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importantstudentbusinessspy-blog · 5 months ago

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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.

#game of thrones fluff #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones #game of thrones smut #robb stark smut #robb stark fluff #robb stark x you #robb stark x reader #robb stark

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missswritesalot · 7 months ago

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Can i request some possessive, maybe even a little mean, Robb Stark nsfw? i need that man in a way that borders on obsession 😭

A/N hope you like it anon. Gets soft at the end. Will edit later for historical accuracy. Requests open.

"Your grace," you began nervously as your husband threw open your bedchamber door. Opening it was hard enough so thinking of the force it took to rattle the hinges made you wince. Perhaps you could finally see the King Robb that maidens swooned for and bards sang of.

"Like a dog? A beast? Numbskulled brute? Is that what you said?" He spat out. His anger, so hard to provoke but equally hard to quell. Now it was righteous too.

“I didn’t mean any of it,” you nervously said. “I only wished to entertain.”

Robb walked towards you and you took a step back. You were vulnerable, only wearing your shift.

“And what did you call yourself? Little more than a whore I paid two coppers for? A greedy little queen, at the mercy of the king?” Robb said. “I can’t even repeat what I heard. Yet you said it when I have done nothing but treat you gently with kindness.”

“It was only my ladies, and I didn’t wish to disappoint, husband.” You said. You placed your hand gently on his chest. “They dream of you, and I couldn’t appear jealous. I needed to show you didn’t lack passion in bed.”

“Wasn’t just the ladies. My men heard you recount your pleasure and now they’re the ones salivating.” He shouted.

“Cease this! It’s childish and I will speak as I wish.” You said, feigning annoyance.

Robb looked madder with each word out of your mouth. He gripped your wrists to the point of pain and spun you around. With a hand on your back, he pushed you face down onto the furs.

"You talk like a whore you get taken like one."

He pushed your chemise up and you felt his fingers find the most sensitive parts of you. He shoved two in roughly, making you scream. Thank the old gods, your plan worked better than expected.

“And what of my men guarding you? Did they have to hear your of escapades? Know how you enjoy in my chamber?” Robb demanded.

The twist of his fingers in your unprepared cunt made tears spring to your eyes.

“Who do you belong to?” He asked. You refused to reply. You shook your head.

“You’re mine, you hear me?” Robb yelled. He slapped your arse to make his point. No need to trigger him even more, you decided. “Who owns ye?” He asked again.

“You do,” you mumbled.

“And I am your King, and your husband. And you had better remember that.”

“Yes, husband.” You whispered. You heard the sounds of him undressing. You didn’t dare move.

Robb held your hips on either side of you and pushed you into the bed.

“Who’ll take you now?” He demanded.

“You, my lord and husband.” You replied submissive. His breathing behind you told you he was still furious.

His hands tightened around your hips and you felt the impossible thickness of his member at your entrance. He'd taken you before, he was your goddamn husband, but never in anger and never like this.

He began to push in, deaf to your cries.

"Robb," you pleaded, your will breaking. He was deep in you but not to the hilt yet. This new position was physically uncomfortable adding to your humiliation. "Please, please." You begged. You didn't know what you were asking for, for him to let you go or for a moment to adjust. But you were so hot you could barely see. You had never felt desire like this. You anticipated your release like Robb returning home.

"No," he said quietly. "You will accept this, wife." He sheathed himself to the hilt within your body. You were glad he'd let go of your arms, so you could twist your fingers into the furs on your bed.

He was deeper than before in this new position, you felt like you were being split open. You reminded yourself you were trying for this reaction. Some part of your heart hurt most of all, knowing that your husband didn't care about the pain he inflicted upon your body. He was mean.

He pulled out again and pushed back in slowly. The deep pleasure knocked the breath out of your lungs. It added to everything you felt from the stretch of his girth.

Your cries grew louder due to pleasure, and you were screaming in abandon at how good he made you feel.

“More, husband, Robb, please.” You begged incoherently. The snap of his hips against yours set a harsh pace.

He tried to stop, to tease you, but he couldn’t. He was too excited looking at your body beneath him.

It didn’t take long before you were clenched around his cock in your pleasure, and he spent in response to you.

Robb collapsed atop you. He rolled over to the side, breathing heavily. You took a moment to calm yourself down and turned to face him. You took his hand in yours carefully, you wanted to know if his anger had been quelled yet. You were pleased when he brought your hand to his lips to kiss it.

“I love you,” he said. “And I have no desire to share you. Not this. Not our time together when we get so little.” Robb confessed. Your heart broke for him. Perhaps you’d gone too far in seeking his passion.

His face grew tense as you didn’t reply. “Have I hurt you, love?” He asked, caressing your cheek. You leaned into his touch with a sigh.

“No, dear husband. I love you too,” you said softly, content.

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lumillsie · 3 months ago

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ೃ⁀➷ all my life. ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

jon snow x f!arryn!reader headcanons

╰┈➤ in which lady catelyn's niece is brought to winterfell as a ward, and grows to care for her misliked stepson.

a/n : I put jon's birth year as 283 ac, whereas in the show he was born in 281ac - so I struggled a bit on which to choose, but ultimately 283ac suited my outline for the story a bit better. the characters are still aged up as per their show versions. I've also aged down robin arryn, implying that both jon and reader would be in their adolescence during his birth, whereas in the source material, jon is only a few years older than robin.

massive, massive shoutout to @angelseraphines for being my greatest support as always, and I'm not sure if I would've gone ahead and published this if not for her encouragement 🩷

╰┈➤ in 285ac, lord jon arryn and his lady wife lysa welcomed the first of their living children.

╰┈➤ you were a beautiful babe, bright-eyed with a lovely smile, truly the apple of the hand's eye. lord arryn had been married three times in his lifetime, and you were the first of his children to live to term. the graying man was enamored with your newborn-self, and he wished for nothing but your safety and joy.

╰┈➤ for all his love for you, the hand of the king knew how venomous the environment of the royal court to be. the halls were dripping with the schemes of those who wished to advance their positions, and a man of his position knew that the only living child, let alone a girl, of his would be treated as no more than a tool of the court's most cunning.

╰┈➤ your father wished to see you happy and contented, and he wished to keep you safe from the treachery of red keep. and so, on the eve of your sixth nameday, your father wrote to the boy he once fostered in the vale, now a lord paramount in his own right. eddard stark was possibly the only man jon arryn trusted to the same extent he trusted his grace, the king. it was a difficult decision to make, but he was acting in your best interests. life at winterfell would suit his little falcon better, for you would grow strong and you'd be well-looked after. you'd be far away from the glances of power-hungry, lecherous men who wished for nothing but power. you would be with family as well, as the lady catelyn was your mother's only sister - and her children your closest blood. it was a great honour in westeros, to be trusted with the upbringing of one's child, and it was an honour lord arryn would bestow upon lord stark.

╰┈➤ lysa was resistant to the idea of sending away her only living child - the years of losing babe after babe had taken their toll on her, but she eventually relented. you would be safer in winterfell, and catelyn was still her sister - for all the distance between them.

╰┈➤ mere days after lord stark accepted your father's offer, you were sent to winterfell as a ward with a kiss on the forehead from your mother and an unusually tight hug from your father.

╰┈➤ the first couple of weeks were rough - for you were often coddled by your parents. you missed tugging on your mother's skirts and resting in your father's arms. you weren't used to the absence of them, and while you tried not to cause trouble for your caretakers - they could tell you had a hard time adjusting.

╰┈➤ there were two people in winterfell whose presence brought you comfort during that trying time. the first was your aunt, lady catelyn stark, your mother's only sister. you knew little else of winterfell, but you were comforted by the familiar shade of auburn that cascaded down her shoulders and the unique cadence to her voice that could only be ascribed to a woman born of riverrun. she wasn't your mother, but she was the closest to her anyone could get. she sung you lullabies only your mother knew, and the gentle manner in which she treated you was that of a mother towards her child. the second was the boy named after your father, jon snow. you latched onto him early on in your stay in winterfell, and nobody was quite sure as to why. perhaps it was for his name, for you often called for him - at first you were calling for your father, but jon always answered. he was two years your senior and still a boy unsure of his place in his own home - for all the love of his father and the acceptance of his siblings was matched evenly with pointed looks and whispers of bastardy, as well as lady catelyn's cold distance and her decision to ignore his existence the best he could. some would say that it was your insistence on seeking him out that helped reassure the dark-haired boy of his place. of all the nobles and commonfolk at winterfell, you gravitated towards him.

╰┈➤ at first you were content to spend your time with him in silence, and he never appeared opposed to that. within a few weeks, you were talking to him about your life back in the crownlands. you talked about your mother, and her watchful, protecting eyes that seemed to follow you everywhere. you talked about your father, and his insistence on making time for your regardless of how pertinent his responsibilities may have been at any given point. you talked about the king too, and his tales of the valour and glory he experienced side by side with jon's own father. he spoke to you too, of how lovely his father and siblings were, of winterfell's hidden gems and it's most well-known attractions. he promised to take you to the weirwood tree in the godswood when the opportunity arose, and he followed through on his promise. jon snow had become, aside for the lady catelyn whom you'd grown to love as you loved your mother, your dearest person.

╰┈➤ your aunt catelyn was not fond of your budding friendship with the reminder of her husband's indiscretion - that much was plain to see by the harsh manner in which her brows furrowed and frown of her lips, and yet she made no move to disallow it. she could see that his presence helped you get used to your new home, and soon enough you were playing with sansa, teaching arya and bran how to say your name and often fetching robb to speak with him on the way to break your fast. it pleased to see your aunt to see you and her own children bond so quickly, and she kept her dissatisfaction of your bond with jon to herself.

╰┈➤ jon was there for many of the major moments of your life, with the most notable being the first letter you'd written your parents. you had just started learning how to read in the red keep, but lord stark made sure to place you with septa mordane alongside his daughters and he kept an eye on you to make sure your education was advancing. not to mention, lord and lady stark were adamant in ensuring that you remained in touch with your parents - making sure you became literate was the most important factor in that. early on, you would ask jon to re-read your letters before you were to show them to lord stark, and your friend was always glad to do it. the faint red hue that enveloped his cheeks as he read the parts where you mentioned him to your father went unnoticed by you, too focused on making sure that your letter was presentable to lord eddard.

╰┈➤ you remained close through your childhood and closer into adolescence, but it wasn't until one fateful evening that somebody changed between the two of you.

╰┈➤ the letter you received from your parents was unlike any other you had received in the past. the words seemed to swirl on the yellowed paper, and you could feel a headache in coming. your mother had given birth to a son - a proper heir to the vale. you should have felt happy, overjoyed even. a part of you, unfortunately, felt overwhelmed by misery and you could not quite understand why. you were content in winterfell, loved even - and you knew you were never to be heir to begin with, for you were a daughter and your father had plenty of nephews to choose from. so, why did you feel so unhappy? you couldn't quite figure it out, at least not until you spoke to the one person who understood why you felt the way you did, even when you yourself could not.

╰┈➤ you'd skipped supper in favor of spending the evening by the godswood, and truthfully, you expected aunt catelyn to send robb to retrieve you when it was due time for you to return to your chambers. instead, you were surprised to see that jon came for you instead. as you rose from beneath the weirwood tree, red leaves giving way to a darkened sky, you walked side by side with jon towards the great keep. he spoke to you quietly then, of things you never dared ask and he never dared to say outloud. he spoke to you of the mystery of his mother, of wanting to know who she was and if she had wanted him, of wanting to know what kind of person she was. it was only then that the truth of your misery dawned on you. you wished to truly know your parents, and your brother - but you never truly could. for all the letters in the world cannot bring you the closeness of having your family near. robin would know your parents in the ways that you never would, and they would know him in ways that they never knew you. it was a bitter pill to swallow, but you felt as if you could breathe easier - with the realisation clear in your mind.

╰┈➤ you were grateful to jon as well, for his vulnerability with you and for his kindness. you thanked him for walking you back to your chambers, and left a chaste peck on his cheek before retreating. "I am grateful... for you, and all that you are" were the words you spoke to him. a silent acknowledgement hung in the air between the two of you. he was still your dearest friend, and you were his - but something had changed. the way in which you regarded one another had changed.

╰┈➤ it was as if the wall that you two had carefully placed between yourselves had found itself with holes in it. you were still careful, chaste even - but it was apparent to those around you that you two loved eachother. you'd make handkerchiefs for him in your embroidery classes and he'd gently hold onto your hand in the privacy of the godswood.

╰┈➤ none were truly aware of the extent of your affections for one-another, for you were both aware of your positions. you were a noble-man's daughter, entrusted in the care of jon's father who was meant to find you a suitable match and marry you off well. you were considered a bride for theon greyjoy or willas tyrell, but not jon. not a baseborn son of your noble caretaker, with no titles to his name and no inheritance to claim. furthermore, were you to rebel and marry jon without anyone's knowledge - you would soil not only the reputations of your fathers, but the goodwill and bond they shared, for lord arryn entrusted lord stark with your upbringing.

╰┈➤ you two grew closer over the following year, and it was apparent to both of you that you would not have the time to properly court one another before pursuing a way to convince your fathers to allow marriage. you were a woman grown, of marrying age. not to mention, you were lord arryn's only daughter, and a marriage to you was the most effective manner in which a noble house could strengthen its ties to the vale. lord and lady stark, with minor interference from your parents, were close to making their decision - and your aunt made sure to consult you often in subtle manners, asking whether you'd prefer to remain in winterfell when you marry, asking if you'd like to return to the red keep once you are to have a family of your own. you could not avoid your fates any longer.

╰┈➤ you pondered over what to do for a couple of days, but you knew you had no time to wait. without informing jon, you decided to plea your case to your aunt catelyn - the person you'd always felt closest to in winterfell, from the day you arrived to the present. you knew of her mislike for jon, there wasn't a singular person in winterfell who wasn't aware of it - and yet, during all these years, she hadn't said a word to you of your closeness. you asked for an audience with her in the evening, and you told her everything as you sat with your hands in hers atop the fur carpets by the roar of the fire. you confided in her about how precious jon had always been to you, of how you felt the evening of robin's birth and of how you had love for jon in a way a lady should only have love for her husband. your eyes glistened with unshed tears as you spoke to her of how you feared a betrothal, as you didn't think you could bare being married to anyone else. she listened to you as you spoke. when you finished, she leaned down to give you a kiss on the forehead and exited the room. you never got an answer from her.

╰┈➤ lady catelyn's heart ached from the weight of what she had to do. she resented jon, but she could never truly hate him as a person. she feared what his existence, and the way he looked, may mean for her own children but she could never begrudge you for befriending him. this, however, could be disastrous for all of you - and she needed to put a stop to it. she sought jon out the following morning, before it was time for the family to break their fast. she warned him of what his involvement with you could do to your reputation, and of how marrying him would cause you to lose all that you were born with. a woman has little choice in this world but to marry well, and your singular status as lord arryn's only daughter provided you with a privilege not many women could afford - a privilege you would lose were you to marry him. she urged him to put distance between the two of you, if he cared for you as you claimed he did. it was the first time she'd really acknowledged him, and her words stung - perhaps nearly as deep as her resentment and distance once did.

╰┈➤ you were unaware of the fact that this conversation had even taken place to begin with, and jon's insistence on ignoring you came as a shock. you couldn't tell what you had done wrong and you were unsure of how to reason with him.

