satanicstorm

[satanicstorm]

the snow before the storm - robb stark

summary - with fresh snow on the ground only days before your family arrives at winterfell, you decide to soak up the last of your childhood with the starks

baratheon!reader who is betrothed to robb already ;)

this very much feels like a start to a series if that's something y'all would be interested in, this is kind of a trial run for me since i've never fully written for him before. let me know!!

word count - 3.8k

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you had spent most of the year in winterfell since you were eight years old. you'd grown up with the starks and snow and cold, and you had to admit that you loved it in comparison to the loud, hot, sticky that was king's landing. you were a princess, and yet you despised the castle.

winterfell's homely build was more your speed, and you loved being able to wake in the morning to fresh fallen snow and hot chocolate in the great hall, running out your door to jon and robb's just down the corridor so you could have snowball fights with theon and the other kids who lived around.

you grew used to playing with boys that when your little brother joffrey got older you started messing around with him as well, which earned great loud laughs from your father and a smack in the arm from your mother.

it was moments like that that made you understand your true love for winterfell and its people.

when sansa and arya and bran and rickon got older you tried to include them in your games with the boys - arya taking to it as jon's shadow and rickon clinging to your arm as yours. you carried the little boy around with you everywhere - eleven years his senior you treated him as your own brother.

the little brother you wish joffrey was.

the little brother you hoped little tommen was, but wasn't around much to see.

so, it was days like this, a few months into your likely last stay with the starks, where the snow on the ground was fresh and the sun in the sky was bright, that you were most excited for - even though at the ripe age of seventeen, you were a supposed-to-be regal, well held, proper lady. proper princess, actually.

but that didn't matter when you were in winterfell. nothing involved with king's landing did.

you dressed quickly, appreciating the lack of maidens coming to wait on you and the silence that accompanied the solitude. you tied your hair back in a half up braid that had become your signature style in the north, and dressed in your black and brown leathers and fur - comfortable and easy to move in, as opposed to the layers upon layers that held up the dresses your mother kept for you at the red keep.

and then you crossed the hall, shivering slightly at the chill, and pushing the first door open without a care in the world. you grabbed a pillow off the floor and chucked it at the boy in the bed with a giggle. "come on, robb. it snowed last night."

the auburn haired boy groaned, pushing the pillow away from his face and rolling over in bed. "it's too bloody early. can't a man get some rest?"

"no," you answered simply, pushing the door shut behind you before you crossed to where he was sprawled lazily on his mattress. you pushed at his shoulder, a small smile on your lips. "we have things we need to get done today, so now's the only time we have to mess around."

he considered your words for a few moments before letting out a huff, turning back over so he was on his back, looking up at you with his beautiful crystal blue eyes.

"and what was it that you had in mind?" he asked.

"take a guess," you said, a laugh on your lips.

he grinned at you, reaching for your waist to pull you on top of him, but you swatted his hand away with a laugh, stumbling and leaning against the mattress away from him.

"robb," you said, your voice trying to be stern but breaking with your laughter.

he rolled his eyes, hand still resting on your waist, thumb rubbing circles into the leather there. "it's a valid guess."

"but, an incorrect one," you told him, shaking your head. "try again. i said there's snow outside, do the math."

he chuckled at you, hand falling from your waist onto the mattress beside him as he stretched onto it again. he glanced sideways at you. "a snowball fight?" he asked, the corner of his mouth twitching into a grin as he raised his brows at you. "really?"

"you have a problem with that?" you asked, matching his sideways smile with a tilt of your head and your hands on your hips.

he propped himself up on his elbows, shaking his head slowly as he looked you over for the first time that morning. his dark curls bounced around his face, messy from sleep. "no, i suppose not. but be warned - i'll be aiming for your pretty face this time."

"you know the rules," you told him as you leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to his lips, leaning against the mattress as he tilted to meet you. "no headshots. that's been the rule since we were seven."

he returned your kiss happily, sitting up fully just as you pulled away from him. the sheets pooled around his waist as he grinned. "aye, i remember the rules. no headshots." his hand raised to cup your jaw gently, thumb running over your cheek as his grin grew teasing. "and no puppy eyes to distract me, princess. that's cheating."

"and not in the rulebook," you laughed, pecking his lips again before standing straight and out of his grasp. "i can't promise anything."

"that's not fair!" he objected with a laugh. "you can't just go around using those wide, innocent eyes and expect me to be able to say no to you." he reached out, pinching your side as he shook his head at you. "i swear, those doe eyes are your biggest weapon."

you laughed and dodged another squeeze, stepping back towards the door. "my family sigil is a stag, after all."

he let out a laugh as you moved away, leaning back against his headboard and trying to comb through his messy curls with one hand and failing fantastically.

"alright, consider me warned," he told you as he pulled at a knot on the side of his head. "no more falling for your pretty eyes."

you smiled fondly at him, shaking your head before moving to sit on the mattress beside him and gently push his hands away, working the knot out of his hair carefully. "good," you hummed, "i wouldn't want you to be at a disadvantage." you ran your hands through his hair a couple more times, helping the curls lay more cohesively before finally meeting his eyes.

he couldn't help but stare, a corner of his mouth quirked up as his lips parted. you helping him with his hair was not a new thing by far, but one of the things that always had his heart racing nonetheless.

you met his gaze, holding it with a small smile for several moments before finally standing from his bed again.

"snowball fight," you told him again, nodding once. "you need to get up now. i've got to go get rickon ready before your mother steals him away."

he watched you for a few seconds more before finally nodding, a light laugh on his lips. "yes, alright. you go and get the little wolf." he waved you away as he pushed the blankets off and stood to grab a change of clothes.

you smiled at his nickname for his brother, an image flashing through your mind of a little redheaded toddler with your eyes receiving the same endearment.

"can you wake jon and the others when you're done?" you asked, watching him cross his room, chest bare. "that way we can just meet you in the courtyard."

"yes, love, i know the drill," he answered, shooting a sideways smile your way as he pulled a fresh brown tunic from his wardrobe.

"thank you!" you cheered as you pulled the door open. "see you in a minute."

"bye, love."

you had a bounce in your step as you walked further down the stark hall towards rickon's rooms, his being the smallest and closest to his parents'. seeing robb this early in the morning always put you in a good mood.

you paused at the toddler's door, listening to see if lady catelyn had already risen to wake the boy. when you heard nothing you pushed the heavy wooden door open and snuck inside, crossing the stone floor quickly to kneel beside his bed.

"rickon," you said softly, pushing at his shoulder. "rickon, it's time to wake up now."

he, so like his brother, groaned and rolled over, his back to you as he shook his head. you laughed quietly, rubbing his back gently. "c'mon sweet boy, we only have a few minutes to play before we have to get you to your lessons."

he peeked over his shoulder at you, brows furrowed. "play? play what?"

"there's fresh snow on the ground," you told him with a knowing grin.

he sat up instantly, a bright smile on his sweet face. "is everyone already outside?"

"they're all getting outside, so we've got to hurry," you answered. "do you want to pick out your clothes or do you want me to?"

"i'll pick," he told you as he climbed out from under the furs and dashed for his closet before stopping suddenly and running back towards you. you let out a laugh as he hugged you tight around the shoulders. "forgot, sorry! good morning!"

"good morning, rickon," you said, chuckling still as he pulled away from you.

he broke for his wardrobe as you grabbed a pair of fresh wool socks, the thick underclothes that the north required, and his wintercoat from the trunk at the foot of his bed.

the little boy tossed a pair of breeches onto the trunk as you closed it, holding up two different tunics with a furrow between his brows.

"wear the brown one," you told him with a small smile. "robb's wearing a brown one today. you can match."

rickon was all over that idea, throwing the grey one to the floor and turning to take the rest of his clothes from you.

you turned away as he dressed, grabbing his boots by the door instead and waiting patiently on his bed.

"boots now!" he said as he bounced over to you, sticking out one foot. you quickly slid his boots onto his small feet, talking him through the motions of tying the laces before standing and taking the six year old's hand.

"ready?" you asked, but he was already pulling you to the door.

"yup!" he cheered.

the both of you made your way quickly down to the courtyard, spotting the older kids immediately. theon was tiredly walking in just as you and rickon did, rubbing at his eyes and trying to wake up a bit more. the boy at your side released your hand to run to robb, your betrothed scooping him up easily and mumbling a greeting as jon patted the boy's shoulder.

you did a quick headcount and furrowed your brows. "where's sansa?"

"she's not coming," arya huffed, crossing her arms over her chest as she rolled her eyes. "she hates fun nowadays, don't you remember?"

you breathed out a laugh, robb, jon, and theon grinning at each other as they shook their heads.

jon ruffled her hair. "not everyone enjoys snowball fights like we do, arya."

"she used to!" the eleven year old objected. "she says she's grown up now and can't play. you four are all older than her and still play!"

"our priorities are a bit different than sansa's," you told her with a teasing smile. "right now i'm pretty sure all she's worried about is becoming a proper lady for my little brother."

the reminder of the royal family's arrival in a few days sent the group into a fit of sighs. winterfell had gone a bit tense as everyone prepared, and sansa had become obsessed with the idea of marrying joffrey, proclaiming her hopes for him to anyone who would listen.

arya rolled her eyes again.

"well, she's being ridiculous," she said.

"yeah, joffrey doesn't sound like someone worth being so obsessed with," robb hummed.

"you haven't even met him," you laughed, coming to a vague defense of your brother.

he raised a brow your direction. "sure, but what you've told us hasn't exactly been wonderful."

"he sounds like a right prick from what you've said," jon chimed in.

bran, the sweet boy he was, knitted his brows. "why does she want to marry him then?"

"because he's a prince," theon explained with a grin. "why do you think all the girls in the north want to be with robb? he's not handsome enough for all that attention alone - girls love a man with a title."

you and jon busted into laughter as robb frowned, arya grinning at your side as rickon giggled at robb's feet.

"i happen to think robb is very pretty," you said, smiling at the man teasingly.

"you have to," arya said. "you're betrothed."

"point still stands," you hummed. "now enough chatter, we have a snowball fight to start. we'll have rickon choose first; whose team do you want to be on, bud?"

he smiled and left robb immediately, grabbing onto your leg as he announced, "yours!"

you grinned at robb who huffed to himself.

"i want yours too!" arya said, shifting closer to your side. she met the eyes of her black-haired older brother. "jon, you're with us."

jon followed instructions, saluting to the girl as he came to your end of the courtyard.

"that leaves robb, bran, and theon," you hummed. it was actually a decent division given the uneven numbers. rickon usually slowed you and jon down during the fight. "everyone remember the rules?"

the group nodded.

"no headshots, no rocks in the snowballs, and no unsportsmanlike aiming," jon recited with a hint of excitement in his voice.

bran and rickon laughed at the last one, remembering that they were the reason that rule had to be implemented.

"perfect. ready, set, go!"

you each ran to the sides of the courtyard, rickon on your heels as you began balling up some snow in your gloved palms. a snowball smashed against the pillar next to you and you yelped, diving to the side behind a snowbank that arya had fled to.

"make us some ammo, rickon," you instructed as jon came dashing to hide next to you all as well.

"ugh," arya huffed as she peeked over the pile of snow. "they're hiding."

"so are we."

"ha, theon!"

the greyjoy man bolted towards you, chucking snowballs the best he could over your makeshift shelter, but was soon pelted with snowballs from you, jon, and arya, rickon building a steady pile behind you all. he dropped his pile of snowballs, protecting his face. "enough, i give up! ease up!"

"you're out!" jon shouted with a grin.

theon rolled his eyes and laughed. "alright, alright."

"how are we going to get robb and bran?" arya asked as theon moved to the side.

you clicked your tongue, spotting the two tufts of curly hair behind the snowdrift opposite you. "a distraction."

a smirk spread across jon's lips. "you'll distract him? and how exactly are you going to do that?" he asked, dry humor dripping from his tone.

"by drawing fire, of course," you answered, frowning at his line of thinking. "arya, go behind them. jon, cover me."

"sir, yes sir," arya said with a wicked grin, watching you as you hopped over the snow pile and began running to the side, drawing robb and bran's fire.

"dumb move, sweetheart!" robb called with a grin, sitting up on his knees as he chucked snowball after snowball your direction.

you yelped, ducking out of the way and trying to get to the side of their snowbank. "i don't know about that, wolf boy!"

you threw a snowball at him - hard, not expecting it to hit him at all.

except it smashed in his face, earning an instant chorus of laughter.

bran stopped throwing, pointing a finger at his older brother as robb stared straight ahead, eyes wide in surprise.

the man wiped the snow off him, mock glaring at you as you laughed harder. "you're out. no headshots."

"technically, that was a faceshot-"

"you're out, little doe, come on now."

"fine, fine," you laughed, walking over to join theon. "sorry, love!"

"oh, now you're sorry?" he asked, raising his brows.

"you'll get her back next time," theon chuckled, elbowing your side as you stood next to him.

you watched as arya circled the courtyard carefully, hiding behind random snowbanks, jon now out in the open trying to pelt his brothers with snow.

"you're going down, snow!" robb called to his brother, pushing up on his knees to chuck one way too close to jon. "it's inevitable!"

"is it?"

arya smashed two snowballs against her brothers' backs, immediately throwing her hands up in the air as you and jon and rickon began cheering.

robb turned with a slack jaw, arya giggling as she stepped away from him. "we win."

"oh, did you now?" he asked, a grin pulling at his lips as he lunged at the young girl, snatching her up around the middle and running into the middle of the courtyard, spinning her around as she screamed.

"let me down, robb!"

"let you down?" he repeated, slowing his spins and walking a few steps towards where rickon was still sat behind your makeshift base. "i'll let you down."

"robb, don't-!"

he dropped her into the snow, earning loud cackles from theon and jon as you shook your head, smiling even as you helped the girl up. she scrambled to her feet, glaring at her brother.

he raised his hands in defense, smiling as he backed away from her. "you said to let you down. i let you down."

"not in the snow!" she exclaimed, but even bran could hear the amusement in her tone as she lunged for him.

which warranted him throwing a snowball at her and landing it square in the back of her head.

a few more rounds of snowball fights ensued after that, the last one ending with robb tossing you in the snow before arya shoved him in to join you. rickon jumped in of his own free will, giggling as he grabbed bunches of snow in his hands.

"alright children! time to clean up and get to breakfast, there's much to be done today."

you and robb sat up, everyone staring over your shoulder at lady catelyn standing in the entryway with a gentle smile.

arya and bran were the first to follow instructions, followed by theon and jon, both of whom avoided her gaze, and soon it was just you, robb, and rickon left sprawled in the snow.

you grunted, pushing yourself up to stand and grab rickon, the little boy wrapping his arms around your neck to keep himself in your arms. you smiled at him. "aren't you glad i woke you up this morning?"

