ 2.6k

A/N: my first fanfic!! English is not my first language so excuse any mistakes. enjoyyy the angst babies <3

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

The Godswood. Considerably the most beautiful place in all of Winterfell. It had an almost calming effect on you. The beautiful weirwood tree with its blood red leaves, surrounded by more trees and bushes. It’d look even more serene in winter. The painting worthy beauty of the snow silently falling from an endless gloomy sky, coating the world in a small layer of cold white. Sometimes you’d sit on one of the center tree’s branches with a paper and feather in hand, painting the snowflakes that landed on the back of your hand before they would melt away on your warm skin in a matter of seconds. You also loved the stillness of the forest. If you ever felt like you needed space from everything and everyone around you, you’d simply go out and sit with the trees. You’d see your younger self running, chasing your siblings around the tree in the center and laughing together when one of you would trip.

Theon would always know to find you there. If you’d let him, he’d sit with you and just listen. You knew he really cared. Theon was the only person, other than your siblings, you could trust with anything. He truly loved you with all his heart and you loved him. You tried hard to hide it in the beginning, knowing your Father would not be happy if you married Theon rather than a successful, rich king like the other noble girls did.

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.

Robb and Jon knew the second they saw Theon and you talking together in the Godswood. They knew by the way he looked at you and how his eyes would linger on yours. They knew by the way his hand would brushed against yours or how he would blush every time your name came up. Jon especially knew when Theon stopped bedding every woman that stepped foot into the Winterfell castle. He only had eyes for you and he made sure you knew that every single day.

'The prettiest Stark' he would call you. Robb always acted dramatically offended every time he’d overhear Theon say it. It was no use trying to hide your feelings from another. So you didn’t.

You still vividly remember the first time you kissed him. It was the night of your 19th Name day. He took you back to your room and wanted to say goodnight as you leaned into him, lips meeting. His eyes widened in surprise for a few seconds but he melted into you right away. God, he’s been wanting that for a very long time. His hand cupped your cheek as the both of you stumbled into your chamber. He started messily taking off your clothes and gently laid you down on your bed, continuing to kiss you. Looking back, that night feels almost like a hazy dream. Like something you wanted for so long and then you finally got it.

Theon taught you how to fight, even though your father strictly forbid it, saying “it isn’t Lady like to wield swords and fight men”. Theon didn’t care about what other people thought of him, as long as he was yours.

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.

Now everything seemed like a distant memory. What once was, can never be again. You knew you would die tonight. You knew and you were prepared. Your last night with your Ironborn lover was filled with nothing but love. You made sure every inch of his body knew you were grateful for him. Kissing him everywhere from his head down to his neck, hips and thighs. You didn’t want a single inch of him to not feel worshipped and longed for.

After hours and hours of fighting for not only your life but that of the people you loved, you were now standing back to back with Theon, trying everything to protect your brother Bran from the White Walkers and the Army of the Dead, who you were completely surrounded by. They took small steps towards the two of you, slowly caging you in further. Frantically looking around, you swung your sword in a way of trying to tell them to stay away.

They all suddenly stopped.

Your wide eyes looked back at Theon confused, your brows furrowing.

“What are they doing?” He asked you with a two thousand yard stare,

You shrugged your shoulders at his question.

Then all of a sudden there was movement. Some of the Dead opened the circle they surrounded you in to show you who was leading the attack. The White Walkers. At least a dozen of them. This was it. This was the moment your entire life led up to… your death. It seemed almost ironic that it was in the Godswood. A place you've cherished ever since you were a little child. Oh how naïve you were then, you thought. Little Y/N would never understand what was about to happen but neither would you, probably.

You stared at the Knight King only a couple of feet away from you, him staring back at you. He didn’t speak, determination set deep in his cold, blue, piercing eyes. He wants to kill Bran and everything that stood in his way; to erase everything that had to do with the past. Everything that you were or ever will be. You couldn’t let him. You had to win this fight or die trying.

Theon was close by your side. You shared a look. It spoke more than thousand words or thousand languages. A look that said 'You know what’s coming next. Please, don’t be scared, I’m here with you.'

“Thank you.” You heard Bran say behind you, both Theon and you turning around.

“You are a good man, Theon. Take good care of my sister.” Theon nodded at him, his eyes welling up.

“In another lifetime.” You turned to look at Theon with teary eyes to see him already looking at you. “What a time it has been with you”

All you wanted to do now was crash your lips against Theon’s and give him a kiss that would last all eternity. A loud selfish voice in your head told you to just grab his hand and run far, far, far away from here. Leave everyone behind to be with Theon.

‘Run. Run now, before it’s too late. You’re not dead yet.‘

The voice spoke again and as much as you might’ve wanted to, you couldn’t. You couldn’t break now. Thousands of men gave their life to protect Bran. It wouldn’t be fair to either them, nor your beloved brother or your other siblings. Hell, you didn’t even know wether they were still alive. They might already all be part of the Dead, long forgotten and coming to tear you apart and make you join them. To say that you were scared was an underestimation. You thought you were prepared to give your life but now standing face to face with death, everything felt so helpless.

“My heart is yours forever, Theon Greyjoy” you said as you turned your face away from him and set your eyes on the White Walkers before you. You wondered if that right there was the last time you’d ever look at Theon. You didn’t want to think about it, it hurt too much.

Your grip around your dragon glass sword tightened, as you gritted your teeth and began to walk towards the Knight King with big strides. Time seemed to slow down as Theon watched you leap at the Leader of the Dead. He whispered silent prayers.

"Let her be okay and let them take me instead." He repeated it like a mantra.

You let out a scream as the blade of your sword came inches from piercing his icy blue skin. He looked deep into your eyes, as his hand found it’s way to your neck, before your weapon could ever come in contact with his skin. Your body was dangling in the air, your feet kicking wildly like a deer caught in a trap, desperate for an escape. A small smile of triumph appeared on the White Walkers lips when you dropped your sword. You let out a strangled choke as his second hand wrapped around your throat, cutting off your air. You tried clawing at his hands and face but no use. You were soon to join his Army of the Dead.

Theon watched frozen in horror as the Knight King slowly but surely started suffocating you. Without one more moment of hesitance he charged at the creature that was about to take you from him. Everything happened in the matter of seconds. You were roughly tossed aside and immediately took a deep breath as you felt the cold winter air enter your lungs again. A feeling you almost thought forgotten in the previous moments. Having hit your head while being tossed to the side, you were feeling disoriented and dizzy for a few short moments. The metallic taste in your mouth made you spit. The red seeping into the white of the snowy forest ground.

A loud squelch sound snapped you back into reality. Your head shot up as your eyes widen in horror. You watched as the Knight King plunged Theon’s broken spear into his abdomen. A place where your body rested on top of, only a few hours prior. You let out a gut wrenching scream as your tears spilled freely from your eyes. Theon’s eyes locked with yours. You could see his trembling lips parting, trying to tell you something before blood spilled from his mouth.

He started coughing and you didn’t waste a second in picking up a dragon glass dagger from one of the dead soldiers around you and running up to the King once more. This time you managed to catch him off guard and sinked the dagger deep into the left side of his neck. You twisted it, before pulling it out and ramming it back in his throat again. The Night King roared in pain, which almost sounded like a wounded animal. But no pain of his would ever compare to losing Theon. You, along with every soldier of the Army of the Dead fell to the ground. You watched as every single White Walker turned into icy shards, perishing completely.

You killed the Knight King, all the other White Walkers, the Army of the Dead and saved Bran. You did what you were supposed to. You saved the seven kingdoms. But you couldn't think about that right now. Not when Theon was bleeding out just a few feet from you. None of it will ever matter if he’s not by your side.

He can’t die. He can’t die. He can’t die. He can’t die. He can’t die. He can’t die. He can’t die. He can’t die. He can’t die. He can’t die. He can’t die. He can’t die. He can’t die. He can’t die. He can’t die. He can’t die. He can’t die. He can’t die. He can’t die.

You kept repeating those 3 words in your head over and over, trying hard to convince yourself that everything was just a cruel nightmare.

You called out his name as you ran to his side, gently picking up his head and placing it on your thighs.

"I'm here with you. Don't you worry, You'll be alright" You told him as you caressed his cheek. He looked up at you through teary eyes, knowing his end was near. His brows scrunched up in pain and he coughed up more of his blood. You started applying pressure to his stab wound, just like Brienne always taught you. Her words rang through your head 'Y/N, if you ever get hurt, you need to stop the bleeding, as best as you can. Stop the bleeding, stay awake and get help.'

"HELP ME PLEASE. SOMEONE, oh god- I NEED HELP!!" you screamed as loud as you could, hoping someone- anyone would hear your desperate cries.

"You need to stay awake for me, okay? We'll be alright, i just need you to hold on a little longer. I promise you will be okay, i promise you..." But your words rang hollow. You felt Theon's bloody hand on your cheek and you looked at him. Really looked at him. He is tired. His face pale, his eyes glassy and his hand shaking. He just smiled at you and gripped your face a bit tighter, fearing he would lose the feeling in his hands soon as they slightly began to tingle. Your face, now covered in his blood from his hand, leaned into his touch. You kissed his hand.

"I don't- I can't lose you, Theon. I can't."

"shhh. It's alright Y/N. I promise you I’ll find you in every lifetime…"

“No, you don’t need to. You have me in this lifetime-“

His smile never faltered.

“I love you, Theon.” You said, the world becoming a blur through teary eyes.

You leaned down to kiss him. You didn’t want it to be your last kiss. You thought about all the lasts you experienced in the past days without even knowing it. Yesterday was the last time you would fall asleep and wake up next to him. Two days ago was the last time you would ever draw him. Three days ago was the last time he would ever pick your favourite flowers for you. He would never attend another one of your Name days or train with you, sing, dance, laugh or cry with you. You noticed how short-lived your time with him was. If you wouldn’t have been so fucking stubborn, you could’ve told him how you felt sooner. You could’ve had him longer. You should’ve never allowed him to fight for Winterfell. He should’ve stayed on the Iron Islands with Yara. He should’ve left you to die here. You deserved it, not him.

He still held your face in his hands, tears falling down his cheeks.

“I love you. You are the best thing that has happened to me. I do not regret a thing- whe- when everything I did…led me into your arms.”

He was slowly choking on his own blood as he continued to cough violently, the red spilling from his lips.

You helplessly looked around, sobbing, screaming, waiting for a miracle to happen, but no god answered.

You cradled him in your arms, slowly rocking him back and fourth like a mother would with her child. You hand caressed his hair and his face and you forced yourself to smile at him

“It’s okay, it’s okay, my love. You can let go now. I’m safe.”

Every word broke you more than the last but that’s what he needed to hear. You are safe. You did it. You’ve won. Like Bran said, he’ll take care of you now, just not from here but rather from above.

You felt his body go limp in your arms. His eyes lost that little twinkle he always had, when looking at you. They were still open as he slowly grew colder in your arms. His usually rosy, warm skin turned into a soft blue beneath your fingertips. He no longer looked alive.

Your head sank into his chest as you sobbed your heart out. You screamed his name.

You faintly heard someone call out your name.

“Y/N? Y/N! Oh gods!” The voice turned into two voices. You jumped as you felt a hand on your shoulder and turned around to see Jon and Arya.

