#robb stark fluff

[axelsagewrites]

could you make a robb stark x baratheon reader where they grow up together as friends and were promised to each other, at the beginning reader thinks robb doesn't wanna marry her but then he tells her he loves her

if you could please add smut at the end (afab reader btw)

Robb Stark*Arranged

Pairing: arranged marriage!robb stark x princess!reader

Word count: 2272

Warnings: arranged marriage, anxiety, talks of running away, making out, (smut in part two but this is mostly wholesome), fluff

Masterlist here

A/N: sorry this (and everything else lol) has taken so long but part two with the smut will be up in the next couple of days :)

despite being a Baratheon by blood, by title, and by name most days you felt more like a Stark than anything else. Your father had sent you up to the North on your eleventh name day to become a ward of Ned Stark as part of an alliance of sort. Marrying his eldest daughter to a well-respected and established house only strengthened your fathers claim.

It had benefits for you, well at least he told you all his reasons in the letters. You’d be safe under lord starks protection, able to grow up alongside Sansa Stark who was only a year younger than you, become the future lady of Winterfell, and most importantly, to you at least, marry your childhood crush.

Yes, that’s right from the time you met him at four, him being five, you were smittened. Your father had travelled north on business but also happened to attend the wedding of one of the northern lords. He and ned laughed loudly, clinking their glasses together, as they watched you force Robb to walk down a pretend aisle with you that Jon helped you set up with chairs.

Of course, it was just a silly crush. It’s not like four-year-olds understand what a wedding is. By the time you moved to the north at eleven it was just a fond memory of your fathers he would tell at dinner parties.

In the nicest way possible when you first arrived Robb didn’t even care you were there. He was twelve and running about with wooden swords to practise with Jon and Theon while you and Sansa would practise hairstyles in each other’s hair.

However, by fifteen something dreadful happened. You fancied him.

Sure, in theory it sounded great but there were so many awkward moments. After all you were only fifteen. You couldn’t help that your face went beat red when he gave you a necklace for your birthday and when he told you that you looked ‘pretty’ one day you could barely muster out a thank you, you were so shocked.

You did your best to shove it down and pretend everything was normal over the years, but the crush never went away. You got better at hiding it. you had to as you’d grown closer over the years. Since Sansa had no interest in horse riding you were left to go with the trio, as you called them, instead. It soon became one of your favourite past times and you quickly grew close with the three boys. Especially Robb.

You figured it was a good idea especially as the talks of your marriage began cropping up more frequently. Your parents started pushing you to go on chaperoned excursions to markets and walks through the gods’ woods. They had no clue, or at least pretended, about the unchaperoned ones. Often you disappeared into the gods wood for some peace or the fields behind Winterfell to race. Robb began to bring food in his satchel so your excursions could turn into late lunches in the few sunny days of Winterfell.

“I definitely won,” he grinned as he dismounted his horse.

“Yeah right,” you scoffed as you jumped down, “you cheated,”

“How?”

“You went before I said go!”

“It’s three, two, one, go on one,”

“No, it’s not. Its three, two, one, go,”

“As in go already I said one,”

“As in you’re a cheat,” you huffed as you sat down against a thick oak tree.

Robb laughed at your antics as he sat down beside you, pulling his satchel out, “Truce?” he offered as he pulled out a parcel of sandwiches.

You pretended to think it over before nodding, “Truce,” For a few moments you sat in silence eating the sandwiches before you finally decided to tell him the news that had been weighing over you for the past week. “My mother sent me a raven,”

“Oh?” Robb paused, mid bite with concern written on his face. Your father sent you letters on a weekly basis but so far, your mother had only sent three since you left. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes, well, I think so. I’m not sure,” you paused for a moment before just blurting it out, “She’s coming next week. With a seamstress,” Robb stared at you confused, “For the wedding,”

“Oh,” the word shattered your heart. While you had become friends over the year neither one of you ever spoke about the impending nuptials. Sure, you wanted to marry him, but you were terrified. Not of marriage. He was a good man. He would treat you right whether he wanted this marriage or not. But that’s when the fear came in. what if Robb could never love you? “Aren’t most girls excited about fancy dresses?” he tried to joke, lighten the mood like he always did. Its what he always did whenever the wedding was brought up. Play it off, make a joke, laugh. It was all an awkward joke to him.

“I suppose, Sansa will be,” you laughed. She really had become like a sister to you over the years, “I suppose though this means it will be arranged soon,” you tried to look at him, but Robb just stared down at his food. “Unless we escape somehow,” you joked, copying his defence mechanism.

He looked up a smiled a little, “Quick you grab the horses, I’ll pack the bag. We’ll ride at dawn,” he joked.

“Imagine. Take all the back roads till we get to Riverrun,”

“Bribe the Frays into letting us cross,”

“Then straight down to Dorne,”

“Sounds like a plan,” he smiled, knocking his knee against yours. “Jon would never forgive me if I left him behind,”

“Him and Arya can come with. We’ll become sellswords,”

“Sounds like we’ve got it all planned out,”

-

When you returned to Winterfell Catelyn ran up to you both in a tizzy, “Where have you both been?” she whispers shouted, smiling at a passing lord before scouring, “A messenger from the king has arrived,”

You knew she meant well but your stomach dropped. you both followed her to the hall but soon the sorrowful look on your face was replaced by a grin, “Uncle Tyrion,” you rushed up to him immediately.

“Ah my favourite niece. Finally returned from some dingy pub I assume,” he joked though Cat couldn’t help but frown a little. They were both protective just in their own ways. “Don’t worry I’m not here to stay long. Just come down on your father’s behalf to organise the wedding. Speaking of, Lord Stark I do believe this is the first time we’ve met,” he extended a courteous nod to a very nervous looking Robb.

“Lord Tyrion,” he bowed.

“It goes without saying if you hurt my niece, I will have to have my men kill you,” he said, head tilting to the side making Robb gulp, “But other than that it’s lovely to meet you,” he grinned widely like a jester.

“Don’t tease him uncle,” you shook your head, but Tyrion just laughed, “I’d say you’ll get used to him, but no one has so far,”

“You’re so kind niece, truly,” he laughed, “Now onto business The king has organised his travels and shall be in Winterfell by the first of next month so we shall have to act swiftly,”

Panic set on all three of your faces. Though Robb and yours was far different than Catelyn’s. “My lord that’s awfully soon. We may not have the provisions to afford so many guests so soon- “

“No fear my lady. I was also sent with my father’s gold. No Lannister shall have anything less than a golden affair,” you could see the relief melt from Catelyn but yours was just setting in.

-

For the next three weeks every discussion you had was about the wedding. cakes, flowers, food, music, dresses, veils, and most daunting of all; organising the preparation for Robb’s and yours new chamber. Tyrion even sent a seamstress to your room to organise an outfit for your wedding night. It was all quickly becoming too much.

You’d barely even seen Robb since the planning began. There was no time to calm down and no one to remind you to breathe. That was his job. Whenever you got nervous, he would gently grab your wrist under the table, running his thumb over the back of your hand. But he was nowhere to be found.

You eventually managed to find Jon who told you Robb was under the same stresses. His mother had him arranging with traders and mingling with the growing number of lords appearing at Winterfell’s gates. “Suppose this is the stresses of being a lady,” Jon joked.

It was only then it hit you. Soon this whole castle would be yours to run. How would you ever have time to breathe let alone enjoy your husband’s company if he would even have you.

Despite missing your family, the night before their arrivals, you cried quietly in your chamber. Their arrival tomorrow only marked the three remaining days you had left as a maid. Perched on an open windows ledge, the cold air stung your cheek but at least as you watched the birds fly you could feel a little of their freedom.

Then there was a quiet but rapid knocking. The faint sound brought your attention to the door which was shut less than a second after it was opened. “Hey sorry I’ve not come sooner- “Robb’s voice entered the room, for some reason making your tears sting more. Robb shivered from the cold, “Why’s the window open? You’ll freeze princess,”

Robb rushed to your side, leaning past you to shut the glass to preserve what little heat he could. His confusion fell from his face when he saw your tears, “What’s the matter?” his voice was soft and tender as he sat across from you to hold your hands, his thumbs stroking over the back on them.

“I don’t know,” you lied in a whisper.

Robb knew. He always knew when you lied. He just nodded gently though. “I’ll start a fire,” he was on his feet again.

“I can fetch someone if you wish- “

“But I’m already here,” he teased as he knelt by the fireplace.

As he got to work in silence you padded across the floor. The stone floor felt like ice against your bare feet making you quicken your pace till you could sit on the small sofa in front of the fire Robb had started. “Easy, see,” he said, joining you on the couch, “We’ll get a heat in you,”

“Thanks,” you sniffled.

You sat in an easy silence though when you left out another sigh Robb was compelled to place an arm around your shoulder. You leant into his touch, your head rested on his shoulder and his on yours. A few moments passed before he spoke, “Jon said you were asking for me,”

You weren’t sure why you tensed, “I just worry sometimes,”

“I know,”

You couldn’t stand the next silence that followed so made a joke, “Thought you’d ran away,”

“Without you?” he said, pulling back to grin back at you, “Nah we have a deal princess. Say the word and I’ll get the horses,”

His smile made your stomach drop. It all felt like one big tease, “I thought,” you began to stutter, “You may have been running from me,”

Robb’s face fell, “Why would I do that?”

You sighed, turning to face the flames again as the tears threatened to spill, “It’s not like you chose this marriage. You weren’t exactly ever given the option. I wouldn’t blame you if you objected to it,” you muttered.

When he pulled away you could’ve sobbed but it was quickly replaced by confusion when he knelt in front of you, “Why would I object? all I desire is to be a good and faithful husband to you and may gods help me I will be. I wouldn’t desire another option if I was given a thousand,”

“Why?” you could feel venom briming in your voice, “Because my dowery? Because the king commanded it?”

The hurt on his face felt like a stab to the gut but his words only twisted the knife, “Because I love you,” he took your hands in his, “and I understand that you don’t feel that way for me and may never, but nothing will stop the way I- “

You didn’t even realise you’d moved till you pulled back from the kiss. Without thinking your lips had found his and now you stared into his eyes. It only lasted a second before Robb lusted forward, reconnecting the kiss into a messy, desperate thing.

As you felt him raise, you followed, standing to kiss him as his arms wrapped around your back, pulling you flush against him. Your hands rested on his shoulders, now fully able to appreciate his strength.

You wanted more but he pulled away, your lips chased his making Robb breathe out a laugh. “You’re something else,” he muttered, a grin on his face, “I can’t imagine not wanting to be with you,”

This time your arms tightened, burying your head into his neck as you hugged him close. Robb followed suit, his muscular arms keeping your warmer than the fire, “I feel the same way,” you eventually managed to stutter out, “But I- “

“You don’t have to say it,” he mumbled, kissing the top of your head, “I understand,”

“How did I get so lucky?” you pulled back to smile up at him.

He just smiled back, “I ask myself that each night,”

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@kimm4710

[importantstudentbusinessspy-blog]

Heirs

Pairing: Robb Stark x Baratheon/Lannister reader

Tags: NSFW, Arranged marriage, Robb is a bad boy in this one, corruption, innocent reader, first time, angst,

CH. 2 - He was the center of attention. The day's champion archer was charming the girls with his stories and teasing them with flirtatious gestures. Your blood started to boil as you watched him, oblivious to the fact that he was doing this just to taunt you.

Chapter tags: fingering, semi-public fingering, voyeurism, corruption kink,

The music from the instruments was loud, and the atmosphere in the tent was filled with excitement, but you sat in your spot, glaring.

You didn't care that you were the only one. It wasn't fair. In Westeros culture, men were not expected to remain virgins until marriage. Robb took great pleasure in this fact.

You tried to focus on the conversation your ladies were having around you, but your eyes kept drifting towards him across the room, surrounded by girls from all over the country.

He was the center of attention. The day's champion archer was charming the girls with his stories and teasing them with flirtatious gestures. Your blood started to boil as you watched him, oblivious to the fact that he was doing this just to taunt you.

One Northern girl boldly kissed Robb, baring her sharp canines while he laughed into her lips as another girl ran her arms around his barely covered torso. He turned and gave you a sly wink, running his tongue across his own sharp canine teeth, knowing that it would only infuriate you more. And it did.

From his point of view, the delicate princess sat wide-eyed, chest rising in her expensive dress as she inhaled and exhaled harshly through her flared nostrils. So responsive.

Robb enjoyed provoking you - he didn't know why yet. Perhaps he was doing it to see how you would react, testing your feelings for him, or because he was unsure how to express his growing attraction. When he winked at you, it was not just to anger you—he wanted to see you break your perfect demeanor, to understand if this was just duty for you or if you had feelings for him.

Your mother taught you that wives must be composed, no matter how foolish their husband's behaved and how their behavior humiliated them. She would glance at your father on occasion, chin up and confident pose, while her eyes betrayed the anger she felt. You now understood the patience your mother exercised as you were experiencing the same thing with the Stark Prince. Jealousy made you realize your feelings for Robb, despite his behavior. You were torn between your upbringing as a lady and your raw emotions when it came to him.

As the night progressed, Robb kept up his game. You had had enough. Jealousy rendering you unnable to look anymore.

You released a grumble of frustration before getting up, lifting your skirts in a less than ladylike fashion and storming out of the tent, leaving your friends behind calling your name in confusion.

The cool night air hit your face as you took a few deep breaths, trying to calm yourself. Disregarding your safety, you wandered through the beach grounds, trying to calm your racing thoughts. You couldn't understand why Robb insisted on playing mind games with you.

It was just the second time you two had crossed paths, yet he somehow made you feel inferior.

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The previous morning

Robb Stark arrived in King’s Landing with a small Northern contingent for the summer tourney. You were seeing him for the first time in years, and it was immediately clear how much he’s grown—his transformation from the boy you once knew to the formidable man standing before you now. His physical growth and his commanding presence were evident.

You stood alongside your mother and siblings as he walked into the great hall alongside his bastard brother, Jon. The two were close in age, and both had formidable height and posture, that of trained soldiers. Jon seemed calmer than Robb, more inspective of his surroundings, while his older brother took confident strides.

Robb wore a leather jerkin, the dark material molding to his broad chest and wide shoulders, accentuating his muscular frame. Beneath it, a simple linen shirt was tucked into his trousers, and the sleeves rolled to his elbows to combat the heat, revealing strong, veiny forearms. A leather belt rested at his waist, bearing the Stark sigil and his sword at its sheath.

As you stood with the ladies of the court, their laughter and hushed conversations filled the air. Your attention was briefly stolen by the sight of Robb Stark entering the courtyard, his presence commanding the space effortlessly. The women around you fell silent for a moment before erupting into a flurry of excited whispers.