"yes," he admitted with a small smile. "can we do it again tomorrow?"

"we'll see what the snow looks like," you hummed before your tone dropped to a whisper and you grinned at him. "but probably yes."

he matched your grin before you set him on his feet, letting him run after his siblings towards the dining hall. you turned back to the snow pile, eyes fondly resting on robb. "do you need help too?"

"it'd be appreciated," he answered with a teasing grin, holding his hands out.

you rolled your eyes but obliged, holding his hands tightly and tugging him up to his feet. it was almost instinct, the way his hands fell to your waist and tried to pull you closer, but you pushed him away, opting instead to take his hand to approach his mother. you offered lady catelyn a smile.

"you all sure had fun this morning," she hummed with a distinct fondness in her tone.

"nothing better than fresh snow to start the week," you answered, which earned a gentle laugh.

"nothing better," she agreed.

robb grinned, squeezing your hand. "especially when it's used to pummel my face."

"he's just mad he lost," you told his mother, shaking your head with a laugh.

"i am not mad!"

"of course you're not, dear," catelyn said, meeting your eyes with a smile that matched yours. she stepped to the side, making way for you both to escape down the hall. "get something to eat, you two. there's a lot of work to be done today."

"has father called for me?" robb asked.

"yes, you, jon, and theon will be assisting him today," she answered with a short nod. she looked to you. "you and i will continue preparing for your family's arrival."

"yes, my lady," you said.

she smiled fondly, nodding again. "your highness."

however awkward it was for you to hear the title, you were appreciative of her dismissal, robb pulling you away and down the hall.

he chuckled next to you. "don't look so surprised."

"she never calls me that," you told him, brows furrowed. "no one here does."

"well, maybe she's still doing it while she can. everyone knows as soon as we're married you're taking the title of 'lady' instead," he answered, grinning. "though sansa can't believe you're giving 'princess' up."

"lady of winterfell is much more appealing," you said with a light laugh. "less expectation. less awkward formality."

"more me," he joked, earning another laugh.

"yes," you hummed, squeezing his hand as you leaned into his side, grinning up at him. "more you."

"arguably the best part," he continued.

"arguably," you agreed as he slowed his steps, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. you glanced over his shoulder at the messed up courtyard, your smile softening. "i'm going to miss this."

he followed your eyes, a soft sigh slipping through his lips. "it'll be back soon enough."

you knew what he meant. you'd talked about it a lot.

you get married at the end of the week, and then you'll be expected to have children. eventually, those curly headed pups will be playing in the courtyard throwing snowballs at one another just as you and the stark children and theon had.

"it'll be different," you told him, shaking your head.

your family with robb instead of the whole family.

ned could still be in king's landing at that point as hand to the king, but perhaps he'd be home with his wife. rickon and bran would likely stay. theon as well. but, sansa and arya will be married off in a few years, sansa in king's landing with your idiot brother and arya who knows where. and jon would be at the wall, cloaked in black surrounded by men who weren't his brothers, though he called them so.

"it'll be ours," was his answer, another kiss pressed to your temple.

you looked up at him, smiling softly. "yeah, i suppose that's worth it."

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thanks for reading! leave a request in the comments or message me privately! i love writing, so if you've got an idea you need fleshed out on paper i'd love to be the one to do that for you

masterlist!!

[satanicstorm]

Me feeling like Bella every night chossing which man I want to read hard smut about.

[satanicstorm]

How I feel asking for a Pt 2 😔

[satanicstorm]

𝗗𝗶𝗿𝗲𝗪𝗼𝗹𝘃𝗲𝘀 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗺𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁𝘀 || Robb Stark ||

A/n: Dad Robb ( red wedding never happened )

Riverrun — Outer Courtyard, Late Morning

The sun had risen high over Riverrun, bathing the moss-covered stone in warm light. Birds chirped along the battlements, and the sound of steel on steel echoed faintly from the training yard. But the real spectacle was unfolding in the courtyard, where a small crowd of Northern bannermen had gathered—some chuckling, others watching with wide-eyed confusion.

At the center of the chaos stood Robb Stark, crown slightly askew, holding his barely-two-week-old son, Alec, with both hands—arms outstretched like a man presenting a royal offering to the gods.

In front of him sat Grey Wind, regal and massive, tail thumping slowly, ears flicking back in the manner of a very patient direwolf who had no idea what was happening—but was clearly being very brave about it.

“Just a second, boy,” Robb murmured, shifting the baby carefully. “This’ll be a story for the bards.”

One of the men snorted. “You sure that’s a good idea, Your Grace?”

“Of course,” Robb said proudly. “He’s a Stark. He should know his wolf.”

“I don’t think ‘introduce the infant to the fanged beast’ is part of the usual tradition,” someone muttered.

And then—

“ROBB STARK, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!”

The entire courtyard flinched.

You, with hair unbraided and cheeks flushed with post-fever frustration, stormed out from the archway in a loose robe, arms crossed, looking like you'd wrestled a fever just to kill your husband yourself.

Robb froze mid-motion, Alec his son cradled in his arms, hovering awkwardly just above Grey Wind’s thick fur.

“I’m bonding them,” he said innocently.

“Bonding?! He’s not a pony, Robb! Our son can’t even hold his own head up!”

“He can!” Robb defended. “He did this morning!”

“You mean when he drooled on your shirt and screamed for ten minutes?”

“…That counts.”

Across the yard, Catelyn appeared just in time to see her grandson’s entire body being lowered toward the back of a direwolf.

She screamed.

“Robb Stark, if you place that baby on that wolf I swear—”

“Mother, please,” Robb sighed. “Grey Wind wouldn’t harm a hair on his head.”

“I’m worried about the baby falling off the wolf!”

Grey Wind let out a low, confused whine as Alec began to fuss—clearly unimpressed with the chaos around him. His little face scrunching up as he wiggled his tiny body in his fathers arms

You marched forward, scooping Alec out of Robb’s hands with expert speed, cradling him protectively.

“We do not use direwolves as cribs or mounts or-or whatever it was that you had in mind!” You snapped.

Robb scratched the back of his neck, sheepish. “It was just for a moment…”

“He almost peed on him, Robb!”

The soldiers nearby burst into muffled laughter. One muttered, “Truly, a Stark crowned in all the right ways.”

You turned and marched off with Alec tucked firmly in your arms, muttering something about men and brains the size of acorns.

Catelyn gave Robb the look only a mother can deliver.

“…I was being careful,” he mumbled.

Grey Wind then gave him a look too.

It translated roughly to: You’re lucky she didn’t bite you. I wouldn’t have blamed her.

Catelyn followed after you while Grey Wind let out a huff trotting off on the other direction as his men continue to laugh.

[satanicstorm]

distance makes the heart grow bitter ➵ act II

You sat at the head of the wedding feast in your best gown, expression dull, staring into nothingness. Your father's boisterous laugh blended with the rest of the noise and smoke in the air. The party got louder and merrier by the hour. You tilted the cup of wine in between your fingers, watching the scarlet liquid swirl before downing it all in one large swill.

The bitter tang made your tongue tingle and your head floaty. You thought about staying drunk for the rest of your life. Perhaps it would make it a little more bearable.

Robb's intentions seemed to match yours as he stared into his own cup. He sat in silence, unsteady in his chair, not once looking your way.

You leaned against your hand as you let your glossy eyes trace over his grave expression. The shape of his nose from the side, the curve of his jaw, the way the light seemed to glitter in the dark hairs of his stubble. An unconcious smile crept to your wine-stained lips. He was not so bad to appreciate from afar, although, he never had been.

Suddenly, Robb took notice of your eyes piercing into him. He turned towards you, raising an eyebrow at your warm expression. Candles around your table cast twinkles in your irises and onto your gown, and made your whole body radiate with light.

He turned away, the tips of his ears flushing red under your unwavering stare. You hadn't directed a smile at him since the very first time he'd seen you.

As he turned away, so did you. When you reached for your cup again, it was still empty since the last time you had put it down. After a moment of consideration, you gently pushed your chair out from the table, thanked your mother-in-law for the festivities and excused yourself from the Great Hall.

The early spring evening had a chill in the air. It trickled in through the seams of your dress, running a shiver through you. The frozen ground crunched under your shoes as you staggered over the courtyard.

"Y/N!" someone behind you called out. You slowed to a stop and looked over your shoulder. It was Robb, walking towards you with a dark expression. Once he reached you, he towered over you. Was he angry? You could hardly tell, in your state.

"Where are you going?"

"T’bed." Your words slurred as you put a hand on his chest to keep yourself from swaying.

"But, the celebration—"

"The celebration?" You pursed your lips. There was nothing for you to be celebrating.

"It is our wedding feast.” He frowned.

"Of course!" You laughed, head buzzing with sudden clarity. "End of my life, my freedom, yet ever the triumph of my husband... Bring out the wine and whores! To Robb Stark—conqueror of womankind.”

”I refuse to be blamed for this damned arrangement!” he shouted, and your eyes widened. Robb’s eyes trailed over you before he suddenly grabbed your face with both hands and crashed his lips onto yours. Your knees nearly buckled when he kissed you, body melting into him before coming to your senses.

You reeled backwards, awkwardly regaining your balance.

"Gods,” he mumbled, reaching out to stabilise you. He studied you with cool, blue eyes. "I’m sor— Ho— how much have you had to drink tonight?" You flinched away from his touch with an expression of disgust.

"Not enough."

You turned around and stumbled away towards your bedchambers. Robb bit his tongue and pursued you. Tears of frustration clawed at the corners of your eyes.

"Will you— fuck, Y/N, will you stop!?" he called after you.

You stormed into your shared wedding chamber, previously Robb's own room, and rushed into the little side room, latching the door shut behind you. You heard the sound of his footsteps outside as you threw yourself on the floor and cried.

You must’ve lay there for an eternity before the tears ceased, your body wrecked with exhaustion. It took all your strength to pull yourself up. Was he still outside? You untied your hair and let it fall.

Robb was sitting at the desk in the corner. He flinched when you opened the door, quickly scribbling something down and reaching to put it away in a wooden box with a silver lock. You sat down quietly on the bed with your back towards him.

That night, you didn’t fall sleep. How could you have, watching the way his back rose and fell as lay on his stomach, dreaming. He was so peaceful when he rested, no scowl present to distort his pretty features, his arms tucked under the pillow where his curly head lay. You could have reached out and touched him; he wouldn’t pull away if you did. You didn’t.

When you woke up the next morning, Robb was gone. His side of the bed was cold and tidy. The only trace of you having a husband at all was the indent on his pillow.

You paced around your room like a for a long while, warm floorboards creaking under your bare feet. When you finally entered the Great Hall for breakfast, the sun already stood high in the sky and the tables were empty.

You ate in solitude, head sore from last night’s drinking. You winced at the sound of the door opening, as the ever-radiant Catelyn Stark ambled towards you.

”Y/N.” She stood next to you and cradled your neck gently. ”Will you walk with me for a moment?”

You nodded politely and got up, following her away, up, and out onto the ramparts of Winterfell.

”Did I ever share the story of the first time I met my husband?”

You shook your head, looking over at her with sudden curiosity.

”I traveled to Winterfell with my family when I was rather young. I was supposed to marry Ned’s brother Brandon when we came of age, it was arranged so. Ned wanted so badly to make a good impression that he stumbled over his words and accidentally said something very hurtful.”

This made you laugh, your breath foggy in the crisp air. Catelyn continued.

”I was very upset for a couple of days—and rightfully so—but, after his many clumsy attempts of apology, I forgave him. Truthfully, it was rather charming to see him so fraught to win me over,” She chuckled at the memory, ”and I started to grow fond of him very soon after that. When Brandon died, Ned kept my honour by taking his role as my betrothed, without hesitation.”

”Lady Stark, may I ask where this story is going?”

”I wanted to speak with you about Robb.”

You sighed and turned your head away but Catelyn commanded your attention back the way only a mother can.

”Now, listen to me. Robb is like his father in many ways, and unfortunately, that extends to his way with words. I cannot remember how he insulted you, or when it happened—perhaps I was never told—and my son is not a perfect man, but he is a good one. He will be good to you.”

”Lady Stark…”

Catelyn turned to you and placed her hands on your shoulders. ”Robb will love like his father, if you can forgive, like his mother.” Your eyes welled up as you laughed dejectedly.

”He doesn’t love me,” you whispered.

Her eyes widened, and she squeezed you gently by the shoulders.

”How do you know, dear girl? Have you asked him?”

”Well— well, no. But—”

”Thank you for the company, Y/N.” Catelyn kissed your forehead. She left you speechless on the ramparts. You clutched your skirts in tight-knuckled fists, mind racing. Suddenly, you were overcome with an unyielding urge to find your husband.

You asked Sansa, who pointed you to your chambers. Fighting every urge to run, you walked there with quick, determined footsteps.

Robb was in the middle of dressing when you threw the door open. Your eyes pulled towards his bare chest before flashing back up to his surprised face, lips parted in question.

”Robb.” You bit your tongue.

”Hello?”

”I need you to— are you going somewhere?”

”A hunt.” He shrugged. ”We should return in a couple hours.”

”Oh… alright.” Your sudden rush of resolve was faltering as he observed you.

Robb fastened his belt and walked over to where you stood in the doorway. He looked down at you, your bright eyes swirling with… something.

”You need me to—?”

”Sorry?”

”You said you needed me to do something. Just a second ago. What was it?”

”Eh…” you mumbled, writhing under his eyes. You swallowed hardly. ”Do you love me?”

You had never before seen the expression that painted his features. He was shocked, angry, devastated, amused, seemingly all at once. An uncomfortable amount of time passed.

”Would you believe me, whatever I answered you?”

”I don’t know.”

He furrowed his thick brows.

”Alright.”

Robb spun around and walked over to his side of the bed. From underneath his pillow, he pulled a thin leather strap like a necklace, with something small and silvery hanging from it.

”What is that?” You frowned.

Robb placed the object in your palm and closed your fingers around it. He sighed heavily and left, closing the door behind him. Only then did you open your fist. A little key. Would it open the box on his writing desk, the one with the silver lock?

It did.

The lid opened with a squeak. Immediately, a pile of paper welled out of the wooden container. They seemed to be letters.

You reached for one that had ended up right in front of you.

Sansa recieved another letter from you today. It is getting hard to hide the bitter jealousy I feel when you write to her. I wish I could see you, alone, and explain myself. I don’t even know if it would help, but I would do anything if it did.

Yours faithfully, Robb Stark.

When had he written this? You reached for another letter.

I’m so sorry, Y/N. I’m sorry that they are making you become my wife, and yet more sorry still that you do not want to be.

Yours, with love, Robb Stark.

A lump appeared in your throat. There were so many letters here, surely over a hundred. Too many. You picked up the box, digging your hand into it to find the letter at the very bottom.

