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rebel girl (you are the queen of my world)

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She wakes up, the room spinning from her hangover, a girl she doesn’t remember the name of in her bed, and sees the red line around her wrist.

“That poor bitch,” Yara mutters, hand absently padding her nightstand to find where she left the half bottle of rum.


She asks her one night stand to leave around 10 am, then shuffles out of her bedroom around two. With a quarter bottle of rum in hand, she moves on autopilot. Burner, skillet, fridge, crack: eggs. Yara sets the rum on the counter in favor of a spatula, making the most basic bitch scramble in the world. Rum and eggs is decidedly not the best combination, so she switches a downer for an upper and makes a pot of coffee.

It’s only until she’s sitting in her underwear at her shitty formica table, shoveling eggs into her face in an attempt to stave the hangover that has already happened, that she gives any thought to her wrist again. Setting her fork down, she lifts it up to her eye level, tilting it experimentally.

The red thread is about as thick as a hair, but it’s there. It makes her snort, she’s too old for this shit. In truth, Yara would’ve been perfectly content to just never have the damn thing show up-- it happened all the time. Just because everyone had a soulmate, didn’t mean that they would meet them. It was a big world out there.

But there it was.

Yara drops her arm back down to the table unceremoniously. If the red thread appeared, it meant only one thing: that she had met her soulmate at some point. Recently, too, given the thinness of it. But the problem with owning a bar is that one met a lot of people.

She swishes the coffee around in her mouth. It’s burnt.

Yara’s a grown-ass adult who can’t make coffee and has never had a serious relationship, ever , in her life.

What the fuck was she going to do with a soulmate?

“Ignore them,” she answers herself.


The Salt Wife’s not the most popular bar, but it’s got the authentic dive-bar quality that attracted bikers, hipsters, and queers. In Westeros, that was enough to keep her and her brother comfortable. On weekends, they hosted live music and that could draw a considerable crowd, too.

Theon’s there before her, wiping down the counters and prepping glassware. He’d a rough go at life in general, and as such she let him work at the bar and stay in her apartment for free until he got his feet back under him. So far, she had been pleasantly not let down. A rarity in the Greyjoy family. He’s also the only one in the world she trusts.

And so, because she’s tired of fucking thinking about it, she all but shoves her wrist in his face as soon as she gets in.

Theon’s eyebrows rise. And rise some more.

“I fucking know,” she agrees, hopping over the bar and going straight to the back to prep the tills.


“Do you know who it is?”

Yara finishes punching in the numbers. “Doesn’t matter.”

“It does,” Theon’s voice is a little somber now, and so she looks up. His own red string has been bright and clear as day around his wrist for years now.

“Why?” She says with a snort. “What good does it do anyone?”

Theon’s jaw clenches, and shrugs with a nonchalance he’s clearly not feeling. “It’s nice.”

“What is?”

“Knowing you have someone out there.”

Yara wants to retort, but knows better than to do it to Theon. She, along with the rest of the world it seems, isn’t even going to try to understand the relationship he has with his soulmate, Sansa.

“We've got each other,” she says with a shrug.

It hurts whenever he flinches at something like that. Like he doesn’t think he’s worth anything. And so Yara stands up and throws an arm over his shoulders.

“Let’s Friday.”

Theon gives a thin smile, but lets himself be steered.


That night, Yara tends bar and scrutinizes damn near everyone who comes in. Whenever a drink’s ordered, she makes sure she can stare down their wrist, looking for a red string that’s a mirror to her own. Most of them don’t have one at all, which is common, but a few have thick ones like Theon’s, or even ones that trail out the door toward their soulmate, wherever that might be. If it’s a man at the bar, she glares at them extra closely. Yara’s always been up for anyone, really, but she’s far more choosy about blokes than women.

“People have complained,” Theon calls out as he passes her by, trays of washed glassware stacked up in his arms.

They’re actually busy. Yara’s booked a local band that’s apparently popular. She hasn’t met any of them, just a brief phone call with their frontwoman. Were she not preoccupied with trying to find and potentially kill her soulmate, she might be more excited about listening to them. Yara, unsurprisingly, is a pretty big fan of punk music.

“It’s my bar, they can complain all they want,” Yara retorts as she pops the cap off a Coors (ugh) using the thick-banded silver ring on her middle finger.