╰┈➤ it wasn't easy for him to keep his distance from you either, but he took lady catelyn's words to heart. he truly believed that if he kept his distance from you, then you would have an easier time accepting a potential betrothal - as you were always meant to do. now that he was at a distance from you, he was free to confide in robb - and he found comfort in his brother. it was difficult, keeping his feelings from the man he trusted most to begin with and robb's brotherly teasing, as well as his unspoken understanding helped him cope with his decision. for a time at least.

╰┈➤ this tense situation and the distance between you was broken by the most tragic news of your life - your father and the hand of the king, lord jon arryn, had passed away. in addition to your grief, added pressure was placed upon your shoulders as the news of the royal family's impending visit to winterfell reached you. all of this proved to be too much for you, and you crumbled once again, for the first time since your arrival to the north. it was jon whom you turned to once again, and he couldn't find it in him to turn you down. he held you in his arms as you wept, and as you turned to look to him - you made the bold move you'd never dared to make. you leaned upwards and planted a kiss upon his lips, the salty taste of tears staining both of you. he gave in for a split second, before pulling away - remembering lady catelyn's words. "I intend to promise myself to the night's watch. I've already made my father aware of my decision" he confessed to you, his tone gentle yet final. it was then that you asked him why, your voice on the brink of shattering. he spoke to you of his conversation with lady catelyn, and of the steps he took to make sure your reputation wasn't soiled - of the steps he took to make sure you could still have a good life.

╰┈➤ you left him wordlessly then, anger coursing through every inch of your body. you were angry for a multitude of reason - at your father, for sending you to winterfell to begin with. at the world, for taking your father from you before you'd had the chance to see him once more. at your aunt catelyn and jon, for making decisions that concerned you without even thinking to consult you.

╰┈➤ you withdrew to yourself, simply going through the motions as you prepared for the king and his family to arrive at winterfell. you felt no joy at the prospect of seeing him once again, and the thought of his visit served as nothing more than a reminder that you were truly never going to see your father again. you were courteous but curt in all your exchanges, but you exchanged nothing more than pleasantries with all those around you. jon tried to speak with you often, to ensure that you two weren't going to go your separate ways on such poor terms - but he was unsuccessful. you had switched places, with you now ignoring his attempts to speak with you as he had done weeks before.

╰┈➤ the issues between you two and your pointed attempts to ignore him are once again put on hold with all the madness that follows the royal family's visit - bran's accident, your mother's letter to catelyn and the king's offer to lord stark all become topics much more pertinent than jon's upcoming departure and your potential betrothals, and the two of you settle into a peaceful coexistence within the last few days of his stay at winterfell. in truth, as you came to accept your father's death and the unfortunate fate that befell bran, you came to the conclusion that the short time you had with one another was a precious thing, not to be wasted - and you sought him out often, just as you once did.

╰┈➤ the morning he was set to leave for the night's watch, you rose early in the hour of the nightingale- and you sought him out. you walked to the godswood once more, your arm brushing against his. "I believe that I have loved you all my life. I believe that I will love you for the rest of it" you admitted to him as he reached out to grasp your hands in his, a sad smile making its way across your face. "I have loved you all my life, and I will love you for the rest of it" he vowed to you as he leaned down to press his final, gentle kiss upon your lips. you needn't have spoken words of forgiveness or talked much of anything else. you were overcome with a melancholic contentedness in that very moment. jon left his home with his uncle benjen within the next few hours, but he left his heart in winterfell with you.

╰┈➤ that very same evening, you wept in your aunt catelyn's arms. her kiss upon your forehead felt the same as your mother's on the day you last saw her - on the day you left your home behind.

a/n : and that's where I think I'm going to end this! if I ever feel like it, I may revisit jon and arryn!reader later down the line - perhaps with a quick rewrite of season and a happier ending than I gave them here. the original version of this fic is still in my drafts, but I legitimately hated the pacing and the dynamic between jon and reader felt rushed so I rewrote the whole thing - I'm still not fully happy with it, but I much prefer this version and I'm more comfortable publishing it. I hope you enjoy reading this, and please be sure to leave some constructive criticism as I do think there are some parts here that I think can be improved. please do forgive me if the pacing feels slightly off, I struggled quite a bit with this prompt and I legitimately could not write this fic a third time nor expand on it more to try and make it more sensible.

as always, I'm tagging several different characters to help get the post out to as many people as possible, but I do write for all of the characters tagged below so please feel free to request something for them.

#game of thrones #game of thrones fanfiction #jon snow #jon snow x reader #x reader #oneshots #preferences #imagine #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #house of the dragon #robb stark #robb stark x reader #theon greyjoy #theon greyjoy x reader #sansa stark #sansa stark x reader

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llonelygoddess · 1 year ago

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Yandere House Stark Headcanons

A/N: I ended up not doing Bran and Rickon only because I wanted to get this out sooner rather than later and they were a little difficult to write for. If you'd like to see headcanons for them I can definitely make another post for them, just let me know.

Let's say you are a low born person looking for refuge in Winterfell after your village was sacked by Wildlings. You had hoped to find some tavern to hold up in or even a brothel, but unbeknownst to you the Stark family kept an eye on newcomers. When they received news of your arrival, they requested your presence. It was only to talk about the possibility of nearby Wildlings, but when YOU showed up beaten and scared for your life- how could they not offer their Stark hospitality?

This is where the yandere tendencies begin.

Ned Stark, as a yandere, is protective and definitely has a savior complex. He's an honorable and just man that can't help but bring home strays, so when he sees you it's like finding Jon all over again. A deep sense of responsibility comes over him and he knows in that moment that you are just as much his as any of his kids. From that day forward he assigns a room for you in the castle and a handmaiden to keep you company, not that you'll be needing it. The family of course is shocked at his sudden interest, but they all love to see him happy and nothing makes him more happy than seeing you taken care of.

Now Catelyn is initially worried that Ned has taken a romantic interest in you, but when she sees the way you both interact she understands the fatherly bond he is trying to create very similar to his own kids. It didn't take long for her to fall into her own yandere tendencies; checking in on you in the mornings, making prayer wheels even when you're not sick, helping in the kitchen to make sure your food was perfect ( and not poisoned). She takes her role as your surrogate mother very seriously,sometimes to the extent of watching you sleep or ordering guards to discreetly watch over you and report back. Her biggest worry is that you'll be taken away from them so she takes extra precautions to keep you safe.

Robb is head over heels for you instantly. Man is down bad. Much like his father, Robb has a savior complex and finds himself wanting to be YOUR savior always. He does this by training extra hard with Jon, keeping an eye on you at all times, and giving threatening looks to any man or woman who gets too close to you. He doesn’t mean to scare away any potential friends but he does mean to scare away potential lovers. He couldn’t bear to see you with anyone outside the family, and even then he has a sword up his butt about it.

On the other hand, Jon takes a while to warm up to you. He loves his family and is vicious to outsiders who could harm them. Eventually, seeing how you interact with everyone makes him a tad jealous. Not of you, but of his family and how easily they can approach you. I definitely see Jon as an overprotective/stalker yandere with strong jealous tendencies that make him beg for your approval. He finds himself wherever you are, lurking in the background, waiting for the right moment to catch you alone. Jon feels like himself around you and the more time you spend together the more addicted to your presence he becomes.

Theon is hands down THE worshiper of the group. It's a hot take for sure but as a yandere, I see Theon's insecurities and fears taking over, slightly similar to reek!Theon. He sees you as a deity, above the Lords and Ladies, even above the King/Queen themself. If it were up to him he'd be the one giving you your meals, running your baths, standing by your side as guard. He cherishes your very presence and hopes one day you'll see his never ending loyalty to you and only you.

Sansa is very quiet about her obsession, you almost couldn't tell. She's the perfect friend, always sitting next to you at meals, gossiping about the Lords and Lady's of court, and helping you stock your wardrobe. Whatever hobby you choose to pick up, she's always there to praise you in your efforts and guide you in whatever way she can. She especially loves teaching you how to embroider as it's her specialty. It was all but normal until you came upon her private journal filled with both your names in beautiful cursive surrounded by hearts. You begin to notice the closeness she silently demands, eyeing everyone else to stay away. You see the way she longingly watches you from afar when you choose to spend time with anyone else. And your dresses, that you both so carefully picked out, seem to have a little embroidered "SS" on the nape of your neck.

Arya sees you as her golden older sibling, the one who can do no wrong. She is constantly dragging you around Winterfell - riding horses and trying to shoot arrows (and failing lol). She finds comfort within you, the only person who doesn't expect anything of her except to be herself. And for that she will never leave your side. Most nights you'll find her trying to sneak into your room to share a bed, but whether she can get past the guards Ned and Catelyn have posted outside your door is another story.

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swordgrace · 2 days ago

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❝ 𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐥𝐟. ❞

┊ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: in the midst of a war that threatens to tear the realm asunder, you offer robb a temporary reprieve from the weight of his duties.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: robb stark x baratheon!reader.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5.7K.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut (mdni), heavy kissing, groping, biting/marking, unprotected p in v sex, obligatory stark breeding kink (they all have one), robb is a little rougher (but loving!), missionary position, robb is a tease, robb has a thigh fixation (credit to @dipperscavern on that one!), cunnilingus, oral sex (fem!rec), getting eaten out on the war table, soft + sweet ending!

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: this is my first time writing for robb so please be gentle !! I had sooooo much fun with this though, I would absolutely not be opposed to writing more of him! I hope you all enjoy reading it, thank you so much! ❤️

𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞, 𝐰𝐚𝐫 𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐖𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐬 — 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐟 ��𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐳𝐞.

War was an ugly thing — cruel, like rust upon a blade, threatening to disintegrate all within its path, or a festering plague, leaving destruction in its wake. Such exposure to all of its callousness had startled you, and yet, it did not fracture your pious demeanor.

Wed to Robb Stark in the midst of grueling chaos was something that you hadn’t envisioned for yourself; once caught within a web of luxury, now condemned to a battlefield.

Marriages of convenience were commonplace, with your status and family offering the Stark cause a wealth of resources. With what time you had at his side, Robb did not treat you unkindly — he was often pensive, agitated, brusque — but that was no fault of your own.

As you withdrew from your own family and assimilated into his own, you had realized that he deserved your compassion now, more than ever. The death of his father was still evergreen, like a fresh wound that was slow to heal.

It was effortless for you to sympathize, having lost your own father rather recently, something that did not feel entirely real. A sliver of your being wondered about your siblings — how they fared, if they truly missed you.

According to the innumerable rumors that had reached your ears, you were one of the only Baratheons sired who did not possess the blood of a bastard.

It left you with this chasm, gnawing away at your very soul — your family was not your family, your father slain, gored down by a wild boar, your uncles clawing at the throat of one another. Your Mother, a figure who had both inspired fear and fury, placing your monstrous sibling upon the Iron Throne.

Loneliness was a constant companion, save for that of your lord-husband, who was often away fighting his own battles. Gaining mastery over your own discontent, you made your loyalty to Robb known whenever you could, be it through softspoken whispers or the merit of action.

This night, however, was different; the dew-laden gale had quieted, the sting of dusk’s chill subdued to make way for a temperate evening. Having filled your needy lungs with enough fresh air, you returned to your shared tent, guards posted outside, bearing shields with direwolf sigils.

Poised beside the planning table, Robb sat firmly within a wooden seat, fist tucked beneath his bearded chin, auburn brows furrowed together. Exuding a poised concentration, you did not break his focus, silently striding toward your makeshift vanity.

Ripples of frustration wafted from him, nearly palpable as you reached for your nightgown. He hadn’t moved, picking apart the arrangement of wooden pieces across a board — his hand would soon be dealt.

In the spiritedness of his youth, Robb was both tenacious and methodical, born for the taxing role of leadership. With the title of King of the North weighing down upon him, there were expectations — men counting on him, moves to be made. He did not wish to look weak.

Clutching the silken fabric between your fingers, you quietly approached him where he sat, wanting to inquire about his thoughts. An awkward tension still lingered around the fringes of your blossoming bond — a bond that had moved slowly, but had not yet withered away.

“What is it you seek?” The first to fracture the tenuous silence, you watched as Robb exhaled; steely, resolute. Your untrained eyes were not accustomed to that of a battlefield, but you knew enough to understand the current position.

Eerily quiet, Robb’s gaze narrowed upon the lion figureheads that swarmed The Trident, measuring his own forces against that of Tywin’s. He had lost track of time, wasting away at this very table, attempting to see something that simply wasn’t there.

At last, his hand shifted from his chin to the table, clenching into a closed fist, posture coiled with a bristling irritation. It was not directed at you; merely the situation he found himself in. “I wish that I knew.” He confessed, Northern timbre thick with frustration.

Timidity had not yet gripped you, and you allowed your hand to ghost above his shoulder, clad in leather. Your hold was tender and yet so distant, as if you were afraid of leaning into it fully.

Robb sighed, allowing a sliver of tension to unfurl from his muscles when you graced him with your touch. Cerulean hues flickered from the war table to your hand; as delicate as that of bellflower that grew along the earthy banks of the Trident.

Reaching for you, calloused digits tenderly wrapped around your hand, thumb tracing over the soft ridges of your knuckles. “Forgive me for my absence, my Lady,” Robb did not want there to be some bridge between you — you were undeserving of it. “It is not a slight against you.”

A pang of warmth slithered across your body, heating your features as you squeezed his hand, like velvet against roughened leather. “I did not think it was,” You reassured, voice as sweet as summertime. “You are fighting a war.”

A brief scoff erupted from his throat, one of disdain. “If I do not plan ahead, then I will be losing a war instead of fighting one.” Robb murmured, unable to rid himself of his mounting agitation. He did not enjoy dragging this into your marriage, but it was unavoidable.

Perhaps you’d grown curious, allowing your gaze to drift over him, over his strong, comely features; the thick curls of a dark auburn, visage shadowed by a beard, hues like that of a clear brook. He was handsome to you — moreso like this.

“You underestimate your ability as a tactician,” Lips twitched into a comforting smile, hoping to offer him some brief reprieve. “The answer will make itself known to you. The longer you sit and toil over this table, you will drive yourself mad.”

A threadbare smirk had ghosted over his features, a fleeting gesture that seemed to linger for longer than expected. Appreciative of your sage advice, Robb drew your hand closer, lips pressing against the skin of your knuckles.

“It can rest until dawn.” Robb concurred, albeit reluctantly. As much as he desired to strategize here and now, the lack of clear answers had ruffled him to no end. He turned slightly within the chair, wood groaning beneath him as he angled himself away from the table.

Instead, the sight before him now was far more appealing than that of any parchment or Flayed Men figurines. He found you, standing near him in a gown of buckthorn and ivory, shades that had complimented you nicely.

Robb was fortunate to have you; dutiful, a heart swollen with kindness, and as pious as a septon. Such admirable qualities had only accentuated your beauty, one that far exceeded your rotten kin, the whole of them spoiled, save for you.

It was wrong of him to want you with such ferocity, this innate desire to covet you, keep you tethered to him, but he could not help himself. He had grown rather fond of you — overprotective, perhaps, but such was the duty of a husband.

“Is there anything that I can do to offer some relief? I cannot imagine the weight that you shoulder,” The soothing cadence of your voice had stirred some carnal feeling within him. The relief he sought was of a different sort. “You carry it well.”

A bemused huff of laughter rippled through him, a glint of something peculiar dancing within his gaze. Robb knew that you were paying him a generous compliment, careworn fingers idly caressed over your own, a beat of silence following suit.

It was then that your wandering eyes found the front of his tunic, partially unclasped, revealing a glimpse of his musculature beneath. Even following your stiff consummation, you were still incredibly smitten, as if it were the first time again.