Your heart clenched when you saw the scratchy handwriting. He could not have been very old when he wrote this.

You’re really angry with me because I was mean. I probably deserve that. I hope you won’t be angry for too long. I feel like I’ll die if you hate me forever. I’m really sorry.

Robb

You hadn’t noticed tears welling up until they fell onto the crumpled letter. This must’ve been written the first time you came to Winterfell. All this time, you had been so angry over a petty insult. All this time, he had—

He had loved you. He loved you.

You let the letter fall from your hand as you ran out of the room as fast as you could manage. You ran faster than your feet should have carried you, sprinting down staircases and evading surprised servants.

”Robb,” you panted as you came out onto the courtyard. Your eyes scanned the area frantically. Then they found him. He was on his horse, riding calmly out through the gates of his home.

”Robb!” Your voice broke as you shouted after him. He halted his horse, face turning back towards you where you stood, weeping. Within a second, he had dismounted, and after another second, he stood in front of you with flushed cheeks and ragged breath.

”Th— the letters,” you sobbed.

”I didn’t know what to say.” He sneaked his arm around your waist and pulled you to his chest, stroking over your hair with his free hand.

”I-I’m so sorry, I have been s-so awful to you! A-and over something so f-fucking stupid!”

”I don’t blame you, Y/N, it’s not your fault, it’s alright. I’m sorry for every cruelty I have even spoken to you… you know what I mean. I am so sorry.” Robb murmured apology and sweet forgiveness into your hair and into your soul. After a moment of silence, you pulled back and stared up at him with red eyes.

”I don’t think I know how to love you,” you whispered earnestly.

”You have the rest of your life to learn, if you’d like.” He smiled bashfully. You knew you were being watched. You curled into his chest again.

”If you manage to die on this hunt, I will kill you.”

”Noted.” He laughed.

”Do you love me?” you repeated the question, voice hushed so only he would hear.

He trailed his blue eyes across your features and mumbled, ”immeasurably.” You felt a finger to curl under you chin as he tenderly connected your lips to his own. As he kissed you, you considered that maybe forgiveness wasn’t impossible after all.

[satanicstorm]

distance makes the heart grow bitter ➵ act II

You sat at the head of the wedding feast in your best gown, expression dull, staring into nothingness. Your father's boisterous laugh blended with the rest of the noise and smoke in the air. The party got louder and merrier by the hour. You tilted the cup of wine in between your fingers, watching the scarlet liquid swirl before downing it all in one large swill.

The bitter tang made your tongue tingle and your head floaty. You thought about staying drunk for the rest of your life. Perhaps it would make it a little more bearable.

Robb's intentions seemed to match yours as he stared into his own cup. He sat in silence, unsteady in his chair, not once looking your way.

You leaned against your hand as you let your glossy eyes trace over his grave expression. The shape of his nose from the side, the curve of his jaw, the way the light seemed to glitter in the dark hairs of his stubble. An unconcious smile crept to your wine-stained lips. He was not so bad to appreciate from afar, although, he never had been.

Suddenly, Robb took notice of your eyes piercing into him. He turned towards you, raising an eyebrow at your warm expression. Candles around your table cast twinkles in your irises and onto your gown, and made your whole body radiate with light.

He turned away, the tips of his ears flushing red under your unwavering stare. You hadn't directed a smile at him since the very first time he'd seen you.

As he turned away, so did you. When you reached for your cup again, it was still empty since the last time you had put it down. After a moment of consideration, you gently pushed your chair out from the table, thanked your mother-in-law for the festivities and excused yourself from the Great Hall.

The early spring evening had a chill in the air. It trickled in through the seams of your dress, running a shiver through you. The frozen ground crunched under your shoes as you staggered over the courtyard.

"Y/N!" someone behind you called out. You slowed to a stop and looked over your shoulder. It was Robb, walking towards you with a dark expression. Once he reached you, he towered over you. Was he angry? You could hardly tell, in your state.

"Where are you going?"

"T’bed." Your words slurred as you put a hand on his chest to keep yourself from swaying.

"But, the celebration—"

"The celebration?" You pursed your lips. There was nothing for you to be celebrating.

"It is our wedding feast.” He frowned.

"Of course!" You laughed, head buzzing with sudden clarity. "End of my life, my freedom, yet ever the triumph of my husband... Bring out the wine and whores! To Robb Stark—conqueror of womankind.”

”I refuse to be blamed for this damned arrangement!” he shouted, and your eyes widened. Robb’s eyes trailed over you before he suddenly grabbed your face with both hands and crashed his lips onto yours. Your knees nearly buckled when he kissed you, body melting into him before coming to your senses.

You reeled backwards, awkwardly regaining your balance.

"Gods,” he mumbled, reaching out to stabilise you. He studied you with cool, blue eyes. "I’m sor— Ho— how much have you had to drink tonight?" You flinched away from his touch with an expression of disgust.

"Not enough."

You turned around and stumbled away towards your bedchambers. Robb bit his tongue and pursued you. Tears of frustration clawed at the corners of your eyes.

"Will you— fuck, Y/N, will you stop!?" he called after you.

You stormed into your shared wedding chamber, previously Robb's own room, and rushed into the little side room, latching the door shut behind you. You heard the sound of his footsteps outside as you threw yourself on the floor and cried.

You must’ve lay there for an eternity before the tears ceased, your body wrecked with exhaustion. It took all your strength to pull yourself up. Was he still outside? You untied your hair and let it fall.

Robb was sitting at the desk in the corner. He flinched when you opened the door, quickly scribbling something down and reaching to put it away in a wooden box with a silver lock. You sat down quietly on the bed with your back towards him.

That night, you didn’t fall sleep. How could you have, watching the way his back rose and fell as lay on his stomach, dreaming. He was so peaceful when he rested, no scowl present to distort his pretty features, his arms tucked under the pillow where his curly head lay. You could have reached out and touched him; he wouldn’t pull away if you did. You didn’t.

When you woke up the next morning, Robb was gone. His side of the bed was cold and tidy. The only trace of you having a husband at all was the indent on his pillow.

You paced around your room like a for a long while, warm floorboards creaking under your bare feet. When you finally entered the Great Hall for breakfast, the sun already stood high in the sky and the tables were empty.

You ate in solitude, head sore from last night’s drinking. You winced at the sound of the door opening, as the ever-radiant Catelyn Stark ambled towards you.

”Y/N.” She stood next to you and cradled your neck gently. ”Will you walk with me for a moment?”

You nodded politely and got up, following her away, up, and out onto the ramparts of Winterfell.

”Did I ever share the story of the first time I met my husband?”

You shook your head, looking over at her with sudden curiosity.

”I traveled to Winterfell with my family when I was rather young. I was supposed to marry Ned’s brother Brandon when we came of age, it was arranged so. Ned wanted so badly to make a good impression that he stumbled over his words and accidentally said something very hurtful.”

This made you laugh, your breath foggy in the crisp air. Catelyn continued.

”I was very upset for a couple of days—and rightfully so—but, after his many clumsy attempts of apology, I forgave him. Truthfully, it was rather charming to see him so fraught to win me over,” She chuckled at the memory, ”and I started to grow fond of him very soon after that. When Brandon died, Ned kept my honour by taking his role as my betrothed, without hesitation.”

”Lady Stark, may I ask where this story is going?”

”I wanted to speak with you about Robb.”

You sighed and turned your head away but Catelyn commanded your attention back the way only a mother can.

”Now, listen to me. Robb is like his father in many ways, and unfortunately, that extends to his way with words. I cannot remember how he insulted you, or when it happened—perhaps I was never told—and my son is not a perfect man, but he is a good one. He will be good to you.”

”Lady Stark…”

Catelyn turned to you and placed her hands on your shoulders. ”Robb will love like his father, if you can forgive, like his mother.” Your eyes welled up as you laughed dejectedly.

”He doesn’t love me,” you whispered.

Her eyes widened, and she squeezed you gently by the shoulders.

”How do you know, dear girl? Have you asked him?”

”Well— well, no. But—”

”Thank you for the company, Y/N.” Catelyn kissed your forehead. She left you speechless on the ramparts. You clutched your skirts in tight-knuckled fists, mind racing. Suddenly, you were overcome with an unyielding urge to find your husband.

You asked Sansa, who pointed you to your chambers. Fighting every urge to run, you walked there with quick, determined footsteps.

Robb was in the middle of dressing when you threw the door open. Your eyes pulled towards his bare chest before flashing back up to his surprised face, lips parted in question.

”Robb.” You bit your tongue.

”Hello?”

”I need you to— are you going somewhere?”

”A hunt.” He shrugged. ”We should return in a couple hours.”

”Oh… alright.” Your sudden rush of resolve was faltering as he observed you.

Robb fastened his belt and walked over to where you stood in the doorway. He looked down at you, your bright eyes swirling with… something.

”You need me to—?”

”Sorry?”

”You said you needed me to do something. Just a second ago. What was it?”

”Eh…” you mumbled, writhing under his eyes. You swallowed hardly. ”Do you love me?”

You had never before seen the expression that painted his features. He was shocked, angry, devastated, amused, seemingly all at once. An uncomfortable amount of time passed.

”Would you believe me, whatever I answered you?”

”I don’t know.”

He furrowed his thick brows.

”Alright.”

Robb spun around and walked over to his side of the bed. From underneath his pillow, he pulled a thin leather strap like a necklace, with something small and silvery hanging from it.

”What is that?” You frowned.

Robb placed the object in your palm and closed your fingers around it. He sighed heavily and left, closing the door behind him. Only then did you open your fist. A little key. Would it open the box on his writing desk, the one with the silver lock?

It did.

The lid opened with a squeak. Immediately, a pile of paper welled out of the wooden container. They seemed to be letters.

You reached for one that had ended up right in front of you.

Sansa recieved another letter from you today. It is getting hard to hide the bitter jealousy I feel when you write to her. I wish I could see you, alone, and explain myself. I don’t even know if it would help, but I would do anything if it did.

Yours faithfully, Robb Stark.

When had he written this? You reached for another letter.

I’m so sorry, Y/N. I’m sorry that they are making you become my wife, and yet more sorry still that you do not want to be.

Yours, with love, Robb Stark.

A lump appeared in your throat. There were so many letters here, surely over a hundred. Too many. You picked up the box, digging your hand into it to find the letter at the very bottom.

Your heart clenched when you saw the scratchy handwriting. He could not have been very old when he wrote this.

You’re really angry with me because I was mean. I probably deserve that. I hope you won’t be angry for too long. I feel like I’ll die if you hate me forever. I’m really sorry.

Robb

You hadn’t noticed tears welling up until they fell onto the crumpled letter. This must’ve been written the first time you came to Winterfell. All this time, you had been so angry over a petty insult. All this time, he had—

He had loved you. He loved you.

You let the letter fall from your hand as you ran out of the room as fast as you could manage. You ran faster than your feet should have carried you, sprinting down staircases and evading surprised servants.

”Robb,” you panted as you came out onto the courtyard. Your eyes scanned the area frantically. Then they found him. He was on his horse, riding calmly out through the gates of his home.

”Robb!” Your voice broke as you shouted after him. He halted his horse, face turning back towards you where you stood, weeping. Within a second, he had dismounted, and after another second, he stood in front of you with flushed cheeks and ragged breath.

”Th— the letters,” you sobbed.

”I didn’t know what to say.” He sneaked his arm around your waist and pulled you to his chest, stroking over your hair with his free hand.

”I-I’m so sorry, I have been s-so awful to you! A-and over something so f-fucking stupid!”

”I don’t blame you, Y/N, it’s not your fault, it’s alright. I’m sorry for every cruelty I have even spoken to you… you know what I mean. I am so sorry.” Robb murmured apology and sweet forgiveness into your hair and into your soul. After a moment of silence, you pulled back and stared up at him with red eyes.

”I don’t think I know how to love you,” you whispered earnestly.

”You have the rest of your life to learn, if you’d like.” He smiled bashfully. You knew you were being watched. You curled into his chest again.

”If you manage to die on this hunt, I will kill you.”

”Noted.” He laughed.

”Do you love me?” you repeated the question, voice hushed so only he would hear.

He trailed his blue eyes across your features and mumbled, ”immeasurably.” You felt a finger to curl under you chin as he tenderly connected your lips to his own. As he kissed you, you considered that maybe forgiveness wasn’t impossible after all.

[satanicstorm]

invitation

Your shoes clicked against the stone floor of the hallways of Winterfell. You were fairly new to the castle, having arrived only a moon ago, to work as a handmaiden for the Lady Sansa Stark.

You were a pretty girl, not from a noble house of any kind, but more importantly—a hard worker. Since your arrival, a few visiting Lords had asked the Starks about you, either in their sons’ interests or their own. Sansa had grown strangely protective of you, the two of you already developing a friendly bond.

A few days ago, a liege lord you hadn’t dared to ask the name of had come to speak with Lord Stark about business you had nothing to do with. He was an older man, perhaps five and sixty, and he had taken notice of you at the very moment of his arrival.

You had politely assured him that you were uninterested, that you lacked political status, lacked wealth, but he had become more and more persistent in his attentions. One night, he had caught you in the corridor outside the Great Hall and whispered in your ear, nearly drooling about how delectable he thought you.

Today, you were on your way to the chambers of your lady with newly arrived fabrics in your arms, when you heard his dark, grating voice echo through the hall behind you.

”Little lady, come here for a moment? I have something to ask you.”

Your heart dropped. You clenched your fists anxiously, pretending not to hear and walking ever so slightly faster. Maybe he would just leave you alone?

”I’m speaking to you! Come over here! Fucking whore…”

You heard his footsteps behind you. Your heart was racing. Whatever he wanted couldn’t be good. You were busy, and uninterested, and you had to get away fast.

You threw yourself at the closest door, praying for it to be unlocked. It swung open and you nearly dove inside, closing the door in the lord’s face and turning the key. You panted and leaned against the door, pulse sky-high as you thanked the gods for your luck.

The room lacked light compared to the hall, and you had trouble making out what kind of room it was that you had entered. A storage closet, perhaps? Hopefully not a lavatory, at least.

You moved the bunches of fabric to one arm and lifted the other, walking cautiously in the dark, feeling your way along the wall. One corner passed, and then another. The room was rather large, and you pondered it’s purpose until you suddenly walked into something, soft and low to the ground.

You nearly fell on your face, instead catching yourself with your arms and landing on…

Soft furs?

Your face dropped as you realised this was a bedchamber, and you were sitting pretty on the resident’s bed. You got up quickly, gathering the fabrics and walking towards the door to the hallway. A soft strand of light seeped through the doorframe, outlining it, making it easy to find.