"Gods, look at him," one sighed.

"Have you seen those arms?" Another chimed in, leaning in to get a better view.

The first giggled, her gaze never leaving Robb as he moved through the courtyard and kneeled in front of the king. "He’s nothing like the men of the south... I wouldn’t mind being captured by a man like that."

You weren't sure if you wanted to agree or roll your eyes.

"Do get up, boy." Robert Baratheon drunkenly grinned at the young wolf. "Your father is like a brother to me, I dont need his eldest kissing my arse."

Robb stood up, offering a respectful nod. "As you say, your highness."

"You cheeky..." Your father shook his head, grasping Robb by his shoulders and laughing how he's changed since he was a boy. The two exchanged a few words about the Starks, including messages from Ned.

Then they both turned to look at you.

You felt your heart skip a beat. Those grey eyes, which you recalled as teasing, were now alight with something else as they roamed over your figure. Robb briefly glanced to your side where your personal guard stood. His eyes narrowed on him before blinking back to you.

You hoped to impress him with your wardrobe. Your gown was a rich velvet, dyed deep red. It clung to your frame in a way that accentuated your curves. The fabric cascaded softly around your hips and flared slightly at the hem, skirts flowing elegantly around your legs.

Your hair was woven with gold thread, pinned up in a way that highlighted your cheekbones and neck, a delicate chain with a small ruby resting against your chest, his eyes zeroed in on it.

Robb turned to say another word to the King, and you watched your father nod before dismissing the young man. Conversations arose in the court as your betrothed approached you.

"Princess," Robb offered a warm smile, bowing respectfully. "How lovely you've become."

"Thank you, Lord Stark," You offered a bow in return, hoping he didn't hear the gasp in your voice.

He regarded you with admiration, his eyes glancing condescendingly at your guard before falling back on you. He leaned down to wisper in your ear. "May I have a moment with you? Alone."

His lips skimmed the skin of your ear, his breath tickling your skin. You shuddered. You overheard your ladies giggle behind you as you nodded, straightening up and collecting yourself.

He held his hand for you to take, then walked you out of the room, Ser Oliver and Jon followed close behind.

You and Robb had a pleasant conversation about your time apart. Speaking about his training and your studies. He listened patiently as you spoke about the health properties of herbs and plants, grey eyes gazing intently as you passionately discussed your favorite topics.

At last, you guessed you've spoken long enough, asking him to tell you how his sisters were doing.

He chuckled, his eyes creasing. "At each other's throats. It can be quite amusing so long as you're not in the line of fire."

You nodded. "And your brothers?"

He turned back to Jon. "They like to watch as Jon and I spar and offer useless advice."

That image made you laugh. You've always wanted a big family to watch your kids grow to be friends as you saw the Stark children did.

Your eyes switched back to him, landing on his lips, full and framed by recently shaven stubble. You caught yourself staring, opened your mouth to respond when a young voice called out your name-

"Y/n!"

You turned in the direction where your sister, Myrcella called, running up to the two of you to grasp and pull at your skirt. "Sister! He's hurting the frogs again!"

You blinked, trying your best to understand what she was talking about.

"Joffrey!" Your youngest brother, Tommen, ran up to stand alongside his sister and pull you by your hand. "We were playing with them, and he started kicking them! You must help."

Robb saw you sigh and shut your eyes like this was not the first time. He turned back to exchange a look with Jon, who shrugged in turn.

You let them pull you, turning to offer Robb an apology. "Apologies, my lord. This will just be a moment."

"Take your time, princess. I do hope the frogs are alright." The corner of his mouth raised slightly when he said it.

So, Robb considered, this is what you were up to all day, mending small animals and nannying your siblings.

Jon walked to stand alongside his brother, watching you rush into the garden to stop Joffrey from crushing a frong with a rock, scolding him while carefully taking the injured animal in your hands. "Must you always hurt the poor animals, Joff?"

Joffrey gave you an ugly glare and spat, "Why do you care? You're going to be Stark's pet soon enough, anyway."

Myrcella gasped. Tommen stared between you and Joffrey awkwardly.

Both Robb and Jon both froze, exchanging a look of disbelief at the young boy's cruelty to his own sister. Even Arya never spoke this way to Sansa.

Despite Joffrey’s words, you remained calm toward him, shielding Tommen and Myrcella from his sneers. "This is not how a future king behaves, Joff. Very poor manners, especially in front of guests."

Joffrey rolled his eyes. "A king behaves however he wants."

You opened your mouth to speak again, but he got up and walked away. Your shoulders dropped with a huff of frustration.

"Can you treat it?" Tommen spoke. You followed his gaze down to the frog in your hand. The poor animal had a cut along its limb.

"If you hold him, I can try my best." You smiled at your brother, taking your small sewing kit from your sleeve.

Over the years, you had gotten quite good. Practicing by sewing up Joffrey's scraped knees when he would fall. Tommen gently held the frog as you washed the wound with water, sewed it shut, and wrapped a small amount of gauze around it.

Jon and Robb observed from their distance.

"That's our future king..." Robb murmered quietly. "And my future brother."

Jon, being naturally perceptive, quietly pointed out to Robb. "At least her and her other siblings' kindness contrasts with his."

Robb grimaced still.

"I notice the way you glowered at her guard." Jon added before teasing him. "Perhaps your feelings for her are more complicated than just familial duty?"

"Perhaps you should..." Robb turned to sass him off, but Jon’s observation lingered on his mind. "Perhaps we should step away. This seems to be a family matter."

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Jon stood by Robb’s side, serving as support. He noticed Robb’s distracted, jealous glances toward the royal stands where you sat, observing the archers beside your guard, occasionally exchanging a few comments with the man.

Jon nudged Robb, “Could you be more obvious?"

Robb tore his gaze away from you. "Sorry."

"You’ve faced worse foes than a well-dressed guard.” Jon spoke, assessing the archers stance and technique.

Robb pulled at his bowstring, typing it to his bow while speaking, "You were always the cool-headed one," he spoke quietly. "Sometimes I envy your ability not to get so... emotional."

"It comes with the title." Jon offered, referring to his bastard blood.

"Stop it, Jon." Robb shook his head. "You know we dont think of you that way."

Jon nodded, not responding to Rob's obvious lie. "Don’t mess this up. You're the best shot in Winterfell, besides me, of course."

Robb snorted, lightly shoving his brother.

Jon continued. "This will be target practice for you. It's easier than half the game you bring back home."

"Sure," Robb wasn't concerned with the Archery contest. In the slightest.

And surely enough, you sat in the Royal stands, watching him best the other archers, hitting the center of the target from multiple distances to cheers from the crowd.

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Present Time

You were hiding behind the flap of a tent, sneakily observing a knight kneeling in front of a courtesan from Essos.

He seemed to be kissing her sex. You were confused by the position. It defered from everything you'd learned about lovemaking. The women made sinful noises. You were curious as to why.

Your eyes narrowed. But surely that wasn't right.

"He's quite good." A male voice spoke close to you.

"Gods -" Gasping, you jumped at the sudden intrusion, turning to see Robb leaning beside you, hair disheveled and shirt undone at the top, a drunk bkush spread across his cheeks.

His words registering in your mind, you huffed. "As if you would know."

He chuckled, then took you by the arm and turning you to face him, your skirts swooshing between your legs as you came face to face with him, your lips a breath apart. Stormy eyes were focused on your lips with such intent that you found it hard to look. Visions of him embraced by the northern girls flooding your mind again. Your cheeks heated up so much that you had to back up away from him.

Only there was no room, and you were stuck between himself and one of the thick tent posts. The wooden surface hard against your back.

"Do I sense some hostility, princess?" He hummed.

She shushed him, whispering. "Be quiet. Let's go,"

"And miss the performance?"

"Robb!"

He laughed and let you slip under his arm to drag him away. By the time you had walked off into a more deserted area, you had reached the water's edge, away from the camp and the crowds. Your bodice clung to you as you took in much needed deep breaths to calm yourself.

"So," Robb cleared his throat behind you. "Are you gonna tell me what you were doing creeping up on the swordman coupling, princess?"

You screwd your eyes shut. "Dont you have two girls to get back to?" You tilted your head mockingly. "Or was it four?"

You heard a huff behind you. "Ah, so it did bother you." His lips were by your ear in instead to wisper. "Good."

"How much ale have you had?" You felt goosebumps running up your arm.

"Less than you think."

You rolled her eyes. "It would anger anyone."

He shook his head, his curls brushing against your locks. "It wouldn't anger an un-caring wife. I want my wife to be selfish over me."

Your breathes were speeding as his warm breath tickled your skin. His words tickled some other parts of you.

"So," he wispered. "Are you gonna tell me what you were you doing? Have you picked up an interest in the art of love-making?"

You chuckled. "If you can even call it that."

You felt his head tild behind you, as if confused. "You absolutely can."

You scoffed. "He wasn't even doing it right."

He chuckled, throwing her own words back at you, "As if you would know."

For some reason, that made you feel self-conscious, so you turned to glare at him.

He pursed his lips, throwing his hands up. "Apologies, princess. That was rude. What did he do wrong?"

You wrapped her arms around yourself. "He didn't even... he wasn't..."

He raised a brow, anticipating.

"Well," you insited, before finally, quietly saying. "... penetrate."

"Well. You can't simply begin from that." He said nonchalantly.

That made you pause. "What?"

"Princess," Robb grinned, bringing his hand to his temple as if rubbing at a headache.

You blushed, facing away from him. "You're laughing at me."

You couldnt see his eyes crease at the sides as he smiled down at your hair. "Darling, no."

"You are!" You turned back to him again, her skirts blowing with the small breaze, your eyes withholding tears. "I may not be experienced like you-" you pointed your finger at him. "-but I know enough! You can't have children by... through... what he was."

"You're right, you can't." He confirmed holding up his hands in surrender. "But who said children were the only outcome of sex?"

You remained quiet, now thoroughly confused.

"There is also pleasure." He hinted.

"Oh!" You nodded. "Well, sure, it can occur, but..."

"It must." He spoke like it was obvious. "You do know there are other ways to induce pleasure than mere penetration?" He asked.

You blinked at him.

A grin spread across his face, wolfish canines shines in the moonlight. "Oh, you're going to enjoy this study, princess."

Your mouth opened as if she wanted to say something but looked unsure.

"Trust me. The maesters won't-teach-you-this." He slurred slightly. "And if they do, that's bad. Then you have to tell me."

Curious eyes met confident grey ones, and you gave him a soft nod, taking his hand, letting him lead her down to an empty cove.

The two of you sat by the sand. At first, you took a seat side by side with him, but he pulled you to sit in front of him with you back to his chest. Never having been this close to someone of the opposite sex, you swallowed nervously.

"Breathe, princess. You're in good hands."

"The last time you said something like that, I fell out of consciousness."

"Well, this time don't. I'd hate for you to miss this." He ran his hands along the uncovered skin of your arms, you collarbone, shoulders, you skin tensing up everywhere he touched. "You shouldn't rush into things when giving pleasure."

You nodded. "Right,"

He leaned down and trailed, sticking kisses from your ear to your neck, sending a trail of goosebumps that made you gasp.

"There are other sensitive zones on your body, not just inside your cunt."

You nodded, your toes curling against the sand. "Okay,"

"Like your ears and neck," He spoke through kisses. His hands reached to her your bodice, unlacing the front exposing your breasts, giving your nipples light touches.

You gasped, arching your back against him. "Mhn,"

"Or your breasts," he continued to play with your hardened peaks, rolling and pinching them lightly. You closed her eyes, your hand eaching to grasp at the sand. His hand trailed down to your skirts, pulling them up to your waist and exposing you to the cool night air before palming your heat between your thighs.

You jumped at the feeling.

"Or this spot between your legs,"

"What is it?" You asked, voice trembling.

"It's your special spot," he replied, his fingers teasing you gently.

You couldn't hold back the whine that escaped as he continued to touch you just the right way. You had never experienced pleasure like this before, and it was intoxicating.

He leaned in and whispered in your ear, "you should explore your own body, princess. It's full of hidden treasure."

Your breaths quickened as he continued to rub you, faster, and faster. "I... oh-"

Unable to hold back any longer, your body tensed up and shook as you experienced the first orgasm you had ever felt. You were overcome with pleasure, and your body shook with the force of it. He pulled you by your hair, craning your neck towards himself, and kissed you roughly. You reciprocated the kiss with enthusiasm, still shaking as his hand teased you through your climax.

When you pulled apart, he was happy to see your eyes still glazed over.

Robb had struggled with his feelings for you, wondering if they might be desire, or duty, but he also questioned how much power he truly had over you.

Going from girl to girl in Winterfell was a norm, but something about you was not the same. He wanted to corrupt you, to introduce you to a world of pleasure that you had no idea existed. Hed wanted to be the first to deflower the heir to the throne. It had been a long time since he had felt this type of curiosity. The image of you writhing in pleasure, your body arching, and moans of his name filled his mind, making his eyes shut to take in the fantasy.

"Is it like this every time?" You wispered, drawing him out of his thoughts.

"It should be," he leaned down to nibble on your throat. This girl. He needed to see her come undone again.

"Princess!" A male voice called in the distance.

Robb cursed. That fucking guard...

"By the gods! What time is it?" You jumped up before rushing to lace your bodice and pat your skirts back into place, tidying up her hair. Robb leaned back on his arms and stared as you rushed off, his teeth grinding.

You hadn't even said anything. Just left as if you didn't just share an intimate moment together. He chuckled to himself, running his hand down his face and lying back against the sand.

[eccentricallygothic]

Crosshairs

Description: Trying to get Robb's attention is one thing, but when you have successfully landed yourself in his crosshairs is another.

Pairing: Brat Tamer Prodigal Son!Robb Stark | Spoilt Brat!You.

Warning(s): Brat taming, jealousy, spanking, punishment, unprotected p-in-v, doggy style (it's me), claiming, manhandling (it's Robb), power imbalance, degradation, light misogyny, Robb's BDE because I live for that shit, corporal punishment ig, boob play. MDNI.

Type: Request, here. 

. . .

“You do realize you will land us both in trouble if you keep this up, yes?” Jon does not look up at his older brother's betrothed half out of respect and half out of the playful annoyance he feels for the spoiled girl batting her eyelashes down at him with faux coyness.

“What trouble?” The male rolls his eyes as he works away at his sword. “I haven't the slightest inkling of whatever you mean, Jon” he resists the urge to scoff at your obvious innocence. 

The uncharacteristic nature of your actions makes you stick out like a sore thumb. The forced lady-like smile that holds your features in an uncomfortable shift due to lack of experience, the way you hover above his head in a flirtatious side hang even though you never behave in this manner around the opposite sex save one, the overdone grace with which you tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear and the little tilt of your head that is accompanied by a confused and senseless giggle fitting to women, the pains with which you put this effort forward is painfully obvious. 