“Your presence is more than enough, I assure you.” There was some partial truth to his words, placating you in the process. He shielded you from the brunt of his desirous thoughts, wanting you terribly, as a man yearned for his wife.

Unconvinced, you let the matter rest, offering him an amiable smile, teeming with a fond warmth as you quietly admired him. In the face of such callous adversity, Robb stood above it all — those who underestimated him would surely regret it, you suspected.

As his stare returned to meet yours, you nearly buckled at the intensity of it, as if he had dared to set you ablaze through eyes alone. A hitch formed within your throat, lips parting as he planted another kiss to your knuckles.

“You are beautiful,” Robb murmured, beard prickling against your wrist as he noted your sheepish countenance. It was easy to ensnare you so, a simple task, and he reveled in it. You were a delight, one that illuminated the hazy murk of his current state. “My wife.”

Words turned to ash upon your tongue, unable to think of some deflecting response, averting your gaze. His cadence had roused some inkling of fire within you, and addressing you as wife only served to fan this flame.

Rising from the chair, Robb’s stature began to loom above you, cerulean hues glistening with the onslaught of desire. His affection for you had steadily grown over the past few moons, and now, it seemed uncontrollable — rampant, even.

“Robb.” His name caught within your throat, feeling the plane of his musculature press snugly against your own body. Your sweetness was beguiling to him, the doe-like look permeating your eyes.

Strong palms cupped your hips through the silken plane of fabric that clung to you, his demeanor melding into something stoic, instead. There was a sliver of hesitancy present, as if he were waiting for you to consent before continuing.

Swallowing the growing lump within your throat, you felt his hand lift, sweeping your tresses aside, exposing the slender expanse of your throat to him. “I’ve missed your warmth.” Robb’s husky confession nearly makes your bones lurch, stomach churning with an intense want.

In the midst of such tumultuous chaos, crushed beneath the weight of a senseless war, Robb found himself needing you more than ever. There was a respite he found within you, a sanctuary that offered him solace from heavy responsibilities.

Admittedly, you had grown to crave him in ways you never thought possible, and this only seemed to stoke the flames. Frustration emanated from him, coiled within his broad shoulders, thinly-veiled upon his rugged visage.

“As I’ve missed yours, husband.” Breathless, you watched as Robb’s gaze became shadowed with desire, the hint of a mirthful smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. You felt his hand knead into the swell of your hip, beseeching you to sit against the edge of the table.

Planting a kiss to your jaw, Robb felt your soft palm move beneath his tunic, drifting toward the exposed skin of his chest. It evoked a gentle growl from him, more wolf than man. “I suppose I’ll have to remedy that.” He uttered, watching as you nodded in agreement.

In a heated surge, his lips found yours, biting with hunger, palms continuing to knead at your flesh over your evening shift. A gasp rippled through you, one of exhilaration as you clamored to reciprocate, arm draping over his shoulder.

The soft brush of his auburn curls swept against your fingertips, prompting your palm to cup the nape of his neck. His lips were a kiss of fire, instilled with a wanton vigor as you reciprocated with your own flurry of desire.

A soft moan bubbled within your throat, skin beginning to crawl with heat as he urged you closer, body molding to his own. Robb craved the saccharine taste of your mouth, craved the innocence and purity that wafted from you, a doe laid bare before the wolf.

One hand curled into the fabric of your gown, beginning to guide the material up, letting it drift along your legs. As if acting upon instinct, your legs began to part, as if involuntarily welcoming him in, accommodating his muscled frame that wedged between.

With an incendiary caress, your hand continued to dance beneath his tunic, urging the leather ties to come undone. A brief huff of excitement tore past his lips, gaze eclipsed by a powerful yearning, and in-turn, he coaxed your gown toward your thighs.

Mouths continued to intertwine; desperate kisses born of a mounting desire, one that had grown into an unbounded flame. Leather fell away from his torso, exposed to the pale muscle, chest covered in a generous layer of dark auburn hair.

Robb allowed one hand to slip against your bare flesh, enticed by the way your breath hitched at the brief sensation. Darkening hues raked over you, laced with possessiveness, ardor — it seemed to swallow you whole.

As his digits sought the coalescing heat between your thighs, you shivered at the caress of cold fingertips, making their way beneath your gown. “Robb.” A sharp gasp inhabited your lungs, piercing your ribs as he withdrew from your lips.

“Does this displease you?” Robb’s cajoling tone held inklings of something sultry, intended to tease you as he held you close. Met with the immediate shake of your head, he fought to withhold a threadbare grin.

“Gods, no,” As if possessed, your hips lurched forward, desperately seeking the friction of his hand. “I—I need you.” Unable to smother your own bristling desire, your hands molded themselves to his broad shoulders, egging him closer.

Lips began to pepper themselves along your neck, teeth nipping at your flesh like that of a keen predator. A moan tumbled from your mouth, knees squeezing incessantly at his hips, able to feel his fingers crawl along your inner thigh.

Akin to tendrils of searing heat, you nearly whined as Robb’s digits found your cunt, ghosting over your petals with a torturous, feather-light caress. He enjoyed watching you gasp and writhe, nails digging crimson crescents into his flesh.

Stringing constant kisses to your throat, his cerulean gaze savored you, this creature of beauty. A breathy whimper left you as he trailed his fingers over your slit, able to feel the nectar that had slicked your nethers.

“Easy.” Robb’s sultry timbre fanned beside your jugular, prompting you to still as his digits dipped between your folds. Each languid caress evoked a shiver from you, heat festering over your flesh.

“Do not torment me, I beg of you.” With a whimpered protest, your nails dug further still, countenance a reflection of exhilaration as he began to sluggishly caress along your cunt. A sly chuckle escaped Robb’s mouth, teeth greedily nipping at your jugular.

Treating you to the rhythmic ministrations of his hand, your hips continued to lurch forward, a string of moans freely leaving your mouth. A calloused hand found its way to your thin shift, seeking to remove it altogether.

Adjusting your position, you swiftly assisted your husband in the unceremonious removal of your garments, allowing the fabric to come billowing away from your form.

A low hum of approval resonated from Robb, whose mouth was voracious, seeking to kiss and suck at your flesh. In unabashed rapture, his hungry gaze raked over your form, mouth continuing to lavish you in strings of heated kisses.

“I cannot stand being away from your side,” As the unexpected confession floated into the slim space between your bodies, Robb tensed, teeth stilling against your collarbone. In the wake of rising sentiments, it was difficult not to vocalize your own wanting. “I need you here.”

Darkened hues set themselves upon you, pitch blues that seemed to sink their teeth into you. His chest swelled with desire, a feeling so overwhelming that he nearly pounced upon you.

Continuing to stroke along your slit, he pressed a kiss to your naked shoulder. “Is that so?” Robb’s cadence invoked some lascivious curiosity within you, one that made your hips jolt. “As my lady commands.”

Mouths delicately searched for one another, embracing in a brazen entanglement. The flame of his kiss left you with naught but ash, and you nearly thanked him for it. Steadying yourself atop the table, your hands reached out, cupping his bearded jaw.

Such heat was fleeting as Robb’s lips delved over your throat, his descent steady as he lavished your flesh in kisses. Hunger danced across your skin, and you felt yourself quake with a surge of desire, the scratch of his beard prickling the valley between your breasts.

A strangled whine slipped past your lips, wooden pieces of the war table clattering behind you as your hand reached backwards. Robb remained unperturbed by this, gaze ravenously admiring your physique, from the velvety skin to your feminine curves.

Down, down; his descent was paved with ardor, allowing to bleed freely from each kiss, aided with the occasional gnaw of his teeth. He worshiped you as he would some goddess, a low growl stirring within his throat as he reached your stomach.

With the table’s lowered height, it gave him an unhindered advantage, strong palms continuing to knead into your thighs. “Beautiful.” Robb murmured, hot breath fanning across your abdomen. You were the envy of all, beauty unmatched in his eyes.

Kneeling before you, a sinner come to utter devious confessions between your thighs, Robb urged you closer, feeling the rake of your fingertips through his crown. Kisses continued to etch themselves into your body, from the swell of your hips to the silky canvas of your inner thighs.

“Robb,” A tremulous moan spilled from your lips, wrought with a burning desperation. Wolfish hues did not leave you as he allowed your legs to rest against his shoulders, head nestled comfortably between. “Robb.”

Nails dug into the parchment beneath your palm, a wisp of air lodged within your throat as your husband sought the heat of your cunt. You very nearly lurched from the table, a strangled whine elicited from you.

With a broad stroke of his tongue, he raked hot embers over your core, hands steadying you, calloused digits pressing into the meat of your haunches. The unexpected surge of pleasure washed over you within an instant.

Anchoring yourself to the table with one hand, the other sought to sink into his crown of auburn curls, nimble digits finding a handful. A low, sonorous growl erupted from the depths of his throat, tongue possessing a fervent desire of its own.

The shadow of his beard scratched against your supple flesh, leaving behind a prickling burn in its wake. You cared little for what mess it would leave, galloping after whatever pleasure Robb provided. Eager lips traced the damp outline of your nethers.

Lurching forward, your hips jolted, urging yourself onto his tongue with a twinge of desperation. His tongue continued to greedily lap at your slit, teasing your entrance before moving to ghost around the pearl of your cunt.

A man starved, Robb consumed you as if he were withering away, enraptured by your myriad of throaty praises and tugs of his curls. Calloused digits kneaded into your pliant flesh, keeping you grounded, shoulders spreading you apart.

With slow, eager laps of his tongue, Robb made sure to savor you, letting the flat of his tongue fall heavy across your clit. The short, dizzying gasp that tore past your mouth spurred him on, as he pressed another string of kisses against your slit.

It was ambrosial, your taste; a finest stout, the sweetest of nectars that stained his lips with your perfection. A lascivious hunger swelled within him, an innate, domineering need to possess you, claim you like that of a wolf.

Those shieldbearers that stood diligently outside of his tent were, unfortunately, subjected to the sounds of sensuality inside. He cared little if the whole of the encampment heard, so long as they all knew whom you belonged to.

Robb remained somewhat wordless during this process of pleasuring you, preferring for his ministrations to speak for themselves.

A myriad of delighted moans tore past your lips, eyes pleasantly half-lidded, fingers continuing to rake throughout his auburn curls. You urged him closer, hips rolling into the fervent heat of his mouth, thighs quivering as he treated you to a lap of his tongue.

This barrage of bliss assaulted your body with such intensity, molten heat churning within the pit of your stomach, oozing between your thighs. Robb savored your taste, hands kneading their way along your legs, keeping you firmly rooted in-place.

The tip of his nose brushes along your petals, tongue splitting deeper still, until he vigorously laps at your nethers. Your taste permeates his mouth, a bittersweet ambrosia that draws him into some lovestruck haze.

“Gods, do not stop,” It became some desirous incantation, breathy pleas spilling from your lips, accompanied by his name, a constant upon your tongue. Thighs twitched around him, with the wolf-king rightfully smothered between your legs. “Robb, please!”

A grunt of approval reverberated throughout his chest, the vibration of it felt along your cunt. A thin layer of perspiration began to coalesce against your spine, cooling with the temperate climate. It was then that his tongue began to circle around your pearl, prompting your hips to lurch forward.

Shockwaves of ecstasy rushed through you, flooding throughout your insides like some cascading wave. Keeping you grounded against the table, he greedily lapped at the pearl of your cunt, savoring the string of mewls that escaped your lips.

A coil of taut heat sat firmly within your belly, beginning to unfurl as your Northern husband has his fill of you with an incessant need. Wanton fingers continue to tug against his crown of curls, evoking a sharp groan from within his chest.

Able to feel the first onslaught of your peak, you fought against crying out, attempting to tame your ecstatic whimpers. A sob of delight wracked your throat, body bending to his ministrations, succumbing to pleasure.

Lips pursed around the pearl of your cunt, suckling upon the sensitive clutch of nerves. A sharp gasp penetrated your lungs, like a sudden stab of intensity that made your thighs tremble. With a roll of your hips, Robb intermingled such actions with broad strokes of his tongue.

“Robb!” Gods help you; such ecstasy had been foreign to you for the longest time, and now, it was overwhelming. Strong, veined hands kneaded themselves into the swell of your hips, urging you onto his tongue as you approached your pinnacle.

It was a melody that he would never tire of, the delighted cadence of your voice, tapering off into an amalgamation of praises and moans. Flushed and desperate, Robb felt his cock throb incessantly within his trousers, aching to bury himself within you.

“That’s it, love.” Robb growled, teeth nipping at the supple flesh of your inner thigh, Northern timbre sending shivers up your spine. His tone was husked with desire, shadowed gaze closely following your face.

Buckling beneath the weight of your mounting arousal, your body succumbed, as if a barrier had been obliterated. A surge of heat flooded your insides, pooling between your thighs as you quivered in the aftermath.

Dutiful as ever, Robb’s mouth teased you further, sluggishly lapping at your nectar, a glistening sheen clinging to his chin. The scratch of his beard made for a pleasant contrast, chest heaving as you attempted to catch your breath.

Feather-light kisses etched themselves into your thigh, as your husband slowly began to withdraw. Darkened hues met your gaze, imbued with a rousing hunger that set your bones ablaze.

Despite the ruinous state of the war-table, pieces having been scattered in all directions, Robb only wished to continue. His hands found the plush swell of your hips, guiding you back against his chest, lips pressing to your shoulder.

“Shall I take you here or in our bed, m’lady?” His inquiry was permeated with a thinly-veiled arousal, tone a touch lower than before. The Northern coarseness of it made you shudder in delight, hands finding the nape of his neck.

The leather-clad swell of his cock gently rocked against your nethers, causing a gasp to inhabit your lungs. With his need made evident, your own eagerness demanded that he not be kept waiting. One hand drifted to the ties of his breeches, giving them a brief tug.

“Bed,” As the singular syllable floated from your lips, Robb steered you toward the makeshift mountain of furs, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. In the midst of your movement, you untied his trousers, letting them sag upon his hips. “Please.”

It was Robb whose legs had kissed the furs first, palms molding themselves to your curves, hastily kicking out of his breeches. His mouth sought yours, lips colliding in a fervor of teeth and tongue, able to taste remnants of yourself throughout.

Moving backwards, Robb settled onto the bed, taking you with him, strong hands gripping you with such quiet strength. Muscled forearms remained taut, maneuvering you beneath him in the midst of entangled limbs and desperate kisses.

As your back slithered across the plush hide of elk and bear alike, you gazed at your husband, whose rugged features were flushed, swirling with lust. He made himself comfortable between your legs, savoring the sensation of your thighs squeezing at either side of his hips.

Calloused digits immediately seized the plush meat of your thigh, tracing across the silken skin, reveling in your beauty. Robb considered himself fortunate, to wed one as comely as you, with your graciousness and gentle heart.

Bodies molded together, the brush of his chest ghosting across your breasts, the swell of his cock beginning to press against your stomach. The mesmerized spark within your eyes had set his body ablaze, swallowed in the same warmth that had consumed you.

“You’re mine,” Robb murmured, pressing a kiss to your jaw, teeth catching against the delicate flesh there. “My wife.” Such use of the affectionate title had roused a familiar slick between your thighs once more.

“As you are mine,” With bated breath, you allowed your legs to coax him in, continuing to flex around his hips. Shadowed hues roved over your countenance, lips peppering themselves across your throat as he adjusted himself. “I am yours.”