Listening for a moment, you heard nothing from the outside. The lord must’ve gone. You reached for the handle and turned it, sneaking out and closing the door behind you. A breath of relief shuddered through you as you turned around, only to drop the fabrics in shock.

What you thought would be a large stone hallway was instead a small room, bathed in golden light from a number of candles. Speaking of bathing, the centrepiece of the room was a fine wooden bathtub, filled with soapy water from which steam rose and curled in the air. In that bathtub sat the eldest son of Lord Stark, wearing a surprised expression that matched your own and nothing more.

Unable to stop yourself fast enough, your eyes traveled down his glistening torso to where the water broke your line of sight, before you slapped a hand over your own eyes and spun around. You stood there for a moment, mortified.

”I’m guessing this was not your intended destination.”

You heard the amusement pull at his lips as he spoke, the deep, northern lilt of his voice thick like honey against your brain. Your heart raced as you shook your head, still facing the door.

You must’ve been trembling, because the next time he spoke, it was much softer.

”Are you alright?”

”My lord, I-I apologise for intruding, and—”

”You’re trembling. Are you alright? Did something happen?”

Your face flushed hot. What were you supposed to answer?

That you had hid from a perverted old man in Robb's room and stumbled onto his bed? That you had mistaken the doors in the dark and walked into his bathing room? That he was four feet behind you, fully undressed, with his hair wet, and your legs were about to give out underneath you?

You slapped a hand over your mouth as your thoughts suddenly echoed back to you. The situation could not have gotten any more humiliating, and yet it had.

”Your legs look fine to me,” he mumbled. ”Was Lord Karstark bothering you?”

You didn’t answer, instead shutting your eyes tightly and praying yourself away from the room. It didn’t work. Robb called out your name.

”Turn around.”

You froze. Was the young Lord Stark absolutely fucking insane?

”What…?”

”Please,” he insisted, ”turn around?”

You turned slowly, hesitantly opening your eyes. Robb leaned against his arms resting on the side of the bathtub, hiding most of his body from view, his head tilted curiously.

”Do you want to leave?”

”Uh— sorry…?”

”I won’t stop you if you do, you know.”

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, staring at the wall behind him, avoiding meeting his pretty blue eyes.

”I’m sorry for intruding,” you whispered.

”You’ve already said that.”

”…I should leave.”

”Probably. But do you want to?”

Your heart pounded so loudly he must surely have heard it. This was all a game to him, you knew that. Why shouldn’t you get to play along?

”My lord, do you want me to?”

”I don’t,” he stated, earnestly. Your eyes widened as you met his gaze. ”And no titles. It’s just Robb to you.”

To you. To him, you were something. Someone of importance, despite your differences in status and lot in life. To him, you were a beautiful woman, wandering in on him at his most vulnerable moment, like he’d shamefully imagined ever since you arrived.

”Robb…” you whispered. The fabrics were forgotten on the floor as you stepped forwards, approaching him carefully.

”That’s better.” He grinned. ”Will you join me?”

Could you? You shouldn’t, definitely not, but could you? You lifted your arms, reaching for the button holding your dress together at your neck, and undid it.

Robb nodded slowly, encouragingly. You reached behind your back to undo the button between your shoulder blades. The garment hung loose around your shoulders now, threatening to fall down at any moment.

Something flashed in his eyes for a moment, something wild, akin to hunger, before he looked kind again. You could tell he wanted you to go on, but he held himself back, waiting for you to make the calls.

You could leave at anytime, if you wanted to. For every moment that passed, that desire lessened and lessened.

You tried to undo the final button at the bottom of your spine, but your fingers were trembling with anticipation. Robb knitted his brows.

”Allow me?”

You turned around, slowly kneeling next to the bathtub with your back towards him.

His fingers were soaked from the bath, leaving stains of water on the light fabric of your dress. He unbuttoned the final button and tentatively traced the curve of your spine.

His warm hands lit your skin on fire, leaving invisible, unforgettable marks down your back. The front of the dress fell down, pooling around your hips.

It didn’t matter that Robb Stark was a noble—the rightful heir of Winterfell—or that you were a servant, with fingers calloused from working and nothing to your name. Now, you were equals.

”Do you want me to close my eyes?” He rested his hand on your naked shoulder, tracing circles into your skin with his thumb. You bit your lip, hesitating.

”Yes.”

You peeked over your shoulder. Robb’s cool blue eyes were closed. When you stood up, the now-opened dress fell, pooling at your feet. You stepped out of the pile of fabric, shivering in the cool air.

When you turned around, Robb’s head was leaning back against the edge of the bathtub. His eyes were still closed. A part of you wanted to knock some sense into yourself, to put your dress back on and run, spare your dignity for another day, forget any of this ever happened.

But he was so beautiful. And the hunger in him nearly rivalled the one brewing in you. You put a hand on the edge of the wooden bathtub, carefully climbing inside, sitting yourself down between his legs.

Robb groaned under his breath when your wet skin came into contact with his own. The water was warm and frothy, hazy to the point where you couldn’t see your own body under the surface.

Your mind was racing against the rest of your body as you leaned back against his chest. As he carefully wrapped his arms around your waist, you blanked out and lost the battle. You relaxed into his touch, moaning as his hands came up and wrapped around your breasts.

He roamed his hands across every inch of your upper body, tracing shapes into your skin and squeezing your breasts in his hands. His mouth busied itself at your neck, kissing and sucking, nipping at spots that made your toes curl.

One particular spot beneath your ear dragged an unholy sound out of you, and he was addicted in a second. He bit into the soft skin, marking your neck with the gentle possessiveness of an animal.

At the same time, his right hand moved from your nipple and slipped between your thighs, pushing a finger inside you. You trembled in his arms, head falling back and lips crying out as he added another finger.

He revelled in the sounds he was able to pull from you, careful with every movement, wanting it to be even better for you than it was for him. His fingers soon pumped in and out of you at a steady pace, and you had to fight your own body not to thrash around from the intense sensation.

Your hands moved to guide his, but he tutted in disapproval. Instead, he moved your hands to either edge of the tub. You gripped the wet wood so hard your knuckles turned white, as Robb pushed another finger inside you.

”That’s right, sweet girl. Doing so well.”

You whimpered his name, your entire body tensing up as you felt yourself being dragged closer to release. Robb continued to whisper praise and encouragement into your ear, the sensation of his dark, humming voice rushing from your brain straight down to between your thighs.

You felt every callus on his fingers, roughened by sword handles and scars. Your legs trembled in the water as they pushed against a particular spot inside you. Unable to stop yourself, you let out a lewd moan, gasping for air as you desperately tried to keep yourself together.

”It’s okay, go on,” he smiled against your skin, lips pressed against your ear. You felt your eyes roll to the back of your head, back arching as pleasure crashed over you like rolling waves, wrecking your body with convulsions of ecstasy.

Robb cooed softly as you clenched around his fingers, he kept moving, guiding you through as you unraveled before him. After a moment, your body went limp in the water, skin meeting skin as you fell back against him, panting.

He stroked your hair with one hand, tracing the skin of your hip with the other.

”How are you feeling?”

You wanted to respond, but could only sigh blissfully. Robb chuckled. Suddenly, your mind cleared, and the weight of your situation dawned on you. You cleared your throat awkwardly.

”Robb?”

”Hm?”

”Could you close your eyes again?”

Robb laughed. ”Unbelievable, you are still shy?”

You must’ve looked sad, because his eyes softened. He traced your jaw gently, changing his answer.

”Of course.”

Robb closed his eyes, keeping them closed as you climbed out, dried yourself and got dressed. He looked so peaceful with his eyes closed, you could’ve believed he had fallen asleep. But his breathing was light and irregular, not deep and steady, like that of someone sleeping.

You cleared your throat again, standing dressed in front of him. The ends of your hair were still damp, but they would dry soon enough. You blushed as he eyed you.

”I will take my leave, my lord.”

Robb frowned. ”Don’t—”

”You can tell no one of this… please. My lady cannot know.”

”I-I… would never. You have my word.”

”Thank you.” You turned around, fingers wrapping around the handle of the door. ”…Robb.”

You looked over your shoulder.

”I’ll be back tomorrow, to repay the favour… if you want me?”

He blinked, surprised. The tips of his ears flushed red.

”Above anything else.”

[satanicstorm]

distance makes the heart grow (bitter) ➵ act I

Robb Stark had always been a thorn in your side, a plague in your mind since the very moment you met him. Eight years old to his nine, you had childishly clung to the skirt of your mother as she introduced you to the house Stark. Robb was a handsome young boy, bright and proud. Standing next to his sullen half-brother and little siblings with a serious expression, he might’ve seemed almost regal. That was, until he opened his mouth.

You wanted to greet the Stark children, taking a hesitant step forward as your parents spoke with Lord and Lady Stark.

“Hi.” You lifted your hand gently in greeting, trying to swallow your nerves. You didn’t have any friends in your home, too shy to step away from your parents when you were out. His younger sister smiled brightly and attempted a curtsy, and the boy with black hair nodded awkwardly. The rest of them grinned and waved, still too young to learn the proper manners.

The oldest boy didn’t seem to acknowledge you, staring past you into the courtyard behind you. You swallowed and nervously tried to make eye contact with him. “My name is Y/N… what’s yours?”

You leaned into his line of sight, forcing him to look at you. Immediately, his pretty features twisted into a frown. His posture shifted as he tried to tower over you despite being a little shorter. He scoffed.

“I don’t care. Why are you talking to me?”

You were speechless. Nobody had ever spoken to you in that way. You took a step back, reaching for your mother to ground yourself.

He leaned forward, ignoring the smack on his arm he received from his brother as he continued.

“Why is your hair like that? It looks stupid.”

You pouted quietly as he grinned. Fists clenching around silky fabric, you were determined not to cry. Why would he say such a thing?

His eyes glittered as he took a step towards you, whispering again.

“Robb—“ his sister with the red hair reached out for his hand.

“Be quiet, Sansa.” He squinted at you. “I said, your hair looks stupid. Did your handmaiden do it while drunk or something?” Your veins pulsed with anger. Your hair was perfect, your mother had told you so herself while she fixed it. It wasn’t stupid, he was stupid, he was stupid-

“Y/N!” Your eyes widened as you flinched at your mother’s stern tone. “That is no way to speak to our hosts, my darling.”

Your thoughts had been said out loud. You felt your face heat up in shame, not at the thoughts themselves, but over making your mother upset. She was so kind and gentle. Now, her warm eyes were expectantly fixed on you, as were those of your father and the Stark family.

”I’m sorry,” you told her.

”Not to me, my love. Apologise to Robb. Go on.”

She placed her palm on your shoulder, gently urging you forward. You turned hesitantly towards the Stark siblings, where Robb looked at you with a smug, pleased expression.

You dug the soles of your shoes into the ground and fiddled with a strand of your hair. As a final plea, you looked back up at your mother.

”I can’t,” you whispered, lip trembling.

Her eyebrow raised in oncoming irritation.

”Why not?”

Because he was mean! He had started it, and insulted you, and-

”I’m not sorry.” You turned back towards Robb, crossing your arms in defiance.

Your mother sighed as she guided you back behind her, apologising to Lord and Lady Stark, who only laughed, and said they had enough children to recognise when a battle was fruitless.

You glared at Robb from behind your mother with brewing dislike. It was a small slight, but you decided in that moment that you would never, ever forgive him.

For the rest of your family’s visit, you avoided the eldest Stark son at all cost. Despite that tension, you took pleasure in the company of the rest of the family. Lord and Lady Stark were proud and honourable and kind to you, and you played with Sansa until your parents had to pull both of you away to bed. Whenever she mentioned her oldest brother, you would change the subject, or pull her away and begin a new game.

Even the black haired Jon Snow was friendly, despite his awkward disposition. You didn’t let it bother you as you happily dragged him around Winterfell and let him hesitantly drag you around in turn.

When it was time to leave, you cried with Sansa and promised to come back to each other as soon as you could. You almost felt Robb roll his eyes as he watched her and you embrace with a sour expression marring his face.

In the carriage, you turned to your mother with glittering eyes. She had not once turned angry at you, even though you refused to explain your behaviour. His insult had been an insult to her, and you didn’t want her to know.

”I hate that boy.” You looked at her, gravely serious.

”So you say, my darling.” She smiled down at you, caressing your cheek and placing a kiss on your hair.

The next time you met Robb Stark was a few years later. You were now twelve and he would turn thirteen in a matter of weeks. This time, Lord Eddard Stark had come with his eldest children to visit your family in your home.

You had written what felt like a thousand letters to his sister, and she had eagerly answered them all. She had grown into a most trusted friend and valued companion, despite only meeting once. As the company from the North rode through your gates, you waited expectantly.

Lord Stark rode in the front with his daughter sitting behind him. A cart carried their belongings and behind it rode the two brothers. The rest of the visitors were guards from Winterfell, escorting the Lord and his oldest children.

As Sansa was lifted from the horseback by her father, you ran into each other’s arms, laughing and embracing.

Jon, though tired from travelling, looked pleased to see you as you smiled at him before moving your attention to his brother. Robb wore a neutral expression as his eyes met yours, morphing into a scowl. Your heart pounded in your ears as you returned it.

The company spent a week at your home, most of which you spent weaving through the woods with Sansa in tow. She wasn’t as eager to climb your favourite trees and play as you were, but you both had fun nevertheless. On the third day of their visit however, this fun was spoiled for you by Sansa asking you to bring her brothers for protection against bears and other wild creatures.

You tried to explain that your woods were patrolled by guards, and the wildest creatures living in it were rabbits, but she insisted. The following days were calmer, and honestly, more boring. Sansa wanted to walk, rather than run, talk, rather than sing or shout. Still, you cherished your friend and her presence. The worst thing about it was Robb Stark staring holes in your back as he and Jon walked a few paces behind you.

On the fifth day of their visit, Sansa spotted a pool of crystal clear water a bit away. You stayed behind as she took Jon and went to look at it closer. As you turned to lean against a tree, the heel of your shoe caught on something.

Suddenly, you had fallen backwards, hip aching where it had landed against a hard root. You quickly tried to pick yourself up, but the pain in your leg stung worse than you had thought. Your face flushed with embarrassment as Robb’s eyes found you.

He tried to surpress a smile, failing horribly.

”It is not funny,” you snarled as he chuckled.

”It is a little,” he stated calmly, turning away with his hands clasped behind his back.

”Thickhead,” you muttered under your breath, angry, but still unable to move. After a moment, Sansa and Jon returned.

”Are you alright?” Sansa ran over frantically when she saw you sitting on the ground. You felt your eyes well up at her query.

”No, I fell on a root, and my leg really hurts. I can’t get up…” you told her, voice unwillingly shaky.

”Robb! Why didn’t you help her!?” Sansa was livid, glaring daggers at her brother.