She hands it to a man with a red string about the same thickness as hers. She narrows her eyes when he takes it, taking some pleasure out of how he visibly wilts.

Theon shrugs, setting down the glasses. He turns to say something to her, then pauses as his gaze falls somewhere over her shoulder. “Band’s here.”

“Mind setting them up?” She needs to find this son of a bitch before the night’s over. If only to convince herself it doesn’t need to happen.

Theon nods, moving toward the door. And Yara passes the next hour alternating between bartending and being surly. One of the servers is thankfully more friendly than she feels like being tonight, and tips come in a steady stream.

It’s not until she hears a mic firing up that she turns her attention toward the little corner of the bar that’s been set aside for bands or performers (they even had, once, done an open mic night. Which was quickly proven to be an absolutely terrible idea and they never spoke of it again). The acoustics in her bar were absolute shit, but she felt it added to the DIY punk aesthetic. And if anyone wanted to argue it they could lick her clit.

The band setting up is comprised of unnaturally beautiful people. Every single one of them. A somewhat sour-faced man with a shaved head sat behind the drum kit, arm muscles obvious even to her at the back of the bar as he absently sound tested each piece of percussion. A different man, with a weird, blue dyed beard was tuning a bass. A woman with a quite frankly insane body and pretty smile had a guitar slung around a shoulder, talking to who Yara assumed to be the frontwoman.

And holy fucking Drowned God.

She had light hair that looked silver under the bar lights, half of it strung up in braids that made Yara think of viking conquerors. Her shorts were high-waisted and short, long legs ending in a pair of motorcycle boots and Yara was pretty sure she’d be fine getting stepped on.

What the hell was this band called? It was time to book them for at least four weeks straight, because hot people brought in customers regardless of how shitty they played.

“Hello,” the frontwoman says in a posh accent. “We’re Breaker of Chains.”

And that’s it before the other woman goes hard on some power chords. Soon the songs are in full swing, and the drunk people begin to shifting away from the bar to the stage area. A few of them nod their heads to a song that has “mother of dragons” in the chorus, and a mini mosh pit even gets going when this long-legged viking woman starts screaming something about fire and blood.

Yara doesn’t realize it, but her glaring decreases as soon as they start playing. A couple times, she even catches herself nodding along to the beat.


The band’s done before last call, and so they eventually make their way to the bar. The drummer and guitarist sneak off somewhere, and Yara’s left to serve the viking woman of her dreams and the fuck boy loser with the blue beard who has an arm slung over her shoulders.

Because Yara’s a shit, and the singer’s incredibly hot, she decides to test the waters a little.

“What can I get for you?” She asks, leaning over in her low-cut shirt, watching the viking’s face to see if she takes a peak.

She does. Yara smirks. Waits until she looks up, so she can see Yara smirking.

“Nothing,” she says and Yara doesn’t miss the mild amusement in her expression.

Yara almost laughs. Seems she’s been had already. She pivots to face the blue-beard. “And you?”

He orders some kind of imported beer that makes her roll her eyes, but when she comes back he says thanks and he smiles at her. She narrows her eyes. Game recognizes game, and Yara’s almost positive this one’s near as shameless as she is.

“You did good,” she says, her entire attention back on the singer. “Do you want to play again next week?”

The singer raises her brows. “Ah, you must be the owner.”

She extends a hand. “Yara.”

She takes it. “Dany. This is Daario.”

He wiggles his fingers in a shitty wave. Yara runs her thumb over her knuckles before dropping her hand. Dany is one of those rare people who can laugh with their eyes, and Yara gets the feeling she’s doing so at her right now. Instead of being discouraged, Yara only leans forward, crossing her arms and resting them on the bar.

“What do you think, Dany?”

She tilts her head, her white hair falling over her shoulder, and Yara feels a little something skip in her. “Make sure we’re the only act, and we’ll be here”

Yara grins. “I can do that.”


She books them the next week, and the weekend after that. She learns the drummer’s name is Torgo Nudho, the guitarist Missandei, and she hits it off with both immediately. Every night after they’re done playing, Dany comes to the bar and Yara flirts shamelessly with her. Daario eventually stops drinking with the both of him, sending her slight glares every once in a while that she only winks at.

Yara introduces her to Theon, who nods impassively at the introduction before excusing himself. Dany tells her that she’s actually a lawyer (which makes her ugly-snort laugh because a lawyer in a punk band has to be the least self-aware thing she’s ever heard).