“Right” the object of his discomfort -something you have in common with said object, at times- appears on the horizon of his vision and Jon sighs. 

Well, there goes his hope of not becoming the collateral today.

“No, tell me what you meant” though you aren't used to or too comfortable with leaning into men, you do so because you have also caught the quiet figure in your own peripherals and unlike Jon, you welcome the circumstance like the fool you are. “I want to know, Jon~” the dark haired male uncomfortably shifts away from you who puts an extra swing in your sway towards him. He lets out a suppressed scoff and glares at you. The two of you have been friends long enough for him to know exactly what it is that you are doing. 

“Stop” you know each other too well to be affected by any proximity with each other but Jon's older brother who is an advocate of propriety has taught his younger brother that this distance with a lady one is not related to seldom fares well and thus his teachings show in his behavior. “You—” though he decides not to beat around the bush for any longer, it is too little too late.

Alas.

“Father calls for you, Snow” the male in question releases a breath he was not aware he was holding and jumps to his feet abruptly with a gladness he is still cautious of since his brother likes to get unfair at times despite being well acquainted with your personality. 

Jon departs, or rather flees the scene without another word.

A smirk makes its way onto your face so you turn your ‘unsuspecting’ back to the hairy giant, bending to pick up your upper coat that you had shrugged off in a bout of confidence. Though you aren't the sharpest and certainly don't possess the perception of your betrothed, you hear him approach you in his manly and wise silence as you clear the haystacks of your coat in one swift movement and resume an upright position.

“Oh!” You exclaim with a surprise so artificial that the impurity nearly cuts Robb because of how he always dons the gold of honesty and valor. “My heart!” You use your endearment for him for Robb neither likes to hear you refer to him by name in public nor does he prefer you call him by his titles. “When did you get here? You were not a moment ago!” 

The coolest, most small smile spreads over his rosy lips and Robb tips his head back an inch to grant himself a better look at your audacity. The milky skin under his eye slightly twitches in response to him narrowing his eyes at you. Though he says nothing, you can still hear his rhetorical inquiry in that sarcastic way of his that you are well familiar with due to how long you have known him. 

“Whatever’s the matter, my love?” Robb has to resist the urge to scoff at the extra pitch in your voice because of the pretentiousness you are putting into your performance. 

He just stares at you for a good while, studying you, perhaps giving you a chance. So much so that there comes a point where you feel yourself gulping down a bile from your rising nervousness. But unlike many other times, you refuse to give in today. Like husband, like wife. After all, you rebelled against your nature today to end up here, in this ‘predicament’. Giving up now would be to waste all your effort and turn your bold attempt futile.

“Come” he says after you know not how many minutes pass but before you can say anything, Robb’s hairy claw has already seized your smaller hand within it. It is unlike his nature too, for usually he is the effortless victor in a battle of wits between the two of you.

“Oh!” But you are used to being treated like the most delicate and valuable thing to ever exist. You have been raised in a manner which has accustomed you to everyone giving in to your demands and wishes. The firm manner in which Robb balances all things with a just foresight is most undesirable to you, fancy for him or not. Things should always go your way in the design of your desire, and not in a way that is mindful of safeguarding the welfare of other people too, unlike your dearest. If it does as a byproduct, jolly. If it does not, well, then that is simply not your pain to bear. And whilst you underwent this stunt to provoke Robb and his attention, the way your smaller body is being dragged somewhere through the dark hallways of the estate with a rigidity typical to your betrothed, it is hardly the conclusion you planned.

Not like this.

“Oh, my!” Your brutish man's ironhold is beast-like as you try to free yourself of it. But what good is a mere pip against a wolf out for blood? “Stop, stop!” You huff and puff half out of your liking to test him to the best of your ability and half because your scheme was not to be so quickly overthrown with such ease!

No, he was supposed to get jealous and sulk in the envy your behavior was aimed to stir in him due to your treatment of his brother. Then he was supposed to fight for your attention and give in to all demands bestowed upon him by you and fulfill any and every need you may have. Robb was to kneel down to you like everyone else in your life did and strike conversation to get you to shower the blessings of your company upon him. He was to say the first word and you were to act like he usually did; with a teasing indifference to make him haste harder for your notice. Except, your little mind failed to realize that you yourself had broken the very first rule of your own game not too long ago when you had spoken.

And now as you are pushed into a little room for the stored animal feed and other domestic necessities before your smaller body is pushed like a delinquent babe's to bend over hay forming a stack half your size, you whimper and pout as your pampered elbows itch from the dried grass. This outcome is far from what you had expected of your contrivance. This is not supposed to be it. 

“We are not wed yet, my Lord!” Your mouth runs its senseless attempts in vain. “Oh no!” You try to worm your body free from his elbow that he settles between your shoulder blades to nail you in place as the rest of his arm lays down along the length of your back, the tips of his fingers pressing against the twin dents in your tailbone. “This—”

“All that fuss to have my attention, dove” when he does speak, the guttural quality of his throat shushes you into silence. “Only to raise mayhem and put up such fight when it has been granted to you” you feel the fingers of his free hand dance along the plump, clothed cushions of your buttocks and your eyes widen as though the position he had put you in was not telling enough. 

No, no, no!

He is supposed to get on his knees and worship you! 

Not discipline you like a guardian does a misbehaving child! 

“Perhaps they are correct in what they say about a woman's eternal uncertainty in what she wants herself” not entirely true. You do know what you want. But if you confess it to him this will get even worse for you! He must not know! You shall conceal it like your life depends on it!

Or so you scheme in your naivete, for you have behaved in similar ways more times than one.

But trying to flirt with another man? That is new. 

And Robb is very determined to find out the source of that course of action.

“Ugh,” you shake your shoulders in a futile attempt once more. “Do not be a cruel brute!” You order the future King of the North like you are in any position to bark at a man of his stature. “I am not one of your savagely bannermen! I— ah!” A furious hiss shoots through your lips when his free hand comes down upon the midpoint of your cheeks that jiggle feverishly from the impact. You whine at the sting that goes all the way down to your pucker and though Robb is wordless, he curses under his breath when he realizes that you are not wearing adequate underclothing despite his constant advice and request that you do.

How typical of you.

The young man brings another strong hand down upon your rear at the thought and you let out such an exaggerated sound -in his opinion, as he is scarcely aware of the extent of his own strength- that it mimics a cackle. Only, it is one of woe. Your hips desperately try to find solace in swerving the endangered half of your body out of his line of devastation but your wolf-man is far too strong. 

“Aaaa!” You furiously wail like a delinquent puppy being set straight, digging your elbows into the hay and your head in your arms to withstand the thunderous rain of your betrothed's hand on your buttocks. “I demand you stop this immediately, Robb!” Your whines are muffled and pathetic in their contrast to your words. 

“It will not be until you tell me whose plot your little performance was” you gulp and bark out a wheeze to respond and it is like he senses the lie that goes to bud on your tongue and he swats it away with a foreseeable slap to the underside of your rear. ���And you best think twice before giving me a false answer,” you shake your whole body and your head in protest and pain when he spanks you again. “Or so help me gods.” 

But you remain faithful to your nature and preserve your brain's unutilized state by choosing to, after all, lie. “I- I have not the slightest idea what you mean!” Robb releases a cool, mirthless scoff and shakes his head at you, his palm now taking turns on each of your cheeks as it comes out in strong, powerful hits that he lands with well paced delays so you can fully feel the ache of one strike before the next lands. “O- Ow! T- There was no- ah— p- plot! Nevermind a- any performance!” He sighs as if to lament what is about to happen to you next. 

“Fine” your eyes widen and you squawk in shock like you aren't accustomed to this or you were not hoping to arouse a more ideal variant of this outcome anyway. “Have it your way then, my dove” oh… that never fares well for you. 

And Robb proves your suspicion true when he lifts your skirts out of the way and tucks them under the hand that sits on your lower back like a menacing serpent with unkind intentions. “Tsk,’’ a strong strike is given to your barely secure intimates before he tugs your poor excuse for undergarments down. 

What?

They are uncomfortable!

It is not your problem if the man of your future household is too pedant and fastidious!

He always laughs at it and just ruffles your hair but you are unyielding in your belief that he is the way he is because your betrothed is adamant on reaching bachanalness three times faster than other people his age. 

“Ouch, my heart, please!” You cannot help but whine out an endearment though you absolutely do not want to because you are just as cross with him as he is with you! Ugh! He never falls in your traps! Why is he so clever?! Is this what your mother meant when she told you that you were finally going to have someone who would handle you like you ought to be the day Robb asked your father for your hand in marriage? “It hurts!” 

You gasp in realization.

The pieces fall into place.

It does make sense.

Gods, the world conspires against you!

This is not fair at all!

Robb's cruel palm is unrelenting even when it begins to tingle upon coming into contact with your bare and blushing skin over and over. “Tell me the name, my angel, and I will cease this immediately” he spreads your legs with one strong jerk of his hand and your whole body undergoes a turbulence. “You know I hate this just as much as you do” before you can feel any warmth for your cruel lover for he always tells you that he does not like to punish you, his lowered hand comes upwards in a vertical hit and collides against your drenched petals. The impact reverberates through your whole being and your mouth falls open at the way your folds shake. “Make haste, sweet one.”

Your eyebrows come together in a tight, angry knot and your cheeks puff at his condescending tone. “N- No name!” You bark out of spite and clutch at the hay angrily. “There was no one!” The compressed dried grass comes loose in your hold and you add. “You have gone completely mad, you hoary troll!” The way Robb audibly chuckles at that causes the arm that he has on your back to buzz into your spine.

You gulp because he is a man of a few words and even lesser noise. So this cannot mean anything good. Although you are quite determined in your resolve, you still have to bite your lip to suppress the whimper that you let out when his offending hand now begins to softly caress the blemished skin of your buttocks and sit spots. For you know his touch and it is not this when he means to be genuinely affectionate.

Just what kind of a predicament have you landed yourself into?

“I see.” You hear the zip of harnesses coming undone and the thump of coats hitting the floor. “Then nevermind the actions of a mad man precisely how we will the name of your fellow conspirator, my dear” you are confused by his words but the feeling of his tip aligning against you when he gets behind you and takes your sore thighs -for Robb never punishes your buttocks alone but all the spots in their vicinity- in his strong fingers that are decorated in scars which bear testament to his experience in conquest, causes a tumult in your determination-taut brain from the burst of sensation and the upper half of your body relaxes as result of all tension shifting to your nether regions. 

You mewl as you feel the delicious burn of your entrance that your beloved had deflowered some time ago stretch around the thick tip of his cock that makes love making feel like the first time whenever your balmy cavern is made to accommodate his manhood. “Oh! I can't take it!” You throw your head back and moan, forgetting everything else and getting lost in the flutters of pleasure you have been taught to find in the strain his cock causes on your flesh band. “You're too big, love!” Robb curses under his breath when the leaking apex of his cock is met with resistance against your folds that he feels quivering against him. “P- Please help me take it!” He just has to give a sharp strike to the underside of one of your buttocks to accompany with his scoff.

You are such a fox.

Saying all the agreeable things in that obedient tone of yours that he knows better than to trust. 

He shakes his head at the surprised squeal you whimper out as though the events of the last quarter did not happen. 

“Whoever said anything about you taking it, my sweet dove?” Horror creeps down your spine in the form of an ice cold shiver. 

No. 

“B- But— aaaah!” You are stinging, aroused, open but not filled and inching closer and closer to mindless, undignified desperation. “But!”

“Hm?” Robb seems to be enjoying himself, ever the master of restraint and self control, as he penetrates you only to the wide hilt of his tip before he sloshes it right out of your entrance only to repeat the tortuous action where your walls clench and bathe with slick in anticipation of his cock only for their buzzing excitement to be denied satisfaction. 

“W- What…” You rarely ever misbehave once he has you like this. But your wanton frustration makes you kick one foot as you huff. “Why would you— oh!” You bite your lip because of the shoddy pleasure that sparks but fails to ignite, leaving your body on a trembling edge that brings you to heaven's door each time he fishes his way past your swollen folds and plops into you never to let you sheathe him thus denying you the paradise beyond. “W- Why are you doing that?!” You finally break from your pretentious rhetoric as you try to push yourself down on his shaft but strength has never been grounds for competition between the two of you. 

Robb's nearly inhuman hold keeps you detained exactly where he wants you. “Doing what?” It's his time to display faux behavior and you huff although you know deep down in your mind that it would not do much to move him and would rather only land you in more trouble. 

“That!” You cry when you feel his cock release more precum right at the threshold of your cavern because of how he fucks your entrance with a warm, torturous gentleness that scorches both of your insides alike. “Why w- won't you put it in, cruel ogre!” 

A satisfied smirk suppresses Robb's breaths that grow heavier with the passing moments. “Why, I am a mad and cruel ogre-troll, my dove” he enters you again and this time both his hands come down on your cheeks in the form of slaps at once and you howl. “And creatures of my like have queer ways beyond the comprehensive abilities of pretty little things like yourself” you whine and your toes curl at how the frustration morphs into a dull ache in the mound between your legs. 

The painful twitching of your sex makes you croak and you try to move your hips once more. “No! No!” You gurgle on your own spit as you vehemently shake your head.

“No?” Robb's inquiry is nice, somewhat kind even… unlike his heartless actions. 

“No!” You affirm as you feel your knees ache and sore thighs quiver. You are a sensitive little thing. Rough handling is not a domain you are much acquainted with beside the brief encounters you have with it sometimes during spells of passion with your dearest betrothed. “No, the light of my life, you're not! You—” your back arches and you cry and pout like an entitled juvenile not getting their way, your frivolous unrest and feverish jittering making his great form that looms behind you like the silhouette of doom itself to shake in silent mirth. “You're perfect! Please, you're the most perfect Stark heir! You are the best Lord Winterfell can ever hope to have!” Your praises make him curse under his breath and he gropes your thigh harder to withstand his impulsive urge to thrust all the way in.

No.

He is the man and the responsible one.

No can do until you learn and acknowledge his authority.

That is the way.

Of men, and Lords.

“The name, my love” though he masks his words with nonchalance quite well, there is a disguised urgency in them. You light him up just as unbearably as he does you. “Tell me the name and I will give you all you need and desire.” He gives you one rough jerk just past the band of your entrance and the momentary friction you feel in the drenched velvet just above your entrance snaps the thread of your determination. “Just like that, it is that easy. But you choose the fruitless path of torment and frustration.” There is a hypnotic lull in his words and that is enough for you to gush out a part of your impending confession. 