”She didn’t ask for my help! How was I meant to know?” He threw his hands up in defence. Jon came forward and wrapped an arm under your shoulder, helping you to your feet.

You were instructed to stay in bed for the rest of the week, since the large bruise on your hip and your twisted ankle needed time to heal. You lay in your bed that night, frowning over your own stupidity. The pain was keeping you awake, despite you being immensely tired.

All of a sudden, you heard your door open. You froze, breathing quietly, pretending to be asleep. The floorboards creaked under uncertain steps. Your room was dark, hiding the identity of your visitor.

Said visitor stood next to your bed in silence for a moment before turning on their heel and leaving. Had you been asleep, you would never have known anything. You managed to drift off not long thereafter.

The next morning, you pondered your midnight encounter, before writing it off as a figment of your weary imagination.

You decided not to mention it to Sansa as she came to visit you. She spent nearly all of the remaining days at your bedside, talking and reading to you. You cherished the love of your friend, and she seemed to enjoy these sorts of activities far more than you.

When it became time for the Stark family to leave, you were allowed to come out into the courtyard to see them off. You limped awkwardly, leaning on your father for support. Sansa hugged you tightly and kissed your cheek. She climbed onto her fathers horse, waving sadly.

You made your way up to stand on the ramparts, watching them ride away. Just before the company left your line of sight, Robb looked over his shoulder, eyes searching behind him until they locked onto you. You scowled and turned away, limping back towards your chambers.

Another four years passed before you ever saw the family Stark again. Your mother had grown ill bearing her third child, and both mother and babe had been lost in the night. Grief haunted your home and lands. Your little brother and father were heartbroken, but no one was as inconsolable as you.

You cried until you felt your throat ache and your lungs bleed. You refused eating and sleeping, only pacing around the halls like a lady ghost. You grieved until you could not.

Your father grew more and more anxious over your behaviour. He was devastated also, but he had lands to run and could distract himself with his work. You had no friends in your home, nothing to do. He sent a raven to his allies in the North, asking Lord Stark to receive you and let you take up studies with their eldest daughter.

Ned Stark wrote back without hesitation, assuring his friend, your father, that there would always be a place for his daughter in Winterfell.

As you stepped out of the carriage, you sent a thought to the Gods in appreciation for how small the crowd waiting for you was. Only Lord and Lady Stark, with Sansa fiddling nervously next to them. She had grown tall and beautiful.

Sansa stepped forward, offering her embrace which you gladly accepted. She stroked your hair gently as she held you in her arms.

The first few days, everyone seemed to tiptoe around you, treading on eggshells to keep you happy. Even Robb, who had well surpassed you in height since you last saw him, was polite and courteous. All of it was frustrating, every sad smile and hand on your shoulder only reminded you of your loss.

You decided to start acting like normal, to make everyone think you were better, and for the most part, it worked. People stopped treating you like a pile of broken glass, and slowly but surely, you felt alive again. You would spend your days with Sansa and Arya, being tutored by Septa Mordane, who all seemed quite fond of you. When not with them, you would sit for hours in the warm Winterfell library.

One such evening, you had excused yourself early from dinner, eager to know the end of the story you were reading. You sank onto a chair near the fireplace, removing your cloak, unlacing your shoes and warming your cold feet underneath a thick fur pelt.

Engrossed in your book, you failed to notice the door opening. Robb stood in the doorway, watching you read peacefully for a moment before clearing his throat.

You turned your face towards the door at the sound, meeting his cold blue eyes with your own. He held in his fist a piece of parchment. Normally, you would’ve scowled at him, but you only blinked in surprise and reached for your boots.

”Wait-” Robb called out. Your eyes widened. This was the first time he had spoken directly to you since you arrived. Only sour looks had been exchanged. You raised an eyebrow, looking up at him again.

”What do you want?” Your tone was short, lips pursing as you hugged your book skeptically.

He hesitated for a moment, before muttering lowly. ”Excuse me.”

He turned on his heels and left as quickly as he had entered. You tried to return focus to your story, but was distracted by his interruption. Surely he had some reason for coming to the library, why else would he be there? Why did he not want you to leave?

You grumbled under your breath as you slammed the book shut, leaving the library to find something else to do.

Sansa was sitting on her bed, practicing needlework when you knocked and entered. She looked up, smiling when she saw it was you.

”There you are! Did he find you?”

”Who?” you questioned as you sat down next to her, admiring her work.

”Robb was looking for you after dinner. I told him you were in the library. Were you not?”

”Oh, I-” you frowned. ”Did he… say what he wanted?

”Not to me.” She shrugged, smiling at you kindly. ”Are you still angry with each other?”

”Yes...”

”You’ve never told me what for.”

”It is unimportant,” you assured her. Sansa sighed and placed her embroidery in her lap. She turned to you, clasping her gentle hands around yours and searching for your eyes.

”Whatever my brother did to you, you simply must forgive him! Robb is…” she searched for the word, ”a little complicated. And perhaps rude, at times. But he is not evil!” At fifteen years old, Sansa Stark was more sane and sensible than many adults.

”You sound like my mother,” you chuckled sadly.

”Well, she was right! It is unhealthy to hold hatred,” Sansa huffed. You held her face in your hand, unconsciously tucking a strand of red hair behind her ear.

”I know you are concerned, Sansa, but… your brother simply does not like me, and I do not like him. He does not want my forgiveness, nor will he ever, ever have it. Do not let it trouble you, please!”

You talked for another hour until you left to walk to your room, ready to sleep.

You stayed at Winterfell for many moons. Well over a year after your arrival, your studies were nearly finished, and you prepared to return to your father and brother at home. Two nights before your planned departure, you were enjoying dinner with the Stark family when Maester Luwin entered with a raven message in his hand.

Everyone looked over at him to see who it was for, and he handed it to you with a kind smile, which you immediately returned. As you unraveled the small message, you felt your heart pound. It was a message from your father.

The Starks continued conversing cheerily as you started reading. As your eyes traced the words, your got a sinking feeling in your stomach and your smile faded.

”Y/N?” Sansa looked at you with concern as you read the message over and over. With a few sentences, your father had turned your whole world upside down.

The air in the hall was suddenly stifling, and you felt sick, a sour taste in your mouth ruining your appetite.

”Are you alright?” Catelyn Stark’s kind voice echoed over the now silent table. Everyone watched you in confusion as you quietly lost your mind.

”I’m sorry, e-excuse me—” You got up from the table quickly. It took everything in your power not to sprint away, out of the dining hall, out of the castle, out of Winterfell. Instead, you stormed to your chamber, dead-eyed, trying not to cry.

Y/N, my darling girl, do not pack your bags. You are a clever girl, like your mother, and I know will understand why I must do this. You will stay in Winterfell to unite House Stark and our own by wedding Robb Stark.

—————

Thank you for reading! I want to dedicate this—my first longer work—to @dipperscavern for being a wonderful presence in the GOT community and a huge inspiration to myself and many others. Act II coming out soon!

[satanicstorm]

❝ 𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐥, 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧. ❞

┊ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: after your husband returns from battle in the riverlands, you share a rather passionate moment together.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: robb stark x baratheon!reader.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4.8K.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut (mdni), smut with fluff, lots of teasing and sweet banter, robb is a chronic yearner, hint of dirty talk, making out, hair pulling, wet robb (he was in the rain), unprotected p in v sex, obligatory stark breeding kink, missionary position + prone bone, scratching, biting, robb is horrendously down bad.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: I wrote this because I was rewatching S2 of Game of Thrones and got hot & bothered. End of story. I have a lot of smaller works like this in-progress! I feel like this is not good as my usual stuff but y’know! Anyway, I hope you all enjoy! 🫶

Tides of thunder echoed over tempestuous skies, darkened by a deluge, lightning piercing wisps of veiled cloud, akin to slicing steel. Rain fell in gray sheets, bathing the Riverlands in a bitter chill, encampment blanketed by an assailing squall.

For a sennight, the weather had raged, weeping icy tears onto both Stark and Lannister armies.

Murky were the marshlands of the Riverlands, the Green Fork’s banks now laden with silty earth and sunken grass; still, the deluge persisted without any end in sight.

Despite the sour conditions of the outside world, you were fortunate to remain within the sanctuary of your tent, one shared with your husband, Robb Stark. The King in the North valiantly took to the battlefield, blood hot with the surge of war, desiring to sink his fangs into Lannister footsoldiers.

Worry often stirred within your heart, concerned for his wellbeing — it didn’t begin that way. At first conception of your betrothal, you and Robb began as acquaintances, a Baratheon and a Stark, a byproduct of Robert’s longstanding relationship with the late Lord Eddard.

Sometimes, the sting of discomfort lingered; two youths spouting oaths thrust upon them by their forebears. Now, you often prayed for Robb’s safe return, pleading to the Seven that he would be unscathed, his safety paramount.

Without Robb, you had nothing — no allies, no friends, and no family.

Robb had treated you exceedingly well, his gentleness disarming yet gallant when it came to you, his heart honorable yet steeped in vengeance. He had grown fond of you, if not adoring, and you grew rather attached, in turn.

Thunder snarled at your doorstep, an ugly rippling that shook the skies, made them tremble in terror. A shiver passed through you as whistling gales shrieked outside, your tent well-fortified, but the torrential downpour proved to be a relentless beast, drenching any who stood within its path.

With the hour of the wolf upon you, exhaustion had not yet nipped at your heels, nervousness keeping you awake. It became difficult to seek true respite when Robb was away, and you feared that if you closed your eyes, he would slip from your grasp while you slept.

Busying yourself with menial tasks, you took to reading, swathed in his cloak, one given to you nearly a moon ago; a woodland scent clung to thick pelts. A silken nightgown accentuated your frame, hidden beneath wolf’s fur, your bed something of a refuge.

Candlelight flickered, wavering in the midst of the storm’s fury, an orange glow spreading warmth throughout the pavilion’s interior. A sharp clap of thunder made you lurch forward, gooseflesh icing your spine, grip tightening upon your book.

Concern festered violently within your belly, a volatile sensation, one that brought you not a shred of comfort. It made you sick, worrying about Robb to such an unhealthy degree, but you couldn’t help it — war was cruel, as unforgiving as it was callous, culling sheep to the butcher’s block.

As you turned the page, parchment proved to be a rather uninteresting diversion, more vexing than it was intriguing. If it weren’t for your current state, swaddled comfortably within the furs, you might’ve been pacing, restlessness akin to some plague, haunting your every step.

Rest eluded you, until it didn’t.

Unable to recall when you had drifted off, book splayed open within your lap, your position indicated that you had fallen asleep amidst your worrying. You kept yourself angled toward the tent’s mouth, hoping to see Robb emerge at some point during the night.

The Young Wolf’s victory was hard-fought, an ambush through the thick of dusk, effectively dismantling Jaime Lannister’s host entirely, the Kingslayer now taken captive. Men had been taken in the process, such was the heavy toll of war, a burden he now shouldered as King.

Eager to return to you, Robb moved through the pavilion’s burlap flaps, shouldering past the canvas as he stepped inside, auburn curls plastered to his skull. Soaked to the bone, the warmth of his quarters was a welcome relief, chest heaving with a soft exhale.

Cerulean hues waded through his surroundings, finding your slumbering form huddled within his cloak, brows furrowed even as you slept. Affection swelled within his heart, a sentiment he did not think himself capable of, many moons ago.

With hushed footfalls, Robb silently rustled about, desiring to let you have your rest. As much as he longed to rouse you, he knew the toll this war had taken on you, as much as it did him. Unburdening himself of damp furs, he stepped closer, within arm’s reach of you.

Calloused fingertips lightly traced your crown, as soft as a doe, a threadbare smile painting his rugged countenance as he lowered himself onto the feathered paillasse. In a wordless rapture, he ogled your visage, a thing of true beauty, tresses somewhat mussed from sleep.

Fingers remained tense within his cloak, as if you clung to it even when dormant, cheek pressed against the pillow. He found you enchanting, beguiling — if it weren’t for your Baratheon blood, you might’ve made a bewitching sorceress.

Robb’s warm gaze shifted toward the book, nestled comfortably beside your lap, parchment parted to reveal the page you’d left off on. Each shallow sigh you took exuded sweetness, visage worn with inklings of worry, the rest of it somewhat peaceful.

Beyond the tent, the tempest screamed into the night, washing away the blood of both Stark and Lannister into the Green Fork. Dampened leathers clung to him, soaked through coarse linens beneath, the feeling a touch discomforting.

Auburn curls remained slick with rain, droplets continuing to roll from his temples; carrying with him the scent of petrichor and firewood, tinged with faint copper. As his fingertips graced the soft plane of your cheek, he lightly brushed aside locks of hair, relieving them from your brow.

Stirring from hibernation, a low hum tumbling past your lips, limbs aching with the heaviness of sleep. Robb did not intend to wake you, though it seemed much too late for that, his caress rousing you from what appeared as a deep slumber.

“Robb?” With a groggy croak, your lashes fluttered in rapid succession, brows still creased as you readjusted to your surroundings. To your complete surprise, there he sat, soaked as if he’d been wading through an ocean.

“I didn’t intend to wake you.” Robb’s Northern timbre hung heavy with an apology, thumb gingerly caressing your jaw as you moved to sit. Before another remark could escape him, your arms flung around him, drenched or not, clinging to him in an embrace as hot as fire.

“I don’t care,” Breathless, you refused to yield, nearly crushing him against you, if there were plausible. One palm settled atop the small of your back, the other cradling the base of your skull, calloused digits perusing through your satiny tresses. “I prayed for your safe return.”

He missed you terribly, more than he truly thought possible — Robb yearned for your presence, away on the banks of the Fork, dreaming of returning to you with each clash of steel.

Rugged lips peppered your temples, foreheads brushing against the other as he held you tightly. With each inhale, you breathed him in, fearing he might dissipate from your grasp.

“It was a hard-fought victory,” Ice-laden breath plumed across your brow as Robb exhaled, brow stalwart. “A blow hard enough to knock the wind from Tywin Lannister.” A pang of venom snaked through his words as he mentioned the Lannisters.

It was Joffrey’s head he wanted — golden crown mounted upon a spike, Lannister dead littering the South, wolves howling. The death of Eddard Stark was still an open wound, its sting evergreen, heart continuing to bleed in the wake of such atrocities committed against his family.

Empathy wept from your being, understanding of Robb’s plight, of his desire to purge the Lannisters and avenge Lord Stark’s passing. “I am thankful that you returned safely — unscathed, I should hope.” A sigh creased with worry left you, palms splayed across his chest.

A bemused chuckle escaped him as you surveyed for any injuries, only to find an endless sea of wet clothing and taut muscle — he must’ve been caught within the storm for hours. Caged beside him, you felt such relief, knowing that he was safe. “I am unharmed, I promise.”