“Jon?” Your voice hoarse from all the screaming. “Jon, he’s dead,” you said without any emotion. You felt numb. Jon took you into his arms. Sansa came running to you and stopped dead in her tracks. Her hand flew up to cover her mouth in shock.

Jon apologized over and over, crying for the both of you. Sansa and Jon pulled you away from Theon’s body and hugged you again.

Theon Greyjoy was gone for all eternity and nothing could ever bring him back.

[ladyviserra]

Hey can you write something with Theon were they’re made to marry because like they were caught together (sorry if this doesn’t make sense English isn’t my first language)

Girl from Essos | Theon Greyjoy

Pairing: Theon Greyjoy x Female!Reader

Summary: Theon was forced to marry a girl he was caught with, only it happens to be a girl whose family is a mystery coming from Essos.

Warnings: swearing, mentions of smut, arranged marriage, bit of fluff

The young wolf, his childhood friend sent him home to do one thing. And before he made any decisions he managed to fuck things up.

With Theon's return came the ship from the far west that has been sailing around the Iron Islands for moons now.

On the ship ran a girl who caught his eye. She was just what he needed to ease his nerves before facing with his father.

The ironborn man was flattering the girl's appearance, targeting her shyness with slow manners. It didn't take long for her to giggle at every move he made closer. As he expected, he was quite soon allowed to linger his fingers all over her.

He took her right there on the beach, behind some rocks, thinking that would secure them from the others and let him do everything fast and finished. However, he perhaps got lost in her and didn't even consider the time he spend enjoying in her body. For Theon to notice it was long would probably take the darkness of the night. Instead, it took him the darkness of the shadow to figure out his plan to be a failure.

The shadow of the girl's mother.

" How dare you sin? " She pulled her off Theon, thinking what overcame her daughter to do such a thing.

" Who are you, boy? You some beggar? " She questioned him, looking him up and down with disgust while making her daughter get dressed.

" My father is Balon Greyjoy, I am his son Theon. " She wasn't thinking he spoke the truth, he didn't look like a son of a Lord, more like his servant or it may have been the sand he was covered in.

" We will see who your father is. "

As Theon said, his father was Balon Greyjoy who would pick any day to deal with this except today and on the first day of arrival.

" So you had that girl on the sand? " Balon was trying his best to be calm, he knew his son wasn't too smart, but to be this stupid and mess up before even given a task is a showing his lack of improvement through the years they last interacted.

" I did. " He hesitated but admitted. What was there to lie about when he knew?

" And I had to hear from her mother and father of your behaviour. Why did you have to choose her? " It was confusing him, why was it such a big deal? Who was she to be so cherished that even Balon Greyjoy was mad of her ruin?

Lord of Pyke saw his son's cluelessness, starting to speak again. " You don't know who she is, do you? " He shook his head at his father's seriousness.

" Her fucking father is some rich man from Essos. No one knows how did they become so wealthy but they did. And you ruined their daughter. " His own words made him choke.

" How can I apologise? " Theon didn't want to start his return home by ruining the mission, so he hoped to do something about his mistake.

" You think you can apologize? " Lord Greyjoy laughed at the thought. " Those Starks made you weak. " He spat the name of the family which took care of his son.

" You will marry her. That's how you will be forgiven. " Demanding voice answered him.

" Marry her? " He asked as if he didn't hear. " I just return. "

" And I already regret it. Don't argue with me, you messed up and now it's time you fix it. " Balon stared further away from his son, glancing at everything except at him.

" You shall marry her tomorrow, the quicker I get her father off my back, the better. " And thus Theon was dismissed with nothing but a quiet insult added to the memories of his family.

He walked out on the beach, the land of his sin and hopped to the place he made his newest mistake. Only a couple of seconds passed before he fell to his knees, and then dropped his head in sand. He smeared his face with the ground, almost as if burying himself so no one can see him.

He wanted to come back to his home and finally show his father he is a worthy son. However, no matter how much he wished to be good, the hard mind of an ironborn seemed to only lead him in bad paths.

Now he was going to marry the girl he didn’t even think much of. She was supposed to be like every else, just another lick of the spoon. But their little fun turned into a serious matter.

He took himself back into his home, regretting his lustful ways of dealing with stress and nerve wracks. At this point, he imagined going back to Robb and finishing the war he lead. His mission for which he was here had no more importance it had at the beginning, he just wanted to go back again, where no expectations were raised for him to reach.

On the day of his wedding, Theon was more out of his head, he barely reacted to anything happening around him, depressed over the chaos he caused.

His bride wasn't of a better face. It was obvious she went through a lot of screaming and crying before stepping into the marriage herself. Both of them looked at the guests with unbothered eyes, barely acknowledging the words people were telling them.

They only waited for the whole situation to calm down, so it could be forgotten and simply moved on from. Thankfully, the torture of remembering their inappropriate act lasted only when surrounded by others.

Left alone by the crowd, both exchanged sympathetic looks. Theon just then thought of how this also must have affected her even more than him. Sheepishly approaching his wife, Theon put his hands on her shoulders, noticing the redness under her eyes and the pain on her cheeks.

" I am terribly sorry for ruining you. It was my mistake for using you for my needs. " The man spoke with honesty and sincere regret.

" You didn't use me. It is my mistake as well. You did not force this upon me. " She spoke, having a hushed voice that at any moment threatened to whisper.

" I have used you, in fear of facing my father, I needed something to relax me. And there you were, pretty and… I just… " He couldn't word out the explanation. He didn't deal with much explaining throughout his life, now struggling when needing to do so.

" Seeing your father, honestly, I understand the nervousness. You ran for the escape from the fear and took the first that seemed effective. "

" That really is how I created this situation. " He half-smiled, remembering it. " What about you, what made you agree to it? "

The girl's pasture calmed, adjusting to her husband's touch. " Well, no deep reasoning there. I was just very bored with the travelling we have done. Jumping from one place to the other. I just wanted to stop somewhere and enjoy myself for a moment. "

Theon nodded peacefully. " It does seem those travels were a burden to you. As has my meeting with my father been to me. " She agreed in silence. They let themselves stare at each other without speaking, embracing no sounds while doing so.

The ironborn first broke the silence. " I believe we have been through enough in the latest time, thus we should for the best let our minds rest in sleep. " The girl followed her husband under the covers. She took his shoulder as her pillow at his request, falling into sleep as quickly as she would in the sand. While observing his wife, Theon noticed he liked to see her this calm and relaxed. It made him think that this mistake of his, isn't as bad as he believed it to be. He might even become fond of it. The positive outlook on the future made the heir to the Pyke fall asleep in the sweetest way possible. Imagining the good things that will come out of this marriage.

[sinofwriting]

A Bastard - Theon Greyjoy (Part One)

Words: 7,203 Summary: She had to do this as much as she dreaded and hated it. But she would never forgive herself if something happened to him, her kraken on land.

Note(s): Thank you so much @nyctophilic0vitnir this fic would have never happened without you sending me a request for Daemon and I can't thank you enough for looking this over for me and all your suggestions.

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She could feel her hands shaking, fingers stiff as she kept on attempting to do her embroidery, but her mind was racing, stomach filled with dread. She hissed as the needle slips and pokes at her, drawing blood. Setting her embroidery down, she lifts her finger to her mouth, sucking at the spot where blood was rising for just a second. Standing, she smoothes her dress, before exiting her chambers. She had seeked solitude, but mayhaps she was in need of distraction.

She smiled as a half naked Rickon came barrelling down the halls and she could hear Lady Stark's exasperation, she quickly scoops the tiny boy up.

"What do I have here?" She gasps, purposely making her voice loud so Lady Stark can hear her and know that she has the whelp in her care. "Why, I think it's a wolf." "Wolf." He parrots back to her, grinning up at her and she can't help but return it.

Turning the corner, she smiles at Lady Stark, who is looking at her youngest with disapproval.

"Rickon Stark. You need a bath." "No!" He shouts, nearly deafening her ear. "It's alright, Lady Stark, I can give him a bath. Right Rickon?" He nods.

The older woman sighs, but nods. "I hope he'll behave for you. I nearly went to get Robb." "He'll be fine." She tells the woman, before moving inside of the room that Lady Stark normally gave Rickon bathes in.

As she carefully cleans the boy, her mind wanders. Wanders to Theon, to their babe that rests in her belly. It wanders to what she will have to do. For Lord and Lady Stark were kind and fair people for letting her stay with them for so long.

A fostering that had gone long when her parents died, but they wouldn't let her stay once they learned of her being with child.

And Theon, poor Theon. She feared often that he would be killed due to something his father did, but with this, she now feared that Lord Stark would kill him if he found out that he had fathered a child, a bastard, with a girl that was under his protection, his care.

Drying off the boy that's starting to fall asleep, she thinks of the letter that she had received from her uncle, her father's brother, a man she had never met. Offering for her to come home, to meet her father's family. She knew little of them. Her father had left Dorne when he was four and ten name days, and had only returned once, after meeting her mother to introduce her to his family before returning to what he had made his home.

She ached at the thought of her parents, at the little memories she had of them, having joined the Stark household when she was one and ten and now she was eight and ten. Scooping the boy up, she carefully makes her way to the nursery, setting him in his bed and covering him with furs before retreating back to her chambers.

She knew little of her father's family and little of Dorne, but what she did know was that bastards weren't treated like a shame there. Her jaw twitched at the reminder of Lady Stark's treatment to Jon. Her uncle himself in his letter told her of the eight daughters he had, all with the name Sand, the name bastards carried in Dorne.

It would not be shameful for her to have a bastard, her family would welcome her and her child. It's with that knowledge, that she begins to write a letter accepting his offer and telling him that she should arrive there within a moon or two's time, planning on leaving shortly after sending off her letter.

It would be costly to go to Dorne and she would need at least one guard, but she had more than enough coin to afford it. She had been given a sizable amount when her parents had died and she had earned more through carvings she did.

Rolling up her parchment, she moves from her chambers to Maester Luwin's room of sorts, knowing that his helper who mainly deals with the ravens will be there. Handing it to him, she offers a smile to the Maester before leaving to Lady Stark's solar, hoping that she will be there.

Knocking on the door, she waits to hear her say enter, before opening the door. "Lady Stark, I was hoping to have a meeting with yourself and Lord Stark." Her eyebrows furrow, eyes glancing down at the papers scattered on her desk, before nodding. "He's looking over some letters from his bannerman, no better time to talk to us than now." She tells her, standing. She offers the woman a nod of her head, before following her as she practically sweeps out of her solar and to her husband's.

Moments later, she carefully sits in front of the Starks. Lord Stark sitting while his wife stands beside him.

"I can never repay you for the kindness you've given me by letting me stay with your family." Lord Stark's frown deepens at her words. "Is everything alright?" "Of course, my lord. As you know I received a letter from my father's family just a couple of days ago. They asked if I'd like to go to what was my father's home, to stay with them, and get to know my kin."

He hums and she keeps her eyes on his face and not the distressed Lady Stark's.

"They are your family, your blood and kin. I suppose you want to go?" "Yes, my lord. I have loved my time at Winterfell, but I think it's time for me to go home. To go to Dorne." The words leave something akin to ash in her mouth. She had never been to Dorne, but she knew that she needed to call it home, for it would be home soon enough.