“It was—!” You finally confess the name of your lady friend and Robb decides that it will do for now, rest you will tell him yourself with your own free will in your sensitive and emotional post orgasm state when you will be securely tucked in his arms and against his chest. 

“There” your eyes and mouth widen at the same time and a guttural grunt crawls out of your throat when he doesn't pull his tip out this time around and instead slots himself inside you until he is hilt deep. “There is my bonnie lass” the upper half of your body goes lax and appears as though your bones have dissolved into your blood. You go to collapse face first into the hay to lay down and get fucked into oblivion but Robb's territorial paw finds a hold on the underside of your jaw and he rams you onto his cock and continues to curve your form until the crown of your head is touching his shoulder. “Tsk, such havoc just because I could not attend to you right away and requested you show some patience.” His fingers find one of your nipples and you shiver.

“S- Sorry, hubby!” You finally use for him the odd yet heartwarming endearment he loves most and that is how he knows he has you netted in.  

“Who loves you?” You shiver as you feel his girth stretch out your insides even though you were more than prepared for him. 

“Y- You—” he pulls at your nipple before giving both your breasts punishing swats. Your waist further curls outwards at the feeling. 

“Say it properly” you clench around him because of the way his baritone voice grinds against your eardrums and Robb cannot help but twitch right under your cervix. 

You do not need to be told twice. “Robb Stark!” 

He hums in satisfaction. “Who knows better?” 

Your bubbling loins tighten. “Robb Stark!” 

“Who takes care of you?” His hands roughly fumble to throw your skirts out of his way. 

“Robb Stark—!” Your answer turns into a shivering moan when his fingers find the trembling gem under the hood of your sex. 

“Who do you trust with everything?” The minute crevices on the tips of his fingers rub against the sensitive nub and your vision falters. 

“R- Robb Stark!” His hold on your jaw is the only thing that keeps it in usable shape. 

“Who will you obey when he tells you that you will no longer be friends with—” you whine when he takes the name of your dear friend but it is not a complete surprise. 

Robb greatly dislikes and condemns for you any influence he deems indecent or bad.

“R- Robb Stark!” You whimper as you move your hips along to his cock that now fucks you so fast and rough that you lose your footing with each thrust, the fingers he has on the nub of your womanhood only adding to the flutters of pleasure that narrow the knot around your hips with each snap of his hips. 

“Who do you belong to?” This time, his mouth comes to press against your ear and his coarse beard irritates your sensitive skin. His words carry a wolfish ferocity and you hear him gnash his teeth in as much clarity as your thumping ears will allow. 

“R- Robb—” your teeth begin to chatter from the intensity of your orgasm and your body flexes against his much bigger one to withstand the explosion in your abdomen. “S- S- Stark…” Your words melt into hissing whispers and you shudder and hiss when he continues to rub, fuck and fondle you even when the ecstatic feeling has subsided and your mound demands solitude. 

“That is correct” he pounces onto the stacks that you face with your smaller body underneath him like a depraved wolf having trapped in its hold a helpless little lamb. The action causes for his tip to collide against your cervix and your body thrashes defensively but it is in vain. “Do not forget that.” Robb whispers in your ear before he regains his footing and his hairy claws tuck under your thighs from the front. Your betrothed easily lifts your legs off the floor and begins his annihilation of any remaining misconduct perchance still shrouded in some unwise crevice of your little mind.

MASTERLIST 

. . .

I… can swear I thought this was like 1K at best… 

[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.

[nixiefics]

Possess - Part 2

Pairing: Robb Stark X Reader

Warnings: Smut, posessive Robb, p in v sex, oral (female receiving), rough sex, dominant Robb,

You awaken slowly, the warmth of the fur blankets cocooning you in their luxurious softness. The richness of the various pelts - wolf, bear, and fox - creates a patchwork of textures and hues, a testament to the King's power and the harsh beauty of the North. You shift slightly, feeling the gentle rise and fall of the man beside you. His presence, a source of both comfort and desire, has become a familiar anchor in your life.

Blinking the sleep from your eyes, you take in the soft glow of dawn filtering through the canvas of the tent. The air is cool, but the thick furs ward off the chill, keeping you nestled in warmth. You turn your head to look at him. Even in sleep, his features are strong, etched with a fierceness that speaks of battles won and enemies vanquished. Yet, there is a softness there, a vulnerability that only you are privileged to witness.

The King in the North stirs, his arm instinctively wrapping around you, pulling you closer. His eyes flutter open, and for a moment, the stern ruler is replaced by the man who has shared your bed and heart for over two months. His smile is rare, but you’ve grown accustomed to the way his eyes soften when they meet yours.

“Good morning, my healer,” he murmurs, his voice rough with sleep but tender.

“Good morning, my King” you reply, your fingers tracing the lines of his face.

You sit up slowly, careful not to disturb the peace that lingers in the tent. The responsibilities of the day loom ahead, but for now, you allow yourself a moment of tranquillity. Robb's eyes follow you as you move, a silent appreciation in his gaze. The cool air brushes against your skin, a stark contrast to the warmth of the furs.

“I wish you didn’t have to go,” he says, his voice low. It’s a sentiment he’s expressed many times, but always with an understanding of your duty.

"You made a promise," you kiss his lips slowly. "I could heal if Grey Wind was with me - and he is always with me."

Robb's expression softens further, a mixture of admiration and reluctance in his eyes. He reaches out, his hand warm against your cool skin. “I know,” he says quietly, “and I respect that. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

You smile, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead. “And I appreciate it,” you reply. “But duty calls.”

With a sigh, Robb releases you, and you rise from the bed, the furs slipping away to reveal the cool air of the tent. You wrap yourself in your robe, its familiar weight and texture grounding you as you move towards the small basin of water to wash. The briskness of the water against your face is invigorating, helping to chase away the last remnants of sleep.

You can feel Robb’s gaze on you as you prepare for the day, a silent presence that brings both comfort and a twinge of sadness. The bond you share is deep, forged in the crucible of war and the shared solace of your nights together.

As you finish your morning routine, you turn back to Robb, who is now sitting up, the fur blankets pooled around his waist. His eyes are serious, but there’s a warmth there that reassures you. “Be safe today,” he says, a command and a plea intertwined in his words.

“I always am,” you reply, your voice steady. You cross the tent to where he sits, placing a hand on his cheek. “And you, my King, must do the same.”

He nods, capturing your hand in his and pressing a kiss to your palm. “I will,” he promises. “For you.”

With a final, lingering look, you step out of the tent and into the camp. The crisp morning air greets you, carrying the sounds of activity and the faint tang of smoke from the nearby fires. The camp is already bustling, soldiers preparing for the day, the hum of conversation and the clang of metal creating a familiar symphony.

You make your way to the healer’s tent, a sense of purpose settling over you. The wounded need you, and in your role, you find a different kind of fulfilment. The demands are constant, the wounds severe, but your skill and compassion are unwavering. You tend to each soldier with care, knowing that every life you save is a victory in its own right.

As the day progresses, your thoughts occasionally drift back to Robb. His strength, his vulnerability, the way he looks at you as if you are his anchor in this turbulent world. You find solace in those memories, drawing strength from them as you work.

By the time the sun begins to set, you are exhausted but content. You’ve done your duty, fulfilled your promise. As you make your way back to the tent you share with Robb, a sense of anticipation builds within you. The days are long, but the nights—those precious hours in his arms—make it all worthwhile.

Entering the tent, you find it empty. Robb has not yet returned from his duties. The space feels larger, quieter without him, but you know he will be back soon. Deciding to prepare for his return, you call for a bath to be brought. The attendants are quick, and soon a large wooden tub is set up in the corner of the tent.

You instruct them to fill it with hot water and add healing oils - lavender for relaxation, eucalyptus for its invigorating scent, and a touch of chamomile to soothe. The steam rises, carrying the fragrant mix of oils, creating a calming atmosphere that envelops the tent. You test the water with your hand, ensuring it’s the perfect temperature.

As you wait for Robb, you take a moment to change out of your healer’s robes, slipping into a simple but elegant nightgown. The soft fabric is a welcome change from the utilitarian garments you’ve worn throughout the day. You let your hair down, running a comb through it to ease the tangles, the simple act grounding you after a long day.

The bath is ready, the water shimmering invitingly. You light a few candles, their warm glow casting gentle shadows on the tent walls. The scent of the oils mingles with the earthy aroma of the furs, creating a cocoon of warmth and tranquillity.

Finally, you hear the faint sounds of footsteps outside the tent. Robb enters, looking weary but pleased to see you. His eyes light up at the sight of the prepared bath, and a grateful smile spreads across his face. “You always know exactly what I need,” he says, his voice filled with affection.

“I thought you might appreciate a bit of relaxation after today,” you reply, stepping towards him. You reach up, your hands moving to unfasten the clasps of his cloak and armour. He stands still, allowing you to help him out of the heavy layers, his eyes never leaving yours.

As Robb steps into the bath, you can’t help but admire his form. His body is a testament to the life he leads - a life of battle and leadership. Broad shoulders taper down to a powerful, muscular chest. Scars, mementos of past battles, mark his skin, each one telling a story of bravery and survival. His arms are strong, corded with muscle from wielding a sword and shield, yet there’s a gentleness in his touch that belies his warrior exterior.

His abdomen is defined, the result of countless hours of training and fighting. The taut muscles ripple as he moves, a display of raw strength and vitality. His legs are equally powerful, supporting his commanding presence both on and off the battlefield.

Your thoughts become heated as you take in every detail - the way the water clings to his skin, the way the healing oils create a sheen that catches the light. His hair, damp with sweat and now water, falls in dark waves around his face, framing his striking features. His eyes, intense yet tender, lock onto yours as you tend to him, and you see in them a depth of feeling that transcends words.

You love the sight of his naked body, the way it exudes strength and masculinity. Memories of how that body pleases you flood your mind - the way his muscles flex as he holds you close, the heat of his skin against yours, the undeniable passion that ignites between you whenever he touches you. A flush rises to your cheeks as you recall the nights spent wrapped in his arms, his body a source of both pleasure and comfort.

Robb’s body is a warrior’s body, sculpted by conflict and honed by duty. Yet, in this moment, as he relaxes into the warmth of the bath you’ve prepared, he is simply a man - your man - seeking solace and comfort in your presence. And as you care for him, washing away the weariness of the day, you are reminded of the bond you share, a bond that goes beyond the physical, rooted in love and mutual respect. The anticipation of feeling his embrace again, of losing yourself in the passion you share, sends a shiver of desire through you.

His voice breaks the silence, pulling you from your reverie. “Thank you,” he says quietly, reaching for your hand. “For everything.”

“Always,” you reply, your voice soft and filled with affection. "I am yours, Robb."

His eyes darken and you sense the shift in him immediately. Robb loves hearing you say the words - it always awakened a primal part of him.

"That's right, my darling." He grins, wide enough to show the sharp incisors he loves to nibble at you with, and leans forward to cup your chin. "All mine."

Robb stands, pulling you up with him effortlessly. The water cascades off his body, and he steps out of the tub, each movement powerful and purposeful. He is a glorious sight - dripping wet, muscles glistening in the candlelight, and every inch of him exuding a raw, feral intensity that makes your pulse race.

Robb’s other hand grips your waist, pulling you closer, and you can feel the strength of his need in the way his fingers dig into your skin. Your hands find his shoulders, clutching at his damp skin as you try to anchor yourself. The kiss is heated, spine-tingling, and utterly consuming. His lips move against yours with a fervour that leaves you panting, your mind a whirlwind of sensation.

He deepens the kiss, his tongue parting your lips, exploring with a hunger that sends waves of heat through your body. The taste of him is intoxicating, a blend of warmth and passion that you can’t get enough of. You respond eagerly, matching his intensity, the kiss turning sloppy and heated as the world outside the tent fades away.

His hand moves from your waist to the small of your back, pressing you against him, the heat of his body searing through the thin fabric of your nightgown. You can feel the hard planes of his chest, the steady thrum of his heartbeat matching your own frantic pace. Every nerve ending is alight with sensation, your body arching into his touch as his kiss leaves you breathless and wanting more.

Robb breaks the kiss for a moment, his breath ragged and his eyes dark with desire. “I need you,” he murmurs against your lips, the desperation in his voice echoing your own feelings.

“Then take me,” you whisper back, your voice trembling with anticipation and need.

With a growl of approval, he captures your lips again, the kiss even more urgent, more demanding than before. His dominance is clear in every touch, every movement, as he claims you with a passion that leaves you reeling.

Your eyes trail down his form, taking in the way the water clings to his skin, accentuating every ridge and contour of his chiselled physique. His hair, wet and tousled, frames his face, giving him an almost wild look. The sight of him like this - dominant, commanding, and so achingly beautiful - sends a thrill of desire through you.

He pulls you close, the heat of his body contrasting sharply with the cool air of the tent. The sensation of his damp skin against yours is electrifying, and you can’t help but shiver. His lips find yours again, the kiss deep and consuming, his hands roaming over your back, pulling you even closer.

Robb’s need is palpable, his desperation mirrored in the way he devours your mouth, each kiss more fervent than the last. You can feel the hard planes of his body pressed against you, the strength in his grip as he holds you as if he might never let go.

Your hands explore his body, tracing the lines of his muscles, feeling the powerful beat of his heart beneath your palm. His skin is hot, the water droplets cooling quickly, and you marvel at the sheer physicality of him - so strong, so alive.

“Gods, you’re beautiful,” you breathe against his lips, your voice a mix of awe and desire.

He responds with a low growl, his eyes burning with intensity as he looks at you. “You drive me wild,” he murmurs, his voice rough with need.

Robb’s hands move to your hips, lifting you effortlessly. You wrap your legs around his waist, your arms around his neck, and he carries you towards the bed of furs. Every step he takes, every movement, is filled with a primal urgency that sets your skin aflame.

As he lowers you onto the furs, his body covering yours, you feel a rush of anticipation. His kisses trail down your neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake, and you arch into his touch, wanting, needing more. The world outside the tent is forgotten, and in this moment, there is only the two of you, lost in a sea of desire and passion that threatens to consume you both.

"Such a needy little thing, aren't you?" Robb's mouth trails over your shoulder, pushing the nightgown away with his nose. "So fucking needy for me."

"Yes," you pant, head lolling to the side as his tongue traces an invisible line down your shoulder and swirling around your exposed nipple. "Gods, yes. All for you."

It's like a switch flips and Robb rights himself slightly, one hand taking both of yours. "Keep them there."

His voice sends a bolt of pleasure to your core, and you swallow thickly, watching his hands dip to your thighs and push the fabric of your nightshift up to your hips.