The tenderness of your declaration could not be understated, saturated with a yearning that rivaled his own. It was as if the flame raged between you both, demanding to be extinguished. Maneuvering himself, the tip of his cock gliding along your nethers.

A swirl of molten liquid churned violently within the pit of your belly, skin crawling with a neediness that seemed to glisten within your gaze. Robb held you close, steeling himself as he allowed his restraint to shatter altogether.

With a hasty draw of his hips, you felt him swarm inward, beginning to sheathe himself inside of your cunt. A soft whimper escaped you, feeling yourself clench around him out of sheer want. His groan vexed you, fingertips cupping the nape of his neck.

Your heart pounded within your ribcage, so powerful that you thought it might burst through. His stubble scratched against your cheek, providing a pleasant burn that let you know that this was reality. “I need you.” Your plea was met with a subtle groan.

The initial pace was one of urgency, fervent desire running rampant, an uncontrollable wildfire. Robb’s hips had started as sluggish rolls before turning into calculated thrusts, propped up atop the furs with one arm.

Clinging to him as if you were a drowning woman, your husband maintained an ironclad grip upon your thigh, digits kneading into the flesh there. A cacophony of moans tore past your throat, countenance screwed into a blissful expression.

His cock filled you perfectly, as if he were designed by the careful hand of the Seven, molded especially to your liking. Foreheads momentarily brushed together, lips clamoring until they connected in a bruising kiss.

Robb’s hand splayed next to your face, cock rocking in and out of you at a steady pace, the fervor steadily increasing. Your head spun, clouded by lust as your wolfish paramour ravished you in the way that you deserved.

A breathy ‘fuck’ spilled from his lips, caught between wanton sighs and groans of rapture. The warmth between breath and body kept you feeling feverish, and you hitched one leg around his hips, evoking a growl from Robb.

One could never mistake Robb’s roughness for something malicious, each thrust of his hips passionate; bleeding with ardor. It was this intense pace that you so adored, craved — it kept you grounded, made to understand the depths of his growing devotion.

He was invigorated, driven to madness by the sight of you, writhing beneath him. Friction blossomed between you both, an insatiable heat that only served to further his hunger. With another kiss, Robb’s teeth caught against your lower lip, allowing it to linger.

Robb shuddered at the feeling of your cunt, tight and warm around him, clenching around his cock with each roll of your hips. You took him perfectly, as if you were made for him, molded together. Heat prevailed, licking along your spine as his thrusts grew with haste.

The lewd, crass union of intertwined flesh filled his tent, breathy sighs and strenuous groans only adding to the ambiance. Hot breath fanned across your jaw as he pressed a kiss there, teeth nicking the delicate flesh.

A whimper of bliss bubbled from your lips as he became invigorated in his pace, rocking himself into you with a certain fervor. His grip upon your thigh had only strengthened, fingertips threatening to leave bruises in the wake of your lovemaking.

Digits tangled into auburn curls, briefly tugging at his tresses as you kissed him once more, swollen lips begging for another. Robb obliged you without question, hips urging themselves into you over and over again, his cock hitting new depths.

It was sticky and desirous, perspiration glistening upon his brow, features painted by the now-waning embers of the brazier. Even then, his cerulean hues were filled with such devotion, a yearning that had made butterflies erupt within your stomach.

Heat persisted, gazes meeting with such ardor, causing you to shiver beneath his stare. Arousal permeated between your thighs, slick and ambrosial, the scent of coupling invading your senses.

Robb groaned, the blissful noises spilling near your ear as your leg tightened around him, his arm caging you in against him. A coil of heat began to unfurl within the both of you, bodies constantly shifting against the other, an amalgamation of friction.

It was a perfect storm of sensations, ones that made you delirious with desire, crying out to the heavens. A sharp moan punctured your lungs, feeling his cock drive deeper still, until it nearly kissed your womb.

A white-hot haze invaded your senses, nearly seeing stars as your body trembled, slowly settling atop the furs. Robb’s hand held your thigh, reveling in the pliant flesh beneath, flesh that he coveted more than anything else.

With a grunt that spread throughout his sternum, Robb spilled his seed within you; a rush of warmth, one that you shared in. As you reveled in mutual release, hot ropes of spend invaded your cunt, an inevitable duty, that of conception.

Admittedly, Robb wished for it — to see you swollen with his babe, a sizable family that rivaled that of his own. There were discussions of this desire beforehand, one that you had taken keen interest in.

Keeping himself sheathed within you, his cock throbbed, relief beginning to unfurl from his shoulders, a tension now extinguished. In the afterglow, he made sure to pepper you in kisses, rugged scruff scratching against your cheek.

“You’re perfect.” His utterance made you smitten, removing himself from you with a lewd, sticky rush of heat. Robb did not depart from the bed, instead moving to recline against the feather pillow, placing one arm beneath his head.

Basking in the blissful aftermath of your tryst, you moved closer, taking refuge in the crook of his shoulder, crown beneath his chin. “That is one way to strip you of any stress.” You mused, smiling as his chest shook with a chuckle.

“It isn’t the only way,” Robb began, peering down at you with a playful countenance. It was the most relaxed he’d been in days — and it was all because of your very presence. Placing carnal appetites aside, he was delighted to be near you. “But I am not opposed to it.”

An ebullient giggle tumbled from your lips, nose wrinkling with amusement as you curled into his side, fingertips tracing across his chest. He was content to hold you close, digits stroking along the space between your shoulders.

“What of your table? I did not intend to ruin it,” Wooden pieces remained haphazardly scattered across the sprawling map, and in that moment, Robb cared little for it. “I suppose it was difficult to focus on anything else.”

Robb’s laugh was as warm as a midsummer’s day, pearlescent teeth glinting through the waning firelight. “Was it?” He teased, prompting you to smack at his chest — and to that, he caught your wrist, sitting up enough to find your gaze.

“It was.” A blissful shiver gripped you as Robb kissed your palm, savoring the sensation of your fingertips caressing his jaw. He leaned inward, a smirk tugging at either corner of his mouth.

“Plenty of dusk left to ruin it further, before the morrow.” He murmured, a mischievous glint swirling within his cerulean hues. It only served to make you squirm — and that was more than enough, your shared laughter filling the tent.

“Then we mustn’t tarry here.” As the lascivious remark spilled from your lips, Robb had captured your lips in a kiss, disarmingly gentle. It made you yearn for him in ways that you weren’t acquainted with — and you suspected you would be.

On the morrow, it was Roose Bolton who had sharply questioned the misplacement of the wooden figureheads — and Robb was none the wiser.

#robb stark x reader #robb stark x you #robb stark x y/n #got x reader #got x you #got x y/n #game of thrones #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones smut #game of thrones fanfiction #robb stark #asoiaf #asoiaf fanfic

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xxnymeriatargaryenxx · 7 days ago

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your husband cregan stark after having a few celebratory drinks 🍻🍻🍻

• pulls you to sit in his lap to be close to him

• has one hand resting on the small of your back

• he tells off the other men when they get too drunk or rowdy!!! (and he doesn’t have to tell them twice) 😌

• asks you about your day while staring intently at your lips

• his cheeks flush pink and his hair clings softly to his face from the sweat and humidity in the room

• starts giving you bedroom eyes 🦋

• apologizes to you for the smell of ale on his breath using your petname <33

you know it is time to grab his hand and head off to bed when he starts whispering in your ear about how badly he wants to fuck you since he got back from his trip 🤭

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feyhunter78 · 10 months ago

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Description: During your Uncle Robert's Royal Procession, you find yourself enraptured with Ned Starks' bastard son. While Jon has never dreamed so vividly until your arrival. A thread seems to exist between you and him, pulling you together. Luckily for you both, your father Tyrion sees the need for a sworn sword in his beloved daughter's life.

Ch 2

You should know better, truly you should, but you’ve always had a weakness for pitiful-looking creatures, or at least that’s what your father has always said. He stands a pace ahead of you, watching as your uncle, the King Robert, embraces Lord Ned Stark with a boyish joy you have never seen in your uncle. Your Aunt Cersei stands to the side of them, smiling politely at the Lady Catelyn Stark, Joffery all but hanging from her skirts, demanding attention. Usually, you would scowl at the back of the boy’s head, but the sight of Ned Stark’s bastard son has you quite distracted.

He is pitiful, even his name, Jon, it’s so common, so often used it cannot differentiate him from others. He stands stiffly, with gray eyes so dark they almost seem black set beneath thick brows. He has curly dark hair that frames his face, an unchanging frown upon his face, and his hands clasp and unclasp nervously as he watches the mingling of your two families. Jon’s dressed like all the other Starks, but somehow lesser, as if he has chosen only the drabbest of colors in an effort to blend into the dreary landscape. There’s a solemn softness to him that intrigues you. What secrets does he keep? Why does he look so mired in grief? He notices your gaze, and his face tints pink as he ducks his head further into the fur collar of his cloak. You bite back a laugh, for a moment he looked like a turtle.

The boy beside him, Robb, stands an inch or so taller with cornflower blue eyes, and auburn hair. The clear son of Lady Catelyn radiates confidence, nearly bordering on arrogance, as he surveys the servants unloading your family’s belongings from the wheelhouses. Beside him stands a boy whose arrogance you wouldn’t mistake for confidence, even if you were less astute than you are. But the arrogance rings false, you can see the cracks in his bravado, the insecurity leaking from every pore. It’s in the way he hovers so close to Robb, as if he fears to be away from him would be his undoing. This one you know inside and out; your father had drilled you on everyone you were going to meet before you even stepped foot outside King’s Landing.

Theon Greyjoy, last surviving son of Balon Greyjoy, a war prisoner disguised as a ward, the closest companion to Robb Stark, both accepted and held at a distance, Lord Stark’s sword an ever-looming threat should his father ever revolt once more. Theon has eyes like the sea and tousled hair the color reminiscent of the mahogany desk in your father’s study. He is lankier than the other two, hungrier, and when your eyes meet his, he winks. You resist the urge to wrinkle your nose in response, you were a lady, a Lannister, you were not so easily swayed. Theon is handsome, but if your father’s reports were true, he spent much of his time in brothels. The tactics that worked there would not work on you.

“And this is my eldest daughter, Sansa.” Lord Stark says, motioning to a girl that was perhaps two or so years younger than you. She is beautiful, with fiery red hair, eyes like Robb’s, and high, graceful cheekbones. She curtsies with the air of a Southern lady, and smiles when you do the same. This is who you are meant to befriend, and it does not seem it will be too difficult, Sansa’s eyes eagerly drink in every aspect of your being, as if she wishes to glen all she can of Southern life before it is ripped away from her.

“She is as beautiful as her mother.” Your father says, giving her then Lady Catelyn a smile.

They both thank him, Lady Catelyn beaming at the praise, while you notice Sansa’s cheeks flush with color. She is easily flattered; you must remember that.

“Allow me to introduce my own daughter, Y/N Lannister.” Your father introduces you, putting emphasis on your surname, the very fact that you have one. You are not a bastard, no matter what awful Joffrey likes to say. Your mother and father had married in secret, she died giving birth to you, it was tragic and left your father quite saddened, but you were not a bastard.

Your eyes dart back to Jon taking him in subtlety. You wish to see him blush again, but you will not make your actions so easily observed.

“It is too cold, why must we stand here all day?” Joffrey whines, crossing his arms over his chest and stomping his foot resoundingly.

Your aunt fusses over him, and Lord Stark leads you all inside, talking jovially with your uncle as you hurry to catch up with your father.

It is loud in the Great Hall of Winterfell, made of gray stone and smelling of smoke, meat, and a hint of dog, which you must assume is from the Direwolves. It is well lit and filled with people, all enjoying the bountiful feast set before them on long wooden tables. You’re seated away from your father, something you despise. He is closer to your Uncle Jaime, nearer to the King and Lord Stark, while you have been seated with the other children. It has only been you and your father for so very long, a part of you feels anxious to be separated from him, but you are a Lannister, if you cannot charm the strangers around you then can you truly call yourself such?

“Will you tell me more of King’s Landing, Lady y/n?” Sansa asks, looking enraptured by the mere thought of it. She is dressed in a gown of blue silk, her fur lined cloak on the back of her chair, her hair done up in a style you’re quite familiar with. She is very beautiful, and you spot many men staring at her, one of them being Theon who is seated at the lower tables. You catch his eye and smile knowingly. In response, he scowls and ducks his head.

You must mention this observation to your father.

You smile and return your attention to Sansa, regaling her with tales of festivals and feasts, of tourneys and services in the Great Sept. Her siblings either listen as well or turn their attention elsewhere, which you don’t mind. They are not who you are here to befriend.

Sansa sighs dreamily and turns her gaze to Joffrey, who is seated next to his mother further up the table and is staring down at his food as if it has offended him. “And what of Joffrey? Surely you must be close?”

Your cousin, and closest companion, Myrcella snorts into her drink, and you shoot her a look. Myrcella was meant to be sitting next to Joffrey but had convinced someone to switch with her so that she could be next to you.

“Joffrey is a…spirited boy, he has many…passions.” You say carefully, running your finger along the rim of your glass.

Your father suspects Robert will wish to wed Sansa and Joffrey. It’s a strategic match, but your cousin is a horrible bully, you have marks hidden beneath your sleeves to prove your words, and you do not wish to see innocent Sansa suffer in such a way. True, you have not spent much time with her, but she has been warm and welcoming, her innocence shining through like the sun on a spring day.

“Does he enjoy tourneys? I have heard the King was quite the warrior, he and father fought together.” Sansa continues, resting her chin in her hand.

You smooth out the nonexistent wrinkles in your skirts. “Joffrey has not competed in any tourneys quite yet, Lady Sansa, he is too young.”

“He is three and ten, is he not? Most squire by one and ten, why has he not been sent to one of your bannermen like his uncle?” Robb says, taking a long drink from his glass.

“My mother does not wish for him to get injured; he is heir to the throne, after all.” Myrcella chimes in, saving you from coming up with another excuse for why Joffrey has not been allowed to leave King’s Landing.

Sansa nods and gazes longingly at Joffrey once more. “That seems most wise, what a dutiful mother Queen Cersei is.”

“Where is your mother, Lady y/n? I did not see anyone else arrive.” Bran, one of the younger Starks asks, his round innocent face not dulling the sting of his words at all.

Myrcella takes your hand under the tables and squeezes it. She has been privy to the nights of crying, of mourning the mother you would never know.

“Bran, that is not polite.” Sansa hisses.

You shake your head, a soft smile on your face. “My mother died giving birth to me, but I am told she held me in her arms before the Stranger came for her, that she named me and spoke of how dearly she loved me.”

Bran makes a soft noise of apology, and the conversation lulls, until finally you have finished your meal and are free to retire to your chambers.

You wave off any offer to escort you, telling them all you wish to admire the architecture of Winterfell in solitude.

It’s not wholly a lie, though you cannot say you ever wish to be alone , you enjoy the company of others, are invigorated by it, but tonight feels different. Perhaps it is the mention of your mother, or the false face Joffrey is putting on for the Starks and their bannermen, the sound of his laughter ringing about the hall. You wander the halls of Winterfell with a faint knowledge of where the guest chambers lie, when you find yourself approaching the training yard. The night is quiet, snow falling gently, the brisk air seizes your lungs, purifying them with an icy chill.

You are not alone, the thud of blunt metal upon wood, the sounds of exertion, the turn of boots in snow covered dirt. You slowly move towards the sound, knowing your father will scold you later for such carelessness. There are countless people here, and you cannot be assured they all wish you well.