“Gods, Robb — you are completely drenched,” An ebullient laugh spilled from your mouth, a heavenly sound that caused his breath to hitch. He smirked in the wake of your innocuous observation, azure hues dancing precociously. “You must be freezing.”

“Better now, thanks to you.” A twinkle of mischief sparkled within his gaze, the adrenaline of battle beginning to dissipate, leaving only a blossoming sense of triumph. Mouths gently sought another, tangling together for a soft kiss, one that roused a flame within his heart.

Wreathed in a thinly-veiled desire, Robb’s kiss echoed wantonly through your marrow, culling desire to the surface. Hands steadied themselves against your hips, reveling at your body, the way you molded yourself to him without a shred of hesitation.

Droplets of dew trickled onto your nose, the remains of the deluge still rolling from his tresses. He felt your smile, tangible against his mouth, thumb drawing circles to the swell of your waist. Still, his lips did not falter, growing with fervency.

It was you who withdrew first, fingertips ghosting over his countenance, over the light dusting of freckles beneath his eyes. From the first glimpse of your husband, you found him captivating, more handsome than any before him.

“You smell of wet wolf,” Tinged with amusement, the gentle lull of your cadence set his nerves ablaze, a huff leaving him as he playfully nipped at your bottom lip. “Robb! You must change!” Weak protests did little to deter your husband, who planted a kiss to your throat.

“As my lady commands.” Teasingly, his teeth scraped over your flesh before he departed, amusement clinging to his expression. It was comforting to return to you this way — despair nonexistent, with a sense of reprieve.

Moving from your bed, Robb went about unfastening his breastplate, prying leather aside, hoping to let it dry sometime on the morrow. It was the dead of dusk, the wolf’s hour, and yet he remained unburdened by exhaustion, instead replaced by exhilaration.

In rapturous silence, you sheepishly ogled your husband from where you sat, wandering eyes finding favor in his toned musculature. Robb was lean and hungry, a man turned wolf, tossing his tunic over the back of a wooden chair.

A generous smattering of freckles blanketed his back, pale flesh like marble, carved from stone. Dusky-auburn hair peppered his chest, like kisses of fire, broad shoulders turned a sculpture through smoldering candlelight.

Even from where he stood, your smitten hues pierced through him, as sharp as any blade, though it lacked such malice. Pearlescent teeth flashed in your direction, a knowing grin as he searched for a dry doublet, bare above the waist.

“You lack subtlety, my Lady.” Robb scoffed, catching you in the act, wolfish teeth around your throat. Words turned to ash upon your tongue, any retort smothered within your mouth, then and there. Instead, your features warmed as if it were a midsummer’s day.

Floating from the bedstead, you stepped forward, retrieving a cloth as you placed it atop his head, attempting to dry his soaked curls. “Perhaps it wasn’t my intention to be subtle, but for you to know that I find you painfully handsome.” With a sweeter remark, he found it difficult to tease you.

Allowing you to lavish him in plentiful sentiments, his frame shook with laughter, attempting to remain lighthearted in the wake of such a monumental victory. “Painfully handsome,” He parroted, a coarse tunic hanging between his fingers. “Is that so?”

As you dragged the swath of cloth over his crown, Robb stilled, chest reverberating with a subtle grunt. He found solace in your embrace, one that remained endlessly gentle, collecting rainwater from his tresses. Thumbs traced circles near his temples, swiping droplets aside.

“I may revoke my compliment if you continue to vex me,” Despite the playful lilt of your warning, Robb withheld a grin, curls now disheveled, partially dampened even still. Draping the cloth over the back of his neck, your wrist became ensnared within his grasp. “Robb.”

“Vex you? I dare not evoke your scorn,” A hint of a smirk betrayed his stony countenance, pearlescent teeth glinting, catching upon a sliver of dwindling light. Calloused digits stroked your flesh, gaze softening as you hid beneath your lashes. “You’re incredibly beautiful.”

A smile as gentle as springtime warmed your features, visage glittering with a thinly-veiled jubilation, heart fluttering beneath your breast. It was the very same smile he’d become enamored with in the beginning of your betrothal.

Robb brought you closer, able to catch your saccharine scent, an amalgamation of honeyed florals. “Is that so?” The tenderness of your cadence was unmistakable.

A low huff rippled through his throat, lips parting in incredulity, admiring both your charming wit and beguiling appearance. Songs would be sung of your beauty, regaled by those you glimpsed you; he found himself to be exceedingly fortunate.

Bewitched, Robb’s lips bridged the distance, already worn thin after he’d coaxed you closer. Mouths became immersed in a mutual heat, a dance of hearts — you succumbed so very quickly to it all, hands clamoring to hold fast against his nape.

A muscled arm slithered around your hips, caging you in against him, physique still damp from soaked garments. Even then, he warmed in your presence, exuding heat of a different breed, one born of desire that lingered within your heart and his.

His mind neglected to linger upon the hardships of war, with little desire to tarry within battle — instead, losing himself within your lips seemed a better fate than many. Awe glistened within your hues, a gaze that held an immeasurable affection, fingers interlaced between his shoulders.

Whatever frustrations he had coiled themselves into his muscle, anguish turned into action, crushing it all beneath the weight of your adoration. It was difficult to maintain any shred of propriety, throat rippling with a grunt as his teeth snagged across your bottom lip.

Steady hands knead eagerly into the swell of your hips, blood singing wantonly as the two of you unceremoniously clamor for your shared bed. Furs kiss flesh, nightgown still concealing your body from him, though it doesn’t seem to last for very long.

“Robb,” A gasp of startlement slips from you, thoroughly enthralled by his sudden blaze of furious desire, mouth as ravenous as a wolf. Kisses trail from your jaw to throat, jugular blanketed in passionate pecks and teasing nips. “Whatever is the matter?”

He knows you tease him, but he’s relentless, burrowing between your thighs as you welcome him with a thinly-concealed glee. “You,” Robb huffs, fire etched into your collar as he lavishes you in endless kisses, hands wrestling with silk and velvet. “A pretty distraction, you are.”

Lacking any malice, you feel his physique quiver with laughter, countenance alight with lascivious amusement. It eases your nerves, giggles tapering off into delighted sighs as he unburdens you of your nightgown, swatting the gaudy fabrics aside.

Gossamer curls around your frame, material dangerously transparent, candlelight casting you waning embers. His breath hitches, a subtle sound that fades as soon as it occurs, cerulean gaze beset by a fervent ardor.

The soft peaks of your breasts pebble beneath your shift, though it is of little consequence to your husband, who eases it down to place his mouth against your chest. A moan draws from your lips, gooseflesh icing your spine.

A strong, firm hand palms at your thigh, roughened digits grazing beneath the hem of your shift, guiding the fabric toward your hips. As Robb lovingly caresses the length of your leg, your hands tangle against his nape, raking through damp, auburn curls.

The scratch of his beard prompts you to gnaw at the flesh of your cheek, a sensation that leaves naught but ash in its wake, arousal beginning to stir within your belly. A wolfish hunger claws at Robb, lips descending upon your breast, lavishing satiny flesh in countless kisses.

Legs shift against him, thighs haplessly squeezing at his leather-clad hips, nails sinking into his skin. A blissful whimper erupts through your diaphragm, taking with it each wisp of air, lungs stinging with exhilaration.

“Robb!” A moan, strangled within your throat; desire screams within your marrow, as violent as the crash of a tidal wave, heat flooding your insides. He has only been with you, and yet he seems well-versed, practiced in navigating your body.

Lips release your breast from his maw, mouth raking fiery kisses through your sternum, teeth piercing soft skin as he trails towards your mouth once more. Hands fly to the leather ties of his breeches, swift and needy, aiming to cement this heated tryst.

Arousal warms your nethers, belly rolling into taut coils of excitement, bodies flush, the space between all but nonexistent. It is all done in some frenzy, nerves crackling with fire as you keep your legs parted, shift disheveled, fabric wrenched in all directions.

The hotblooded fervor of youth prevails, wanton need exchanged between your flesh, all heat and desire. Through the brief clamor of Robb wrangling against leather trousers enough to free his cock, you coax him in for a kiss, his smile palpable through joined lips.

Outside, the deluge continues its torrential assault, winds whipping against sturdy canvas, the onslaught of the tempest providing ample ambiance. A strangled moan pierces your lungs as his cock presses against your petals, swollen head dragging through a time or two.

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 your wolfish paramour.

Translucent fabric pools around the swell of your hips, cunt growing slick with your nectar as Robb briefly dips his hand between you, a chuckle resonating through him. As deft fingers rake embers over your nethers, you writhe, unable to mask the choked whine that splits your diaphragm.

“Already?” Robb taunts, more loving and mischievous than cruel, pressing a hot, sharp kiss to the sensitive flesh beneath your jaw. “Didn’t have to touch you for it.” The naked reality of his amorous truth makes you flush, with no retort to make the embarrassment any less.

There is no place to hide from his smoldering stare, merely averting your gaze instead, but he’s swift to intercept, mouth reaffirming its hold upon you. Each kiss is a shockwave, rattling through your bones, bringing with it a fire that demands to be squashed.

“You are cruel.” Your words hold no bite to them, spoken through a partial moan that makes him yearn, ravenous lust festering within him like a plague. Teeth capture your bottom lip briefly, your eyes doelike and permeated by crystalline ardor.

Robb chuffs, the noise possessing a playful lilt as his thumb briefly circles the pearl of your cunt, toying with the clutch of nerves. “Am I?” His Northern timbre fills your stomach with molten heat, coalescing between your thighs as you suppress a hapless whimper.

Through half-lidded lashes, your gaze falls upon Robb with incredulity, lips parting as bliss unfurls from your visage. Any jocular feeling seems to dissipate, giving way to a sudden neediness, his cock incessantly urging against your nethers with wanton desire.

Azure hues burn with lust intermingled with adoration, no longer veiled as it sits heavy upon his rugged countenance. Lips hungrily capture your own, his position readjusting as a firm hand parts your legs, kneading over the plush flesh of your thigh.

Hips lightly rut forward, the friction crackling between flush bodies, evoking a sharp moan from your mouth. A grunt stirs from his chest, akin to the feral snarl of a wolf, ensuring that you’re comfortable before he begins to tilt forward.

A sob of delight wracks through your frame, a shiver slithering along your spine as Robb groans, burying his mouth into the hollow of your shoulder.

As he moves forward, his cock beginning to sheathe itself within your cunt, your nails dig crescents into the nape of his neck, back arching forward.

Carnality consumes you like some blistering fever, sinking its talons into you, as sharp as knives that stab at your belly. Robb’s passion is one you revel in, knowing his appetite is often an insatiable thing, one that you gleefully partake in.

Everything is heated, desirous — flesh to flesh, hearts clawing for one another, limbs entangled. A well-fought victory made his blood run with adrenaline’s cry, coupled with his own ardor for you, something that he no longer is shy in sharing.

Canines nip at the satiny flesh of your shoulder, hot breath pluming over your skin, causing you to shudder as he adopts a sluggish rhythm, allowing you a moment to relax. Digits grip at the auburn curls of his nape, countenance flourishing with inklings of bliss.

“Robb,” A breathy sigh tumbles from your lips, clinging to him as if you were drowning, body aching for him in every way imaginable. His ministrations are deliberate, rhythm drawn-out, intended to torment you. “Please.”

Foreheads brush against one another, his chest stinging with an incendiary want, brows creased in concentration. It is a slow incline, hips rutting against yours, friction simmering, akin to a flame roaring to life.

A low, animalistic groan tears through his maw, sending a cascade of shivers throughout your body, born of a tantalizing excitement. With each sluggish rut of his hips, you feel everything, his cock rocking into you with a rhythm that only seems to climb higher, higher still.

In the wake of war, it is you he dreams of, thoughts constantly torn asunder, between the mantle of an unwanted leadership and being your husband. It is not an easy task, this balance — yet, he finds himself wishing to forsake his kingly duties, if it meant a second spent within your presence.

Sighs tangle together in a heated snare, flesh joining, a fervent heat slithering between bodies. One hand departs from his tresses, reaching for his forearm, muscle taut beneath your fingertips as digits intertwine, now pressed into the furs.

Robb’s grunts are strained with pleasure, intensity building as he seizes your leg, hitching it further around his hips, angle deepening. A blissful cry emerges from your lips, visage contorted into one of ecstasy as the newfound position makes your heart shriek with desire.

“I thought of you, while away,” The husky cadence of his lull stokes a volatile fire within you, belly coiled into knots of excitement. Words plume against your collar, whispered like some fiery brand, emblazoned upon your heart. “Wanting to feel your body.” A growl sent shivers through your spine.

Awestruck surprise rippled through your brow, gaze briefly locking with his own, subservient to the starving rapture that lingered within his eyes. A darkened, auburn beard scratched ragged against your countenance, lips marred by another kiss, enough to rip the air from your lungs.

Candlelight wavered, casting pools of an ember glow across his flesh, now dappled with perspiration and remnants of rainwater. Mouths clashed in a passionate duel, poured with a thinly-veiled desperation, thigh quivering within his grasp.

Rooted within you, Robb’s hips withdrew, enough to rut forward with a sense of urgency, filling you to the brim with his cock. Lewd, crass noises reverberated in the haze of heat that enveloped you, his thrusts gathering in rhythm, becoming more invigorated, ardent. Hands squeezed another, anchored firmly beside your head.

“Gods, I need you,” It was nearly forced from you, choking upon a delighted sob that wretched from your lips, which clamored for his own. A low whimper left you as he snapped forward, letting passion and want pour into each ministration, cock sheathing itself inside of your aching cunt. “Robb!”

Heat persisted even still, 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.

A shudder wracked him, as sharp as steel as your nethers clenched around him, taking him perfectly, as if you were molded entirely for him. Nails pressed crimson indents into his back, nearly scratching at his pale flesh as he continued to urge forward, cock kissing your womb.

“Turn over.” Filled with a strenuous impetuosity, an urgency that is nearly a whine, you obey with a sudden swiftness, clamoring to move onto your stomach. He does not take you callously, blanketing your body with his own, chest flush to your back.

Fiery lips brand themselves to your shoulder, forehead brushing over your dampened flesh, a moan tearing through your throat as he enters you once more. It is laden with haste, actions done in a flurry of passion, your legs spread apart as he thrusts with a wanton vigor.

Still, your hands are interlocked at one side, the other fisting at the sheets, Each rut of his hips are drawn-out, deliberate; it is a lascivious torture that torments the both of you, cunt tightening pathetically around his length.

It was this intense pace that you so adored, craved — it kept you grounded, made you understand the depths of his growing devotion. A breathy string of expletives flutters from your lips, joined by his cacophony of low grunts, steaming sighs pluming over your shoulder.