You jump slightly as Robb's hands cup your thighs roughly, parting them and bringing his lips to the sensitive skin on the inside, trailing them up slowly, teasingly, to place an open-mouthed kiss to your soaked core.

"My pretty little Queen has the most beautiful cunt in the world - and it's mine." he growls against you as his tongue swipes through your slick folds and he groans low at the taste which sends a deep thrum of want through your core. It's all too much and yet so little at the same time.

"Fuck, darling…"

You can feel your thighs shaking against his grip as he keeps them parted for him. It halts every thought in your mind, back arching off the bed as he delves deeper, his tongue parting your folds to fuck you with the wet muscle repeatedly. It feels like he's trying to discover places inside you that you never knew existed. The angle has your lips parted with hurried breaths, head thrown back against the bed, struggling to keep still with the way his nose moves side to side against your aching clit.

"Robb…" you whine loudly, forcing yourself to grab the furs below you to keep your hands where he told you to. It feels like as soon as the pressure begins to build in your belly, he comes away, his lips glistening with your slick, causing your face to heat up in embarrassment. His eyes gleam with mischief.

"What's wrong, darling, hm?" he's massaging the flesh of your thighs, watching your core clench around nothing. "Am I not a giving King? Would you like more, my sweet pet?"

Before you can even open your mouth to respond, he plunges two fingers knuckle-deep inside you, instantly curled up trying to find that sweet spot inside. Your thighs shut around his hand, trapping him there as a slew of desperate moans fill the silence in the tent, as well as the wet smack of his hand as he fucks you with his fingers.

"Oh Robb!" you're sure that the entire camp can hear you now but you do not care. "Robb, please, fuck!"

He grins and another finger joins the first two, pounding in and out of you with such lewd sounds, it makes the prudish part of your soul cringe. No doubt, you have truly given up the faith now.

He finds that toe-curling spot with infuriating accuracy, aided by the thickness and length of his fingers, stretching your pussy as he watches them disappear, covered in your arousal.

Your back arches impossibly, thighs squeezed tight. And he smirks in victory. "There it is…"

All logic, reality, everything that makes up the known world disappears. All you're able to focus on is Robb. The pleasure he is giving you. His words. It's all just too much.

The coil in your belly threatens to snap at any moment, the pads of his fingers connecting with your pleasure spot mercilessly. So much you can feel your slick soak his hand and the insides of your thighs.

And just like that.

It's gone.

You scream in frustration and whip your head to look at him, as he kneels between your legs, outright moaning as he swipes his digits through his lips into his mouth. Tasting you.

Your clit throbs at the action, as well as the fact he's enjoying it so much. Feeling your face flushed and heat bathing your skin.

"You look so fucking perfect, darling." he says, hand coming to stroke himself to full hardness. The motion has you captivated, and inadvertently makes your thighs press together.

Robb is large and curved slightly to the left, and as he strokes himself, his thumb swiping whatever precum comes out his weeping pink tip all over his cockhead, sighing softly at the relief of it. It's the thickness that you enjoy most, filling you so well that you can't remember your own name.

"Fuck me." You challenge, "Fuck me like I'll never be anyone else's again."

He smirks again, laughing lowly. "You won’t, pet. Not while I have strength in my bones - I would smite anyone who even had a thought of taking you from me."

He leans down, his tongue darting out to tease the skin around your nipple, tongue swirling against it. Robb pays special attention, lapping at it like a man starved, humming and pleased at the reaction he gets when he grazes his teeth over it. He pulls off with a gentle pop, kissing the valley of your breasts, his cock hanging heavily against your thigh. So close, and yet it still feels so far away.

"Say you're mine." he says, tapping his cockhead against your clit a few times sending sparks of pleasure up your spine. "I'd like the whole of Westeros to know who you belong to. Understood?"

You nod, dizzy from just how much he's teasing you.

"Yes, my King." you pant, cupping your own breast in desperation. "I am yours. Yours, always yours!"

He laughs through his nose and your mouth drops open when he pushes into you, splitting you open on his thick cock, slowly working his way inside before he bottoms out, stilling for a moment for you to adjust but also for him to catch his breath. He shudders against your neck, his stomach flexing and fists tightened either side of your head.

"Fuck, pet, you're so tight… can… feel you squeezing me…" he moans softly against your ear, pushing himself as far inside you as he can possibly go. It has your eyes fluttering shut as his length tucks against that sweet spot, filling you so perfectly, the walls of your pussy stretching deliciously to take him.

"Robb," you mewl as he shallowly fucks himself into you a few times, craving friction, craving what glimpse you saw of him earlier, "Robb… please… more, I need more."

Resting on his forearms, one hand ventures to your thigh to spread you further apart as he pulls almost all the way out.

"Seeing as you asked so nicely."

All air seems to be stolen out of your lungs and replaced with warming bliss as Robb slams back into you, his hips immediately pressing with a loud smack against you as he thrusts ceaselessly, holding both of your thighs in his palms.

With every harsh push inside, a soft, moan-like breath slips from your lips. Gods, you love it. Every time with Robb feels like the first time and the last time and it's so fucking perfect. Robb's thumb begins to deftly gather your arousal and circle around your clit, setting every nerve alight.

"Louder," He punctuates his demand with a particularly harsh thrust, your arousal sounding off the tent walls in an echo. "I want all my men to know to keep away from my little pet."

Whether you want to or not, your lips part more to let your sounds of pleasure fill the room, the ceaseless sounds of your fucking alongside it. Your hands fist the bedsheets and Robb growls appreciatively watching your breasts and body move with every motion.

He rewards you by increasing the speed of his motions, practically fucking you into the furs. His smug, cocksure smirk drops, and his jaw slackens, his eyes hooded to look down at you with reverence.

"Fuck- darling, I can feel you, you're going to cum for me aren't you-" he moans, his hips never letting up their pace, "fuck-feels… so good."

"Robb-" you moan softly, turning your head, closing your eyes, feeling all exposed to him when he looks at you like that. The pressure in your gut is absolutely set to explode, and you feel that coil tighten impossibly.

Your throat tightens as Robb leans down, his hips hitting the flesh of your thighs as he continues to piston his cock inside you, the chain around his neck dangling above you.

You feel him grab your face roughly, turning you to face him, your eyes slightly hooded with pleasure but looking right at him. It's so intimate, it makes your skin feel like it's on fire. His expression is serious. "Look at me when I make you cum."

Your hand clamps around his wrist, guiding him to your neck, and his jaw slackens again when he realises what you want. His fingers wrap around your neck, palm against your windpipe, and he just holds you there, feeling your pulse fluttering against his touch.

All you're able to utter before falling off the edge of your pleasure is a small, "Fuck-"

Blinding white pleasure courses through your veins, your heart hammering in your chest, feeling every single thing Robb is doing but ten times more sensitive. Being put on edge twice before certainly didn't help. Every thrust inside, brushing against your sweet spot, the way his thumb continues to press circles against your bud, has your orgasm extended in a long drawn-out shattered moan.

Robb buries his head into your neck, his arms enveloped around you, letting your bud finally have a reprieve. Your thighs begin to shake as Robb fucks you through it, overstimulation rocking through your entire body with the incessant push of his length against your sweet spot.

"It's alright, darling, I've got you. I'm here." he whispers, his own tone strained. You can't help but sigh fondly at his words.

Robb feels you tighten impossibly around him one last time before he stills, hot ropes of his cum painting your walls and leaving an unmistakable warmth at the deepest parts of your core. He says nothing, but moans helplessly against your neck and you feel his whole body shudder through your hold on his shoulders.

He fucks you shallowly, aching for the last moments of friction just as your orgasm subsides, replaced with a manageable dull thrum, practically able to feel your own heartbeat, and his with his presence inside you. The drag of his cock through your sensitive walls has breathless pants spilling from your mouth.

The silence stretches as Robb stills, his cock softening within you.

You don't have time to consider what he's thinking, as he presses a chaste kiss to your jaw. "All mine."

You whimper and tuck your face into the scruff in his neck. "Yes, my King, all yours."

[daenysx]

hi! For the sleepover, 2am with Robb Stark?

2.00 AM | ROBB STARK

you hear robb's ringtone in a faint way in your sleep.

he doesn't seem to hear it at all, you open your eyes barely to understand if you're dreaming. his arms are around you, it's so comfy to lie down like this on his chest, and he stays still. you blink a few times. the ringtone fills the room.

"robb." you try to wake him up. "it's your phone."

he hums quietly, still sleeping.

"baby, wake up." you try this time. his arms are a bit impossible to get through and reach the phone for you. he buries his face to your neck.

"robb?"

the phone goes silent. you can't see who called, it's the middle of the night, but what if it's an emergency?

"it's okay." he says. he might still be sleeping, you can't be sure. "no one's supposed to call at this hour."

you're actually surprised how he managed to give you a full sentence in his sleepy state. he snuggles closer to you like a baby.

"what if it's something important?" you ask.

"i'll answer if they- if it rings again."

at this point there's not much you can do. you turn in bed to wrap your arms around him tighter. he kisses your chest where the tank top you're wearing leaves open. he kisses again. you smell like sleep and your perfume, his mind can't possibly react to a phone call when he's so lost in this.

"go back to sleeping, sweetheart." he whispers, lifting his head slightly to kiss the skin below your ear. his voice is thicker with sleep, you tangle your legs with his.

you brush your lips lightly on the side of his head as an answer. it only takes a minute for him to fall back asleep. his phone doesn't ring again.

dreamer girl sleepover ♡

[countrymusiclover]

The Last Velaryon

Haelesa is the last daughter of the Velaryon tree, and her house is in danger of dying out. So her father decides to convince Tywin to make her and Jaime wed. Yet when she rides North with the royal family, she can't help but fall for the young wolf Robb Stark.

1 - The Arrangement

2 - Swords and Winterfell

3 - The Feast pt 1

4 - The Feast pt 2

5 - The Wedding I Didn’t Choose

6 - Revealing Letters

7 - The Waring Battlefield

8 - The Truth of Jaime Lannister

9 - The Language of Desire

10 - Misunderstood Communication

11 - Loyalties Can Change

12 - Spared by the King

13 - We Control the Fleets, not People

14 - Is A Change Of Heart Too Late

15 - The Handmaiden’s Admirer

16 - A Stark and A Velaryon

17 - Possibly Changing the War

18 - Dealing with House Frey

19 - Three Very Important Words

20 - His Closet Betrayal

21 - The Fate of Jaime Lannister

22 - The Fire of a Best Friend

23 - Forgiveness Isn’t Too Easy

24 - The Unlikely Pair

25 - The Future Lady Lannister

26 - Land Lords meet Sea Lords

27 - Land Lords meet Sea Lords pt 2

28 - The New Stark Family

29 - Needing More Allies

30 - Messages of War

31 - The Stag King

32 - Tiny bit of Hope

33 - There’s no pause in War

34 - The Secrets We Keep

35 - The Wolf Shows It's Teeth

36 - The Handmaiden and the Dwarf

37 - The Stark Trial

???

Comments / reblogged thoughts really appreciated ❤️

Tag list @rise-my-angel @cdragons @kmc1989 @starkleila @1not-today-satan1

@melvia-ito

[talesof-old]

dry hands | r.s.

pairing(s): robb stark x reader

warning(s): nothing really, a few mentions of old wounds/scarring, having dry skin to the point of pain/bleeding, not edited or proofread, this is definitely a little slice of life type drabble

word count: 859

masterlist

a/n: this is an over one year old request, my apologies. i’ve been finally feeling up to working through some of my old stuff, so i’m hopefully gonna put them out over the next little bit

robb stark + “why are your hands so dry?”

Winter had come swiftly.

Summer flurries had turned to inches deep snow that gathered on the hem of your skirts and soaked the bottom of your cloak. You’d taken to spending most of your time indoors, basking in the heat the springs beneath Winterfell offered. Robb, ever dutiful, had barely had the chance to even sleep beside you, too consumed by his ever pressing responsibilities as King in the North.

You sighed, setting down the cross stitching you’d been working on for what seemed like ages, and instead inspected your hands. The cold made them ache, but the constant back and forth between the wet outdoors and burning dry heat of the castle had caused the skin to redden and crack in a far more painful manner. They stung when exposed to moisture and every time you attempted to smooth creams over them, you’d end up wishing you hadn’t.

Not built for the North, you’d utter to whoever was closest to you.

Sansa had spent much of her time reminding you that no one was truly equipped for the winter. You pushed yourself up from your seat, stretching your tired limbs and making your way to your husband’s side of the chambers. He’d hardly slept these past few weeks. His space was a reflection of the fact. Papers scattered everywhere, quills broken on the floor.

As you entered his space, Robb glanced up from his desk. Dark circles had taken residence under his eyes, his beard longer than you’d ever seen it. You smiled softly and stopped only when you came to stand behind him.

“My love, you need to sleep.”

He sighed as you placed your hands on his shoulders, thumbs digging into the skin of his back. Fingers met resistance in the form of tense muscle. You shook your head and leaned forward, nuzzling your face into his neck. Soft words were muttered against his skin.

“You’re exhausted. Come, it’s hard to sleep without you by my side.”

He placed his quill down, half-heartedly ensuring that none of the ink spilled along the haphazard papers, and leaned into you. Weariness rolled off of him in waves, sinking into your bones like a sickness. One of his hands closed over yours, a warm weight over your freezing digits. He chuckled, motioning for you to let him stand up. Robb drew you to his side as he did. His arms wrapped around your shoulders and he sighed into your hair, nearly limp.

“I don’t suppose I could give the crown to Bran, could I?” You giggled, pulling away just enough to slowly guide him to your shared bed. It was far easier to be King when all you had to worry about was fighting a war. The politics and peacemaking had deemed itself a much more difficult beast.

Readying yourselves for bed was a well rehearsed event, layers quickly shed and folded by your bedside, stored close by for when it came time to awake in the morning. You slipped into the bed in your underthings just moments after Robb, basking in the soft comfort they offered.

“You’re rather happy.” You glanced over at Robb’s face as he spoke. Truthfully, you’d been happier as of late. Your duties were going smoothly, and you seemed to fit right in with the Northern ladies.

“I’m happy you’re here with me.” The words didn’t warrant the quick look at Robb’s chest, but it happened nonetheless. Raised scars littered his chest and abdomen, just as they did your torso. He sighed, drawing you near. He took your right hand in his, bringing it to his lips.

Velvety skin met rough flesh and Robb paused. You said nothing as he inspected the back of your hand; his blue eyes narrowed in on the raw, dry patches far more painful looking than they actually were.

“Why are your hands so dry?”

His words shouldn’t have caused such laughter, but the incredulous look on his face was enough for you to break out in a fit of it. His brow furrowed and you shook your head. A simple explanation fell from your lips.