Jon Snow, the ever so distracting bastard, stands in the middle of the yard, training alone, the moonlight shining down on him, making his pale skin glisten. You rest your hand on the stone archway, one foot on the dirt, the other still firmly planted on the stone. You should leave him alone, you know it, but you’re mesmerized by the sight, the tension in his muscles, the expanse of his back, the strength in his arms. He is a little older than you, six and ten to your five and ten, both old enough to be married, yet both remaining unbetrothed.

There had been offers for your hand, even though you were the imp’s child, and many wondered if you would sire broken children, if you would pass on your father’s curse. But for the gold that backed your name many were willing to risk it. You didn’t like your suitors, they were too brash, too lewd, too old, or simply just not right.

Jon stops and lifts his tunic to wipe the sweat from his brow. His stomach is toned, his skin mostly smooth, though there are some faded scars.

Yes, they were simply not right, they did not look like that.

You feel heat rise to your cheeks and you avert your eyes. What were you, a child? A lovesick maid? You have spent no more than mere minutes in his presence, and already you are lusting after him like some silk street whore? It must be the chill that is muddling your mind, yes, the chill. Not the kindness that you saw within him as he played with Arya and Bran in the courtyard earlier in the day. Or the way he stood stiff lipped while Joffrey threw barbed insults at him as he passed him in the hall, or the stack of novels you had overheard the maester say were to be set aside for him. Merely the chill. The chill and the flights of fancy all young girls are prone to.

With that in mind, you wait until he has returned his tunic to its rightful place and step fully into the snow.

He turns on his heel, weapon at the ready. He is perceptive, you note, good reflexes, excellent hearing, fine form, carved from marble, glowing like a god in the moonlight.

Gods y/n, pull yourself together.

“My apologies, I did not mean to startle you.” You say, wrapping your cloak tighter around you. It is thin, far too thin to wear in the chill of night.

Jon lowers his sword. “Lady Lannister, why are you not inside at the feast? Are you lost?”

“Yes.” You lie, batting your eyelashes at him, crafting your expression into one of helplessness. “I wished to return to my chamber, but I lost my way.”

Jon stows his sword and retrieves his cloak from a nearby rack. “I will escort you, if you do not take offense?”

You tilt your head in faux confusion. “Why would I take offense?”

He shuffles his feet and busies himself with his cloak. “You are a lady of a great house, and I am…” He lets the unspoken words hang in the air, and you have the grace to act surprised.

“Oh, yes, right, you are a Snow.” You say, taking a step towards him and extending your hand, waiting to set it on his arm. “Well, I care not if you are a Stark or a Snow, I am sure you are more than capable of escorting me to the guest chambers of your home.”

He ducks his head, that delightful blush returning to his cheeks, and he holds out his arm for you.

You take it gratefully, allowing him to guide you back towards the way you came. The wind blows through the yard as you walk and cuts straight through your thin cloak, a shiver shooting down your spine.

Before you can blink, Jon has draped his cloak over you, clasping it shut with a surprising boldness. “It is far too cold for such a thin cloak; you must remember to wear your furs if you find yourself wandering out here once more.”

You look up at him through your lashes, your heart skipping a beat at the proximity between you and him, the depth of his dark eyes. “And if I were to wander out here again…might I be able to count on you to escort me? I must confess I find the halls of Winterfell quite confusing.”

He lingers for a moment, drinking you in, his head nodding almost imperceptibly, then he wrenches himself away, his gaze set forward. “Anyone in Winterfell would be more than able to escort you, My Lady.”

You nod, feeling the sting of rejection. It’s no matter, this is only the first night, there’s still plenty of time.

Yes I used a Hozier line bc it's perfect for the vibe of this fic

#meg's writing #jon snow x reader #jon snow x you #jon snow x oc #jon snow imagine #jon snow #tyrion lannister #lannister!reader #new series alert!#I know y'all don't want this but I wanted to make the title thing so bad #tyrion's daughter #theon greyjoy x sansa stark #theon greyjoy #sansa stark #got fanfiction #robb stark

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countrymusiclover · 2 years ago

Text

The Dwarfs Daughter readers I might be changing the face of my OC Raegan from Celina Sinden (Greer) to Tamsin Egerton (Guinevere)

To this...

#the dwarfs daughter #robb stark x you #robb stark x y/n #robb stark x reader fanfiction #robb stark x oc #robb stark x reader #robb stark fanfic #robb stark fanfiction #oc : raegan lannister #celina sinden #tamsin egerton #guinevere camelot

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sorcerousundries · 3 months ago

Text

Spoiled rotten

Being greywinds favourite

Warnings: everything’s fine AU

A/N: a lot of these scenarios are inspired by my dog

Robb was being replaced

He knew it plain and simple. He first started to notice it when he’d saunter into your shared chambers, eager to strip himself of his leathers and nestle under the furs with you while the fire crackled something fierce.

He had been thinking about it all day in fact. The only thing keeping him motivated while he pushed through seemingly endless council meetings and letter responses alike.

Yet when the time had finally come and he pulled the covers back he was not greeted with the empty space reserved just for him, instead a great big direwolf was cuddled into the space with your arms wrapped around him.

He swears he could even see him smirking as if taunting him.

To rub salt on the wound you even giggled at him as you told him “I have a new cuddling companion now” it’s like you wanted him dead.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

After weeks of carefully planning greywinds mealtimes so that he’d be able to sneak under the covers before the wolf padded into your quarters as if he owned the place, Robb though that would be the end of the business.

How wrong he was.

The chances he was granted to be able to come visit you during the day were slim but not impossible, most days he was able to slip away and sit beside you while you read.

You would chat to him about anything; the topic of your book, the dream you had that night, what you had for lunch. Anything.

But after walking into the library and seeing greywind pressed at your back like a sentinel pillow, his victory was lost yet again.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

When night fell and the castle fell silent, the winds blowing strong outside. You could always count on Robb to keep you warm at night, aswell as the thick furs that sat heavy on the bed.

Yet when a chill started to curls round his shoulders and he tried to pull the covers up to shield himself from the cool air, the fur wouldn’t move.

No matter how much he yanked and tugged, the fur refused to move.

As he looked down to try and identify the source, he was greeted with the happily snoozing face of his canine companion, sprawled over your legs with his head happily resting in the dip of your waist.

That morning Robb woke up with a stiff neck as he gave in and shuffled down the bed in order to completely cover himself, neglecting his posture as his head was denied the privilege of resting on a pillow.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The evening air was crisp and cool, with the gentle crackle of the fire filling the room with warmth. You sat on a plush fur rug in front of the hearth, wrapped in a soft blanket, feeling the flickering flames dance across your skin. The atmosphere in the great hall of Winterfell was cozy, a welcome contrast to the chill outside.

Robb entered, shaking off the cold as he closed the heavy wooden door behind him. His cheeks were flushed from the brisk air, and a smile broke across his face when he spotted you. “I thought I might find y’ here” he said, his voice warm and inviting thick with his Northern accent.

You smiled back, patting the space beside you.

Without hesitation, Robb settled down next to you, the soft fabric of his cloak brushing against your side. He draped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer. The heat radiating from the fire mixed with the warmth of his body, creating a perfect cocoon of comfort. resting his chin atop your head. You could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, soothing and strong.

As you nestled into his side, Grey Wind padded into the room, his fur a dark shadow against the flickering light. He sniffed the air for a moment before making his way over, his golden eyes bright with affection. With a soft whine, he settled down beside you, leaning against Robb's leg.

Robb had to resist rolling his eyes as your hand came down to scratch greywinds ears, running your fingers through his thick fur. “He always knows when we’re havin’ a moment.” He groans.

You sent Robb an incredulous look before giggling at the ridiculousness of the situation. The warmth of his embrace enveloped you, and you settled deeper into his comforting hold, feeling safe and cherished. As you gazed up into his eyes, a playful spark ignited between you. You nudged your nose against his, a silent invitation that led to a soft, lingering kiss. In that instant, time seemed to stand still, and the world outside Winterfell faded away, leaving just the two of you wrapped in a cocoon of warmth and affection.

But even that blissful moment was gently interrupted by Grey Wind’s piercing whine, a sound that sliced through the tranquility like a sudden gust of wind. You pulled away from Robb, chuckling softly at the absurdity of it all.

“Alright, alright,” you coo , shaking your head as you leaned down to meet Grey Wind’s expectant gaze. His dark eyes shimmered with a mix of longing and playful annoyance, and you couldn’t help but smile. You pressed a kiss to his wet nose, the familiar gesture eliciting a soft huff from him, as if he were grumbling about being neglected.

With the fire crackling and Grey Wind’s soft breathing filling the room, you felt utterly content. The warmth of the hearth, the closeness of Robb, and the gentle presence of Grey Wind created a serene atmosphere. It was a simple moment, but in that cozy space, surrounded by the two beings you cherished most, Even Robb had to admit he wouldn’t actually mind being replaced.

#Robb stark #robb stark x reader #game of thrones #game of thrones x reader #got x reader #got #Game of thrones fanfiction #Robb stark fanfiction

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doctorwhoandfairytaillover · 3 months ago

Text

Storge

Summary: When one spoke of the Lannisters, the last thing that came to the mind of anyone was familial love.

A/N: I apologize to everyone still waiting on pt 5 of Loving Arms, a lot has been going on in my personal life and I only had the energy to finish this one up. Hopefully this sort of makes up for it.

It had been a long journey for the pair, almost 5 months since the day that Jaime’s younger sister had turned five and ten name days old. The longest journey that the young girl had ever experienced in her life, spending much of it behind the walls of the Red Keep.

Despite the opposition from Cersei and Tywin, King Robert had a grand celebration done to celebrate the girl as he held a fondness for his slightly strange and quiet sister by law. It should have been a time of merriment, but only a Lannister like Tywin could find a way to bring the mood down when he had both Jaime and (Y/N) brought to his study to tell them that he intended on marrying his youngest daughter to the Mountain, Gregor Clegane.

Immediately both Jaime and (Y/N) were opposed to the idea of the girl marrying the man, it was an inconceivable thought. But there was little love from Tywin for his youngest daughter, born from a brief marriage, who only served as a reminder of being the wrong sex and cause of him losing another wife. It was a mere miracle that their pleading seemed to do anything and the Lannister patriarch agreed that if they could somehow convince the Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell to agree to a match, then he would leave the girl be.

As they ride towards Winterfell with the cold air biting at their faces, Jaime can't help but feel a sense of unease the closer they get to it. In his mind, he is already planning out how to make this proposal of having young Robb Stark and his younger sister marry, sound as appealing as possible to Ned Stark. The man has always been a man of honor, but his disdain for Lannisters runs deep.

Jaime can't help but glance at his sister, her small frame huddled against the cold and heavily bundled with her cloak and furs. His protective instincts kick in, and he can't help but feel a pang of worry for her safety. There was a part of him that wished he had tried harder to have her stay behind, but another part of him knew that leaving her in the care of either of Cersei or his Father was out of the question. He figured it would be better to keep a closer eye on her as they approach Winterfell, his hand always ready to reach for his sword in case of danger and awareness that should she feel any colder, that he was sure that he had an additional cloak.

The snow begins to fall softly and (Y/N) looks up at the sky in childish wonder, so accustomed to the warm weather and heat, it wasn’t a surprise that she stopped her horse to stare. And Jaime can't help but smile at her awe, her expression filled with a wonder at seeing snow for the first time was one that he had missed. It filled him with regret that he had not been able to ensure that it was a constant for her and he watches her for a moment, the snowflakes catching in her hair and on her eyelashes.

"Pretty, isn't it?" he mutters, his voice affectionate.

“Very pretty!” she says as snowflakes fall on her hair.

He chuckles at her excitement, her childlike wonder making him smile.

"Careful, sweetling. You'll get covered in snow and we don’t want to risk you falling ill,” he mutters, reaching out to brush some snowflakes from her hair.

“But it's so nice Jaime!” she giggles but ultimately listened to her brother and put up the hood of her cloak.

Jaime grins at her words, her laughter filling the air. It's refreshing to see her so happy, so carefree, despite the daunting task that awaits them at Winterfell.

"Just be careful not to catch a cold," he mutters, his tone affectionate as he watches her put up her hood. "We don't need you sniffling and sneezing all the way to Winterfell."

But as they draw closer to Winterfell, Jaime can feel his nerves starting to fray as the anxious thoughts swirl in his mind. He reaches down to grip the pommel of his sword, his heartbeat picking up speed. He glances at his sister, who is looking up at Winterfell with wide eyes.

"Almost there, sweetling. Just stick close to me, alright?"

She nods but her excitement doesn’t fade.

Jaime leads her closer to the gates of Winterfell, his eyes sweeping the surrounding area for any sign of trouble as the horses trundle through. It is obvious to everyone that the Lannister siblings aren’t from there and the guards look at them with a mixture of suspicion and disdain, more so when they recognize the Lannister sigil on their cloaks. Jamie can feel his heart pounding in his chest, his mind racing as the guards call out for them to halt.

He reins in his horse as they approach the guards at the gate, his voice firm and commanding.

"We seek an audience with Lord Stark. Tell him Jaime Lannister wishes to speak with him."

One of the guards goes inside, and the remaining guard keeps a watchful eye on them, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Jaime tries to ignore the man's watchful gaze, his mind racing as he waits for Ned Stark's response. After some time had passes that felt like an eternity, the guard returns, a serious expression on his face.

"Lord Stark will see you," he says gruffly, his eyes flickering over Jaime and his sister.

The guard leads the way through the gates, and Jaime follows suite with his sister close behind him. The castle of Winterfell looms above them, its massive stones casting a massive shadow. The elder Lannister glances towards his sister, seeing the nervous look on her face and reaches back to give her hand a reassuring squeeze.

“Do you think it’s warmer than it looks?” she asks.

Jaime can't help but chuckle at her question, the innocence in her voice making his heart ache. He glances up at the imposing structure of Winterfell, the stone walls and turrets seeming to reach up to the very clouds themselves.

"Trust me, sweetling. Nothing can keep out the cold in the North. It's as cold as a witch's teat in there."

Jaime can't help but smile at her giggle, her laughter like a balm against his nerves.

“That’s not a proper joke to be making, Jaime” she laughs while trying to draw closer to her older brother.

"Just keep your cloak on tight, alright? We don't want you freezing to death before we even get inside."

She nods and tightens her cloak. Not far off they can see Ned Stark waiting for them. As they approach Lord Stark, Jaime can feel his heart hammering in his chest, the man's stern expression and steely gaze making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. His sister shrinks back a little, her small frame dwarfed beneath her cloak.

"Lord Stark," he says, trying to keep his voice steady. "I appreciate you taking the time to see us."

Ned Stark nods at Jaime but looks at the girl curiously, “This is no place for such a young girl, why did you bring the little lion cub along?”

Jaime takes a deep breath, his mind racing as he tries to come up with a convincing explanation. He can feel his sister's small hand gripping his, the tension in the air thick enough to cut with a sword.

"She insisted on coming, Stark,” he replies, trying to keep his voice calm. "She's... she's always had a stubborn streak. There was no talking her out of it."

The young girl jumps down from her horse before anyone can help her down and curtsies in front of Ned Stark, “It's very nice to meet you ser.”

Ned Stark glances down at her, his stern expression softening a little at the sight of her curtsy. He looks at her for a long moment, his eyes taking in her small form and wide eyes.

"And what is your name, child?" he asks, his voice gruff but not unkind.

“(Y/N), ser” she says softly.