"I ask not for coin to get there, but only your helping in procuring a guard on my journey there. I will pay for their services myself, both the journey there and back." He makes another hum. "I can get you a guard, but I will pay for their services. For until you are in Dorne, you are still under my care and protection."

"Ned," Lady Stark hisses, but he pays her no mind.

"When will you leave?" "I hope in a few days time. I have already sent a letter back saying that I'd be leaving soon." "You are eager." He notes. "I am my lord." "I can't stop you, but just know that you will always be welcomed at Winterfell no matter what." "Thank you." She murmurs, standing as he waves a hand to dismiss her. "I'll have someone to be your guard by supper, you will leave in two days time." She nods, another murmur of thanks leaving her before she leaves the solar.

Relief and dread war within her at Lord Stark's easy acceptance of her wanting to leave. And she's ashamed that most of her dread is only because it means leaving Theon.

She loved the Starks and Winterfell. She'd miss the wildness of Arya, Jon's solemness, and Old Nan's stories, but she would miss Theon most of all. She'd miss his stories from home, about his sisters and mother.

The tales from the Ironborn. About the drowned god that he still thought of as his. And his japes that nearly went too far, especially with little Arya, but he always cared to make sure he never made her cry. And she knew that it was him teaching her archery. He was the best in the North, possibly all of Westeros, with a bow. She felt a pang in her heart as realized what she'd be depriving him and their babe of.

It made supper rough as she avoided his eyes and told the Stark children that she'd be leaving in two days. Robb had tried to deny it, Sansa had immediately teared up, and poor little Bran had thrown himself into her arms, soaking her dress with his tears as Arya also attached herself to her, telling her that she wasn't allowed to leave.

Jon had stayed silent but she could see the stricken look on his face at her news. Theon had attempted to ask her what she meant, but she ignored him, using the excuse of soothing Bran, who was surely crying himself dry.

"I received a letter from my father's brother, asking if I'd like to come home. I accepted, I've always wanted to know my father's family, and even as a babe I never met them." She tells them a certain truth in the words.

None of them like it, Arya especially, but a look from their father stills their tongues.

She doesn't however know why - as the castle goes quiet - that she's surprised when Theon slips into her chambers. Her whispered hiss of his name doesn't earn her that cocky grin that it always has.

Instead, he looks at her with pain, a strange solemn look on his face, one that fits Jon much better.

"You never told me you got a letter."

She winces at his words. She hadn't even planned on replying to the letter, at least not this soon. But she had missed her last two moon's blood and her breasts were a bit more sensitive and swollen, something Theon had noticed and enjoyed.

And sure enough, when she snuck away early in the morning to visit the midwife that lived in Wintertown, she confirmed her suspicions and fears, she was with child. And suddenly that letter had become her solution.

"I hadn't thought of it much." Half truths always made better lies. "Just like you didn't think to tell me that you're leaving? You've never spoken of wanting to go to Dorne." "No, but I have of wanting to know more about my father, his family, where he was born. I know only the little of Dorne that has been told to the both of us when learning. That is it. You are lucky enough to know the history of the Iron Islands, your family, the tales that have been around longer than we can imagine. I know none of that. You know who is your uncle, cousin, aunt, because you met them, you have seen their faces, however long ago it was. I have never met anyone in my family. My father married my mother, a ward, who had no family, and now I have the chance to meet family, be with them. Tell me you wouldn't do the same?"

He looks away from her, unable to deny it. She sighs, moving to him and taking his face between her palms, looking in his eyes.

"It's not that I wanted to hurt you, I just feared your reaction. Not because you would ever harm me," she quickly says, seeing his stricken face. "But because of your hurt, your pain. I never wanted to be the source of that." Something softens in him at her words, she can see it in his eyes and the line of his shoulders.

"I wish I could come with you."

She aches at those words, because she too wished it. She wished more that they could marry in the Godswood, could stay with the Starks as they had their babe. But she would even love it if Theon could come with her, could join her in Dorne.

The ache nearly makes her tell him, nearly makes her grab his hand and place where she would one day swell with his child, but she's reminded that for all their kindness, Theon is hostage here at Winterfell with the Starks.

They may treat him well and close to a child of their own, but he is a hostage who needs to be careful of what they do. That knowledge makes her keep her mouth quiet. She wanted him to know, but it would most likely cost him his life if not their babe's.

When she wakes early the next morning and sits where the boys spar, she's not surprised when Jon and Ghost join her, the latter climbing into her lap, still just small enough to do so, but she imagined that soon he'd be too large to fit in any lap.

"It won't be the same here."

She turns to look at him, "I will miss you, Jon. You truly are a brother to me."

And he was. She loved the Stark children, but Jon held a special place in her heart, her little brother though not by bond or blood.

He ducks his head at her words, "As you are a sister to me." She smiles, leaning her head to briefly rest on his shoulder.

"I'll miss you, Jon Snow. You'll have to write to me. More than once a moon." She insists, but he doesn't say anything, suddenly looking nervous, and Ghost gives a small whine. "I actually wanted to ask to go with you." Her jaw drops slightly.

"To be your sworn shield. You'll have the title of Princess there, and even if you didn't you'd be on the other side of Westeros, a place where you've never been with people you don't know. I'd like to protect you, to be there for you."

"Jon," she starts, wanting to accept her offer, no matter how selfish it would to accept it, just so she could have someone she knew with her, her brother with her, but she knows of his want to join the night's watch, to be at the wall, though a good measure of that desire is because he is not a trueborn son.

"I can't. You've wanted to go to the wall and to be part of the Night's Watch for so long now. And Lord Stark," she shakes her head. "He already doesn't want you to leave and go all that way to the wall. You think he'd let you go with me to Dorne? And what about Robb, Arya, and Bran? Little Rickon? They'd miss their brother."

"They'll miss you." "They will and I'll miss them." "So you'll let me?" "Jon," she sighs, but suddenly he's standing, a sword at his hip that she hadn't noticed before and then he's unsheathing the sword and carefully kneeling in front of her with the sword in his hands. Ghost leaps off her lap, sitting beside his master, as if he's trying to copy Jon.

"I offer my protection, Lady and soon to be Princess Martell. I will shield your back and keep your counsel and give my life for yours if need be. I will keep your secrets as my own. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New."

Her eyes are wide and she should urge him to get up, to not offer such a thing. But if she couldn't have Theon with her, maybe she could have her brother.

"And I vow that you shall always have a place by my hearth, and meat and mead at my table. And I pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you dishonor. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New. Arise."

He does with a stunned look and his hands shake as he sheathed his sword and she rises with him, quickly taking him into her arms.

"You are my sworn shield now, little brother. Shall we never be parted and you never in harm's way be put." "Aye," his voice is thick.

"I thought you'd say no, tell me off, or go to Lord Stark." She squeezes him tight before stepping away. "I'm afraid for Lord Stark that I'm too selfish and I wanted a comfort from the home I've known for so long to my new one. You are lucky, however, that it will be Lord Stark you answer to and that honor is important to him as are oaths. It is only because of that, that the oath we just made will not be broken by his word." "Aye." He agrees.

With his new oath in mind, she returns to her chambers and quickly starts to embroider a sunspear with the color of Snows and a few spots of yellow thread, signaling his status as her sworn shield with this cloak.

She had intended to give it to Arya, in an effort to help make her actually stay in her lessons with her gone. Hoping that her words of someone needing to provide Jon with a cloak and other clothes would stay her a little bit, but it was far too important for Jon to have this cloak now.

She vows to instead talk to Theon, to strike a deal between him and Arya, where he will continue to teach her archery and even some swordplay as long as she attends her lessons.

She manages to finish just before breakfast begins, quickly giving it to Jon and ushering him to put it on as they make their way to the hall. Slipping into the hall, she makes sure to stand tall, chin out slightly. It wouldn't due to seem ashamed of her decision.

Lord Stark ends up taking it better than she had thought. He even looks relieved when Jon repeats his vow. Lady Stark's mouth is pinched, but there's a looseness to her shoulders. She had been trying to get Jon away from Winterfell for years now, since before she had even arrived, if servants were to be believed.

Arya is upset, blaming her mother for her favorite sibling's departure. Robb is also upset, but he's quiet after Lord Stark tells him that he can't accompany them on their journey to Dorne.

Sansa looks relieved, while Bran looks excited, making Jon repeat his vow over and over, knowing that it's close to a knight's oath.

Theon, though, her Kraken on land, his reaction sends a pang to her heart and tears to her eyes. His anguish and hurt that he had shown before wiping it clear and nudging Robb, trying to distract him from his upset.

It makes her want to reach out to him, to hold his hand in hers, makes her want to reach down and cup the soon to be growing swell of her belly. She wants to explain why she said yes, even though she doesn't have too.

In her chambers later in the day with only candle light to help her as she finishes packing, she doesn't startle at the sound of the door opening nor at the arms that wrap themselves around her middle though it does make her stiffen and she's happy that Theon just registers it as surprise, murmuring an "It's me" in her ear.

"I will miss you." She sighs. He presses a kiss to the shell of her ear. "I will miss you as well."

"Will you write me?" The question leaves her lips before she can think and embarrassment fills her.

"I'm sorry," she begins to apologize, but before she can continue, Theon's turning her around, so they're facing each other, his brow furrowed. "Of course, I'll write you. You must know that I'm fond of you, my lady." "I do." She had never doubted that.

"I just, I know that your correspondence is always read before and I would understand if you didn't want anyone to know that you were fond of me." She rests her hand on his chest.

"I would hate for you to be punished because of me." "I will take any and every punishment if it means I can write to you." He swears and she can't stop the tears that spill from her eyes. "Careful," she warns, ignoring his concern for her tears. "You sound as if you want me as a salt wife." "I'd have you as my only wife." His words have her freezing, the ache in her heart turning to a stabbing pain.

"You can't mean that." She whispers. "Of course I mean it." He scoffs. "Theon, I'm leaving in the morning, you can not tell me that you wish to wed me." "But I do. I do wish to wed you! I would have asked for your hand on your six and ten name day if I could. Make no mistake in thinking that I didn't like sneaking into your chambers in the dead of night and sneaking kisses in the godswood when no one is around, but I will always regret that I could not court you. I wish to marry you, I have since before we first kissed."

His words make her weak, her head spins and her stomach turns. She had thought him fond of her, liking her, but figured that he'd go back to the brothels when she left, much like he did before she turned six and ten.

But he wanted to marry her, something she had thought only she wanted. And more than that, she could feel blood rush to her cheeks, he had wanted to court her, properly court her.

Theon Greyjoy, a nasty boy, who teased Sansa about loving the idea of knights and princesses and true love, had wanted to court her. She wished not for the first time and not for the last that he was just being fostered with the Starks and not a hostage due to his father's actions.

A man who as he had grown older and never heard from, wanted to be the opposite of. He wanted a ship, yes, and to live by the sea, but he didn't want salt wives and more children than he could name.