Within your belly, a fire stirs, billowing into a blissful oblivion — arousal coalesces between your thighs, a slick ambrosia that only seems to grow. Robb groans, pressing a string of kisses to the space between your shoulders, teeth grazing over unblemished flesh.

Grunts continued to spill beside your ear as he reached his peak, but you were already there. 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, lips agape as your hips erratically rocked into the furs.

Calloused digits flexed against your own, and you met your release with a haze of white, a blinding heat that nearly dazed you. It was sticky and desirous, a union of bodies that had craved another, come to find their respite in such salaciousness.

“Robb!” A sweet moan left you as you reached your pinnacle, and he joined you, hips thrusting forward once more, gentler and steady. A coil of heat began to unfurl within the both of you, bodies constantly shifting against the other, an amalgamation of friction.

With an incessant throbbing, he released his seed within you, painting your insides with a wave of warmth. He kissed your shoulder even still, visage momentarily buried against the crook of your neck, beard scratching ragged along the hollow of your throat.

Lungs burned as the both of you gasped for air, caught within the aftermath, an afterglow so satisfying that it brought some semblance of light to your shared tent. Robb allowed himself to stay sheathed within you for a moment more, lips curling into a smile.

Clinging to composure, he sluggishly tumbled to his back, propped up against the pillows, allowing you to be absolved of his weight. As you reached for your shift, he canted his head to one side, unable to suppress his bemused grin.

“Getting dressed already?” Teasingly, he reached for you, arms caging in around you as he tugged you backward, though the garment was already halfway settled upon your frame. “Hiding won’t change anything.”

Laughter spilled from your lips, tapering into squeaks of amusement as he planted messy kisses all over your neck. “Stop it!” Despite your numerous protests, they seemed to fall upon deaf ears as he eased you against his chest.

With a warm chuckle, Robb decided to let it rest, tugging you into the expanse of his body, feeling your cheek press along his collar. “You are so beautiful,” He murmured, hand moving to idly massage your hip, inhaling a gust of your scent. “Very beautiful.”

“Hm,” A gentle hum fluttered from you, head canting upwards, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “Do you think that this deluge will pass?” It was an idle inquiry — this raging tempest had struck a sliver of fear into you, the rain howling outside, a clap of thunder piercing black skies.

“Soon, I think,” Robb’s eyes began to crinkle. “Why? Does it frighten you, my wife?” His teasing was endearing, a persistent banter that had always felt so effortless between you, something lighthearted to remove the edge of frustration. If he did not jest often, he became overwhelmed with anguish.

“No,” You mumbled, wincing at the flash of lightning that pooled through the burlap canvas, earning you a warm laugh from your Northern paramour. “A little, perhaps. That is why I have you to shield me from the storm.” Lips curled into an ebullient smile, and Robb was enthralled.

Beguiled, the Young Wolf planted a kiss to your brow, a comforting gesture. “I’ll keep you safe — I can promise you that.” It was a solemn oath made in the throes of youth, a determination that Robb wore as a cloak.

When the first splinter of dawn had struck down the black tides of the storm, bringing with it glitters of daylight, he kept you safe, even still.

[satanicstorm]

robb x pregnant reader smut. like robb super devoted to his queen and crazy to please her in the final phase of pregnancy!!!

Something so precious about this

Masterlist

Synopsis: Your husband is eager to please in the final stages of your pregancy

Pairings: Robb Stark & Pregnant!wife!Reader

Word count: 2664

Warnings: smut (MDNI), pregnant reader, pregnancy sex, oral sex (fem!rec), a little hairpulling, breeding kink if you squint, also begging if you squint, praise, some playful teasing, reader being annoyed (affectionate)

Notes: thank you so much for the request! This was so fun to write🫶🏻. It’s the first time I’ve written smut in a hot minute so bear with me

The fire crackling in the hearth casts a warm glow over your chambers, the bed below you is soft, the furs warm against your skin,- by all accounts, you should be comfortable. But as you near the end of your pregnancy, discomfort has become a constant companion.

Growing an entirely new human takes a considerable amount of energy, as you have recently begun to understand in truth. You had been lucky early on, hardly ill, only a little more fatigued than usual. But now, with your stomach swollen and heavy, it was beginning to take a toll on you. One hand smooths over the fabric of your nightgown over where your child grows, your voice a soft murmur, tinged with impatience. “Might you make an appearance soon?”

At that moment, the doors to your chambers creak open slowly, and Robb steps through. He looks weary from another long day of ruling, but there is a certain joy radiating from him- one that has not ceased since he learned that you were with child seven moons ago. You’d heard other women speak of the glow of growing new life within you, a vitality that left them feeling more beautiful than ever. You silently suspected that your husband had been the one to receive that glow, as you had never felt quite as weary and he’d never looked quite as happy.

As he shrugs off his cloak, hanging it over the back of a chair, his gaze moves to you, as if drawn by some unseen force. Another effect of your pregnancy. He has not been able to keep his eyes off you since it began. He must notice your discomfort, for his handsome features twist into an expression of concern. “The little princess giving you trouble?”

His voice is low and soothing, as if speaking too loudly might disturb the babe, but tinged with a warm sort of amusement. An almost incredulous hapiness- as if he still cannot fully believe how lucky he is.

You shift slightly on the bed, drawing in a sharp breath at the discomfort of moving when the distribution of your weight is so firmly centered around your protruding stomach. It allows you to look upon your husband fully though, which makes the brief discomfort worth it. “It might be a prince.” You remind him softly, a flicker of amusement creeping into your tone. He was so certain that the child would be a girl, and claimed that old Nan had told him some sort of tale about being able to predict it based on how a woman was carrying when he was younger. You were skeptical of the accuracy, but you couldn’t deny the warmth that unfurled in your chest at his enthusiasm.

“I would not be so certain of that, love,” he murmurs softly, coming to sit beside you on the bed. One large hand comes up to smooth some hair out of your face, concern once again etching itself onto his features. “You look uncomfortable.”

“You fuss too much, Robb.” You insist in return, though your tone betrays that you’re actually quite charmed by his concern.

He shakes his head, an easy grin tugging at his lips. His voice comes out low and warm, hand still smoothing over the hair at the top of your head. “I’d argue that it is my duty to fuss when my queen is carrying our heir.”

You put little effort into suppressing the small smile that breaks out on your face, huffing softly at his words. Despite nearly a year of marriage, he still manages to fluster you with his obvious devotion. Though you were determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing it. You go to give some dry retort, but he beats you to it, his tone a touch firmer, warm with affection still. “What can I do?”

A sigh falls from your lips, torn between the urge to tease him for his unnecessary concern, and the way your heart races slightly at his touch, innocent though it may be. With the next breath that escapes you, the decision is made. “Come to bed?”

A hint of mischief enters his blue eyes at your words, one dark eyebrow arching slightly. His tone is bemused, his hand trailing from your temple to your cheek. “Are you trying to seduce me, Lady Stark?”

You roll your eyes, swatting at his hand as a way to tell him to hurry up. He chuckles, a low, warm sound that makes something flutter in your stomach. “Behave,” you admonish, but it holds no real heat. The comment earns you another chuckle, but he rises from the bed obediently, moving to shed his outer layers.

“I reckon you quite like it when I misbehave, love.” He pulls his tunic over his head, looking even more pleased with himself when your eyes linger on the muscled expanse of his chest. Forcing yourself to focus, you scoff at his words, but don’t deny them. There would be little point in it, your current condition betraying just how accurate his statement is.

Instead, you shoot him a look, having to bite back a smile when he simply grins at you, hands moving to the laces of his breeches. The tone of your voice is dry, but tinged with fondness. “Really? Because you not behaving yourself is how I got into this predicament in the first place.”

He only hums, padding naked across the room to join you in bed. He slips beneath the furs, propping himself up on one elbow to gaze down at you. That spark of mischief is back in his eyes, and his tone is low and intimate, gently teasing. “I don’t remember you complaining at the time.”

You roll your eyes once more, reaching for him. The dark curls at the nape of his neck are soft as you sink your fingers into them, the affectionate action belying your half-exasperated words. “You’re incorrigible, Stark.”

“And you love it,” He huffs a laugh against your hairline as he presses a soft kiss to your temple, his free hand coming up to cradle the side of your face. The love in his gaze when he pulls back to gaze down at you once more steals the breath from your lungs, pushing the playful back and forth to the very back of your mind.

His thumb brushes over your cheek, the sensation of his callouses against your soft skin sending a shiver down your spine. His voice takes on a husky timbre as he asks, gentle as ever. “What do you want, love?”

“You,” the word escapes you in a breath, brows furrowing slightly in impatience as you tug him closer, fingers tightening in his hair. It is unsettling how quickly he can make you feel this needy, as if his presence alone is enough to make you crave him.

He goes willingly, and you see the ghost of a smile upon his face before his lips meet yours, and your eyes flutter shut.

His mouth moves against yours slowly, reverently- as if kissing you is a task that deserves diligence. You let out a soft sigh against his lips, melting further into the soft furs that cover your shared bed. His hand moves from your cheek to your neck, kneading gently into the tense muscle there as his mouth slants over yours more firmly.

He shifts closer, his movements even more careful than usual, mindful of your condition. The warmth that radiates off him, coupled with the slow intensity of his kiss, has heat pooling low in your stomach. When his lips break from yours, only to trail open-mouthed kisses down the sensitive skin of your neck, a soft moan falls from your lips. Your breath comes quicker, a touch of impatience creeping into the way you clutch as his shoulders, hands digging into the firm muscle there.

His hand smooths down your side, then back up again, a gentle caress that makes you want more. When his hand finally comes to cup the weight of your breast over your nightgown, you let out a breath of relief. He kneads gently, thumb circling your peaked nipple slowly, mindful of the increased sensitivity. Robb has become intimately familiar with the changes pregnancy has wrought on your body, and they only seem to spur him on, if his words are anything to go by. “Gods, you’re beautiful,” He breathes between kisses, his voice slightly muffled by the skin of your neck. There is a note of awe in his tone, something that borders on reverence.

“Robb-“ You breathe in return, any eloquences leaving you in the face of the anticipation building within you. Moving to shift closer to him, you let out a noise of frustration as your swollen stomach gets in the way. He chuckles softly, placing one last, lingering kiss to your lips before gently maneuvering you onto your back.

He shifts down the bed, his hands closing around fistfuls of your nightgown as he guides it up your body. Once it bunches around your hips, he leans down to place another lingering kiss to the fabric covering your belly. His hands smooth over the tightly stretched skin, a loving caress that makes your breath catch as you look down at him. His dark curls are falling forward into his face, and it makes him look devastatingly handsome as he tilts his face up to meet your gaze. His eyes soften as they hold yours captive, his voice hoarse with emotion. “How did I get so lucky?”

His words- the depth of emotion in them- only serve to heighten your need. You shift impatiently beneath him, your voice nearly a whine as you breathe out once more. “I need you…”

“You have me,” He assures automatically, his tone disarmingly gentle as he shifts further down the bed to settle between your thighs. His broad shoulders spread your knees further apart, and you cannot help but admire the play of firelight across the musculature of his back. He presses a lingering kiss to the inside of your knee, his hand squeezing softly at the outside of your thigh. “Just let me make you feel good, love.” He murmurs, pressing his lips against your skin once more, higher this time.

The string of kisses pressed to your skin makes your breath catch, anticipation coiling tight in your stomach. His beard scrapes against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, the sensation coaxing a soft gasp from your lips. His hands, calloused from years of wielding a sword, trail down the outsides of your thighs, before gripping lightly at your knees and moving to drape them over his broad shoulders. You shudder with delight as you feel his hot breath ghosting over your cunt.

It is only a soft kiss at first, and yet it sets you aflame, hips lurching forward to get closer to his mouth. Another time, he might have gently teased you for your eagerness, but now he only moves to squeeze your thigh reassuringly, before his hand slides up to sink into the flesh of your rear, pulling you against his waiting mouth.

He licks a broad stripe up your slit, a groan torn from somewhere deep within his chest as the taste of you coats his tongue. He could happily spend hours between your legs, listening to those delightful moans and whimpers fall from your lips.

The sensation of his mouth moving against the most sensitive part of you is quickly becoming overwhelming. Your hips twitch restlessly in his grasp, instinctively seeking more of the pleasure he so readily gives you. Needing something to alleviate the unbearable tension that coils within you, your fingers sink into his dark curls, tightening as he delves deeper. Your grip is ironclad, and had you not been so overcome by his ministrations, you might have worried about hurting him. But Robb is only spurred on by the unbridled enthusiasm in your grip, a low groan torn from his lips, the vibrations of it making your toes curl.

Sensing the increasingly frantic rolls of your hips, one strong arm bands around your thigh, holding you steady as he feasts upon you. Another delighted sound falls from your lips, and Robb silently thrills at the confirmation that he is bringing you such pleasure. You have given him the greatest gift of all, not only agreeing to be his wife but by growing your child. He would gladly spend the rest of his life trying to make you as happy as you’ve made him.

His tongue circles around your pearl, making you draw in a sharp breath, before he closes his lips around it and suckles gently. The wet heat of his mouth against you is both blissful and torturous, the tension in your lower stomach coiling to nearly unbearable levels. Your back arches off the bed, hands tightening further in his curls, as tendrils of heat radiate outward from your core. Robb never falters, dedicated only to your pleasure in this moment.

With a final flick of his tongue, you tumble over the edge, a low moan tearing from your throat. It is evident in the way your body locks up, the way your thighs tremble on either side of his head, the desperate way in which you gasp his name- and yet he keeps gently lapping at you, seemingly as much for his own sake as for yours. Only when the crescendo of your peak finally subsides, leaving you breathless and boneless against the furs, does he ease back.

His hands smooth over your legs in a soothing motion, his lips finding the soft skin of your inner thigh to place a few more kisses, as if he simply can’t help himself. Chest heaving with the effort it takes to regain your breath, you gaze down at him, cheeks warm with exertion. He looks up too, eyes locking onto yours with an ardor that makes your heart lurch.

With a final, lingering kiss pressed to the inside of your knee, he moves back up your body, coming to settle beside you. His strong arms find their way around you, one easing under your back to pull you to him. His other hand comes to rest on the swell of your stomach, a habit he had taken to since he had learned the news of your condition. Pliant and sated, you sag against him, relishing in the way his body curls around yours. His warmth and solidity are a comfort, a soft sigh escaping your lips as your breathing finally returns to normal.

For a few moments, you linger in contented silence, his calloused fingers tracing idle patterns on your stomach through the fabric of your nightgown. Robb presses his lips to your temple, inhaling your scent and letting the tension drain from his body. His voice is a low husk, bemused, as he asks. “Is there anything else my queen requires?”