“I’m not used to the cold.” Robb frowned. Laughter still lined the planes of your face, amusement sparkling in your eyes as he ran a finger over the nearly cracked skin of your knuckles.

“Surely something exists to prevent this sort of harm.” You shrugged, drawing nearer to him and resting your head on his warm shoulder. There were certainly a plethora of creams and ointments one could use to soothe irritated skin, though you had a habit of forgetting to apply them. In the end it always hurt worse to use them.

Robb sighed, letting go of your hands in favor of wrapping his arms around you. Tension melted away as you drew meaningless circles into his skin, drifting off to sleep as the fire in the hearth died down.

“Remind me to have Jeyne bring you some cream tomorrow morning, will you?” You mumbled an agreement, patting his chest and drifting off. A noncommittal response. Affection bloomed in his eyes before he closed them, following you into the realm of sleep.

[systraes]

♛ 𝐑𝐎𝐁𝐁 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒��

𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧. 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐚𝐜𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐢𝐭, 𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧.

𓇢𓆸 𝐎𝐍𝐄-𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐒:

[ coming soon ] - 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐨𝐥𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐝, 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐨𝐥𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫 : a lion caught in the den of wolves; a lannister hostage trapped within the constant scrutiny of the king of the north. Your hatred binds you, that fickleness of an unclear betrothal encases you both in spools of gold and silver. angst, smut.

[ coming soon ] - 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐬 : in search of a night unconstrained and unburdened with the poise of being a princess; you fall into a lair - deep in the woods, unbeknown of the two wolves who stalk your trail; the two lords, robb and Jon - who have caught your scent, and don’t plan on letting go until they have you in their teeth. smut.

[asa-writes]

Dreams - Masterlist

They all need each other, though each in their own seperate way. Growing up and loving in times of war isn't easy at all. Especially when you have to fight for the lives of the people you thought you loved - when you have to abandon everything for the greater good, when you have to choose between sexual, familiar and romantic love.

18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Warnings and General Tags under the cut.

Dividers by @cafekitsune

Chapters:

1 - Jon ¦ 2 - Robb ¦ 3 - Lucie ¦ 4 - Robb ¦ 5 - Jon ¦ 6 - Lucie ¦ 7 - Jon ¦ 8 - Robb ¦ 9 - Lucie ¦ 10 - Jon ¦ 11 - Lucie ¦ 12 - Robb ¦ 13 - Jon ¦ 14 - Lucie ¦ 15 - Jon ¦ 16 - Robb ¦ 17 - Lucie ¦ 18 - Robb ¦ 19 - Jon ¦ 20 - Lucie ¦ 21 - Robb ¦ 22 - Jon ¦ 23 - Lucie ¦ 24 - Theon ¦ 25 - Jon ¦ 26 - Lucie ¦ 27 - Theon ¦ 28 - Jon ¦ 29 - Lucie ¦ 30 - Theon ¦ 31 - Robb ¦ 32 - Jon ¦ 33 - Lucie ¦ 34 - Jon ¦ 35 - (surprise) ¦ 36 - Jon ¦ 37 - Lucie ¦

Drabbles and One-Shots:

"My Sweet" - Robb Stark x Lucie Templeton

Also available on:

Archive of our Own and Wattpad

Warnings / Tags: Canon Divergence - AU, Smut, Fluff, Angst, Misogyny, Canon-Typical Violence, Dubcon, Alcohol, Drugs, Age Difference, Religious Guilt, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, War, Forced Marriage, Arranged Marriage, Pregnancy, Character death, Child Death, Age Play, Bondage, Masochism, Edging, Derogatory Language, Infidelity, Oral Sex, Unplanned Pregnany, Breeding Kink, Masturbation, Hunting, Underage Sex (Canon-Typical)

[asa-do-your-thing]

Dreams - 1 - Jon

18+ MINORS DNI Jon Snow x F!OC / Robb Stark x F!OC Word Count: 3.3k Masterlist with Fic Warnings - Contains Death, SA and Abuse.  Dividers by @cafekitsune

It had always been relatively crowded in Winterfell when it came to the Stark family, Jon noted. At first it was Lord Eddard, Lady Stark, and Robb, followed by him, Theon Greyjoy, Sansa, Bran, Arya, Rickon… and Lucie.

They had been a rag-tag band of kids, playing, hitting, and chasing each other. Theon had gladly joined their games, yet he, along with Sansa quickly realised that Jon was not a Stark - he was a half-brother at best and a Bastard at worst.

Lucie had never really been a part of the group seeing as she was the last person to join them, yet she was always there to prevent things from getting out of hand. Everyone had given Jon respect when she was present. She was a key player in maintaining an atmosphere of harmony in Winterfell’s spacious halls.

Looking up at her from his distant seat at dinner, Jon thought back to the day where she had joined them. Lord Eddard had told them a few weeks before that they were going to have a new ward; her family had sadly passed away and he graciously allowed her to be taken in with them until she came of age, which was just around the corner.

Lady Lucie Templeton of Ninestars, a distinguished Lady of the Vale. A title befitting her remarkable poise and presence. Jon had envisioned her as resembling an older iteration of Sansa: statuesque, elegant, and, above all, exuding an air of haughtiness and subtle aloofness towards him.

He knew he would forever remember her arrival; gallantly riding into Winterfell astride her untamed black stallion. As her lengthy black locks billowed behind her in the wind, she fearlessly surged through the gates on her steed. Dismounting with the finesse of a seasoned warrior, she strode confidently in his direction. All those present, Jon included, involuntarily retreated to afford her space, captivated by her awe-inspiring presence.

Noticing his stare, she quickly glanced over at him and caught his eye before turning away and exchanging greetings with Lord and Lady Stark. He was struck dumb by how commanding yet beautiful she was in that moment—her dark black eyes glowing with life despite the dire situation she had come from. Using his newfound courage — because only a fool wouldn’t be afraid in her presence — he managed to stammer out a few words of greeting which she returned warmly before moving on to meet the rest of the family.

It hadn’t taken too long for Jon to recognize that Lucie was not like anyone else he had ever met; even the Starks seemed impressed by her strength and poise (though they masked it well). But despite being adopted into this strange new world, Lucie still held onto an air of confidence and self-assurance that made even Jon feel small next to her.

He watched her with a critical eye, noting the way Robb and Theon stared at her with rapt attention, despite her meek and unassuming attempt at conversation. Instead of commanding the room as was expected of her, she averted her gaze and twiddled her fingers nervously while speaking in a barely audible whisper.

Jon had taken such care to make her feel welcome, in those days. He showed her the way around Winterfell, whenever she got lost again, and even taught her to pray to the old gods. Lady Catelyn scolded him for that - Lucie had grown up in the shadow of the Seven, the new Gods. Robb had gone out of his way to try and make her feel comfortable. He offered her a seat by the fire in the Great Hall while he fed her lessons on battles and strategy, noting that Lucie was a fast learner - able to keep up with him even as he tried to pummel her with facts. Theon, though never one for charity, seemed more enthralled by Lucie than any of them. Mostly because Lucie was not the type to laugh at his bad jokes or take part in his pranks - she was always too busy trying to stay one step ahead of everyone else in terms of knowledge.

Jon smiled fondly at his memories; he had been so sure that Lady Lucie would be like Sansa - aloof and haughty. Instead, she had become a dear friend and family member who could hold her own when needed - serving as an equal rather than a subordinate. It was amazing how someone so young could possess such depth and strength — something Jon admired greatly about her.

As the last plate was cleared, he glanced at Lucie and saw her weary eyes plead for solace. It had become a ritual - every night after dinner, while the others scurried off to their beds, she would stay in the library with him. They talked quietly about her struggles and sorrows as she clutched an aged book in her hands and the tears ran like rain down her face. On her first day, when everyone else had gone to bed, she asked meekly if she could stay up and read in the library. Septa Mordane attempted to bar her from doing so, but with one pained glance at Lord Eddard, her request was granted, albeit only if someone stayed with her. Together Jon and Lady Lucie walked into the library, and he felt nothing but pity and sadness for this brave little girl who had trusted him since the first time they had gone to talk.

That evening, all these moons ago, was something that made Jon cringe when looking back. Robb had tried to console the girl, yet after several unsuccessful attempts he asked for Jon's help. “Jon, nothing I said could get through to her. I offered her a pony, flowers, and new gowns, but she told me to go away. What’s wrong with her? She won’t tell me anything. Should I tell Septa Mordane or my mother?” Robb’s face was pale as he ran his hand through his hair anxiously.

Jon had crept back to the library, his leather belt clattering against the tops of his thighs as he walked. “Robb, do not try to console her. SHe is in mourning for her family and her home. I think you might scare her. Let me handle this.” Robb nodded acknowledgement and Jon entered the library, quietly shutting the door behind him. Lucie was hunched near the window, sobbing away. Robb was right, Jon had thought painfully; he could hear her muffled sobs and it made his heart ache for her. All he wanted was for her to feel some sense of comfort again.

Sitting down next to her, he cleared his throat to announce his presence. She looked up and sighed, wiping her tears and closed her worn book. “Please do not tell me all will be fine and for the love of… of the Gods, do not offer me a damned pony,” she muttered and sniffed.

“Even if I could, I wouldn’t. You have a fine steed yourself; I do not see the need for you to have a pony,” he said matter-of-factly and shifted in his seat, offering her a rag to blow her nose.

Lucie looked up at him, her dark eyes reddened by the tears. Tentatively blowing her nose, she sighed and tucked her feet under herself, hiding them under her lavish skirts. “So, I take it you are Jon Snow.”

He sighed, knowing that what would follow would be her acknowledgement of his status as a Bastard. He knew it all too well; Lady Catelyn had probably told her of that, prior to her arrival. She looked so young, so maybe he could still forgive her. “Indeed, I am, Lady Lucie.”

She had frowned, gently furrowing her thick, dark brows, patting the tears away from her reddened cheeks. “Why do you look like… Like I hurt you?”

Jon was baffled back then. She did not care about his mother, then. He might just start liking her. He gave her a small smile. “Oh, I... uhm…” His words, whatever they would’ve been, were stuck in his throat. “That is my mistake, my Lady. I meant no offense.”

“You are a peculiar man,” she noted, biting her lip, and putting the book to the side. “How could you offend me with your face? I think it is a fine one, I have seen worse.”

A big blush had crept up his cheeks. “I… My lady, I… Thank you.” Silence spread between them. “May I ask why you wished to go into the library and not just to your chambers?”

Now it had been Lucie’s turn to blush, though it seemed more in shame than in bashfulness. “That’s where my mother used to read to me and where we wrote before retiring to our chambers. I know, I know, it sounds childish, I should act like a Lady, but…” Tears welled up in her eyes again and spilled onto her dress.

With a nervous look, she stood up and sat down next to him, resting her head against his shoulder, crying quietly. Jon had decided not to probe, instead looking at the booklet. It didn’t belong to the Stark’s library - it must’ve been one of her own, titled ‘You shall be the best Lady.’ He hugged her, holding her gently, for the longest time, until her tears subsided, and her breath became calm once more. Sniffling, she gently broke free from his hug and gave him a small smile. “Thank you, Jon. I… shall retire now, I think.” To which he nodded, escorting her to her chamber.

Jon watched Lucie's figure slowly fade away down the hallway as darkness crept in, just like it had one year ago at the very same spot. But something was different about her tonight than in the first night. She seemed stronger, more confident as if she was hiding something from him. Should he confront her? He thought back to their conversations and noticed that she had been silent about what was going on with her life lately. He began to worry that maybe she had found out his secret - that terrible, shameful secret about how he touched himself late at night when no one would ever know. The mere thought sent a chill down Jon's spine.

She could not know, nobody could, it'd be the end of him.

He was entranced by the way Lucie had looked at him, with those mysterious dark eyes that seemed to know what he was feeling. Part of him wanted to believe that she felt something for him too- after all, he was the only one she allowed to spend time with her. But then there were moments when he could not help but feel that his own longing for her was deluding himself into seeing signs where there were none. He wished he could make sense of what she thought of him, yet he still could not unravel the complex of feelings between them.

Hells, he could not unravel his own thoughts, after all.

As he made his way back to his own chambers, he found himself lost in thought, replaying their conversation over and over in his mind. Lucie babbled something about Sansa's lady-friend crying and Arya asking her to train mounted shooting and, as always, Septa Mordane's question about her blood, which to her chagrin had still not come.

Jon could not comprehend why she felt so mortified by her own coming of age. She was now an adult at the ripe age of six-and-ten; why did this cause her such humiliation? Though he could somehow understand what she was implying, that everything associated with becoming a full woman was linked to... carnal passions.

He stopped walking for a second, remembering the redness of her cheeks as she talked about it. He shook his head and continued his way, not wanting to dwell on it any longer. He didn't want to assume anything – that was only a recipe for disaster and disappointment.

He was so deep in thought that he didn't even notice the figure standing in the shadows until it was too late.

A hand clamped over his mouth, muffling his cry of surprise. He struggled against the grip, but the person holding him was much stronger than he expected. Panic set in as he realised, he was being dragged away, the darkness swallowing him whole. When they finally stopped, Jon was disoriented and confused. He tried to shake the cobwebs from his head, but it was difficult to focus with the adrenaline pumping through his veins. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim candlelight of his bedchamber, but when they did, he could not believe what he was seeing.

Lucie stood before him, blushing, and wiping off the sweat from her brow, her hair undone and cascading over her shoulders in waves. She was clad in a simple cotton gown, the kind that the maids wore. Jon felt his heart skip a beat as he suddenly realised what was happening. He was afraid to speak, afraid that if he did, it would shatter the moment and she would disappear like a dream.

"Lucie?" he said confused, his voice cracking. “What on earth?!”

She grinned at him, the candlelight casting a warm glow across her face as she tried fixing the cloak around herself again. "I am sorry for this… unconventional method. I thought that this would be the safest way to be truly alone with you because... I want to talk to you. Without Lady Catelyn spying."

"I am sorry, I didn't mean to upset you or hurt you," Jon muttered and felt his throat tightening, gulping, and trying to swallow back the lump in his throat. How could he feel this way? He should not have felt anything for Lucie as she wrestled him into his room, but there was something thrilling and forbidden about it. It was not like Robb or Theon playing a joke on him - this moment was different. Even though he knew it was wrong, he could not help himself.

She tilted her chin up at him, her glossy black hair cascading down her back. Her voice was firm and determined as she spoke. "No, I am not angry. I want to know what it's like, Jon. What people do when they become intimate with one another. No one ever told me these things, but I trust you. Please tell me what it feels like, what am I supposed to do and how much does it hurt?"