Ned Stark raises an eyebrow at her response, clearly taken aback by the name. He glances at Jaime, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. “(Y/N)? That’s quite a different name, isn’t it? Doesn’t sound very Lannister” he repeats, his voice tinged with curiosity now.

Jaime nods, “Her mother wanted something different than the usual Lannister names”

Ned Stark's expression softens a little more at the mention of her late mother, his voice taking on a slightly warmer tone. "I see. And how old are you, Little Lioness?"

She brightens, “I had my five and tenth birthday not that long ago ser”

Ned Stark's eyebrows raise at her response, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. “Five and tenth? You're nearly a woman grown then, Little Lioness," he says, his voice slightly amused.

“Yes ser, and that's a little of why my brother and I are here.”

Ned Stark glances at Jamie, his expression becoming serious again. "Is that so?" he says, his voice tinged with curiosity. "What is it then that brings the two of you all the way to Winterfell?"

Before either of the siblings can respond, she lets out a small high pitched sneeze and sniffles. Ned Stark looks down at her, his expression softening at the sight of her sneezing and sniffling. He glances at Jaime, a knowing look in his eyes.

"It's cold out here, Little Lioness. Perhaps it's best we go inside and speak in the warmth."

“Yes, please!” she thanks.

Ned Stark nods and leads the way towards the entrance of Winterfell, the massive doors opening to let them in. The heat of the castle envelops them, and Jaime can feel his sister relaxing as the cold air is left behind. The Lord of Winterfell leads them into what must have been his private study, a fire burning in the massive fireplace. He gestures for them to take a seat at a table, and takes a seat across from them, his expression betraying nothing. The man says nothing as he watches Jaime pulls out a chair and helps his sister sit, his expression softening again at the gesture. He watches the two of them for a moment before speaking.

"So," he says, his voice firm but not unkind. "What is it you wish to speak about?"

She looks nervously at her older brother and Jaime can feel the tension in the air, his sister's small form fidgeting nervously. He takes a deep breath, his mind racing as he tries to come up with the right words.

"We have a proposition to make, my lord," he says, his voice steady but his heart hammering in his chest.

Ned Stark leans back in his seat, his expression guarded. He folds his arms across his broad chest and regards them both with a serious gaze.

"Go on, then," he says gruffly.

Jaime takes another deep breath, his heart pounding in his ears as he knows there is no going back if they were to make their proposition. But with a glance at his sister, her eyes wide and nervous, and his protectiveness towards her only strengthens his resolve. He looks back at Ned Stark, bracing himself.

"We wish to propose a marriage."

An expression of surprise washes over Ned Stark, “For whom?”

Jaime swallows hard, his heart feeling like it's stuck in his throat. He knew this was the difficult part, the part that would decide it all. "For my sister," he says, his voice steady but firm. "With your son."

Ned Stark's expression darkens at the mention of his son, his eyes narrowing in suspicion and perhaps anger.

“With my son? Robb?”

Seeming to notice the man’s anger, (Y/N) interjects quietly, “Yes ser! But it was my idea, so please don't be angry with my brother.”

Ned Stark's expression softens somewhat at her words, his stern gaze shifting to regard her instead of Jaime. "It was your idea, you say?" he says, his voice still gruff but lacking some of the anger it had before.

“Yes, ser. I heard Starks were honorable.”

Ned Stark's expression softens further at her words, his voice taking on a slight hint of warmth. He looks at her for a moment, his eyes taking in her small form and earnest expression.

"And what led you to this conclusion, Little Lioness?"

“Very little ser, all my knowledge comes from books of history and rumors,” she says, “I hoped that the stories were true.”

Ned Stark's expression softens even more at her honesty, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "You're a well-read young lady, it seems," he says, his voice carrying a hint of approval. "But what makes you think I would even consider this proposal, let alone to a Lannister?"

Jaime looks at his sister, and feels a pang of sympathy for her. Her wide eyes are pleading him to reassure her, and he can feel the weight of Ned Stark's gaze on him. He takes a deep breath, steeling himself to defend her proposal.

"Please, he says, trying to keep his voice steady. "Hear her out before you make a decision."

Ned Stark glances back and forth between them, his expression still stern but now tinged with a hint of curiosity. He leans back in his seat, signaling that he is willing to listen.

“Our houses have had animosity for a long time, but I know we could accomplish much together” she says with as much confidence as she can muster, “and I also have a slight selfish reason for this betrothal as well.”

Ned Stark raises an eyebrow at her words, his expression betraying a hint of curiosity. He gestures for her to continue, clearly intrigued by her statement.

She fidgets with her skirt and shrinks in her seat, “Um.... before we came here, my father hoped to marry me off to the Mountain.”

Ned Stark's expression darkens immediately at her words, his eyes narrowing in anger.

"The Mountain? You mean Gregor Clegane?" he growls, disbelief and anger clear in his voice.

“Yes ser, to thank him for his service to our family.”

Ned Stark's expression is now one of absolute disgust, his hands balled into fists of outrage."You cannot be serious," he snaps. "To betroth a young girl to a man like Clegane... it's monstrous."

“It's why I then suggested your son, I thought if he was raised by a man like you, perhaps I could find some happiness” she murmurs. “And my father said if you somehow accepted, then he would not intervene.”

Ned Stark's expression softens, his anger subsiding a little at the girl's words. He looks at her for a long moment, his eyes taking in her small form and now the hint of desperation in her voice. "You wish to escape a marriage with the Mountain, and see my son as a suitable alternative," he says, his voice quiet but still firm.

“Yes ser.”

Ned Stark considers her for a long moment, his expression betraying a hint of sympathy now. He glances at Jaime for a moment, clearly weighing the situation in his mind.

"I see," he says slowly. "You understand this is a very serious proposal, don't you? Do you understand what it would mean if I agreed?"

“If I said yes, I would be lying” she says. “One thing is reading about such things and it's another to truly do them.”

Ned Stark nods, a hint of respect in his eyes. "I appreciate your honesty, Little Lioness," he says, his voice gruff but kind. "It takes a lot to admit such things, and it's a better quality than most people have."

He leans back in his seat, resting his chin on his fist as he contemplates the girl in front of him. He glances back and forth between the two Lannister siblings for a long moment, his mind clearly searching for a way forward. Finally, he speaks.

"I will give you an answer by the start of the new year," he says, his voice firm but not unkind. "In the meantime, you will be welcome here at Winterfell as my guests."

She lets out a small sigh of relief and looks to Jaime.

Jaime feels a weight lift off his shoulders at Ned Stark's answer. He smiles back at his sister, feeling a surge of relief and gratitude to the Northern lord. "Thank you, Stark,” he says, his voice firm but honest. "We are most grateful for your hospitality."

“Thank you! thank you!” She says gratefully.

The Lord of Winterfell nods at her, a slight smile flickering across his lips. "You're very welcome, Little Lioness," he says, his voice taking on a hint of gentleness. "But now, perhaps you should rest from your journey. You look quite exhausted."

But in that moment a knock comes at the door. All three of them turn their heads at the knock, and Jaime feels a flicker of curiosity.

"Who is it?" Lord Stark calls out.

“Father, may I come in?” calls out a voice belonging to a young man.

Ned Stark looks at the door, a flicker of surprise across his face. He looks at Jaime and the girl for a moment before answering. "Come in," he calls out gruffly.

Jaime watches as none other than Robb Stark enters the room, his eyes taking in the Stark heir. The young man looks a lot like his father, with the same stern expression and strong stature, but of course must take some after his mother judging by the boy’s auburn curls.

Surprise is etched on Robb’s face, “Oh, I apologize Father. I had no idea that we had guests.”

Ned Stark shakes his head, a slight smile on his face at his son's trepidation. "No need to apologize, Robb," he says, his voice gruff but not unkind. "These are two of our guests from King's Landing, Ser Jaime Lannister and his sister, (Y/N).”

Robb's eyes widen in surprise at the mention of their names, his gaze flitting between Jaime and the girl. He glances at his father, a hundred questions clearly running through his mind.

Ned Stark gestures for his son to come closer, "Why did you need to talk to me, son?" he asks, his eyes watching Robb carefully.

“We can discuss it later,” he says, his gaze on the Lannister girl making her blush.

Jaime notices right away as Robb's gaze has fixed on the girl, and he feels a flare of protectiveness towards her. He glances towards his sister, and notices the blush creeping into her cheeks under the Stark boy's gaze. Ned Stark notices the interaction between them as well, his eyes flicker between Robb and the girl for a moment. A slight smile tugs at the corner of his lips, but he remains silent, his gaze watchful.

“Hello, it's nice to meet you” Robb tells her as he offers a polite bow.

The girl looks up as Robb speaks, a hint of nervousness in her eyes. She blushes deeper under his gaze, but manages to speak quietly. "It's nice to meet you too," she says, her voice soft and shy.

Jaime watches as they speak, his eyes flickering between them. He can sense the interest in Robb's gaze, and the shy reaction from his sister. His protective instincts flare up within him, but he holds his tongue for now.

“Could I perhaps escort you to supper?” Robb asks her.

The girl looks up at Robb, surprise and excitement in her eyes. She turns to her older brother, clearly seeking his approval. Jaime would have preferred to escort her himself but nods slightly, silently giving his consent. He watches as she turns back to Robb, her voice still very slightly nervous.

"I... yes, I would like that," she says, a small smile on her lips.

Robb and the girl bow and curtsy respectively to the adults in the room then head towards the dining hall, arm in arm with bashful smiles on their faces.

Ned Stark watches as the two young people leave the room, his expression a mix of contemplation and slight amusement. He turns to Jaime, the slight smile still present on his face. "He's taken a shine to her, it seems," he notes, his voice gruff but not unkind.

“Yes,” Jaimes says. “I suppose that's a good thing.”

Ned Stark nods slowly, his eyes still contemplating the doorway where the youngsters had just exited. He turns back to Jaime, a hint of curiosity in his voice.

"Do you approve, Ser?" he asks, a hint of a challenge in his words.

“Of all of this?”

“As my sister said before, if I'm honest, I don't know” Jaime says as he attempts to keep the worry from his tone.

Ned Stark's expression softens slightly at Jaime's words, sensing the worry in his voice. He takes a deep breath and looks at him with a steady gaze.

"I understand your concerns," he says. "But I assure you, I would never allow your sister to be mistreated or unhappy. I have no love for your family, but she seems an innocent in all of this. And my son is a good, honorable man."

“I have no doubts that your son could come to love her, my sweet sister isn't hard to love,” Jaime says softly. “I just wish that I had more time.”

Ned Stark's expression falters at Jaime's words, the hint of a smile touching his lips. "Time is a luxury we don't always have in life," he says, his voice quieter now. "Sometimes we have to make the best decisions with the information and time we have. It's clear you care for your sister's happiness. But you also need to trust her, and in this instance my family. Do you think you can do that?"

“I have no choice but to do so,” Jaime says honestly. “She's been through much at the hands of family and I would hope this is better for her.”

Ned Stark nods slowly in understanding, his expression solemn but sympathetic. "I know you want what's best for her," he says, his voice carrying a hint of compassion. "And I assure you, I will do everything in my power to ensure she is treated fairly and with respect."

“Thank you.” He says sincerely, “Now, should we follow the youngsters and make sure they behave?”

Ned Stark lets out a soft chuckle at Jaime's words, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "I think that would be wise," he says, standing up from his seat. "They are young and full of excitement, after all. Let us see how they are getting along."

Together, Ned Stark and Jaime exit the private study and walk towards the dining hall, their footsteps echoing in the corridor. They can hear the distant sound of laughter and chatter coming from the hall as they approach, indicating that the youngsters are already well into their supper. The two men step into the hall and are met with the sight of Robb and the girl sitting beside each other at one of the tables. They are deep in conversation, the girl occasionally laughing at something Robb says. They are clearly enjoying each other's company, their faces lit up with smiles.

There is a slight dreamy look on Robb's face when the girl speaks and Jaime is quick to notice expression on the young Stark’s face as his sister speaks, a hint of surprise registering on his face. He watches the young couple for a few moments longer, a mixture of emotions warring within him.

But in a brief moment, she notices her brother. “Jaime, Robb was just telling me of how his sword training is going.”

Jaime turns his attention to the young couple as the girl speaks, hiseyes flickering between them. He forces a faint smile onto his face, masking his internal conflict.

"Ah, yes," he says, a hint of forced cheerfulness in his voice. "I had my own share of sword training in my youth. I trust Robb is doing well?"

“Yes! In fact with more practice he could be as good as you” (Y/N) says with a bright smile.

Jaime raises an eyebrow at the compliment, a mixture of surprise and amusement crossing his face. "Is that so?" he says, a hint of a smile curling on his lips. "Quite a high praise, to be compared to a knight of the Kingsguard."

She blushes and smiles at Robb once more. While Robb doesn’t hesitate to grin back at the girl, clearly enjoying the attention. He casts a quick look at Jaime, a hint of respect in his eyes, before returning his gaze to the girl.

Ned clasps a hand on his son's shoulder, “You both seem to be getting along well.”

Robb looks up at his father, a hint of embarrassment on his face at being interrupted. "Yes, Father," he says, his voice slightly sheepish. "We were just discussing our love of swordplay."

Ned smiles at his son, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "I see," he says. "And have you been able to impress the lady with your skills?"

Robb blushes, a hint of bashfulness creeping across his face. He glances at the girl before turning back to his father. "I've certainly been trying," he says, a hint of sheepishness in his voice. "She seems to be enjoying it, though."

She giggles shyly, while her brother can’t help but roll his eyes at the twitter patted boys attempts at smooth talking.

Ned chuckles softly at the reaction of the girl and her brother. He glances at Jaime, a knowing look in his eyes. "It seems the young lovebirds are getting along splendidly," he says, his voice laced with gentle teasing.

The two youngsters are all bashful smiles and clearly in the beginnings of perhaps something more.And Jaime watches the two youngsters for a moment longer, a slight smile on his face at their bashful reaction. He steals a glance at Ned, silently expressing his understanding and resignation to the situation.

Time passes by and as the new year approaches, Winterfell becomes alive with preparations for the celebrations. The atmosphere is one of excitement and anticipation, the snow falling outside adding a soft, magical touch to the castle. Ned Stark seems more lighthearted than usual, clearly anticipating the festivities to come. The evening of the New Year's Eve, the great hall of Winterfell is buzzing with activity. Servants hurry back and forth, ensuring everything is in order for the celebration that will soon begin. A sense of excitement and anticipation hangs in the air, making it almost electric.

But for the Lannister siblings, their time in Winterfell had been a combination of a well deserved respite from their family and a mounting hope that their proposal would be accepted. The number of ravens that they had received from both Cersei and Tywin were far too many, and it only served to further increase their worry in the midst of their interactions with the Starks. As much as (Y/N) had enjoyed her time with Robb, speaking with Jon and the Stark children, and even interacting some with Catelyn and Ned, there was always that worry in her mind that it could all be pulled away should Lord Stark not agree to a marriage between her and Robb. While Jaime did his best to stall his sister and father for a response as best he could, because the last thing he wanted for his young sister carted off and married to a beast like Gregor Clegane.

But they would soon know that particular evening if all of their effort would bear fruition.

That evening Jaime helps his sister with her dress, adjusting it carefully. He casts a glance at the window, seeing the snow falling gently outside. The sound of chatter and laughter in the great hall can be faintly heard, adding to the atmosphere of festivity and celebration.

“Jaime?”

He turns his attention to his sister as she speaks, noting the slight hesitation in her voice. "Yes, dear sister?" he says, his voice soft and patient.