"I wish for all that too." She hesitates, but lifts her hand to cup his face. "I wish you could come with me. Dorne, I think they would treat you well." "I just want it to treat you well." "Write me, often. And," she pauses, heart aching, but she couldn't ask him to stay true to her, not when she wasn't telling him the real reason for her leaving. Not when now she knew that he would insist on joining her, insist on her hand, and for his insistence, he'd lose his head.

"When I leave, I'd like you to seek out others for pleasure." "What?" "Theon," she pleads. "It is because I love you, that I ask you of this, though it pains me." Tears slip down her face. "We may never see each other again, or it could be many moons. I would not want you to stop seeking pleasure from someone else just because of me." "And if I only want you?" She closes her eyes, "I can not make you do anything. I just ask that if you feel the urge that you don't feel like you've forsaken me by acting on it." "I don't know if I could ever feel want for another woman after lying with you, for I haven't since." "Theon," "I'm telling you the truth, my Lady, that is all." She nods, but doesn't say anything else, exhaustion weighing heavy on her mind and body.

He must see it, because he quickly ushers her into bed and under the covers, not paying attention to her protests of needing to finish packing. He just throws her a look and then does it for her.

And she watches him with heavy eyes, as he goes around her room and makes sure all of her things are packed away. He then latches her trunk before joining her in the bed, ushering her into his arms, and she should protest, but he radiates warmth and she wants one more night of being held by the man she loves.

—

The memory of Theon holding her close and his words of wanting her for more than just the space between her thighs, tempers her through the journey to Dorne.

Her guard's scoffing, his muttered words of "Bastard" to Jon, his fearful looks to Ghost, and his lustful looks to her, finally prove too much as they get to only a few more days of riding to Dorne.

Snapping at him to leave and tossing him a bag of coin, unwilling to hear him call Jon a bastard again. He tries to protest, but a look to Jon has him pulling his sword and the guard leaves, pushing his horse fast.

"Was that a wise decision?" Jon asks, sheathing his sword and pointing for Ghost to sit, as soon as they can no longer hear the sound of his horses hooves. "If I had to hear him call you a bastard again, I would have taken your sword and killed him myself." Jon's eyes go wide at her words and he gives a nod. "Understood, my lady."

She wrinkles her nose at the address, but before she can say anything, she feels her stomach turn, and she pushes away from her horse she was just about to mount again, getting sick in the bushes.

As she heaves, she feels Jon gently rub her back.

"We should find a maester. You are not well." She shakes her head, standing straight and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

"I am fine." "You are sick." He insists. "I am fine." She repeats, turning to face him. She then lets herself finally place a hand on her stomach, where she has started to swell.

"I'm with child, Jon. It disagrees with travel." His eyes are wide and they flicker between her face and where her hand rests.

"With child?" "Yes." "But," he blinks. "That's why you wanted to leave." She swallows roughly, but nods. "Yes." "You never said." "I wanted to sooner, but I didn't trust the guard that Lord Stark sent with us." "But you are well?" She smiles at him, fondness striking her for his concern over her.

"I am. I will need to see a midwife when we get to Dorne, but I am well." "Why not a maester?" "I trust a midwife more. They usually themselves have had a child. Though, if my uncle isn't opposed and he is the one to meet us, I will ask him if he'd be willing to check me. According to rumors, he trained to be a maester."

"The red viper?" "It would make sense for him to have some sort of training if he's as good with poisons as stories are to be believed." "You would trust the red viper to check on you?" "He is family. And Dorne doesn't hurt children, even while still in the womb."

Her words still his tongue, but as they cross into Dorne and reach Sandstone, they are quickly approached by a man and his guard, and she can see his hand on the pommel of his sword, Ghost tenses by her side, following Jon's orders to protect her.

Lowering into a curtsey, she keeps it a bit longer than she's ever had.

"Prince Oberyn," Jon lets out a little breath, and she can see from the corner of her eye his knuckles turning white as his grip on his sword tightens, but he too bows.

"I thank you for your invitation and hospitality. This is my sworn shield and a man I'm honored to call my brother, Jon Snow." She stops curtseying, but keeps her head tilted down, not willing to believe that just because she was family meant she could get away with disrespect.

She hears him chuckle, a nice sound that has her shoulders relaxing.

"You are much like your mother." He steps closer, using a finger to raise her head so they are looking eye to eye. "But there is much of your father in you." Those words are quiet, solemn and she can't help but reach up and gently squeeze his wrist. "He talked fondly of you, Prince Oberyn, my father. Called you a rascal, but you were his favorite brother." He smiles at her, "I would love to hear you tell that to Doran. He'd refuse to believe it. And please call me Oberyn or Uncle. None of this prince business." He waves his hand at word prince, stepping away from her and she can see Jon finally relax his grip. "Of course, Uncle."

He beams at the title, and it makes her heart ache, remembering the loss of her Aunt, his sister, and her children, his niece and nephew.

She knew Prince Doran had children, but they were older, hadn't been considered children for years. And while she didn't remember everything her father had told her about his favorite brother, he had made it clear that he loved children. To see them just be children, untainted by the horrors of life.

Oberyn turns his attention to her brother.

"Jon Snow, you are Ned Stark's boy." Her eyes narrow at the way he paused before saying Lord Stark's name. It was odd and made her itch to know why he did it.

"I thank you for guarding our Princess back to us. You will be treated well here in Dorne." Jon casts a look at her, but nods. "Thank you, Prince Oberyn." "Of course. Now," He claps his hands together and turns his attention back to her.

"I've rented a few rooms for us, you look like you need some rest." His words are firm but filled with concern and it makes her swallow roughly.

"She's been sick since we left Stoney Sept." "Jon," she warns, "I told you I am well." He goes to say something, but he looks around and stops, jaw clenching. "I won't hold my tongue when we are in private." She reaches over to him and grasps his arm, "I don't expect you to."

She's aware of the keen eyes of Oberyn and his guard, but she doesn't take away her hand. She would not hide her affections for Jon like she had been forced to in Winterfell. He had gone long enough without much affection, and she wouldn't let her words of reassuring that Dorne would be good for him fail.

"Let us get to the rooms where we can talk in private." "Thank you."

Her, Jon, and Ghost follow the Prince and his guard, Daemon, to an inn, and she has to stop herself from giggling at Jon's expression when he realizes that it's next to a brothel.

"Breathe, Jon." She whispers to him, as they enter the inn, after pausing to give coin to a servant from the inn to bring their trunks up. "Dorne is a much different place." "It's the middle of the day." He hisses, eyes darting around. "People want pleasure during all times of the day, not just night." He gapes at her, before his nose wrinkles. "Disgusting." He mutters and she can't stop her laugh at that.

Not noticing how it catches the attention of her uncle and his guard, but Jon doesn't miss it and he doesn't know how to feel about the red viper and the way his gaze rests on his sister.

Was he looking at her in hunger because she was all he had of his brother? Because she was family that he'd never gotten to know, when so much of it had been ripped away? Or was it something else? Something more Targaryen of nature?

She was a beautiful woman and he'd seen many of men look at her with a hungry gaze. Robb had even looked once or twice. He'd have to look to see what sort of relationships the Martells had.

He was sure a marriage to a cousin or two was in practice, as it was nearly everywhere, but he needed to know if they too practiced the wedding of siblings, or if it was only Prince Oberyn who was of unnatural inclinations.

Heading up the stairs, Oberyn gestures to one of the rooms. "This for you, Niece. And there's a door connecting the room next to yours, for your guard. Daemon and I are in this room." He opens the door across from her.

"Please come in and sit while your trunks are brought up and the owner finds a lady to wait on you." She frowns at the words. "I'm quite fine without a maid to help me." "You are a princess. At Sunspear, Doran already has two picked to help you." She has to tighten her hands into fist so they don't go to rest on her belly.

"I've never had ladies to help me. I suppose I'll have to get used to the idea." Her quiet words make him frown and he gestures for Daemon to stand by the door.

"I'd like to talk about your sickness. You say you're well, but you've been sick for half your journey." She looks nervously at the door that's still open.

"Daemon may leave if you aren't comfortable." Oberyn says, misinterpreting her glance. "No," she shakes her head. "It's fine if he stays. I don't mind. I just prefer the door is closed." Before she can finish the last word, the door is closed and Daemon stands just beside it.

"Thank you, Ser." He smiles at her, "Most welcome, Princess."

She looks around the room, bright and filled with color. "May I sit?" She asks, gesturing at the chaise close to the writing desk that sits near the middle of the room. "Please."

Sitting down, she lets out a sigh at the feeling of sitting on something soft for the first time since they had left Winterfell. She smiles as Ghost trots over to her, sitting by her feet.

"I'm not sick." She states, chin out. Oberyn seems amused by her words, leaning against the desk. "Yet, according to the man who has vowed to protect you, you've been sick since Stoney Sept." "I'm afraid I don't take well to traveling at the moment. The movement of the horse makes me nauseated." "I see. And if you were to ride in a carriage?" She grimaces before she can stop herself.

She had only traveled by carriage once, when her parents took her to Winterfell to be fostered and rocky movements of the carriage had made her miserable.

"I've never liked carriages either." He winks, before moving to sit beside her on the chaise.

"I don't know if your father ever told you, but I met you once. When you were just a babe."

She looks at him with wide eyes, not noticing how Jon has stepped forward, eyes glued to them, while Daemon has his eyes glued to Jon.

"You were the sweetest thing; I have eight daughters of my own and I still think you were the sweetest babe I've ever seen. You were quiet, startlingly so, but you always were looking around, eyes open. Your eyes are much like my sisters, your aunts. You have Elia's eyes." "I never knew." "I wouldn't expect you to.” His eyes are sad.

“Elia wanted to meet you, but your father and mother refused to go to King's Landing with you. So she asked me to see you in her stead. I had already planned on it, wanting to see my younger brother and his wife that had lured him away from Dorne. I visited and they still were trying to find a name for you." "Still?" "You were only a moon old, maybe two. They didn't settle on one until after I left. So while I was there, I called you Waterlily."

Her hand goes up to cup the one necklace she wore no matter what. Only taking it off when she bathed. Her father had gifted it to her before they left her at Winterfell. Pressing a kiss to her brow and calling her Waterlily for what would be the last time.

Tears prick her eyes at the memory, at the knowledge of how she got the nickname, and at hearing it after so long. "It was their name for me. Not the one just anyone used, but family."

He smiles at her, "I'm glad that our Waterlily has finally returned home."

Taking a breath, she lets her hand fall from where it was touching her necklace to her stomach. He had soothed her nerves with a story, with talks of her parents, and she felt ready.

"I'm with child." His eyes widen, but his smile doesn't fall or change.

"Ah, yes morning sickness is a strange thing for many women. And traveling on horse makes it worse?" She nods, "I didn't have it until we reached Stoney Sept and after that nearly every time I got off my horse I was getting sick." He frowns and gets up, gesturing for her to lay down.

"How many moons are you?" "I'm unsure. I haven't had my moon's blood for three moons though." "And I'm assuming before your journey you were still active?" Blood rushes to her face at the words, but she nods. "Yes."

He turns to look at Jon, nose slightly wrinkled. "I don't want to assume, but I have to ask, is the child yours?" Jon looks ill at the thought. "No, no. I'm her sworn shield."