The string winds itself around her wrist a little more, but as she’s determined to ignore it, she doesn’t notice.

After the third weekend, she notices Dany’s, however.

“Someone going to come beat me up?” She jokes, though it’s a little serious. Dany is gorgeous and funny and Yara doesn’t know. They’ve just got something going between them. A spark or whatever more sentimental idiots would say. And yeah, she’d be down to fuck, but she also just likes talking to her. Which is new.

Dany looks down at her wrist, giving it a little twist. “I doubt it,” she says in a thoughtful tone that makes Yara think she knows something she doesn’t.

“Good,” Yara says, not knowing why.

“Good,” Dany agrees with a smile.


After more than a month, Yara’s confident that she’s reading the signs right. Especially if Daario’s sour expression is anything to go by. She hasn’t slept with anyone since that 10am kickout. Which is, coincidentally, the day she started talking to Dany but she’s not going to look into it that much. She’s revved up, if she’s being honest.

And Yara’s never been a shy girl. So when Breaker of Chains finishes their set and Dany’s patting down her neck and chest with a towel, she decides enough’s enough.

“Take over the bar,” she tells Theon.

He looks at where she’s already walking and audibly sighs, but Yara pays him no mind as she strides up to the band. Yara stares down Dany, complete and utter confidence in every line of her body.

“Come with me,” she says, corners of her lips twitching.

Dany raises her brows, but when she grins, Yara tugs on her wrist and leads her out the door to a back alley.


“F-uck,” Dany breathes in her ear.

Yara gently bites down on her lower lip as she buries a second finger up to the knuckle in her cunt. Dany’s pressed against the wall, one of her legs wrapped around Yara’s hip and her shorts undone. Yara’s hand moving between them.

“Faster or slower?” Is all she asks, doing her best to keep her composure with Dany’s booted heel digging into her back and her fingers sliding in and out of her warmth.


Yara obliges, adding another finger. Eventually she finds a good rhythm, pistoning in and out and Dany’s wet enough at this point that there’s an incredibly satisfying sound to go along with it.  She’s quieter than the girls Yara’s usually with, but there’s something about it that makes it more intense. Plus, Yara’s never needed encouragement for a good performance.

Yara’s thinking about adding yet another finger, when Dany starts to grind against the heel of her palm and her thigh muscles tense. Sensing that she’s getting close, Yara instead just keeps her current pace. To encourage her over the edge, Yara presses her thumb lightly over her clit, giving it some experimental circles until she feels Dany’s panting against her neck.

“Come on, babe,” she whispers, and Dany’s head falls back to expose the column of her long neck.

Her fingers press down hard on Yara’s shoulders when she comes. Her breath hitches sweetly. And Yara wants nothing more than to take her back to her apartment and fuck her on every surface possible. She keeps her thumb lightly pressed over her clit, rubbing slow circles around it as she comes down.

“Do you want more of that?” Yara asks, already knowing the answer.

Dany only gives a slight shake of her head, eyes bright with silent laughter. “Confident, aren’t you?”

“Always. That a yes?”

Dany actually laughs then, and when she presses a slow, damn-near chaste kiss to Yara’s lips, something flips in her stomach.

“Let’s go before Daario notices.”

Yara loves it when girls ditch their boyfriends for her.


It sneaks up on her before she realizes it. Their usual conversation after the band plays at her bar turns into conversations followed by fucking at her place. Then it edges into the week. Soon, Yara’s texting someone back regularly for what she thinks is the first time in her life.

Once, she catches herself mid-text about to ask Dany if she wanted to go to lunch. Like she had a girlfriend or something.

The desire’s never been there for her. And so, one night at The Salt Wife when it’s slow and she’s bored, she absently picks at the string around her wrist. It expands when she pulls, but they’re impossible to sever or take off for good. Everyone knows that.

It’s also...healthier looking. More like a band then a thread now.

“I told you,” Theon says when he walks in and sits at the counter opposite of her. “It’s not a bad thing.”

Yara scowls.

Her little brother isn’t allowed to be right, about anything.


She’s pulling her lips away from her nipple, about to go down to her cunt, when Dany’s fingers slide into her hair and pull. It makes Yara’s head tilt back, and she’s not sure what’s happening here but she might be into it.