He could feel his heart pounding in his chest. This was wrong - he knew that - yet he could not find the strength to deny her. The drive she had to learn more overshadowed her usual innocence, and there was something in that blazing gaze of hers that made it impossible for him to turn her away.

"Lucie, I do not think-"

"Please," she interrupted, taking a step closer to him. "I trust you, Jon. I know you won't lie to me. No one wanted to tell me and... I am...," her voice faltered, and she nervously bit her lip, sitting down on the foot of his bed, gently scratching Ghost between his fluffy ears. "I feel tens of thousands of things, most of all fear and... I trust you to help me."

Jon's heart was pounding in his chest, his mind racing with a million thoughts at once. He knew that what Lucie was asking was wrong, that he should not be indulging her curiosity in this way. But still, he could not deny the pull he felt towards her. It was as if a part of him had been waiting for this moment, for her to come to him with her questions and her fears.

He took a deep breath and stepped closer to her, his hand reaching out to touch her shoulder. "Lucie, I can't teach you those things," he said softly, trying to keep his voice steady. "It's not right. You are too young, and it's not... it's not something that should be taken lightly."

Her pupils widened with shock, and she gave him an awkward, confused glance. "But why?" she questioned, her voice wavering slightly. "I thought... I thought we had established an atmosphere of trust, considering all I've shared with you."

Jon's heart lurched as he heard the pain in Lucie's voice. He did care for her deeply, far more than he should. But that didn't change the fact that what she was suggesting was both dangerous and wrong.

Taking a shaky step back, he shook his head sadly. "Lucie, you do not know what You are asking of me," he said quietly. "It's not something I can take back once it's done, and it's a decision that should only be made with someone you truly love and whom you plan to spend your life with. You know we can never marry... You are a highborn Lady, and I am just..." His tongue stumbled over the word he wanted to say, knowing that even a whisper of his parentage had the power to shatter their moment.

Lucie stared at him for a long moment, her sharp eyes zigzagging across his face like she was searching for something he could not place. Then she let out an awkward laugh and touched his shoulder with tenderness. She adjusted herself under her nightgown, probably trying to hide the embarrassment that came with their misunderstanding.

"Oh Jon! I only wanted you to talk me through it, not show me!" She said in between giggles as she planted a gentle peck on his stubbly cheek. "You are so imaginative," Biting her lip, she looked away before continuing: "What do you think I am? A hungry harlot looking for prey?" With a suppressed smile, she raised an eyebrow waiting for his response, her cheeks ablaze.

Jon could not help but let out a small laugh at her words, the tension in the room dissipating slightly. "No, no, of course not, Lucie," he said, feeling relieved that she didn't expect more from him. He wanted her to... have flowered, he wanted them to have kissed, he wanted it to be less... dangerous, to be more romantic.

"I am sorry, I just... I didn't want to disappoint you. I know how important this is to you, but it's not something I can do. Not right now, at least. I do not want to lie... I uh..." The heat shot straight back into his head. "I have only ever talked about it, I've yet to... lie with someone." Because I am saving myself for you, I want you, only you, Lucie... the thoughts whirred in his head.

Lucie nodded, her expression softening. "Oh, I understand then," she said quietly, clearly unhappy with his response. "I just... I feel so lost sometimes. There's so much I do not know, so much I am not allowed to know. And I am afraid... afraid of being alone forever. I... I mean, yes, I will be married soon, and we both know who it will be with a high probability, but..."

As Jon gazed into her eyes, her vulnerability tugged at his heartstrings. He knew he could not leave her feeling like this; she deserved better than that. So, he inched closer and sat down on the bed beside her.

"You'll never be alone, Lucie," he whispered softly as he took her hand in his. "I'll always have your back no matter what happens. And someday, the man who's meant for you will come into your life."

He thought about Robb, and how he owed it to him to let Lucie go. It was selfish of him to keep her to himself. Besides, he could not even tell if she liked him or not - it was probably all in his head.

With a mix of gratitude and sadness, he knew that there was no going back from this moment. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, which smelled wonderfully of peonies, and she closed her eyes, her arms tightening around his waist. For a moment, they sat there in silence, lost in their own thoughts and feelings, until he pulled away, breaking the moment.

"I should get some rest," he mumbled, trying to guess the time. "You should too, we are to hunt tomorrow."

Lucie shifted back into her old, sad self and gave him a tired smile. "Of course. I wouldn't want Robb and Theon to think that I do not want to see them. It's... uhm, I am sorry to have bothered you, Jon. I promise it won't happen again." She got up and tied her cloak around her shoulders. "I am bringing you in dangerous situations, you know, being alone with you and then overstepping your boundaries. I am... sorry," she mumbled.

'No, you haven't! Please do not leave!', shot through Jon's mind, yet he knew he could not, it was wrong. It was shameful and... he didn't want to project his feelings and his lust onto her, so he gave her a small, sad smile in return.

As Lucie turned to leave, Jon could not help but watch her walk away, his eyes lingering on the sway of her hips. When she stood up, a bright flash of red silk slipped out from under her nightgown; the ribbon that held her stockings around her pale, supple thighs. He knew it was wrong to think of it, of her, in that way, but he could not help it. She was so beautiful, so pure, and so unreachable.

He wanted her, desperately.

He shook his head, trying to rid himself of those thoughts. It was wrong, so wrong. He had to push those feelings aside, for both their sakes. He could not risk ruining the delicate balance they had between them. So, he took a deep breath, laying back on the bed. His thoughts drifted to the memory of Lucie's lost ribbon, the image of her silky stockings and smooth skin replaying in his mind. He felt himself growing hard again, and he knew what he had to do.

He closed his eyes and let his hand wander down to his growing erection, imagining it was Lucie's small, delicate hand instead. He stroked himself slowly, feeling his heartbeat quicken as he thought of her. He pictured her beautiful face, the curve of her lips, the arch of her eyebrows, her sharp, sparkling eyes. He imagined her soft, warm skin, her supple thighs, her tight, wet cunny.

As he continued to stroke himself, he let out a low moan, his body writhing with pleasure. He fantasised about Lucie being with him, touching him, kissing him, and eventually, making love to him. He imagined her moaning his name, her body trembling with ecstasy.

He stroked himself faster, his breathing growing ragged as his body approached the peak of pleasure. He moaned louder, his hand moving faster and faster until he finally exploded, spilling his hot seed all over his hand.

As he lay there, panting and sweating, he knew he had to get his feelings for Lucie under control. He could not let his lust for her ruin the special bond they shared. But at the same time, he could not stop himself from fantasising about her. She was just too beautiful, too alluring, too... perfect.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, feeling his body slowly calming down. He knew he had a lot to think about, a lot to figure out. But for now, he just needed to rest. He closed his eyes and let himself drift off to sleep, his mind full of thoughts of Lucie.

AO3 <= Other Stories ¦ Next Chapter => 2 - Robb

[axelsagewrites]

Love Languages*GoT Boys

Included: Robb, Jon, Theon, Bran, Tormund, Podrick, Obryen

How they like to give and receive love

Word count: 553

Warnings: None

Masterlist here

Robb: his way of showing love is defiantly acts of service and words of affirmation. He will never stop telling you how much you mean to him and will ride into battle or search the castle for the last piece of cake for you. however, he loves to receive physical touch and words of affirmation back. Holding him in any capacity melts him. holding hands, linking arms, hugs, cuddles, head scratches. They all turn him into a puppy dog.

Jon: his main way of showing is acts of service. Jon can be very insecure at times which holds him back from expressing his love with words and touch at times since he fears rejection. However, these are also the ways he desperately craves love. Specifically, words of affirmation. Anything from small compliments about his sword work or how much you appreciate what he does for you fills his heart with joy.

Theon: physical touch is how he shows love. Whether it be hand holding or wrapping his arm around your waist he always wants to be in constant contact with you. however, I think this boy would melt if you gave him a gift. Whether that be a flower you picked or even a loaf of bread you made for him he would be so happy you thought of him.

Bran: he shows his love through gifts. It ranges from small things like an especially smooth stone he spotted on a walk or a button or broach he’d think would go with your cloak. sometimes he will also steal books from the library he knows you will enjoy. His favourite way to receive it though is quality time. you don’t have to say anything just be there, with him, side by side. He likes when you curl up in bed with him and just read to him, shutting out the rest of the world.

Tormund: he defiantly shows it through words. He is a massive flirt and will constantly tell you how much he adores you and how the way you speak mesmerises him. he also brags about you all the time. his favourite back however is physical touch. Its partly because when you wrap your arm around his or lean into his side everyone can see that you’re his, but he also enjoys sitting in front of you at night as you comb through his hair.

Podrick: he gives love through acts of service. He will run around the castle all day tyring to lighten your workload and dotes on you constantly. His favourite back however is words of affirmation. He loves to be told how much you appreciate him and how good he is. it might make him blush like crazy, but he loves to hear it.

Obreyn: he is the master of love languages. He will tell you constantly how much he loves you and is constantly touching you. he will go to the ends of the earth for you and is constantly giving you little trinkets. However, he absolutely melts when you give him quality time. your undivided dedicated attention is something he craves. He will lay with his head on your lap all day talking about anything and everything if you let him.

----

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[importantstudentbusinessspy-blog]

Heirs

Pairing: Robb Stark x Baratheon/Lannister reader

When Ned Stark comes to King's landing, he learns that out of Cersei's children, you, the arranged bride of his eldest son, are the only legitimate heir of Robert's. This discovery challenges the Lannisters and costs Ned his life.

When Ned Stark is executed, Robb is left broken, his family torn apart... and the only person he can take his frustration out on is you, his arranged bride, and the sister of the boy who ruined his life and had his father killed.

Tags: Arranged marriage, Robb is a bad boy in this one, corruption, innocent reader, first time,

CH. 1 First Meeting - Ned Stark's eldest son and Robert Baratheon’s eldest (legitimate) daughter got off to a relatively exciting start.

Chapter tags: fluff, first meeting, Robb and reader are kids here, teasing, Cersei is nice,

♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♠︎♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤

The lord of Winterfell sat stoic, alongside his lady wife at the long table, on which one side seated his people, across from the other, which seated the party from Kings Landing. Ned Stark's sons were sitting by his side. The eldest, Robb, had just turned eleven. Now, in the midst of his warrior training, the boy wasn't small by any means. Though his body was developing and he had already reached his mother in height, Robb still maintained a spark of childlike michieve in his grey eyes.

Ned had wanted Robb to have a good childhood, but circumstances had forced him to educate his son to fight and rule from a young age. He was glad Robb still had cleverness in him to retort his brothers jests, and the chivalry to protect his little sisters, but knew the playfulness would someday come to an end when Robb will need to lead his people into winter.

The Baratheons visiting from Kings Landing sat alongside the Starks, eyeing the table in front of them, some were eating away happily, like the king, while some, like his wife Cersie grimaced at the display of meat, likely not used to the lack of decorum in her sheltered palace.

Ned hid his guilty smirk at the discomfort. Cersei and her children all sat together as well, the eldest, a pretty girl of nine was helping her rowdy little brothers and sister to food, mixes of greens consisting of fruits, nuts, and vegetables, with measured and delicate movements.

Ned both loathed and excited at the idea of betrothing his son to the kings daughter. There would be peace in the realm on one hand. On the other hand, her grandfather Tywin's and your mother's ambition and the Lannisters' reputation for manipulation made him uneasy.

The girl was frail, weak even compared to Rob’s small and hyper siblings, let alone to Robb himself. Already you were attracting attention, as the boys at the table kept turning to look at you. With long hair falling on the side of your tanned face and freckles decorating blushing cheeks.

Before the feast, he was pulled Robert and Cersei aside and discussed the match.

Not enjoying the attention some of the boys and even some men were giving you, Ned gave Robb a nudge, interrupting his conversation with his brother, Jon. "Perhaps you should entertain your guest, son?"

The boy followed his fathers gaze to you, then to the men eyeing you and understanding set. Robb nodded and stood to head over to the table where you sat. He bent down and whispered something in your ear, making you jump in surprise at first, before listening in. You looked up at him, feeling a slight warmth on your ears and cheeks, and turned to ask your mother for permission to go with him. The queen nodded at your request, smiling fondly at you, momentarily eyeing Robb with suspicion.

The boy offered one of his signature, easygoing smiles, offering you his hand before leading you outside.

One of his footsteps was twice as big as yours. You had to jog rather than walk to keep up with him, lifting up your dress high enough not to trip but also low enough not to expose yourself. He didn't slow down to match your speed either, which caused your father, the king, to smirk to his old friend.

Ned and Catelyn watched their heir leave the feast with the princess, then turned to his men, who asked him questions about the following year's harvest.

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You let yourself be led out of the warm and loud comfort of the great hall and out into the chilled, windfilled night of the north. "Where are we going?"

"Anywhere," the boy leading you replied. "My father told me to entertain you."

"Oh," you let out a small breath and looked down shyly. Of course, he wasn't with you of his own free will.

"Wanna see what northerners do for fun?" He asked.

You felt a flash of nervousness go down your spine. "Is it dangerous?"

He turned around to look if you were serious, grey eyes studied you in amusement before he let out a chuckle. "No. We just climb up the walls," He nodded towards a massive stone wall of the castle of winterfell, rising up to touch the night sky.

you eyes traveled all the way up, and you mouth dried. Your fear of hights warred with your desire to impress him. In the end, your fear won. "Then, m-maybe we shouldn't."

"Oh, princess.” he drawled, tilting his head mockingly. “Are you scared?"

You felt heat rise to your cheeks. He was so unnecessarily teasing. Nevertheless, you would stand your ground, just as your mother taught you to. "You can not speak to me that way."

He stopped walking and turned to look at her. "Oh, I see. You do have guts…" He said calmly, approaching you. Deep grey eyes staring at you under messy dark brown hair. Taking a step back, you had decided you'd rather he yelled. It would have scared you less than this.

You tried your best not to cower. "I don't want to do something dangerous -" you winced at how your voice rose louder than you had intended, making you sound all the more afraid. "Sorry," you added in a small voice. "Can we do something else?"

He raised one dark brow at you as if considering your question. Finally, he spoke again. "No." He said, and he pulled you by the hand anyway.

Your eyes widened in fear, and you glanced back to the feast, to you, mother, and sister.

"Easy, princess." He said before facing you again and saying quietly, "I won't let you fall."

You didn't trust him, but it didn't feel like you had much of a choice, feeling like you were fighting an uphill battle.

The two of you climbed up the wall. It went up around five meters and was already on a hill. It was the highest you had ever been, and the effects were obvious, as you panted, your lungs trying to catch up with you. Robb had no trouble, effortlessly climbing the slope, not carefully stepping around the slippery ice like you were. At some point, he began pulling you along with his free hand, bringing them to one level. How was he holding on to the jagged, frost-covered brick without a rope? Without gloves? And able to carry both of your weights?