His nose unwrinkles and he turns back to her. "I'm going to ask that you strip down to your shift so I can examine you. I want to see how far along you are and just check to see how the babe is doing. Is it alright for Jon and Daemon to stay in the room?"

She nods, but looks at Jon. "You can leave, Jon. I understand." He shakes his head. "I'm your guard, I'll stay." "Nothing untoward will happen." "I'll stay." He insists and she sighs, but gives up. Jon had the Stark stubbornness if she had ever seen it.

Standing up, she carefully reaches behind her and undoes her dress’ ties. Her left arm comes up to her chest, hugging the dress to her as she moves a bit further away from the chaise before taking it off fully. She murmurs a thank you when Oberyn takes the dress from her and lays it on the bed.

Laying back down on the chaise, she breathes a little easier. Her dress was a bit heavy and she knew that she'd have to buy some fabric soon to make dresses better suited for Dorne. She'd buy some more to make Jon things as well. He'd suffer in his current wear.

"How active were you exactly?" He asks, as he kneels beside the chaise, his eyes appraising the small swell of her stomach. "It matters?" "It will help. Activity affects your moon blood as soon as you have it." "I've been active since I was seven and ten," she starts, figuring he'll ask that as well. "As for how active." She spares a glance at Jon who's staring at the wall as if it's the most interesting thing he's ever seen. "For the last six moons, once a day about."

"Were you a heavy bleeder?" "Yes."

He frowns and his gaze moves from her stomach to a small box sitting next to him, full of different things she's seen Maester Luwin with.

"Is that bad?" "Not bad. It's common for Martell women. It can make birth a little messier, is all. And before or even after your moonblood stopped, did you notice any changes? In sleep, appetite, anything?" Blood rushes to her cheeks again as she remembers one change she had noticed nearly immediately. "My breasts became very sensitive."

He makes a humming noise and then gestures to her belly. "May I?" She nods.

She watches as he carefully rests a hand over the small swell of her belly, before moving his hand down to rest below it and he pushes up slightly, making her wince.

"Sorry." He murmurs. "It's alright."

He moves his hand up again and presses down just a light. As he continues to examine her, fingers gently poking at the swell of her belly, hand pushing on it from different angles, and fingers gently touching her hips, making them move and turn just a little.

"From experience I'd say you were six moons," her eyes widened at that. "But, from what I can feel and what you've told me, I'd say you're four months and with twins." Her hand comes to rest on her belly. "Twins?" He nods, standing.

"Twins. We haven't had them for awhile in the Martells. I don't know your mother's family." She shakes her head, "No twins." "And the father's?" "From what I know of the Greyjoys, they don't have twins." "Then you've been blessed by the gods. Twins are a blessing whether or not they've been had in a family before. We will have a feast to celebrate in Sunspear." Oberyn tells her, with a smile.

"Did you say Greyjoy?" "Jon," she sighs, sitting up. "Greyjoy? Theon Greyjoy? That's who got you with child?" "Yes."

"I should've killed him." "Jon," she scolds. "I'm a woman grown. I knew what I was getting into when Theon turned his attention to me." "And you wanted his attentions?" "Yes. If I had said no, Theon would've never touched me. He may say nasty things but he's a good man."

"And when will he be joining you? If he is such a good man?" Oberyn asks. Her jaw clenches and she looks away from Jon. "He won't be."

"He doesn't want anything to do with…" Jon trails off and then his features are twisted into a snarl. "And you call him a good man?"

"He won't be coming, because he doesn't know." Her words are firm and she looks at Oberyn, knowing it is to him and later Prince Doran, she will need to explain herself too.

"Theon Greyjoy is a hostage at Winterfell. He is treated well, allowed to take lessons with their heir and to eat with them, but he is a hostage. If his father does anything, he will be dead. And while at Winterfell I was under Lord Stark's protection, he takes honor and vows very seriously. He vowed to my father and mother to protect me like one of his own. If he had learned that Theon had any interest in me and then acted on it, he would've been punished. And if Lord Stark learns of Theon being my children's father, he will take his head. Regardless of what the Ironborn might do due to him taking Theon's head."

Oberyn looks at her, silent and nothing showing on his face before he nods, understanding clear in his eyes.

"You are smart. You love Theon and want him alive, but you also see that war would break out if Lord Stark was to take his head. Doran will like your counsel on a number of matters, I imagine. And neither I nor Ser Daemon will say anything about the father of your children. Doran will be the only other one to know."

"Jon?" She asks, voice quiet as she looks at a boy who looks more like a man than he should. "I vowed to keep your counsel and even If I hadn't I would never share something you want kept secret. No one will hear this from me." "Thank you." She whispers. "Thank you."

[cdragons]

no because i was reading your stuff about being friends with jon theon and robb and the idea of those 3 pining after the same person just 😩 also the way that would go to my head so quickly if i had those 3 whipped for me

No anon samzies 😩😩😩 the way my legs would be open for these three men would bring shame to my ancestors

I do intend to write out more headcanons, but it's taking awhile since I've recently started an OBX JJ Maybank x OC fic, BUT I INTEND TO POST MORE HEADCANONS SOON!

[theredquill]

🧜‍♂️ ✧˚ · . HOUSE MANDERLY: with the ocean’s might.

house manderly is a noble family in the north whose seat is new castle in the city of white. the lord of white harbor, wyman manderly, claims to influence all lands and houses east of the mouth of the white knife, including houses locke, woolfield, and flint of widow's watch. the manderlys' dominion includes the sheepshead hills and the broken branch, as well as the allegiance of ramsgate. their bannermen includes a dozen petty lords and a hundred landed knights. members of house manderly include: lord wyman manderly, late lady mirian manderly ( oc), late willys manderly, wendel manderly, wylla manderly, wynafryd mandelry, miranda manderly ( oc ).

( not an official motto, just a fanfic writer fanfic-ing)

[marsconer]

guuuuuuuys i’m on theon greyjoy lover again<3 he’s so underrated and he fits MY PERFECT MEN CRITERIA ( he’s sad and pathetic )

[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

[blossomingmoonlight]

⭑ Colder than snow ⭑

Masterlist

Pairing: Robb Stark x Greyjoy!Bsf!Reader

A/N: Lost the ask so can't tag the person who requested it. Also I love Catelyn but in this fic she is a little mean.

Request: Yes

Summary: Growing up in Winterfell as a hostage was difficult, luckily Robb took you in but years later your friendship threatens to break when tensions rise and you have been planned to send away.

Warnings: Fluff and Angst. Heated arguments. Making out and angry Robb.

Word count: 1.8k

Growing up in Winterfell with your half brother Theon was hard on a little girl’s mind. Being a year younger than Theon meant he always told you what to do, you had a close bond with him, despite him acting like a cunt sometimes but he cared for you. As the bastard daughter of Balon Greyjoy you were captured along with Theon by the Starks. Sadly both Sansa and Arya wanted nothing to do with you. 

But when you first met Robb he was kind, well mannered and handsome. He took you and Theon in and made sure you were treated well. This obviously made you develop certain affections for him. Of course you knew he was to marry a high born lady, as he was to inherit Winterfell. You always thought he had no interest in you, oh how wrong you were. Most people of Winterfell still didn’t see you as part of them but Robb saw you differently. You were the most beautiful girl he had ever met, and an even more courageous and humorous personality. He had always felt captivated by you. 

Born from salt and sea even though your mother was a servant at Pyke he still thought highly of you. For years you had to prove your worth, so you trained with the sword, practised bow and arrow and rode a horse like no other man in Winterfell. As time passed the two of you grew very close, attached at the hip and unable to separate, you were the best of friends. 

Snowflakes cluttered your hair, boots cracked the snow underneath your feet as you made your way to the godswood. Lately Theon had been acting even worse than usual and he started to get on your nerves. Sometimes you could strangle him. Not only that, but Catelyn Stark had been colder to you than ever. You could relate to Jon on that matter but he never really wanted to talk to you about it, preferring you as a sparring partner and keeping to polite greetings. You heard the whispers around Winterfell, Catelyn Stark was seeking to marry you off. 

She had never liked you, or Theon, but at least he served purpose as squire and could become a knight one day. But what purpose did you have? In truth she was afraid, afraid of the way Robb, her favourite son, looked at you. She needed you to leave, so she could find a proper match for the future Warden of the North. A Greyjoy as the Lady of Winterfell? The very daughter of the man who rebelled against her family? She couldn’t think of anything worse. But whispers travelled by wind and anyone who went outside could catch them.

You stared up at the bright red leaves of the tree, your people, or former people, might’ve believed in the Drowned God but you were pulled in as a little girl by the Old Gods. You found solace in them, and in the Godswood. It was always so peaceful, so quiet. You didn’t feel like a burden here. You felt annoyed and angry at everyone. Robb has been busy lately, leaving with his father to visit other houses in the north. Or visiting the Wall. Loneliness wasn’t a thing you were used to. And missed Yara, she always defended you, spoke up for you. The big sister you needed. But you hadn’t seen her in years.

And lately, loneliness was the only thing you felt.  Deep in thought, the cracking of snow didn’t reach your ears until he stood right behind you. “You weren’t in the training yard, or at the gates to greet me like usual.” Robb’s low and honeyed voice spoke up. He was honestly the last person you wanted to see right now. You felt overstimulated and stuck in a routine of worrying, anxiety and more worrying. “What are you trying to say?” You didn’t even face him while answering. “That something is off about you, we have been off.” He said as he walked in front of you. If you weren’t going to turn to him, he would turn to you.

“You look upset. What’s wrong?” Robb continued. Although you were clearly not in the mood to talk. “I wish you had never befriended me.” The words left your mouth before you could stop yourself. “I’m sorry?” Robb asked, a breathy chuckle escaping his lips. He was very confused. Clearly he had no clue about his mother’s plans. “Are you really this thick? You have no clue what is happening do you?” You finally looked him in the eye. Tears welling as you took in his beautiful face. He had been growing his beard lately and he looked even more handsome, more grown, more suited to be married off to anyone but you. 

“I- No what? I just came back from Karhold. My father wanted to speak personally to Rickard Karstark about the renovations there I- I don’t know what is happening.” He sounded so confused and so worried. “Well maybe ask your mother, since she is behind all this.” You snapped. Did he just not care? Of course not, you were just a friend, nothing more. “My mother? What the fuck are you talking about?” He was growing more upset by the minute. “She wants me gone, I don’t know why. Maybe she just doesn’t like me. She probably never has.” You looked back at the huge tree in front of you. 

Robb stepped closer, grabbing your arm. You pulled away. If you had to leave, you would leave as distant as possible from him. It would hurt less, hopefully. “I didn’t have to take you in, I didn’t have to befriend you but it just happened. How could you possibly hate me for that? After all I’ve done for you!” His voice got louder each word he spoke, he grew angry at your behaviour. How was this his fault?

“Well you shouldn’t have! It would make leaving less painful!” You yelled back. “Don’t do this, don’t rush into goodbyes when I haven’t even spoken to my mother yet. Let alone my father. He would never just turn you away! You know he has a soft spot for you. Please, don’t give up.” He begged, Robb Stark never begged. But he would beg for you, he would do anything to keep you at his side. You didn’t say anything. Robb sighed and left you to your thoughts. Apparently the first thing he would be doing back at Winterfell would be picking a fight with his mother.