Yara’s only a little disappointed when Dany starts talking to her instead.

“Let me,” is all she says, starting to move out from under her.

Yara knows what she’s trying to do and stops her with her hand pressing down on Dany’s shoulder.

“I like to fuck rather than get fucked,” she states matter of factly.

Dany raises a brow at that. “Always?”

Yara shrugs with a light-heartedness she doesn’t entirely feel. For some reason, she’s a bit embarrassed to tell Dany most of her escapades had been exactly that--one night stands, occasionally something a little longer if they had good chemistry in bed. Never anything more than a month. They were at two now. And deviating from the routine feels a little...unsafe, somehow.

“Yeah, always.” Yara moves one hand to palm her breast, hoping she can be suitably distracting.

Dany is frowning at her, though. A little one. Like she’s concerned. It makes her chest feel tight for some reason, and Yara decides to compartmentalize that in favor of a more light-hearted grin.

“Why don’t you lie back and think of Essos.”

Dany makes a notable show of rolling her eyes, but shifts her weight onto her elbows.

Yara moves back, enthusiastically spreading Dany’s legs and hooking one of them over her shoulder. Her cunt’s wet and inviting, and she takes her time. Yara uses just the tip of her tongue to trace over her outer lips, teasing. She’s rewarded with Dany giving a rich girl “huff!” of annoyance and it makes her chuckle.

“Yara,” Dany says curtly.

“Dany,” she says back in the same tone.

“Get on with it.”

That makes her laugh again, but she decides she can behave. She presses the flat of her tongue against her instead, moving it up and down her slit slowly. The huff becomes a hum, and so Yara repeats the lazy motion a few times and Dany’s fingers thread through her hair. Feeling playful, Yara traces out the letters of her name against Dany’s cunt with her tongue, then spells Dany’s. Dany’s fingers start to pull on her hair, and it’s then that Yara begins to eats her out in earnest.

She pushes her tongue inside, starts fucking her with her mouth as much as she can. Dany’s breath starts to come in heavier, and Yara pulls back only enough to have her fingers replace her tongue. Dany’s hips start to rise, and Yara brings her free hand to her waist to pin her back down to the mattress. Yara’s kisses begin to get open-mouthed and messy, as she moves her fingers in and out in a pace to match them.


She sucks hard on Dany’s clit just as she crooks a finger within her, and Dany screams into a pillow.


When she wakes it’s with her cheek resting over Dany’s sternum, and Dany’s fingers threading more gently through her hair. Threading in a particular way, actually.

Yara stares up at her, bleary eyed. “Are you fucking braiding my hair?”



“I felt like it. And you sleep like the dead so I needed something to do.”

Yara smiles at that. Dany’s expression softens.

“You’re beautiful,” Dany tells her sincerely.

Yara forces the smile to stay on her face in order to hide the discomfort at the statement.

“I’ll make breakfast,” she offers instead of a response, leaving the bed before Dany can say any other mad things.


Breakfast is her specialty: basic bitch scrambled eggs and burnt coffee. Dany makes no attempt to hide her grimace as she sips from her mug.

“I can’t imagine this impresses anyone.”

Yara doesn’t want to tell Dany that she’s the first person she’s had breakfast with other than Theon. So she just smirks. “They’re not here for the food.”

“Because they prefer eating out?”

Yara snorts, Dany smiles back, and the strange nerves in her stomach begin to unknot.

The red string winds around her wrist again. Yara can’t pretend it’s not starting to make a cord, reaching out to its partner.


“You’ve never done this before, have you?”

Yara suspects she’s not talking about her pouring drinks, which she does as Dany watches her from the other side of the bar. “Done what?”


Yara, for the first time in her life, spills a drink while sober. “What?”

Dany cradles her chin in her hand, looking almost girlish. The red string on her wrist is about halfway to hers. “We’re just meeting in the middle.”


“I'm almost a serial monogamist. I married when I was a teenager.”

That gives Yara pause. “What, why?”

Dany laughs, her nose crinkling a bit at it. On impulse, Yara sets down the rag she’s using to sop up the leftover vodka and presses a kiss to the tip of it.

Dany rolls her shoulders. “It felt like the right thing at the time. I’m widowed now.”


“Shit,” Dany agrees. “After him, it was just boyfriend after boyfriend.”

Yara whistles. “ Just boyfriends?”

“Doesn’t mean I’m any less interested in women.”