“Do you think this is what it will be like, if Ned Stark accepts the betrothal?”

Jaime sighs slightly, his expression turning pensive as he considers her question. He runs a hand through his hair, clearly struggling with the answer. "It's hard to say, sweetling, he says after a moment. "Ned Stark is a man of honor and duty. I don't doubt he'll live up to his word and treat you well. But the north is a cold and hard place, and life here will be much different than you're used to in the south."

She blushes, “Robb has been very kind in the time that we have been here.”

Jaime nods, a hint of resignation in his expression. "Yes, Robb seems to be a good young man," he says. "He's clearly smitten with you, it seems."

“Jaime!” She says shyly, embarrassed with her brother’s teasing.

Jaime can't help but let a slight smile slip across his face at his sister's bashful reaction. He reaches out to squeeze her shoulder gently. "It's alright, sweetling,” he says, his voice softening. "I'm just teasing you."

Her face scrunched a little in thought, “Would you be able to stay, even if I was to marry Robb?”

Jaime's expression turns serious at the question, his eyes meeting his sister's. He hesitates for a moment, clearly torn by the emotions the question brings up. "I... I can't say," he says after a moment. "My place is with the Kingsguard, as you know. I have taken vows to the King, and my duty to protect him comes first."

“Oh…”

His heart sinks as he sees the disappointment on his sister's face. He reaches out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm sorry," he says, his voice thick with sincere apology. "I understand if that's not the answer you wanted to hear."

“I would miss you,” she whispers.

Jaime feels a pang of guilt at his sister's words, but he knows he cannot promise her a different future. He takes her hand in his, his fingers gently gripping hers. "I would miss you too," he says sincerely. "And I will always be here for you, no matter what. I promise you that."

“Even if I stay with Robb?” Her eyes wide and pleading.

Jaime nods, his expression firm but sincere. "Even if you stay with Robb," he says, his voice steady. "I promise to always be there for you, no matter what. You are my sister, and I will always love and protect you."

She smiles tearfully and hugs him tightly.Jaime hugs her back just as fiercely, his strong arms encircling her and holding her closely. He gently rests his chin on top of her head, his expression a mix of protectiveness and melancholy. He felt a little sentimental holding her in his arms, remembering a time when she used to fit in his hold, a small babe that sought him out even back then.

He closes his eyes for a moment, his grip on his sister tightening ever so slightly in a mixture of loving protectiveness and reluctant resignation. He struggles to reconcile his dual role as a Kingsguard and protector, and that of a brother who loves his sister dearly. He knows that she would be safe and taken care of with the Starks, but the thought of her being so far from him is bittersweet.

Finally, he draws back from the hug, his expression composed but betraying a hint of melancholy. "Come now, we should head to the feast," he says, his voice slightly rough. "We wouldn't want to be late to the celebration."

She twirls in her dress and smiles, “Do you think he will like it?”

Jaime gives his sister a look that is part playful and part sincere. He runs his gaze over her figure, taking in the way the dress only serves to accentuate her beauty. "If he doesn't, he's a bigger fool than I thought," he says with a faint smirk.

She's bashful at his compliment, “Thank you Jaime, you're a really good brother”

Jaime's smirk softens into a fond smile at his sister’s kind words. He reaches out to pat her head gently, an affectionate gesture. "You're an irritating, yet lovable, little sister," he teases, his tone warm and affectionate. "Of course I'm going to be a good brother to you." He stands up and offers his arm to his sister. "Are you ready to join the celebration now?" he asks, his tone light but his eyes betraying the hint of melancholy that still lingers within him.

“Ready as I can be,” she says nervously. “But you will be with me, so I know that I will be okay.”

Jaime offers his sister a reassuring smile as he takes her arm. "I'll be here with you every step of the way," he says, his voice firm and comforting. "You won't be alone, I promise."

With that, the Lannister siblings make their way to the festivities where they can hear the music, laughter and more. Jaime leads his sister into the great hall, his steps confident and measured. The atmosphere inside the hall is one of gaiety and celebration, with musicians playing lively tunes, servants hurrying back and forth, and the sound of laughter and conversation filling the air. The elder of the siblings spots Ned Stark across the room and gives him a nod of greeting before turning his attention back to his sister. But her eyes are on Robb as he talks to his own brother, flustered as she looks to the younger Stark.

Jaime follows his sister's gaze and a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, amused by the sight. "Looks like someone has caught your eye, sister," he says, his voice laced with gentle teasing.

“When we arrived, I didn't think I would fall for him as quick as I did,” her gaze never moves “but I'm glad it was him.”

Jaime glances between his sister and Robb, his expression softening slightly as he sees the smitten look on her face. "He seems a good-natured enough lad," he says, a hint of approval in his voice. "And he clearly has eyes for you as well. I can tell by the way he looks at you."

As he says that Robb turns in their direction when Jon points in their direction, and the boy has an awe struck look.Jaime can't help but chuckle slightly as Robb looks in their direction, the young man's smitten expression clear on his face.

"See what I mean?" he says, a hint of amusement in his voice. "He's utterly taken with you, sister. It's almost embarrassing to see."

She fidgets a little beside him, “Should I ask him to dance or wait until he asks me?”

Jaime considers the question for a moment, a thoughtful expression on his face. "If I know anything about young men like Robb Stark, he's likely too bashful to gather up the courage to ask you to dance on his own," he says with a smirk. "So if you truly want to dance, you'll have to take the initiative and ask him yourself."

She looks unsure of herself and turns to him; seeing the uncertainty on his sister's face, Jaime gently takes the lead, guiding her through the crowd and towards where Robb Stark is standing. He gives her a reassuring smile and squeezes her arm gently, his tone reassuring.

"Don't be nervous," he murmurs to her. "You look beautiful, and he's clearly smitten with you. Just ask him to dance, and he will be too stunned to say no."

The brother and sister approach Robb and Jon. Jaime gives a nod to both of them in greeting, while his sister blushes faintly and averts her eyes, clearly a little timid. As the two of them stand there, Robb looks at her with a smitten, yet slightly abashed expression, his eyes drinking in her appearance.

“I... I apologize for the interruption Robb, but... would you like to dance?” She asks timidly.

Robb's face brightens at the question, a boyish smile on his lips. He glances at his brother for a moment before nodding eagerly. "I'd be honored to dance with you," he says, his voice slightly nervous but undeniably eager.

Jaime watches as his sister and Robb make their way to the dance floor, and as the two of them begin to dance, he watches his sister's expression, noting the way her eyes sparkle in the light and the way her cheeks flush with embarrassment and blossoming affection.

“They are quite the smitten pair, aren't they?” Ned Stark says catching the elder Lannister off guard and offering a glass of wine.

Jaime takes the offered glass of wine, nodding in agreement as he glances at Robb and his sister on the dance floor. "Yes, they certainly are," he says, his tone a mixture of resigned acceptance and reluctant approval.

He takes a sip of the wine, turning to face Ned Stark more directly. "You must be proud of your boy,” he says, his tone carefully neutral. "I know my sister is quite taken with Robb, and... he seems to care for her as well."

“I will be blunt Lannister,” says Ned. “When you're sister made the offer of a betrothal between the two of them, I wasn't sure what to think.”

Jaime raises an eyebrow at Ned Stark's bluntness, his demeanor calm but betraying a hint of wariness. He takes another sip of wine, his gaze steady as he regards the Lord of Winterfell. "I see," he says, his tone cool and guarded. "And why is that, if I may ask?"

“As she said, our houses have hated one another for so long. To think that in a single generation that could be mended, seemed unlikely and it still does.”

Jaime nods, understanding the sentiment behind Ned Stark's skepticism. He sets his wine glass down and laces his fingers together, his expression contemplative.

"I can understand your doubt," he says. "Our houses have a long and bloody history, and it's understandable that you would hesitate to consider an alliance between us."

The Lord of Winterfell looks at his son and Jaime’s sister as they dance, “But seeing these two, despite that animosity, growing to care for each other. I see hope.”

Jaime follows Ned Stark's gaze to the dance floor, where his sister and Robb are still dancing. The two of them are engaged in a seemingly effortless conversation, their eyes locked on each other and their faces flushed with affection.

As he watches them, that sense of resignation tugs at his heart once more, but he cannot deny the hope and potential that this pairing represents.

"Yes," he says, his tone soft. "I see what you mean. They do make quite a picture, don't they?"

He takes another drink of wine, his gaze lingering on his sister and Robb for a few moments more before turning back to Ned Stark.

"But you must also understand," he says, his tone laced with caution. "Our houses have always been enemies, and the shadow of our past will always linger. Even if our families are joined through marriage, it does not erase our history."

“No it does not,” says Ned. “But I believe these two will surprise all of us with what they could accomplish. Which is why I made my decision”

Jaime raises an eyebrow at Ned's words, his curiosity piqued. "And what decision is that, may I ask?" he inquires, his tone cautious.

“I accept betrothing your sister to my son Robb.”

Jaime is somewhat taken aback by Ned's straightforward declaration, his eyes widening fractionally as he processes the words. He hadn't expected the Lord of Winterfell to agree to the betrothal so readily. But a weight does lift from the Lannister’s shoulders that his sister wouldn’t have to return to a doomed marriage.

"I see," he says, his voice betraying a hint of surprise. "I must admit, I didn't expect you to accept so quickly." He leans forward slightly, peering at Ned Stark, his expression a mixture of uncertainty and curiosity. "May I ask what changed your mind?"

“Speaking with your sister and watching the interactions with my family made me realize. That surely if such a sweet and intelligent girl like that can come from your house, then there must be some good.”

Jaime is taken aback by Ned's words, a strange mixture of offense and understanding coursing through him. He takes a moment to collect his thoughts before responding, his tone measured and guarded. "I... see," he says, his voice low. "You believe that my sister represents the good in our house. Is that what you're saying?"

“In sum, yes.”

Jaime lets out a scoff, a mix of annoyance and resignation in his voice. "And I suppose you believe that I and the rest of my family represent the opposite, then? The bad in our house?"

“I believe that you and only you, represent what a man who loves his family enough will do, even setting aside his hate for another, just to see his sisters happiness”

Jaime's expression softens at Ned's words, a small flicker of surprise in his eyes. He looks down at his hands, his thoughts swirling within him.

After a moment, he speaks, his voice quieter than before. "You're right," he says grudgingly. "I would do anything for my sister, even set aside my hate. I suppose... that makes me less of a monster than you believe me to be."

“Not a monster Jaime, a flawed man like the rest of us because a monster would never have done what you have for that girl.”

Jaime pauses at Ned's words, his jaw clenching slightly as he grapples with the mixed emotions coursing through him. For a moment, he looks like he's about to say something snarky in response, but instead, he lets out a mirthless chuckle.

"Flawed indeed," he mutters to himself. "You have no idea how flawed I am, Stark."

In that moment the elder Lannister glances up as his sister and Robb return to them, both of them breathing heavily and flushed with the exertion of dancing. He can see the happiness and excitement in his sister's eyes, and the adoration in Robb's gaze as he looks at her. He watches the two of them closely, his expression betraying some of his internal turmoil.

“I haven't had this much fun in a long time,” she says with excitement. “Are you enjoying yourself Jaime? Lord Stark?”

Jaime glances at her, his expression still a bit guarded, but a small smile tugs at the corner of his lips at her excitement.

"I suppose I am," he replies, his tone light. "The festivities are... lively."

Ned Stark nods in agreement, a warm smile on his face as he regards both Jaime and his sister. “I am glad to hear you're enjoying yourself," he says, his voice warm. "It's been a long time since we've had such a joyous occasion here in Winterfell."

Jaime takes another sip of his wine, his gaze shifting between his sister and Robb, who are still standing side by side, their happiness almost palpable. "Indeed," he says, his tone dry. "It seems love is in the air tonight."

The youngsters glance at the other and laugh shyly, Jaime watches the interaction between the two. Ned Stark chuckles softly at the sight, his eyes crinkling in amusement.

"Ah, to be young and in love," he says, his voice laced with nostalgia. "It's truly a beautiful thing."

“Father?” Robb asks bashfully. “Did you come to an agreement with ser Jaime?”

Jaime turns his gaze to Robb, his expression schooled into a cool neutrality. He glances at Ned Stark, who nods slightly before speaking.

"Yes, we have reached an agreement," Ned says, his tone matter-of-fact. "Your betrothal to his sister is approved."

The older Lannister sees as both his sister and Robb light up in joy, their happiness and excitement almost tangible in the air. He can't help but feel a bittersweet pang. Marriage is a serious matter, and he knows all too well the weight of responsibility that comes with it. But seeing the joy on his sister's face, he can't help but feel a hint of relief that she's found someone who loves her and cares for her.

“Then Lord Stark, may I have this next dance with you as my future father in law?” (Y/N) asks nervously.

Ned Stark chuckles at her request and nods graciously. "Of course, my dear," he says, offering her a hand. "It would be my honor to dance with the woman who will be my future daughter in law."

Jaime stands beside Robb, his gaze following his sister and Ned Stark as they begin to dance. He takes a sip of his wine, his expression contemplative as he glances at the young Stark man beside him.

“Ser Jaime?” The younger Stark says hesitantly.

Jaime turns his gaze to Robb, his expression faintly curious. “Yes, Stark?" he responds, his tone guarded yet curious.

“Um... I know you have already agreed with my father, but I was hoping to have your blessing to marry your sister.”

Jaime raises an eyebrow at the young Stark's request, a hint of surprise in his eyes. He studies the earnestness in Robb's expression for a moment, weighing his response. He lets out a small sigh, his expression stern yet contemplative.

"You care for her, don't you?" he asks, his tone not confrontational, but measured.

“Yes, I do. She's like the moon and stars, lighting up my world that I didn't realize was so dark before her.”

Jaime's expression softens slightly at Robb's words, a hint of understanding in his eyes. He studies the young Stark man for another moment before speaking, his voice lower now, more serious.

"And what assurance do I have that you won't hurt her? That you won't break her heart?"

“I don't have much, I can only give my word and this,” he holds out a dagger to Jaime.

Jaime's eyes flicker down to the dagger that Robb is holding out, his expression unreadable. He glances back up at the young Stark man, his gaze searching and intense.

"And what is this, Stark? Some sort of token of your dedication to my sister?"

“For you to use,” Robb says matter of fact. “If you ever think I have hurt her or broken her heart, use this on me. Because I won't deserve to breathe if that ever happens.”

Jaime's eyes widen slightly at Robb's words, his expression a mix of surprise and respect. He gazes at the dagger in Robb's hand, his mind contemplating the weight of the young man's words. He reaches out and takes the dagger, turning it over in his hand for a moment before speaking his voice solemn and measured.

"This is an unusual request, Stark," he says, his tone not hostile, but wary. "You're asking me to condemn you to death if you ever betray my sister."

“Yes,” Robb says with a shrug. “Because nothing could be worse than betraying her and it seems like a fitting punishment.”

Jaime studies Robb for a moment, his gaze appraising and contemplating. He can see the sincerity and determination in the young man's eyes, and can't help but feel a small amount of respect for the boy’s dedication to his sister.

"You're a foolish, idealistic young man," he mutters, his tone more resigned than scolding. "But perhaps there's honor in foolishness." He glances down at the dagger in his hand, then back up at Robb.

“So would you, give me your blessing? (Y/N) loves you dearly and sees you not just as her brother but a father as well, so nothing would make her happier than knowing you approve.”