Lady Stark was sowing a beautiful red leaf pattern on one of Rickon’s shirts. Arya and Sansa at both her sides, trying to mimic her movements on their own pieces of fabric. Since tensions had risen at Winterfell, Catelyn thought it would be good to spend some time with her daughters to distract her from all the ruckus. But the peace was soon disturbed when her eldest son burst open the door. She knew why he was here, and she dreaded the conversation to come. 

“Leave. Both of you.” His voice was cold and demanding. He sounded like his father. Both the girls dumped the fabric on the table and hurriedly left the room. When the door closed behind them only then did he speak again. “What is this I hear about marrying her off.” Catelyn sighed and put the shirt down on her lap. “Robb. Please, it would be best for the girl. She is getting older and has no place here.” She began but got cut off by Robb’s booming voice. “She has a place! By my side! The place where she has always been and where she always will be!” Catelyn knew she would get a reaction from him, but him starting to admit that he wanted her to be by his side? Always? Was new. “I might not have seen before but you have woken me up from this woolly dream. It is her. It always has been her. And she will stay by my side.” Robb didn’t even give his mother a chance to speak when he already turned on his heel and left the room. 

Hours went by but Robb could not find you. He had now even sent men out and spoke to his father about his worries. He needed to speak to you, to confess his love. Before it was too late. Panic grew as the men returned at the hour of the bat, still no sign of you. Where could you have gone? Where could you have so easily disappeared? Where the fuck where y- Of course, how did he not think of it. When you were children you found this little shed, overgrown by nature and well hidden but he still knew the markings on the trees to follow. It was the only place where you could’ve gone.

Leaving with just Grey Wind and a lantern. Holding one of your tunics, Grey Wind followed the exact path you took as children to your secret hide out. He was right. He could see the place had been disturbed but still well hidden and unbeknownst to his men. Grey Wind sat outside as he stepped foot into the shed. There you were, sat in the corner with some books stolen from Winterfell’s library. “Don’t ever scare me like that again.” Robb smiled. You couldn’t help but smile back, deep down it felt good, comforting, that he would still look for you. Even after your fight. He walked over and sat down next to you. 

Robb tapped his foot awkwardly on the floor, he knew the words. He knew exactly what he wanted to tell you but he was scared. Deep down he knew you loved him but he couldn’t be sure. “I really don’t want to lose you.” You started, closing the book and putting it on the pile next to you. “You won’t, I’ll make sure of that.” He couldn’t keep his eyes off of you and smiled. Noticing all the little details that made you so beautiful. “It’s you. It's always been you.” You turned to him, lips slightly parted. Is he- confessing right now? “I love you. I won't let anyone take you away from me and you are-” He rambled but got cut off. You pressed your lips to his. The realisation of what you had done settled in and you quickly pulled back.

But Robb gave you no time to answer as he pulled you back in by your jaw. Your lips started moving back against him. Hands on his face and his arms around your waist. The kiss grew hungry and desperate. The cabin got hot as your lips moved hungrily against each other. His tongue softly grazed your bottom lip, allowing him in, he moved his tongue against yours. Both your short breaths and kissing sounds filling the cabin. He pulled back suddenly. “I’ve been wanting to do that for so long.” He grinned. You pressed your face in his neck, holding him close. “Me too.”

[asa-do-your-thing]

Alone and Alive

18+ MINORS DNI Theon Greyjoy x F!Reader 4.3 k Warnings: DARK, self harm, mentions suicide, grief, smut, commitment issues mentioned, Dead dove, no proofreading this one goes out to whoever requested Theon smut, @legitalicat and @zaldritzosrose <3

Slowly dipping your screaming hand back into the stream, you savoured the sting as you saw your skin paling considerably. The snow fell thickly - it was one of the first proper ones, you noted and sighed, trying your hardest to stop yourself from thinking about him.

No, you scolded yourself, now you’ve thought of him again, just by trying not to…

You pulled your hand out of the water and placed it onto your thick woolen skirts, looking out into the distance, letting the heat of your blood rush back in. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he told you with his stupid, grey eyes looking down at you in pity as the whole of Winterfell seemed to watch you, ‘there is just no way you can come with me. This arrangement could have never worked, my Lady. I shall serve the realm at the Wall, where I belong. I wish you all the best and hope that you will find happiness with your future Lord Husband,’ he said so coldly, his eyes not even on you.

He’d never called you ‘my Lady’. He had always just called you by your name, but no, he was ‘a bastard, and bastards cannot call Ladies by their names’.

The pain in your hand was not enough. The cold wasn’t enough.

You had come out here in just your dress, your simplest one - was this penance? or a sort of pain you wished to inflict upon yourself? - without a cloak or gloves. Shivering, you glanced around, trying to ascertain if anyone could see you, but you were well hidden between some dense pine trees.

Slowly slipping out of your dress, you took some measured deep breaths, took off your boots and stockings and stepped into the small river. You couldn’t stop the yelp escaping from your throat as you sat down, but the cold immediately soothed you. Stopped you from thinking of him. Well no, not truly - but it didn’t hurt anymore.

The pebbles hurt. The water hurt. But thinking of Jon Snow didn’t hurt anymore.

You behaved like a child back then, in the courtyard. You should’ve given him a token. Something for him to remember you by. But all you did was freeze like a stupid little girl and pushed him. Jon didn’t expect it but stepped back, still staring at the wall behind you with no emotion, after which you ran away in disgrace, tears streaming down your face as you wept disgustingly, like a slaughtered sow, for all to see.

You leaned back, slowly lowering yourself into the frigid stream. The shock of the cold water against your bare skin made you gasp, but you forced yourself to remain still. Your long, dark hair fanned out around you, floating on the surface like tendrils of night. The water lapped at your ears, muffling the sounds of the forest. At first, every nerve in your body screamed in protest. But as the minutes passed, a strange warmth began to spread through your limbs. Your breathing slowed, and your eyelids grew heavy. The gentle current tugged at your hair, and you imagined it was Jon's fingers, running through the dark strands as he used to do.

The falling snow melted as it touched the water, creating tiny ripples that danced across your vision. You watched them, mesmerized, as a creeping lethargy settled over you. Your thoughts began to blur, memories of Jon's smile and the sound of his laugh mixing with the gurgle of the stream.

The urge to close your eyes grew stronger with each passing moment. You told yourself you'd rest for just a minute, then get up and return to the castle. But the water cradled you like a mother's arms, and the cold no longer bothered you. In fact, you felt warmer than you had in days.

Your eyelids fluttered closed, and you sighed contentedly. The world faded away, leaving only the sensation of floating. You barely noticed the sound of approaching footsteps as your body sank deeper into the water, rising up the side of your cheeks and slowly crept over your forehead.

Freedom. Warmth. Love. Hands.

Hands?

A pair of smooth, long-fingered hands were touching your face. Warmth. Why were they warm? You frowned and tried turning your head away from them. You wanted to sleep, why was someone disturbing you? You were so tired…

Your eyelids fluttered open, heavy as lead. The world swam before you, a blur of white and grey. Slowly, shapes began to form - the dark silhouettes of pine trees, the glittering surface of the stream, and a face hovering above you, eyes wide with shock and fear.

Theon Greyjoy.

His usually smirking face was pale with concern, his lips moving rapidly as he spoke words you couldn't quite hear. The ringing in your ears slowly subsided, and his voice came into focus.

"...mad? You could have died! Fucking hells, what were you thinking?"

You blinked, trying to make sense of your surroundings. The cold hit you then, a bone-deep chill that set your teeth chattering. Theon's arms were around you, his body heat a stark contrast to the icy stream. He was dragging you out, his boots slipping on the smooth stones of the riverbed.

With a grunt of effort, he pulled you onto the snowy bank. The shock of the frigid air against your wet skin jolted you further into consciousness. You gasped, your lungs burning as they filled with the crisp winter air. Theon quickly shed his fur-lined cloak, wrapping it around your shivering form.

"T-Theon?" you managed to stammer, your voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes met yours, a mixture of relief, curiousity and anger swirling in them. “Yes, who else could I be? Fuck, have you lost your senses? Why would you do this? Don’t tell me this is because of the bastard,” he said with a sneer, but you know that was meant for Jon, not for you.

The shame of hearing this - Theon was right, you truly were a pathetic creature to do something like this because of Jon Snow - made you start crying again, yet this time no sound came out. Small, hot tears ran down your freezing cheeks, your toes burning in the cold snow as you slowly inched towards Theon.

Warmth. Theon was warm. He radiated warmth.

“I’m s-sorr-sorry,” you stammered out and looked up at him, trying to see if he was angry with you or if he would mock you. You wouldn’t be able to deal with this, not here, not now. “It… It hurts. I’m… I should… sorry that you… had to see th-this…”

Theon's expression softened, the anger melting away as he looked at your tear-stained face. He sighed, running a hand through his tousled hair. "Hells," he muttered, then pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you. "You're freezing. We need to get you back to the castle before you catch your death."

You nodded weakly, your teeth still chattering. Theon glanced around, spotting your discarded dress and boots. "Can you stand?" he asked, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.

You tried to rise, but your legs were numb and unresponsive. Theon cursed under his breath, then scooped you up in his arms, cradling you against his chest. The warmth of his body seeped through the cloak, and you instinctively pressed closer. The embroidered squid stared back at oyu with taunting eyes.

"Hold on," he murmured, then began trudging through the snow towards your abandoned clothes. He bent awkwardly, managing to snatch them up without dropping you. "We'll have to sneak you in through the godswood," he said, his breath forming small clouds in the cold air. "Can't have the whole castle seeing you like this."

As Theon carried you through the woods, you found yourself studying his face. You'd known him for years, but you'd never really looked at him before. His sharp features were softened by the falling snow, and there was a determined set to his jaw that you'd never noticed.

Features that weren’t Jon’s. A small sob shook through you and you sniffled. “I’m p-pathetic. Theon, I’m so pa… pathetic.”

It was clear that Theon was highly uncomfortable with this situation as he glanced down at you and cursed as he stumbled over a root. As Winterfell’s keep came closer, the lights cast shadows on his sharp features, making his earring glint softly.

“The bastard’s pathetic, not you. He… He shouldn’t have done this in front of everyone,” he muttered quietly and then put up an anxious grin.

"At least his cock’ll freeze off at the Wall, eh?”, he japed, obviously trying to lift your mood in any way he could.

Despite yourself, you felt a small smile tug at the corners of your mouth. Theon's crude humor, usually so grating, was oddly comforting in its familiarity. You let out a weak chuckle, which quickly turned into a cough as the cold air irritated your throat.

"There's a hint of a smile," Theon said, his voice a mixture of relief and triumph. "I was beginning to think you'd forgotten how."

As you approached the castle, Theon's steps became more cautious. He ducked behind outbuildings and slipped through shadows, avoiding the night guards with practiced ease. You realized, with a start, that this wasn't the first time he'd snuck someone into the castle after hours.

The godswood loomed behind you, ancient and imposing. The heart tree's face seemed to watch your departure, its red leaves rustling in the night breeze. Theon paused for a moment, as if steeling himself, before entering the exiting grove. The snow fell more softly here, caught by the canopy of leaves overhead.