You felt lightheaded as you gripped onto him. At last the two of you reached the flattened top. The sounds of laughter and signing caused you to turn to the right. There were young people everywhere along the top of the wall. A few of them cheered and waved as they saw the two of you climb up.

You blinked and let herself be put down, concentrating on staying upright. You were taking labored breaths, and you turned to look at their surroundings, gasping when you saw the view. The snow-covered roofs were magnificently illuminated by the streetlights and the full moon, and misshapen clouds danced in the stars above you. You were looking in fascination when all of a sudden, a flask was thrust in front of her.

"Drink up," You turned to see Robb wipe at his chin, a clear liquid making his lips shine.

She took the bottle tentatively, gasping "What's in it?"

"Something tasty. Trust me."

"I don't think I should." You shook your head.

He rolled his eyes at that. "Live a little, princess. I already said I'll look out for you. If anything bad happens to you, the king will skin my ass-"

You gasped.

"- so you're safe."

"Why do you speak like that?" You admonished. "You are a prince!"

He gave you a condescending smirk, flashing a set of perfect white teeth. For some reason, you didn't understand. Some Northerners sharpened their canines. Robb was one of them. Had his teeth even fallen yet? You snapped out of your thoughts when he said. "Because it's fun to watch you squirm. Are you gonna have any or not?"

You eyed the container and shook your head, handing it back to him. He took anotyou couple of sips and howled at the moon, startling you again. His was followed by a series of howls from the teenagers on the rocks. They sat on a cold rock and looked over the clouds and mountains. There wasn't enough time to take in all the gorgeous scenery, from the hills to the planes to a big snowy mountain in the distance.

He draped one arm around your shoulders casually, which made you ragged, breathing even more difficult. Bringing his shaggy head close to hers, he squinted. "Do you know what you're looking at?"

"The wall," you supplied. From his close proximity, you could smell the metallic scent of the drink coming from his lips.

"Very good,” he nodded, the praise making a warmth spread in your chest. “The wall. so far away, and here we are. And all our problems. So insignificant." You felt a tug at one strand Of your hair and turned to see his hand pulling at it playfully.

You disregarded the gesture, which made your heart speed up and focused on his words instead. “What's beyond it? What's hiding?”

His look turned serious all of a sudden as he gazed on to the faraway intimidating pile of ice. Then he turned back to you, blue eyes staring in melancholy into your soul. “Nothing a princess should ever worry you thoughts with.”

She blinked up at him, and a shiver ran up your spine. You turned back and looked at the moon. It was marvelous that up close,you could clearly make out the craters and valleys. You wondered, not for the first time, how it came to be.

You were opening your mouth, about to follow up with more questions, but the climb had tired you out quicker than you had expected, and your vision blurred. You felt herself fall back, waiting to hit the ground, when your vision went completely dark.

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You woke up to a black sky filled with stars. Blinking, you realised your head was in someone's lap, and someone was gently stroking your cheek. You took a long breath, and your vision became clearer. The muffled sounds around you were clearing up as well. You realised whose lap your head was in and who was stroking your cheek. You got up with a start, making him move his hand. Grey eyes focused on you with curiosity. "I've never seen anyone pass out from speaking before. Good instinct on not drinking the ale."

Your brows furrowed. "The what? Nevermind. It's the air. It is hard to breathe up here."

You felt yourself going dizzy again. In Winterfell, you had never been this elevated before back in Kings Landing, but sitting on the walls of the castle itself… What were you thinking about again?

"Woah!" Rob caught and held you before you could fall once more, heat from his large, muscular body bringing you somewhat back to reality.

"Bring... me... down," you managed between gasps. You mustered the strength to add, "or my lungs will rupture, I will die, and my father will skin your… ass."

But it looked like the second part of your rant was unnecessary because he lifted you in his arms, said goodbye to his companions, who hooted and laughed. You caught some muttering about a "first timer" or “southerner”. They were laughing at you. The king's daughter. But you didn't have it in you to care as you struggled to stay awake.

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By the gods, this girl was fragile, Robb thought to himself while he carried the gasping, shivering little thing to the edge of the castle walls. He felt around with one hand to find his rope, always neatly tied at his belt. He'd thought to himself, could carry you all the way down and have a boring evening, or, he could excite you a bit. He chuckled to himself, knowing exactly which option he was going to choose. He lowered you to stand on your own and got his axe from his belt before tying it to his rope. He zeroed in on the tall oak in the courtyard. His target. He's practiced and hit with longer distances. He will be fine this time.

You shivered and stared as he did so.

Robb kissed the hilt of his axe, saying a quick prayer. "You may want to crouch."

You did so instantly, making a ball on the ground. Robb took aim and held the end of the rope, which wasn't tied to the axe, and sent the blade flying. It pulled and pulled on his rope until wedging itself sideways in the oak.

Robb grinned down and said, "You can get up now, princess."

You stood up slowly, your eyes widening at his shot. "How…?”

He grinned and tied the other end of the rope around himself, then offered you his hand.

You eyed his outstretched hand, then the rope, the tree, then the wall. "I think I'll just go down the steps-!" He pulled you against himself and jumped. Your lungs must have recovered because you screamed the whole way down. Robb used his weight to swing you both once around the oak before landing in the snow.

He looked down at you and saw a shudder when you glanced back at the top of the wall where you both were a minute ago.

"Gods," you gasped before turning to look up at him, your eyes reflecting the stars. "Thanks for not dropping me."

He raised a brow, implying that you did not need to say that.

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That evening, his father told him something Robb already suspected: the king and queen had arranged a match between you and him.

[starstruckunknown-princess]

Winter Market

Pairing: Modern!Robb Stark x F!Reader

Warnings: none, just fluff!

Word Count: 1067

Summary: While running your own stall at a Winter Market, you run into an old schoolmate of yours -- none other than Robb Stark.

A/N: A day late, but I had to edit this one and I was distracted yesterday. My bad. But expect either one more tonight or two tomorrow to wrap up my Fluffcember event! Hope you enjoy this one!

Fluffcember Masterlist

The Winterfell Yuletide Market was famous throughout the realm, boasting some of the most unique and talented craftspeople from all over the world. They also had a section reserved for local artisans only, which is where you found your stall. After your rocky divorce you’d taken up soap and candle making as a hobby to keep your mind and hands busy. You’d even looked into getting a hive of bees for beekeeping, but it had been too late in the season to have them shipped from Honeyholt. 

You were lucky to get the stall, which you had to keep reminding yourself as the temperatures dipped into the negatives. The sad little space heater under your table could barely keep your feet warm. Being a born and raised Northerner, though, you weren’t going to let the cold close you down like some other stalls had. 

“Hot cider, courtesy of Stark Tech?” a voice asked, pulling you from your trance. A steaming mug of cider appeared in front of you and you followed the gloved hand holding it up to the auburn curls and striking blue eyes of none other than Robb Stark.

It had been a long time since you’d seen him, having gone to school together many moons ago. Since then it had been easy to follow his meteoric rise in the Tech industry, taking over his father’s company when he passed too soon and managing to nearly double profits within the first year of his reign. Stark Tech was one of the biggest employers in the North, and the major sponsor of the Market. However, you had not at all expected to see the CEO of the company walking around, handing out free cider to the stall owners.

If he recognized you he didn’t let on, but you accepted the cider anyway. Anything to help keep your hands warm was welcome at this point. Only an hour left to stay open, but the temperature was dropping quickly. 

“Thank you, Mister Stark,” you said, not letting your voice wave from shivering.

He smiled his blinding smile, then tilted his head a bit. “Have we met before?” 

You smirked, sipping your cider that was impeccably spiced. “We went to school together.” You gave him your name and his blue eyes lit up with recognition.

“Yes! How’ve you been?” 

You gestured to the stall around you, “Alright, I guess. I got accepted to the biggest Winter Market in the North, so I’d say pretty good.” 

“Ahh, yes,” he said, picking up a teacup candle and inhaling deeply, “Oh, I’m sure Sansa would love this. Rose, right?”

“And sandalwood,” you added. “My gran collected fancy teacups all her life. When she passed last year she had left them all to me. I had no idea what to do with them until after…well, you don’t want to hear about all that.”

He smiled wide, picking up another candle to sniff. “On the contrary, I would love to catch up. You’re here for another hour, right?” 

You had to stop your jaw from dropping. You’d been out of the dating loop, but you could’ve sworn he had just asked you out. The few attempts you’d made at online dating had yielded absolutely nothing — in fact, the matches you’d gotten had made you want to throw your phone into the White River and erase all trace of yourself from the internet forever after scrubbing your eyeballs and brain with a toilet brush.

“Are you asking me out, Stark?” you asked for the sake of clarity. More than once you’d been accused of coming off as cold rather than cool. 

He smiled again, “I am indeed. Unless you’ve got plans after this, then we can pick another night.”

“Oh yeah, after this I’ve got big plans with my cat and my streaming queue,” you joked, heart fluttering as he let out a warm chuckle, “I’d love to go out with you.” 

He sniffed another candle and added it to the growing pile of teacups in the crook of his arm. “Excellent, I’ll meet you here after closing if that works. We can go to the Direwolf and Dragon?”

“I love that place! They have the best whiskey selection.” You nodded eagerly, perhaps a little too enthusiastically but you were beyond caring. This was Robb Fucking Stark, every girl’s crush in school and even though you were a fully grown adult woman with her own bank account and apartment and business, the giddy teenager within you was ecstatic.

“And she likes whiskey,” he muttered to himself with satisfaction, “Excellent. While I’d love to stay and keep chatting, I’ve got more cider to hand out. How much do I owe you?” 

He gestured to the four teacup candles in his arms and you told him the total, then wrapped each one in tissue paper and put them gently into a paper gift bag. Your stomach turned at the thought that these were for a girlfriend, but you hadn’t seen anything about his dating life recently. He’d been dating the heiress of some big agricultural company down south for a few years, but you knew they’d broken up a while back. Around the same time your divorce was happening, come to think of it.

As you wrapped, you asked, “Who are all these for? Teacups aren’t usually decor for bachelor flats.”

He chuckled again, “My mother and sisters. And my PA, Steffon, he loves anything pine scented. The fact that the cup has pine boughs on it I think bodes well, too.” 

You passed the bag over your display and your gloved hands brushed as he accepted it. Even through thick layers of material, you felt something electric pass between the two of you.

“Well, I’ll see you in an hour then?” You asked after clearing your throat and shoving down some rather naughty thoughts.

Robb’s curls fell in front of his face as he looked down and checked his smart watch. “Forty-three minutes, to be exact.”

“Then I’ll see you in forty-three minutes.” You smiled at him. He continued on his mission of handing out hot cider. Try as you might, you couldn’t help but count down the minutes as you sipped your cider.

Fluffcember Masterlist

[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 1

The King arrived at gloomy day, filled with dark grey clouds and thundering skies. An alliance was to happen by wedding, the heir of the Iron Throne, a snotty kid that as too proud and too arrogant was to wed his Sansa. Theon was a bundle of nerves and restless energy as he stood beside his Velaryon friend and puffed up his chest as Jon did to hide her from the eyes of the King. He was silently seething with anger and the only thing that lifted his mood was the jabs that she and Jon made about the royal family. Yet their tries to protect her were to no avail, as the Kings beady eyes focused on her. Really, she wasn't trying to go unnoticed, she had worn a bright red dress with black detailing, Targaryen colors and starred at him in the eyes smirking tauntingly. Robb was bitting his tongue to withheld a comment for her bold attitude and Lady Catelyn's eyes held an immense disapproval, the only one that enjoyed her antics was Ned that had chuckled when he had first seen her in the dress and he said that she should do something to make the silver in her hair more prominent.

Her undefined gaze was going to be haunting him until his last days. The babe he had tried to kill was staring back at him. He had been shocked to the core and the boys at her side to visibly restrain themselves from grabbing her, placing her somewhere away from him. It was too much.

At the dinner feast they hadn't been allowed to sit at their usual places, not fit to dine with the royals, yet they seemed to be having a blast, as Theon was a beetroot red and Jon was gaping at him like a fish and she had been laughing uncontrollably.

"That cannot possibly be true." Jon's exasperated voice whispered as he finally connected the dots. And she was singing under her breath "Theon and Sansa walking in the woods K I S S I N G." Eventually what had done it was a broken wineglass in Theon's hand as he watched the snotty kid stroke Sansa's hair.

"As if you are any better. Laughing at my face you prick. 'Oh, he is just so handsome, I want to have his babies."

"I never said that." She weakly defended herself.

"What? Who -?"

"Little miss perfect over here is head over heels for your brother."

"WHAT?" Jon's voice echoed in the room and he hastily apologized before gapping at her, as she cursed them both and asked them to be quiet. "That can't be true." With one look he could tell. "It is? Oh, seven hells, why are you both like this."

"It's the eyes alright?" They both claimed at the same time and then proceeded to glare at the other, practically promising bloody murder.

"Wait... is that why when you barged in like a bull while we were shaving you went bright red?"

"No" she answered with a small voice as Theon hissed "At least I kept up my part of the deal."

"What deal?" Jon question and regretted it immediately as they both exclaimed "nothing" with one voice.

"Well, at least I hide it better than you."

"As if! You are practically ogling him right now. I have finesse, whereas you are like a creepy maid."

"I didn't notice if it makes you feel better."

"Thank you, brother." Theon said appreciatingly as she muttered under her breath "You wouldn't notice a flying dragon over your head also." Small pieces of bread land on her as they attacked her and booed her comment. Her laughter quiet as she yielded.

"I will have you know. I notice a lot of things. Like did you know that Arya's maid is sleeping with a stableboy."

"Yeah. For years."

"Those are old news Snow."

"Bullshit. You are lying the lot of you."

"Oh, my dear gentle innocent Jon. Who do you think introduced them?" Theon said in a mimic of a seductive voice. "Sir Lover."

"Is that supposed to be you?"

"Obviously."

"Ha, Sir can't keep-it-in-his-pants more like."

"Or Sir too-lovestruck."

"Tease me all you like, my sweet haters. But I shall win my girl."

"Keep dreaming Greyjoy."

[nixiefics]

Hey everyone!

I just wanted to drop a quick note about something that really helps me out. If you’re enjoying my fanfiction, I’m thrilled to hear it! However, simply hitting the 'like' button doesn’t help spread my work for others to see and enjoy.

If you could use the 'reblog' button and share your thoughts in the comments, it would make a huge difference. Reblogging promotes my work to a wider audience, and your feedback (both the good and the constructive) helps me improve my writing.

Thank you so much for your support and understanding!

Best,

💕 Nixie 💕