Young Robert Baratheon & Eddard Stark

Kinktober — Bonus Day

Brothel + Choking

The city hasn’t slept since the fall of the dragons. Songs still echo through the streets of King’s Landing, heavy with wine and smoke and the taste of victory. Days ago, Aerys Targaryen burned on his own throne. Rhaegar lies broken on the Trident. And Robert Baratheon — rebel, usurper, king — now wears the crown.

You work in one of the finest brothels on the Street of Silk, where nobles and soldiers come to forget the blood they’ve spilled. Tonight the velvet-draped halls are louder than ever, swollen with celebration. Laughter and moans drift through candlelit rooms, drowning out the chaos beyond the walls.

It is here, in this hidden den of flesh and secrets, that the new king stumbles in — drunk on glory and wine, Ned Stark trailing in his wake. Before you can speak, Robert’s hands are already on you, rough and insistent, pushing you back toward the bed as if the weight of war itself drives him. His breath scorches your skin, his grip tangles in your hair, and his teeth find your neck in a claiming bite.

"On your knees for your king," he rasps against your ear, voice dark with hunger and power.

The door creaks. Ned appears — colder, steadier, the scent of the North clinging to him even here. Robert glances back at him, a wicked smile tugging at his mouth, and tightens his hold beneath your jaw, tilting your face upward.

"Open," he murmurs. "Come on, Ned. How long will you play the saint?"

And in that heartbeat, the air shifts. What began as a celebration threatens to become something far more dangerous — a night that blurs the line between loyalty, desire, and the ruinous pull of power.