You expected Theon to turn towards the guest wing, where your chambers were located. Instead, he headed in the opposite direction, towards the guest quarters where he resided. Curiosity overrode your exhaustion, but you found you didn't have the energy to protest.

Theon managed to open his chamber door while still holding you, kicking it shut behind him. The room was warm, a fire already crackling in the hearth. The sudden heat made you shiver even more.

“Th-theon, I… you saved m-my… l-life…,” you stuttered out as he laid you on his messy bed, trying your hardest to calm your spasming muscles.

He halted and looked at the ground, before slowly, wordlessly, pulling back from you. He went towards his wardrobe and pulled a long shirt out, handing it to you, not quite knowing what to say. “Take your shift off and then lie under the furs,” he said, and took his boots off, his eyes fixed on you.

You’d forgotten all about your propriety in the moment and gently wiggled out of the cold, drenched shift, your pale skin immediately raising itself into goosebumps. Theon’s eyes widened at the sight of your chest and only then, slowly, turned his head away. His shirt was warm and very big, but it covered you nonetheless. Bunching up your shift, you slowly tried standing up, shakily handing him your undergarment.

“Y-you don’t happen t-to have smallclothes?” you asked shyly. They were wet and cold too and you knew you had to get them off as soon as you could.

Theon's cheeks flushed slightly, but he nodded, turning back to his wardrobe. He rummaged for a moment before producing a pair of linen smallclothes. "They might be a bit big," he said, handing them to you without meeting your eyes.

You took them gratefully, your fingers brushing against his. "Thank you," you murmured, clutching the garment to your chest. "Could you... turn around?"

Theon nodded, spinning on his heel to face the wall. You quickly shed your wet smallclothes, replacing them with Theon's dry ones. They were indeed too large, but they were warm and soft against your skin.

"You can look now," you said softly, climbing under the furs on Theon's bed. The warmth enveloped you, and you felt your muscles begin to relax.

Theon turned, his eyes searching your face. "Are you... alright?" he asked, uncertainty clear in his voice. It was strange to see him like this, stripped of his usual cocky demeanor.

You nodded, pulling the furs up to your chin. "I think so. Thanks to you."

Theon ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture you'd never seen him make before. "What were you thinking?" he asked, his voice low. "If I hadn't found you..."

"I wasn't thinking," you admitted, shame coloring your cheeks. "I just... I… needed to distract myself. From the pain. From him.” Another wave of tears threatened to spill and you bit your lip and looked away, ashamed of the way you were acting. Ashamed of how you felt. Ashamed of how you acted.

“Shh, fuck him,” Theon tried to say soothingly and sat down next to you, awkwardly patting your cold, wet head. “No need to think of that droopy idiot. He was right, you are too good for him.”

Somehow, shamefully, this made you cry again. Your body moved against its own will as you turned towards him and hugged his thigh, crying into it.

Theon froze for a moment, clearly unsure how to respond to your sudden display of vulnerability. Then, hesitantly, he placed a hand on your back, rubbing small circles as you sobbed into his leg. "Hey now," he said softly, his usual bravado absent from his voice. "It's alright. You're safe now."

Your tears gradually subsided, leaving you feeling drained and empty. You loosened your grip on Theon's thigh, embarrassment creeping in as you realized how you must look - a highborn lady, clinging to him like a child. "I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice hoarse. "I don't know what came over me."

Theon's hand stilled on your back, but he didn't remove it. "You don't need to apologize," he said, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. "We all have our moments of weakness."

You looked up at him, surprised by his words. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of something - understanding, perhaps, or shared pain.

"Even you?" you asked, barely above a whisper.

A sad smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Not really," he said, his pained expression suddenly changing to something akin to fake cockiness, yet his eyes were just as sorrowful as yours. Theon's hand tightened around you as he pulled you closer, giving you a small smirk. “Enough sadness now, hm? Jon’s gone and you, Lady Icicle, need warmth.”

You wanted to push him away until it hit you that what coldness was to you, warmth was for him. And, in your sad, weepy state, you decided to indulge him. What harm could it do? This way no one froze and it didn’t hurt. No, that was a lie - it hurt so badly, to be held by him. To know that Jon could’ve held you thusly. To know that Theon probably didn’t care for you, but needed you to quell his own pain. You gave him a sad little smile and snuggled closer to him. “I think that’s a splendid idea. Thank you…”

Theon's arms tightened around you, pulling you closer to his warmth. You felt his chest rise and fall with each breath, steady and reassuring. For a moment, you allowed yourself to forget everything - Jon, your impending marriage, the expectations of your family. Here, in Theon's arms, you were just a girl seeking comfort.

"You know," Theon murmured, his breath tickling your ear, "I always thought Snow was a fool. But I never realized just how big of an idiot he truly was until now."

You tilted your head to look at him, confusion furrowing your brow. "What do you mean?"

Theon's eyes met yours, and there was an intensity in them that made your breath catch. "To have you here with him and to give it all up? For the Night's Watch?" He shook his head, a wry smile on his lips. "Only a complete lackwit would make that choice."

Your heart stuttered in your chest, a mix of pain and something else - something warmer - flooding through you. "Theon, I-"

But before you could finish your thought, Theon's lips were on yours. The kiss was gentle at first, almost hesitant, so unlike the brash Greyjoy you thought you knew. Then, as you responded, it deepened, becoming more urgent, more desperate.

You found yourself clinging to him, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him down on top of you, your kisses becoming faster and messier, your freezing thighs wrapping around his hips. You were mad - this was madness. But you knew this was what dulled the pain, at least Theon’s, whatever pain he carried with him. And just as he saved you, you wished to save him, to grant him respite between your thighs.

Nothing mattered - any thoughts of marriage, your maidenhead or whatever else would have come into your life after Jon’s departure had disappeared into the icy stream in the Godswood.

“Take what you need,” you whispered and looked up at him and saw the pain flashing over his features. He nodded gently and gently pulled off your clothes he had only just given you before he took his own off. Leaning gently back down over your cold form, he shook his head and kissed your neck, his hand brushing down your body. It was as if he wanted to say something - to thank you, to curse you, or whatever the Gods knew went through his head - but decided not to say it anyways.

You gasped at the warmth of his fingers between your thighs, gingerly opening you up to him. Biting your lip, you watched quietly as he brought them up again to wet them, before he spread his spit over your cunny. A small moan escaped your lips as you closed your lips, savouring his touch, his scent, his warmth.

Theon's touch was gentle but insistent, his fingers exploring your most intimate places with a tenderness you hadn't expected. You arched into his hand, seeking more contact, more warmth, more of anything to drive away the lingering chill in your bones and the ache in your heart.

His lips found yours again, swallowing your soft moans as he worked you towards pleasure. You clung to him, your nails digging into his shoulders, anchoring yourself to this moment, to this feeling. For now, there was no Jon, no Wall, no expectations - just you and Theon and the heat building between you.

When he finally entered you, the initial pain was a welcome distraction from your emotional turmoil. Theon paused, his forehead resting against yours, his breath coming in short pants. "Are you alright?" he murmured, his voice thinner and shakier than you’d expected it to be.

You nodded, unable to form words. You rolled your hips experimentally, drawing a groan from Theon. He began to move then, slowly at first, then with increasing urgency. “Theon, I… Oh gods, please…,” you moaned and clung to him like a shipwrecked sailor would to a cliff. “You… this… yes…”

Theon's pace quickened, his hips driving into yours with increasing fervor. The bed creaked beneath you, the sound mingling with your shared gasps and moans. The fire in the hearth cast flickering shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp planes of his cheekbones and the intensity in his eyes.

As you gazed up at him, you noticed something glistening on his cheeks. At first, you thought it might be sweat, but as he thrust into you again, you realized with a start that they were tears. They fell silently, dropping onto your chest like warm rain.

Your heart clenched at the sight. Without thinking, you reached up, gently wiping away a tear with your thumb. Theon's rhythm faltered for a moment, his eyes widening in surprise. You cupped his face in your hands, pulling him down to you. Your lips found his cheeks, kissing away the salty trails left by his tears.

The tenderness of the gesture seemed to break something in Theon. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his body shuddering with silent sobs as he continued to move within you. You ran your fingers through his hair, whispering soothing words you didn't even understand.

The pleasure building within you was almost unbearable, a tightening coil of heat and tension. But you fought against it, focusing instead on Theon's pain, on the way his tears felt against your skin, on the trembling of his body against yours. You held him tightly, your legs wrapped around his waist, drawing him deeper into you with each thrust.

"It's alright," you whispered into his ear, your voice breaking. "I'm here. I've got you."

Theon's movements became erratic, his breathing ragged against your neck. You felt him tense, a low, broken moan escaping his lips as he found his release. The sensation pushed you over the edge, and you cried out, your body arching beneath him as waves of pleasure washed over you.

For a long moment, you lay there, tangled together, both of you trembling from the intensity of what had just transpired. Theon's weight on top of you was comforting, grounding you in the present. You stroked his back gently, feeling the rapid rise and fall of his chest as he caught his breath.

Finally, Theon lifted his head, meeting your gaze. His eyes were red-rimmed, vulnerable in a way you'd never seen before. You reached up, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. "Thank you," you murmured, though you weren't entirely sure what you were thanking him for - saving your life, comforting you, or sharing this moment of vulnerability.

Theon's lips quirked into a small, sad smile. "I should be thanking you," he said softly, his voice hoarse. He rolled off you, settling beside you on the bed. You immediately missed his warmth, and without thinking, you curled into his side. He stiffened for a moment, then relaxed, draping an arm over you.

You lay there in silence, listening to the crackling of the fire and the steady beat of Theon's heart. The room was warm now, but you still felt a chill deep in your bones - a remnant of the icy stream, or perhaps something else entirely.

"What happens now?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Theon's arm tightened around you. "I don't know," he admitted. "But we can't stay here forever. Someone will notice you're missing."

Reality began to seep back in, cold and unwelcome. You thought of your family, of the betrothal your father was no doubt arranging even now. Of Jon, riding towards the Wall, perhaps thinking of you. Of the life you were expected to lead.

"I don't want to go back," you said, surprising yourself with the vehemence in your voice.

Theon shifted, propping himself up on one elbow to look at you. His eyes searched your face, a mix of emotions playing across his features. "What are you saying?"

You sat up, latching yourself onto him with such an intensity that shame flooded you. “I don’t want to marry a rich, dim witted, old fool. Please, Theon, I… You know of my pain, I know of yours. You took my maidenhead and… well, filled me. I… don’t want to go back and I cannot go back.”

He stiffened beneath your touch and clenched his jaw, staring off into the distance. “You… You don’t know me. You don’t want me. I can’t offer you anything. And… Lord Stark wouldn’t let me go.”

You felt a pang in your chest at Theon's words, but you refused to let go of him. "I may not know everything about you, Theon, but I know enough. I know you're kind, even when you try to hide it. I know you're brave. And I know you understand pain, just as I do."

Theon's eyes met yours, a storm of emotions swirling in their depths. "You don't understand what you're asking," he said, his voice low and strained. "I'm not... I can't be what you need. What you deserve."

"And what do I deserve?" you challenged, your voice rising slightly. "To be married off to some lord I've never met? To live a life of quiet desperation, always wondering what could have been?"