“Fair point.” Yara lets her fingers entangle in Dany’s. “You’re right. I haven’t done this before.”

Dany’s eyes really are purple. It’s fucking fascinating. She brings her forehead to rest against hers. “Then I’m glad to be your exception.”


It’s not until after she’s closed the bar that Yara realizes she just agreed to dating Daenerys Targaryen. Her eyes drift to the red string. Normally she’d be changing her phone number. This time, she just feels something strange-- like an unused gear finally starting to tick.


“You don’t need to be afraid of me,” Dany says flatly, challenge flashing in her violet eyes.

Yara rolls her own. “Because you’re so terrifying.”

“I can be,” she says with so much confidence it sends a little jolt down Yara’s spine.

Fine,” she concedes. “How do you want me?”

“Sit on my face.”

And holy shit was that blunt. Yara’s brows raise. She’s used to being the one with the orders. Having someone else telling her what to do was...different. Yara’s not sure what to do with it.

Dany, in her fucking glorious naked state, lays back on the approximately seventy pillows on her bed. Yara frowns at her, but she only stares at her calmly in a way that should not turn her on but definitely does.

Yara just stares at her, before she crawls up. She places a knee on either side of Dany’s face, and clutches the headboard, trying to tell herself that feeling uncomfortable is stupid, that this is Dany and she’s pretty fucking sure she loves this woman-

Dany’s tongue immediately licks her clit.

Fuck,” she hisses, fingers tightening their grip enough for the knuckles to go white.

She definitely loves this woman.


The next morning, Dany makes them breakfast instead. It’s fucking waffles from scratch and she uses the espresso machine for their coffee.

The red string on her wrist is now thoroughly entangled with the one on hers.


“Are we exclusive, then?” Dany asks, reaching out to steal a piece of sushi from Yara’s plate.

She’d picked her up from the law office on her motorcycle for lunch, amused as all hell at the side-eyes that earned her from Dany’s coworkers.

“What do you mean?” Yara counters, taking a drink from Dany’s glass of white wine.

“Do we stop seeing other people?” Dany clarifies with a roll of her eyes in the way she does when Yara’s admittedly being a brat.

“Oh,” Yara says, watching her carefully over the top of her glass. This, she thinks, is where she might make a total ass of herself. “I haven’t been seeing anyone else.”

Dany’s cheeks color and she’s really fucking beautiful. “Neither have I.”

Yara reaches out and places her hand over the arm Dany has resting on the table. “Good.”

She smiles, a small and secretive thing. “Good.”


It all just starts to sort of happen. More of Yara’s stuff ends up in Dany’s apartment, less of her nights are spent at hers. Dany starts making her “actual food” for breakfast and Yara shows up to help Dany change a tire after she’s stranded in the middle of the night. She officially meets her friends, and likes all of them. Even the grumpy old bear from her office, Jorah. Yara starts asking her over not just for a fuck, but to do boring couple shit like watching movies with her brother.

“You and Dany should meet Sansa,” Theon comments one night at the bar, avoiding direct eye contact with her and sounding just a little too casual.

Yara sighs, giving up. “Fine.”

He looks at her in surprise at that, eyes just slightly narrowed. “You’re different lately.”

“Seems like,” she agrees. “You’re a little less miserable, too.”

“...seems like.”

“Drink up,” she says, sounding resigned but not unhappy.

They clink shots of rum before tossing them back.


One night, they’re drinking on Dany’s balcony. Yara’s leaning against the railing, elbows slung over it and back facing the city below them.

“Hey,” she says.

Dany looks up from the book she’s reading.

“I love you.”

Dany’s eyes soften, but then she looks down at her book again. There’s that little smirk on her lips.

Yara throws back her head and laughs. She’s such a bitch, sometimes.

The red string between them glows.


“Hey,” Dany says, sitting on her desk as Yara finishes up bookkeeping for the night.

“Hey,” Yara says, tapping in some numbers.

“I love you too.”

Her heart thuds faster in her chest, but Yara forces herself to just give a little shrug.

It’s Dany’s turn to laugh, then.


She wakes up, the room starting to feel like hers, the woman she loves in their bed, and looks at the bright red line around her wrist.

“You lucky bitch,” Yara tells her sleeping form, hand absently padding the nightstand to turn off her alarm so she can be with Dany a little longer.