You huff lightly at the teasing tone of his voice, both flustered and smitten at his words. With a soft shake of your head, you nestle closer to him, exhaustion settling over you and making your limbs heavy. Your tone is tinged with fondness, with love, even as the dry words draw a chuckle from your husband. “Do you plan to act this way every time I am with child?”

He peers down at you, one dark eyebrow arching upwards. He seems all too pleased at your words, a flicker of excitement sparking in his blue eyes at the mention of further pregnancies. He’d always wanted a large family, something you both knew and shared in. His voice is a low, pleased rumble, his breath stirring the hairs at your temple. “Oh no. The more children you give me, the worse I’ll get, love. Can’t blame a man for doting on his wife when she gives him such gifts.”

You find yourself quite pleased with that as well.

[satanicstorm]

Always find it funny when Jon has a sassy/angry moment and people are like "that's the targaryen in him," forgetting that Rhaegar was an emo bookworm who played the harp. If anything, he got it from Lyanna.

[satanicstorm]

POV NSFW

your in the middle of matt eating you out like its his last meal, and you get this feeling, and you had to warn him in case of the mess and the idea of getting squirted on

"its okay doesnt matter to me" he mumbles against your pussy before pressing on your lower stomach, and quickly wrapping his lips around your pussy to capture the squirt into his mouth

MEOWWWWWWWWWW BITCH MEOWWWWWWWWW

[satanicstorm]

smoking as i imagine doing it to matt before he shoves his whole big dick down my throat bc im begging for this man so bad

[satanicstorm]

drug dealer — chris sturniolo

warnings: drugs, angst, suggestive content, toxic relationship

summary: just angst. you’re an addict and chris is a drug dealer who has stopped supplying you with drugs

chris sturniolo x fem reader

"PLEASE OPEN THAT FUCKING DOOR."

The screaming started a few minutes ago, but the whole thing started about six months ago.

It started with you meeting Chris at a party in a circle of mutual friends at the beginning of the university holidays. You didn't do drugs, you just drank and smoked recreationally, but then you found out that Chris was a drug dealer and something about him sparked a certain curiosity in you. Also, there were things you wanted to erase from your mind and a little bit of different substances seemed to do that very well. Chris took an interest in you too, and that's how your relationship began.

Chris was a shitty hustler, he took it, sold it, and he didn't usually care about collateral damage.

At first it was just a little bit of joint shared on Chris's bedroom porch, then a little cocaine before a round of intense make-out, then pills, ecstasies, needles, and in a few months you found yourself using it three or four times a week, more than once a day, until you got to the point where you couldn't go twenty-four hours without. Or twelve hours. You were at rock bottom, a fucking junkie. You had become a junkie and he knew it was completely his fault.

Chris wasn't the kind of guy who really cared, he didn't care if bullies were overdosing in the locker rooms or if bitches were rubbing up against random poles after a pill. He didn't care, until he saw what he'd done to you.

It was six months of sex, words of love and drugs. Chris was never a compromise guy, he didn't even think about dating or being a one-girl guy until he met you. It just took him too long to realize he was destroying the person he loved, until he decided he couldn't do it anymore.

He's ignored your messages for the past few days, skipped university classes, and pretended you didn't exist. It was for your own good, but he was sending you as much as he was killing himself.

Now you were outside his loft at one o'clock in the morning, screaming and banging against the door, insisting to get in, because you were in withdrawal and needed something. Anything. It started with you texting and ringing the doorbell, but when you realized it wouldn't open, things got complicated. First there was a few louder knocks, pain-laden pleas, and all of a sudden you were screaming and pounding the door in an attempt to knock it down or something. Chris sat against the door inside when he noticed you were crying, holding his own heart in his hands. The pain of guilt consuming him. Hearing you say you'd do anything killed him. He never took you to bed as some sort of payment, but then you were begging him to give you something in exchange for something that you would bring a greater benefit than money to himself. You'd do anything, even if it meant destroying you even more. Suddenly, it wasn't just you who was crying outside. Chris was crying inside as well.

He's done with you. It destroyed you. He knew that people in this state could hardly recover. Chris ended his life, and he would never be able to forgive himself for it.

"Chris, please... Open the door." you pleaded, leaning your forehead against the door as you let the sobs escape. "You can't do that to me. Please."

Chris didn't answer.

He just sat with the back of his neck against the door, his arms resting on his knees as the tears gradually dried on his cheeks. It wouldn't open. He promised himself that he would not open it. After all, he couldn't just get on with what he was doing to you. Hurt. In fact, it took about two weeks for him to make that decision. He didn't want to accept what he had done, even though all he saw when he looked at you was the damage he had done.

"I HATE YOU." you shouted, pounding on the door after a few moments of silence. "I HATE YOU SO MUCH, CHRISTOPHER. OPEN THAT FUCKING DOOR."

I hate you so much, Christopher.

He stood up, unlocking the door to face the desperate figure in front of her. Knitting his eyebrows together, he was silent, watching you with pity. Messy hair, swollen eyes, tears staining your red face as you wore only a crap knitted blouse and kept a backpack on your back. You were shivering from the cold. It was almost December and Boston was having freezing nights as usual.

You cried loud, your body and mind sabotaging you. Chris pulled you close, hugging your icy body in a failed attempt to comfort you in any way.

"I need anything." you cried, letting him hug you while keeping your face hidden in his chest.

"I don't have anything here."

"You're lying. You can't do this to me, Chris. Please."

He licked his lips, hugging your body tightly.

"I'll take you home."

You sniffed. "My father won't let me in."

He nodded, letting go of you gently to lock the door again. He wouldn't leave you outside. It was cruel. You then stood there, watching Chris walk up to the bedroom and then back, letting the tears continue to fall. Maybe if you would keep quiet and behave, Chris would give you something. You still had some money that you kept stashed away, even after wiping out pretty much all of your savings.

"I'll take you away tomorrow, you can spend the night here."

You swallowed, crying loudly.

"I'm sorry, baby. I'm sorry." he hugged you again, feeling tears form in his own eyes. "I can't do that to you."

"I hate you."

Chris cried with you. He deserved it. “I know.”

He bathed you, changed your clothes, made you instant noodles, and sat on the living room floor next to you as he hugged your shoulders, listening to your painful sobs that destroyed him. He could see how your anger toward him still filled your eyes, mixed with desperation and anticipation that he was going to give you some damn pill or crack a line of cocaine on the table as tears trickled down and dripped onto the gray sweatshirt he lent you. You still hated him, but he couldn't send you away. Sending you away was like letting you end your own life even more. You still hated him, but he preferred to believe that the declarations of love were not in vain and that this was just the pain of withdrawal and addiction speaking louder.

It was dangerous, Chris knew that.

Half a second of attention diverted from you and you'd be shoving pills down your throat without a second thought. But he still loved you, and leaving you alone wasn't an option. He would take care of you, even if it destroyed him in the same way that you were already destroyed.

[satanicstorm]

chris literally have a lighter in his room!! they’re so stoner i can’t

the bitches is going crazy

[satanicstorm]

this video has me FERAL y’all like— hands. 🤤

[satanicstorm]

OH MY FUCKING GOD

isso tá bom pra caralho vsf

I NEED a pregnancy reader x matt smut

Gravid

Pairing: Matt Sturniolo X Female Reader

Synopsis: Y/N is pregnant and yearning for Matt after reading mommy to be books, and learning about her libido speaking….will he give in?😙

Warnings⚠️: SMUT BABES, it’s nothing crazy just sex while pregnant? Idk shit bout being pregnant, so I tried my best LMAOO

Song for the imagine: Baby Love- The Supremes

⚠️This is an 18+ story, so minors do not interact, or do??⚠️

Matt and I had been dating for a good four years. We were both 21 now, and he and his brothers were super famous on YouTube. I always had a feeling they’d get bigger than they thought. I was there for every milestone, and when they hit 5 million subscribers we were so fucking happy

I was occasionally in videos, I preferred to stay out of them as those were his brothers lives, and not mine. However I would pop out here and there since we were 18. At first most fans thought we were friends until we were 20, and finally came out to say that we had been dating since we were 18. We got the expected comments half loving and half hating, but I didn’t care I was secure in my relationship.

However, Matt and I’s anniversary was a while back, and we had fun, LOTS OF FUN consisting of sex, sex and more sex.

But after two weeks I started to feel sick, and sore and just not right, so I decided to go to the doctor thinking it was the flu, or covid. What I didn’t expect was to find out I was pregnant… A WEEK AND A HALF PREGNANT.

I was shocked, but I also knew I wanted to keep this baby, and Matt and I weren’t always the most careful when it came to having sex. But he always told me if I got pregnant he’d take care of me with no questions asked.

I was currently 14 weeks pregnant, and I was showing, but not enough to really make people think. Especially since I dressed to hide my bump, and posed specific ways

The fans suspected nothing, and we didn’t want to say anything till I was almost due. Chris and Nick immediately jumped for joy and were always by my side if Matt couldn’t be. His parents and their brother Justin also supported me.

Mary-Lou and Jimmy would fly out like once a month to spend a few days with Matt and I. They were so excited to be grandparents.

I was reading a lot of what to expect when you’re expect type of books to prepare as best as I could. I was genuinely shocked at all the new information I was finding out

What I did read was starting at 14 weeks women experience a spike in there libido, and I kind of had a feeling because anytime I saw Matt I wanted to jump his bones

It’s called baby brain….we become different, and feral

Matt was out filming with his brothers and I was at home just doing nothing. I heard Matt come home, but I only heard him

He came into the bedroom

“Hey baby” he said putting his stuff down on his desk

“Hey Matt. Where’s Chris and Nick?” I asked

“They went shopping. They said that they wanted to buy some things for the baby” he said walking over and rubbing my little baby bump

“Aww that’s so nice of them. They don’t have to” I said looking up at Matt

“Yeah I know, but they wouldn’t budge they said there’s so many things they want to buy” he said sitting down to take his sneakers off

“They’re too nice I love them” I said as I rubbed my baby bump

Matt came over and laid next to me resting his head on his left hand while looking at me

“What’s my pretty lady been up to?” He asked

“I’ve just been reading these mommy to be books” I said pointing to a stack of books on the nightstand

“Find out anything good?” He asked

“Actually yes, our sex drive spikes at 14 weeks” I told him

“How far along are you?” He asked smirking

“Exactly 14 weeks today” I said winking at him

“Oh well then this must mean one thing” he said smiling at me

“It means you look so fucking hot all the time, I’m ready to jump on you when you walk through that door” I said

“Oh really?” He asked jutting (ew) his bottom lip out while pondering

“Oh yeah, and when you wear those whore outfits looking fine asf. I lose all self respect” I said giving him a kiss

“Oh baby, I don’t know if I’ll be able to control myself” he said kissing me

“So don’t. I want to fuck, and I want it now” I said sitting up

“Won’t I hurt the baby?” He asked

“Matt….. be for real right now. Do you think the baby got his hand hanging out of my cervix ready to high five your dick?” I asked laughing at him

“You’re such a weirdo with your explanations” he said laughing at me

“You will not hurt the baby. It actually says sex is usually more enjoyable when the woman is pregnant” I told him

“So then let’s find out” he said grabbing my cheek and kissing me

Matt laid me back down as he hovered over me kissing me, and then slowly going down to my neck leaving sloppy kisses

“Matt I missed this” I said sighing

“Me too baby” he said coming back up and kissing my lips

He removed his shirt and his pants, and then took my shirt, and shorts off

“You look so fucking hot pregnant” he said gently rubbing my bump

“Maybe after this one we can have another” I said winking at him

“Oh baby I’ll have as many as you want” he said kissing me

Matt had slid off my underwear before coming back up to kiss me, and massaging my breasts lightly because they were a little sore

As he was kissing me, he slowly slid his hand down to massage my clit

“Fuck baby you’re so wet, and I haven’t even done much” he said looking into my eyes

“Matt when I tell you everytime I see you, I need you…I mean it” I told him

“Fuck baby” he said before going back to rubbing my clit, and slowly inserting two fingers inside of me

“Oh fuck Matt that feels so good” I said moaning at the feeling

He kept pumping his fingers in and out of me, before finally removing them, and placing his dick at my entrance

“Ready baby?” He asked

“I’m ready” I said, and slowly Matt slid into me completely bottoming out

“Fuck baby please move” I moaned out to him

Within an instant Matt was thrusting into me at a good pace, not too hard and not too soft. It felt amazing, and his pelvic bone was rubbing against my clit allowing for extra stimulation

“Oh baby I’m going to cum soon” Matt said as he thrusted into me while kissing my neck

“Me too. This feels so fucking good” I moaned out to him

Sex with Matt was always amazing, but I think because of my hormones it felt extra fucking good. I was so fucking wet like the sounds coming from me were insane

Matt kept thrusting into me, and I couldn’t stop clenching down on him

“Fuck matt I’m going to cum” I said clenching down on him harshly

“Come on baby, cum for me” he said thrusting into me and rubbing my clit

“Oh fuckkk” I yelled out as I came so hard all over Matt, my whole fucking body was shaking and my breathing stopped

“Oh my god” I said coming down from my high breathing heavily

Matt soon pulled out, and came all over my lower stomach. He came down from his high, and immediately ran to get a wet rag

“Sorry…cumming on your baby bump feels wrong” he said laughing, and I laughed with him because he’s such a weirdo

“It’s okay you weirdo” I said laughing at him and sitting up

We cleaned ourselves up, and got dressed, and in queue we heard the front door open

“Look at that perfect timing” he said getting up from the bed, and we both walked out to the living room

“We’re BACKKKKK” Nick yelled as he walked in with a ton of target bags full of baby stuff

“Guys what is all this” I said looking at the bags

“Well we have to spoil our unborn niece or nephew” Chris said bringing in more bags

“YALL THIS IS CRAZY” I said as my eyes fell on at least 12 bags of baby stuff

“Listen we’re so excited you have no idea” Nick said

“Hmm” Chris suddenly stopped and looked at Matt and I

“What?” matt said

“I know what was going on here” he said smirking at us

“The fuck are you talking about?” I said

“My poor niece or nephew was getting scrambled….yall was fuckingggggg” Chris said

“The fuck?” Matt said

“Well…..y/n your hair?? And Matt your shirt is on inside out and backwards” Chris said laughing

“MATT” I said smacking him

“OH MY GOD” Nick said laughing

“Uhh sorry?” Matt said getting all shy

We just laughed at this awkward interaction, and then Chris and Matt gave me a haul of what they got me while explaining every single item, and how either they will use it, or how I will use it

The End

Once again I hope yall enjoyed, and for the person that requested this I hope I didn’t disappoint 🥰 also I would like to do a/n at the end of my stories, so if you have any like personal questions, you can ask them here, and I’ll answer them in the next stories endings or as a separate thread 🤭🤭

-J💅🏽