Theon flinched at your words, but you pressed on. "You saved my life tonight, Theon. And not just from the stream. You saved me from myself." You took a deep breath, steeling yourself. "I'm not asking for forever. I'm asking for a chance. A chance to choose my own path, even if it's not the one everyone expects of me."

Theon's expression softened, a mix of longing and fear in his eyes. "And what of your family? Your duty? You would throw it all away for... for me?"

You cupped his face in your hands, forcing him to meet your gaze. "I'm not throwing anything away. I'm choosing you.”

He scoffed and drew you closer, pressing a small kiss on your head. “I… whatever you say. Sleep now. You’ve had a long day behind you.”

You felt a pang of disappointment at Theon's dismissive response, but exhaustion was quickly overtaking you. The events of the day - your near-death experience, the emotional turmoil, and the unexpected intimacy with Theon - had left you drained.

"Promise me you'll still be here when I wake up," you murmured, your eyelids growing heavy.

Theon's arms tightened around you, and you felt him nod against your hair. "I promise," he whispered, his voice thick with an emotion you couldn't quite place.

As you drifted off to sleep, you thought you heard him say something else, but the words were lost to the encroaching darkness of slumber.

At least, you thought tiredly, you were warm.

[jellyfishsthings]

WARNINGS: reader is a Velaryon with some Targaryen features but not an OC, this is just some story building there will be other parts. I just finished the books and I am obsessed with GOT wither way I was bored and this is the result so beware ... I think that's it. Also Theon is a pookie in this fic because I said so

PAIRING: fem!reader x Robb Stark (romantically), fem!reader x Jon Snow (platonically), fem!reader x Theon Greyjoy (platonically)

part 2

The cold wind still raged on, hitting the walls of Winterfell. Her room was one on the lower floors next to Jon's and Theon's rooms. The sunrays gently fell on her sleeping figure dragging her from her deep slumber. The fireplace was filled with ashes and the chill in her bones was reasonable. It might still be summer on the North, yet the occasional snow always drifted down from the dark grey clouds. A discreet knock pulled her out of her thoughts and Theon's irritated voice filled the room.

"If you are not in the courtyard in two minutes, I am ratting you out"

Like clock work the same words sounded the moment dawn greeted the North. It was a small routine they had formed two namedays ago. She covered herself in Robb's old furs, the ones he secretly gave to her and claimed he lost them. They had kept her warm for over six moon cycles, they had holes in several places and the edges were coming apart but it was her most prized possession. At first it smelled at him and she was always trying to bask in his scent, that was until Theon caught her smelling the neckline while wearing it and she wouldn't hear the end of it until she openly caught him staring longingly at Sansa.

Unfortunately, they were both in the same position, they wanted people they could never have, and only each other knew. They would drink together glasses of wine and they would stumble giggling around the castle. One time he had drunk so much that he composed atrocious poetry about the beauty of his lady Sansa and her copper hair and then about the Northern prince that fell in love with a girl that had mud brown hair adorned with streaks of silver grey and deep violet eyes that appeared dark blue in the right light. She knew that her appearance betrayed her ancestry the Targaryen blood that flowed in her Velaryon veins.

Her family had been brutally murdered, she had heard and read the tales of how her mother gave her life to protect her dark-haired girl and the bloody necklace that hugged her fathers throat. At the tender age of seven moon cycles her whole family had perished and she had been the only survivor. Ned Stark had found her in a bundle of fabrics crying her heart out and once he saw the sword that could have taken her head, he swore to protect her and take her in as his ward. She should have been grateful, she knew as much, he had given her everything, a warm house, plenty food, clothes and a loving family one she wasn't actually a part of and maybe that was the reason she was closer with Theon and Jon, the outsiders. It wasn't like she didn't like the Starks, she loved them to bits and yet she could never be one of them. She would be the squire under their Maesters care with her nose hidden in ancient books and scrolls, lost in maps and various languages and basic training as a healer. But her new passion was sword fighting. As a woman she had only been allowed to practice archery that she was quite good at and always betted with the boys around their performance.

And that was how Theon found himself at incredibly early hours with a wooden sword in his hand, frowning at drawings of fighting styles freezing his "balls" off. She had bested him at the fine art of combat at practically her fifth lesson in a few hits. She had a strategic mind and she was quick on her feet, the most perfect and most deadly combination that existed.

He pitted the man that would take her as his wife, because most men were incredibly controlling but there was no chance, she wouldn't get things her way. He was proof enough.

She had the three of them wrapped around her little finger from all those years back. She had grown up with them from when she was a babe, but at her seventh nameday her and the Maester left, since she was his squire, she had to follow him, he had taken her under his wing, she had practically been his daughter, the one he never had. At that day and several later they had cried so much that even Lady Stark was regretting her decision, she liked the girl enough, she had the tendency to wreak havoc and get lost in her books a bit too much, neglecting her chores and her lessons at needlepoint half the time, but she made her kids happy and she was too smart and witty for her own good that it was impossible not to have a sweet spot for the orphaned girl. She had been overjoyed when she learned about her return nine namedays afterwards. Her son, her calm and collected Robb was shuffling at his feet, nudging rocks around and toying with the hem of his cloak, the bastard and the Greyjoy ward were portraying similar behaviors and she had to control herself not to laugh at their antics.

Ned had pushed his son forth, claiming that it was around time he greeted their guests, he shot him a glare and his parented watched him as he wiped down his palms at his breeches and headed towards the carriage, his hand shook as he lightly grazed the handle and pulled the door open while staring into place, not ready to accept that his best friend might have changed. He was frozen in his place as a girl wearing a dark blue dress and heeled leather boots stood before him. She tilted her head to the right and only then did he notice her hair.

A knot at the back of her head that was a swirl of chocolate brown and silver white strands that framed her face beautifully. Her violet eyes hid a familiar mischief that he had dearly missed. She nodded at him, before facing his father and dropping into an elegant curtesy. It was as if he was on a trance, unable to tear his eyes from her form. It wasn't until he heard her voice, she was speaking in a language he didn't understand, yet he could recognize the bite on her tone. His father wore an amused smile as he answered her back. He would learn at the evening feast what had caused such reactions, the news almost swept him from his feet, his whole existence reduced to one word. Betrothed. Ever since then it was like they were walking on eggshells around her. All three of them longed for their missing link.

It wasn't until a few days latter when they invited her on a hunt that they could glimpse on what they were. They had found a boar and his in bushes only to lose their horses in the process. They had been walking for hours and all it took was an ill-fated joke from Jon.

"No. I do not love you. Of course I lied to you. Yes, it does make you look fat. No, I have never been in the Riverlands. It is pronounced Eyrie. And all of this pales to utter insignificance if we are to let ourselves be food for the hounds."

They had all been tired and snappy, making comments left and right and picking fun at her the way they used to. They had been waiting quite impatiently for her to snap back and the moment she did, loud laughter echoed in the woods. And just like that everything was back to the way it used to be.

Ever since then life seemed dreamy to Robb, he had his friends and his family all getting along and everything seemed perfect. But reality hit him hard each night knowing that the girl he fostered feelings for was promised to another.

[pyschosoda]

- dividers by @dollywons -

Requests are open!!

I mostly want to write x reader fics for these fandoms but i am open to character x character fics ^-^

- The last kingdom (Osferth, Sihtric, Finan, Uhtred, Brida, Aldhelm, Aethelstan)

- Game of thrones (Jon Snow, Podrick Payne, Sansa Stark, Daenerys Targaryen, Sandor Clegane, Theon Greyjoy, Robb Stark, Margaery Tyrell, Brienne of Tarth)

- House of the dragon (Helaena Targaryen, Aegon Targaryen, Aemond Targaryen, Rhaenyra Targaryen, Alicent Hightower, Cregan Stark, Jacaerys Velaryon)

I’m mostly trying to do three characters from each fandom for now if you couldn’t tell…I’m sure I’ll create a bigger list of fandoms and characters later on but for right now I’m still trying to get the hang of things and don’t want to get overwhelmed!! feel free to sent me any requests please and thank you!! ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡

p.s. I’m totally open to just chatting too if you just want to send an ask ^-^

edit: I ADDED MORE CHARACTERS!! :3

[greenandsorrow]

Not a request, but can you make a list of the fandoms and characters you write for? Not to be rude! <333

Disclaimer -> There are fandoms I've already written stuff for, or I will in the future, but they're not in the following list because I don't take requests for them (star wars, wizarding world, the matrix, prometheus, DC, marvel, etc.)

x reader for the most part unless I say otherwise

FANDOMS & CHARACTERS I WRITE FOR 🍂☕

FNAF:

William Afton (either from the game or the book trilogy, not movie Willy still love him tho)

Springtrap

The Puppet

Comfortingly scary stuff with the animatronics of the first six games.

OMORI:

I'M NOT AGING ANYONE UP FOR SMUT/ I WON'T PUT ANYONE IN SEXUAL SITUATIONS (aging up for character development is acceptable ig)

Omori (can be shipped with Aubrey)

Sunny (can be shipped with Aubrey/Basil)

Stranger

Basil

The group x reader

The reader just experiencing or being part of Headspace, Black Space, White Space and the characters there.

RYAN GOSLING:

Ken

Officer K

Sierra Six/ Court Gentry

maybe Colt Seavers

PEDRO PASCAL:

Joel Miller

Din Djarin

HAZBIN HOTEL:

Alastor (human, giant demon, cursed cat, something from your imagination)

Lucifer Morningstar

Angel Dust

Vox

maybe Sir Pentious (can be shipped with Cherri)

The Hazbins x reader

LOTR/ THE HOBBIT:

Bilbo Baggins

Thorin Oakenshield

Fili Durin

Kili Durin

Thranduil

Gandalf x reader (platonic!!)

Thorin & company x reader

The fellowship x reader

Sauron in any form

The Witch King of Angmar (🤭)

GAME OF THRONES:

Petyr Baelish

Varys (don't ask me why)

Jorah Mormont

Sandor Clegane

Arya Stark

Brienne of Tarth

maybe Eddard Stark

maybe Tormund Giantsbane

maybe Theon Greyjoy

HOUSE OF THE DRAGON:

Rhaenyra Targaryen

Daemon Targaryen

Aemond Targaryen

Aegon Targaryen

maybe Larys Strong (I'm sorry)

Scenarios that include multiple characters

?Dragon bonding¿

SHERLOCK BBC:

Sherlock Holmes (platonic mostly)

John Watson

maybe James Moriarty

maybe Molly Hooper

DEAD POETS SOCIETY:

Neil Perry

Todd Anderson

Charlie Dalton

The poets x reader

Mr. Keating (platonic!!!)

THE SECRET HISTORY:

Anything.

Absolutely anything and anyone.

I mean it.

(no incest, no orgies)

STRANGER THINGS:

Billy Hargrove

Eddie Munson

Jim Hopper (don't ask why)

Vecna/ Henry Creel

IT:

Pennywise

Not sure about any other ships but shoot your shot ig.

Reader just living in Derry???

SWEET HOME:

Pyeon Sang-Wook

THE DA VINCI CODE:

Silas

masterlist of all work

requesting rules/ info

*my paypal link can be found on my masterlist & fics