Jaime let out a small sigh, his expression shifting from stern to contemplative. He studies Robb for a moment, the young man's words sinking into his thoughts.

"You speak as if you know my sister better than myself, Stark," he says, his tone a mix of surprise and grudging respect. "But I suppose... that's not entirely inaccurate." He pauses for a moment, his eyes flickering to his sister, who is still dancing with Ned Stark on the dance floor, her expression radiant with happiness.

“No, I could never think to know her more than you,” Robb says. “You have been her protector through the worst of her days, I could only hope to be half that kind of protector for her.”

Jaime nods slowly, his expression thoughtful as he regards Robb. He can see the genuine admiration and respect in the young man's eyes, and can't help but feel a grudging trust.

"You speak with a level of confidence that's both admirable and irritating," he mutters, his tone gruff yet contemplative. "You make me almost believe that you're sincere in your devotion to her."

“No man could ever be good enough for her,” Robb says with a shake of his head, “but I would like to try.”

Jaime lets out a small scoff, "You have a talent for flattery, Stark," he mutters, his tone dry yet somewhat softened. "You're almost making me want to like you."

Robb laughs, “I believe the day that happens, Kings Landing will have frozen over.”

Jaime smirks at Robb's words, his expression amused despite himself. He can't help but acknowledge the young man's humor and confidence. "Truly, a cold day in hell," he responds, his tone now slightly playful. "But let's not get too ahead of ourselves, Stark. Just because I don't loathe you doesn't mean I necessarily like you either."

He glances out towards the dance floor, his gaze finding his sister as she continues to dance with Lord Stark. He watches her with a mix of caution and protectiveness. "My sister is fiercely intelligent, and possesses a strong will," he says, his tone more serious now. "You'd do well to remember that."

The younger Stark nods and a comfortable silence settles between the two.

Eventually the Lord Stark and (Y/N) return, both with jovial spirits. The younger Lannister reaches for her older brother’s hands.

“Come on Jaime, I waited best for last” she giggles. “Dance with me!”

Jaime lets himself be dragged by his younger sister, carefully leading her in a slow dance. “Here I thought that you would want to dance the night away with Robb,” he teases. “But you have only danced with the poor boy once.”

“I will have many more chances to dance with him, Jaime” she laughs. “I just want to enjoy the time I still have with you. Does that suit you? Or would you rather have the evening with many of the beautiful ladies here?”

“I am dancing with the most beautiful one tonight” Jaime says softly, “I think that there is no need to trouble anyone else.”

She smiles bashfully, “Thank you Jaime. For everything.”

“Everything?”

“Yes Jaime, everything” she explains. “You were always there. You saw to my needs, you explained things I never understood, you were patient with my eccentricities. You fought for my happiness and have done so for the majority of my life. I know that I was sired by Tywin Lannister, but in my heart, it is you.”

They stop in the middle of the crowd and she hugs him tightly, “My wonderful and loving older brother. It is you Jaime Lannister, that I see as a father, and I hope that you will do me the honor of giving me away.”

A knot gets stuck in his throat as Jaime holds onto his younger sister, “There is nothing I would love more” he whispers quietly.

He holds onto her tightly.

Just as he tries to hold onto the memory just as much a year later, when he is given the news of what becomes of his sweet beloved sister and her husband in the Riverlands in the midst of the War of the Five Kings.

#x reader #x reader insert #jaime lannister x reader #jaime x reader #jaime lannister fanfic #robb stark x reader #x lannister reader #x sister!reader #platonic #game of thrones x reader #house of the dragon x reader #game of thrones fanfiction

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entitled-fangirl · 7 months ago

Text

Luck. (P2)

Cregan Stark x reader; Robb Stark x reader

Summary: the reader finds herself back with Cregan, and she's beginning to feel something for the past Wolf of the North.

Warnings: unwanted advances, talk of gore, consensual kissing that leads to the start of... some other stuff

Part 1, Part 3

Masterlist

...................................................

Two weeks back with Robb, and it seemed that she was beginning to forget about the interactions with Cregan entirely.

She had hit her head, after all. Maybe her mind had simply messed with her.

Robb had noted that something was amiss with her, but he knew better than to pry. When she was ready, perhaps she'd come to him.

"The History of the Wolf. That's an ancient book, that is." Robb mused with a grin as he entered the library.

She turned her head and snapped the book shut in surprise. "Oh… I… I had no idea."

Robb's smile grows and he walks to her, "Interested in Stark history, are you?"

Her face showed a look as if she'd been caught in a crime. "I… I just wish to know more about you and your house is all."

"That's admirable," Robb said. He leaned forward and kissed her cheek, his stubble scraping her as he did so.

"You must shave," she said instinctively with a laugh. "It is like rubbing sand across my face, Robb."

He chuckled. It was the first time in two weeks that she had jested with him like she had before that day in the Godswood. He loved her most like this.

He brought at hand to his face, "Shave? Or perhaps I shall grow it into a great beard!"

She laughed and took his face in her hand, "Only when I am long gone will you have a beard, Stark."

He tilted his head playfully and a tint came to his eyes, "Or perhaps I will just make you watch the hairs grow by the day."

Her hands moved to his chest with a playful shove, "Don't torture me so!"

His smirk grew, "I will torture you how I see fit, my love."

"You shan't catch me then!"

Abandoning the book in her hands, she began to sprint from the library.

Robb watched her go with a playful grin before willing his legs to run as well.

She held her skirt up in one hand, rounding each corridor half—hazardly.

Robb had longer legs, but he had to admit she was a quick little thing.

She made the mistake of turning around once to see where he was, only to find him a few paces behind.

She let out a surprised laugh, and quickly set herself on track again.

Even as they ran passed the staff, the servants paid no heed.

The Lord and Lady of Winterfell were much in love, and seeing such things were common.

Finally down one corridor, she looked over her shoulder.

She had managed just a bit of distance from Robb.

She grinned wickedly as she rounded the corner from him.

Into a stone wall it seemed.

She fell onto the ground from the force.

"Gods, my love," a voice commented.

Cregan Stark.

He knelt down and quickly brought a hand to the back of her head. He was holding back a chuckle, "That was quite a hit. Are you alright?"

She nodded quickly, "Fine." Her hand came up to her forehead, "Just fine."

"Let's get you up then," he chuckled. "I can't have the staff whispering of why the Lord and Lady were on the dirt ridden floor of the corridor."

He helped her up, keeping a hand under one arm to guarantee her balance. When she was indeed balanced, he let go, "Running from Brandon, I assume? A game of some sorts?"

She took a few steps back to look down the corridor she had just run down.

Robb was gone.

"Yes," she lied. "I'm to be hiding."

"Well," he smiled. "I can't have him catching you, can I?" He held out his arm for her to take.

With one last look to the place Robb had once stood, she took Cregan's arm.

…

After an hour or two of enjoying the other's company over a light lunch, Cregan gave a light sigh and stood from the chair. "I must attend to the people. I shall come collect you-"

She reached out and grabbed his hand, "May I accompany you?"

"You wish to… accompany me out?" He was a bit shocked from her request.

"Please, my lord. I truly wish to."

That seemed to make something wash over Cregan. He blinked suddenly and nodded, "Get in something warmer. There's quite a heavy chill out there."

…

The two had journeyed out of the Winterfell walls.

Cregan had promised to help a farmer days before, and was now making true to his promise.

A Stark never breaks an oath, after all.

So the two on his horse, as well as some ten men behind them set out to the man's farm.

The man was welcoming and kind, beyond grateful for the help. He was an older man and held a deep regard for the younger Stark man.

As they entered his home, Cregan grimaced, "What exactly do you believe the problem to be?"

The man shrugged, "I wanted to believe wildlings, my lord. But… wildlings do not kill as viciously as these deaths have been. No man is willing to work for me because of it."

Cregan's eyes wandered over to her, who had distracted herself with the man's dog- a long haired shepherd dog who had no idea that one of the most influential woman in the North was the one scratching behind his ears.

"You said the East side of your land?" Cregan asked.

"Yes, my lord."

"Very well." Cregan turned to his men. "Go saddle up. Have your swords at the ready." He turned to the older man, "You'll lead us there."

The man nodded, "On my honor, my lord."

She stood now, her attention lost from the dog to Cregan.

"No," he began as soon as they made eye contact. "You'll stay here. I'll not have you out in that."

"Cregan," she sighed. "I'll be with you. That's as safe as-"

"-My lady," the older man began. "If I may. I found one of my men without a throat in that field. We shan't have that for our lady."

Cregan nodded along with him, "You're to stay, my love."

She nodded, "That's fine."

"If it helps, my older son should come around soon. He'll keep you company," the older man said.

She nodded again with a forced smile, "That sounds lovely. I shall remain."

Cregan gave a soft sigh, "Just for a few hours." He pulled her to him and placed a kiss to the crown of her head.

…

The man's son did come after an hour or two, walking into his home sweaty and tired.

It took him a while to notice the lady's presence.

He immediately began to apologize, "Lady Stark. Forgive me… I did not-"

She laughed lightly, "-There is nothing to forgive. I am the stranger in your home, not the other way around."

He nodded. He then took a moment to see her in front of him. "Believe me or not, I've never seen the lady of Winterfell before. And now that I have, I've not seen a pretty lady in all of the North."

His words took her by surprise. "Oh. Those are quite flattering words."

He smiled and shrugged, "I would not lie to a lady. You're lovely. Lord Stark has been blessed by the gods to have you."

"How did you know it was I if you've never seen me?" She asked with a teasing smile.

"Your cloak, my lady." He pointed to it, "Stark sigil on it."

She looked down to indeed to the pin on it with the wolf of Stark on it. "Ah. I see."

"Tell me, my lady, why you are in our home unaccompanied?"

"My husband and his men are with your father dealing with your… problem. In the east field, I believe?"

The man's eyes lit with recognition, "Is he? I had no idea he'd be here today or I would have welcomed him. And accompanied him as well. I do apologize."

She shrugged, "Cregan does not care for propriety. Do not worry yourself."

"Perhaps I may just… keep you company here then until their return?"

She smiled, "I'd like that."

…

The man, who she had learned was named Johnathan Glover, was lovely at first. Easy to converse with, and not overbearing towards her.

But it quickly shifted.

He had slowly moved his chair closer to her. His hands would wander. His eyes grew sultry.

And soon, she was becoming uncomfortable.

"Something wrong, my lady?" He asked.

"No. Worried for Cregan, is all."

"You seem so tense." He sighed. Johnathan stood up and rounded her chair to stand behind her. His hand moved to her shoulders and she immediately tensed more.

"You need to relax," he whispered in her ear. He began to massage her shoulder, pushing a little too harshly into her shoulder blades.

"He… he will return at any moment," she had tried to reason.

The man smiled, "I know."

A kiss was placed on her neck.

She froze in place for a moment.

This man would die at Cregan's hand.

Robb was a merciful man, but the man's payment would have been just the same under his watch.

"Stop," she commanded.

"This is what I'm speaking of," the man continued with another kiss to her neck, "So tense."

She moved to stand, but he held her down by her shoulders.

The door swung open suddenly and Cregan stood in the doorway.

Bloody and caked in dirt, Cregan Stark stood with a set jaw at the sight before him.

She stood this time, managing to get away from the man's hands and goes to Cregan, "Are you hurt?"

But his eyes didn't move from Johnathan's. His voice was low, "I'm fine." His gloved hands covered in grime grabbed her wrist. "Let's go."

He pulled her from the home with no words uttered to anyone except a whisper to one of his men. The man nodded and moved into the house as the Starks left.

…

"I leave you to slay wolves and yet I had left you in the jaws of one," Cregan huffed as he pulled off his boots.

"It is alright. I am fine, Cregan." She tried to reason.

"No. No, do not give me pity. I left you alone there. I should have known better."

She sighed as she began to pull at her corset strings. "You could not have known that. You were tending to your people, as you should."

Cregan paused at her words, his hands gripping the bottom of his tunic. "I should be tending to you."

She pulled off her corset with a tug, "Then do so."

His eyes darkened as his eyes roamed over her body, "So I shall."

Cregan neared her, carefully and slowly pulling her various garments from her until she was left in nothing but her shift.

He smiled and let his hands grip her waist, "You are a Stark." His thumbs traced lightly, "I can't have others believing otherwise."

She stepped a bit closer, nearing her face with his, "I will always be a Stark."

He leaned in the rest of the way, connecting their lips in a soft kiss.

But he paused for moment, "I'm filthy, my love. Perhaps we should wait-"

But she had pulled him to her, cutting him off with a kiss once more.

The kiss was everything that Cregan wasn't- soft, delicate, careful, and needy.

He let out a soft groan when she pulled the hair at the back of his neck.

Cregan led the two towards the bed, carefully placing her on the furs. Only then did their lips part, and his began to trace down her face. His voice was soft as he spoke, "I'll banish any trace of that man from you."

She hummed as he kissed down her neck, exactly where the man had kissed her only hours before. But unlike then, she was completely relaxed under Cregan's gaze.

She could feel his smile against her neck.

"May I have you tonight, my love?" He asked softly.

She paused her thoughts for a moment.

She was stuck in time with Cregan. Her husband.

Was it wrong to Robb?

He noted her hesitation and pushed himself up to look at her, "Don't fret about it. I won't be upset with you."

Her hesitation continued.

He nodded and one of his hands wandered down her body, "May I pleasure you, at least?"

He wanted to…

She felt herself nod before she could register why.

His smile was bright, "Thank you, my love."

Much like Cregan himself, his kisses became calculated and neat. He did nothing on a whim. The kisses began to trail down her body, over her clothing.

When they reached lower, he grabbed her thighs and pulled her legs up.

A final look into her eyes, "You're sure?"

Another nod from her, "Please, Cregan."

His hand began to pull her thin shift up, "Of course, pretty."

With her shift stretched across her thighs, she couldn't see Cregan once he disappeared behind it. His touch on her thighs left for a moment.

She closed her eyes and waited for the feeling to begin.

But instead she felt a cold chill run down her.

And the sound of the door opening.

Her eyes shot open.

Robb ran in, panting. She paused when he saw her and his jaw dropped a bit.

His beautiful wife in nothing but her shift, legs open on the furs of their bed.

"So, this is where you ran off to, is it?" He grinned.

When she didn't answer from shock, he continued, "I don't know how you managed this so quickly, but you shall hear no complaint from me." He stepped toward her like a predator, "My wife just waiting for me to catch her? So eagerly waiting on me?"

Robb approached the foot of the bed. He grabbed the top of her thighs, "Well, guess what, my love?" He pulled her down the bed and to him. His voice lowered, "I've caught you."

"You have." She finally managed to pant out.

His eyes roamed over her completely, "So pretty," he muttered. "And all mine." He caressed her face, "Who do you belong to?"

"I…" she paused, thrown off by his question.

His voice became a heated growl, "Who do you belong to, love?"

"The… the Wolf of the North." She whispered to him.

He grinned, "Yes, you do."

But she couldn't help but remember the feeling of Cregan's hands on her not only moments ago.

...................................................................

A/N: I think I'm about to start doing some Aemond x reader stuff- comment if you want on that tag list! Or the tag list for this fic since I'm guessing I'll be doing a part 3

Taglist: @rlblackbarbie, @rebeccawinters

#cregan stark x y/n #cregan stark x you #cregan x reader #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark #game of thrones x y/n #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones #house of the dragon fanfiction #house of the dragon #robb stark x you #robb stark x reader #robb stark fanfic #robb stark imagine #drew drools over cregan stark

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