CRYING. HEAVING. THROWING UP

CRYING. HEAVING. THROWING UP

DIPPYYYYYYY, I NEED HIM!!!

COMFORT - ROBB STARK

you’re afraid of thunderstorms — unlucky for you, they’re in season. luckily, your childhood friend & lover, robb stark, knows exactly how to comfort you during them.

robb stark x fem!reader (fluff), 2.3k words

“Relax your bow arm. Good.. pull with your back.”

bran huffs, drawing the arrow to his bow. he engages his back, as you tell him, simultaneously taking the strain off his arms. robb stands, arms crossed together, looking down at you and bran as you fix his form. he knows bran shoots worse when being watched, but he can’t help it.

earlier today bran, (the families worst archer) claimed the makeshift target you set up in the woods impossible. robb remembers the sly smile on your face as you then announced that you all would be heading to the wolfswood, and not leaving until bran shot the target.

robb thought it was cute, your determination to help bran. watching you with him made a part of him see the future; the future where you’re the lady of winterfell, belly round with child.

“Easy, now. The arrow goes wherever you’re looking.”

your voice brings robb back to reality as you continue your coaching. he watches as bran focuses on the target, an old piece of wood, strung by rope & hanging from one of the trees in the wolfswood, just outside winterfells’ walls. it sways with the wind, one of brans reasonings for not being able to hit it. you reminded him that as a knight, your targets won’t be still — they’ll move as fast as the wind.

bran focuses on the target, still for now and unaffected by wind, drawing his arrow tight.. about to let it loose-

“Any day now!”

theon’s voice startles all three of you, causing bran to let the arrow loose. it flies, lodging itself just below the bullseye of the target. bran sighs, and you whip your head around to theon and jon, standing a few feet away. they’ve quickly turned around, pretending that a tree in the distance has caught their attention.

“And which one of you was a marksman at ten!?”

you repeating his fathers words has robb looking down, trying to suppress the smile on his face. he huffs out a breath of laughter, making bran look at him, and smile himself. you shake your head at theon, before turning back to bran, wearing slight disappointment on his face. you run your hand through his hair.

“Don’t kick yourself over it. Theon doesn’t know his arse from a hole in the ground.” you put a hand on the small of brans back, turning & beginning to walk back to the horses. robb agrees with you.

“Aye. The first time Theon tried he nearly beheaded father.”

brans satisfied with that answer, giving robb a nod of his head as you three walk back to the others. theon glances over his shoulder, looking at you three, and then the target, swaying in the wind with an arrow near the bottom of it. he turns back, facing jon.

“At least he hit the target this time...”

jon fusses with the horses, pretending not to hear theon. it doesn’t work completely, he still has to bite back his smile as you, robb, and bran approach.

“Theon Greyjoy, everybody,” you say. “The most hilarious man in the seven kingdoms.” theon shrugs.

“The ladies seem to think so. Don’t you?” theon turns to jon, and jon’s half-smile is quick to disappear. it earns theon a smack on the back of the head from robb. theon rubs the back of his head, quick to look at his attacker. robb only smiles.

you take an arrow from brans quiver, pulling it to your bow & notching it. you aim for the swaying target, now much farther away than it was before. robb can barely spot it, the wood blending in with the trees. you release the arrow, and it lands with a thud, right into the bullseye.

you turn to theon, who now has decided that comedy is overrated. you offer him the bow, tilting your head. theon swallows, and opens his mouth to reply when ser rodrick approaches you all.

“The sky tells me a storms comin’, lads. Best to start headin’ back.”

your stomach churns at the mention of a storm, anxiety trying to creep its way up your spine. you wave it off, silently cursing ser rodrick as he saves theon from embarrassment. you usher bran along, and robb and jon share a look before falling in behind you both. theon sighs in relief, silently thanking the gods as he moves to catch up with you all.

theon moves to his horse, standing next to jon’s, and he begins to untie it. jon turns to him with a half-amused smile.

“At least you almost touched the bow this time.”

꧁——————————————————꧂

the rain is loud, wild in its crashing against the castle- drenching the bricks laid so many years ago. only a few small candles are lit in the great hall, and it makes for a somber mood at dinner. various conversation ensues as the rain worsens, & already it makes you restless — unable to sit still. ned’s voice carries across the table.

“The maesters say the storm is only to worsen.”

you internally groan at the thought of a heavier storm, and arya’s face scrunches in confusion. “Don’t they deal with stupid ravens? What do maesters know about storms?

robb is quick to pipe up. “About as much as you know about maesters.”

“‘S not just ravens!” brans little voice joins the chaos.

catelyn sighs at her children’s inability to get along, and you & her share an amusing look at their behavior. theon laughs, while ned and jon both have a small smile on their faces. arya looks for explanation, and ned nods his head towards robb. robb looks at his father, before deciding to have mercy on his sister.

“Maesters know the weather as well as medicine. Who do you think confirms winters’ come and summers ended?”

arya looks at robb with disbelief. “Maester Luwin?”

aryas knowledge of maesters, or lack thereof, has everyone cracking up- you included. it temporarily erases the storm from your mind, and even ned shakes his head with laughter. everyone except for sansa, who doesn’t appreciate her sisters lack of knowledge.

“No, stupid!”

catelyns head turns to sansa. “Sansa, be civil, will you?”

jon shakes his head at arya as she sticks her tongue at sansa. “The archmaesters, little sister.”

you can’t help but laugh yourself at their antics. even so, your stomach churns at the thought of a heavy storm. you’ve never been fond of them, too dark & too angry for your liking, always causing you to lose copious amounts of sleep. winterfells’ walls are strong, you know this, but it doesn’t do much to soothe your nerves — and you suspect you won’t be getting much sleep tonight.

as if the gods can hear you, thunder loudly rumbles overhead. all conversation momentarily pauses at the table, everyone looking up & around them, as if expecting to see the thunder in the room. you pause with them, your breath quickening as a small dose of fear shoots through you. ned, ever the reassure, takes one look at his younger children’s fearful eyes and resumes the role of lord stark.

“Not to worry. Winterfells’ held against greater comings than late summers rain.”

their fathers words have rickon, bran, and arya relieved. smiles are shot their way in an extra coat of reassurance, and everyone returns to their food. almost everyone.

you think you do a good job of hiding it, but robb notices. of course he does. you’ve always tried to hide from him, the same way you do from others, but it’s never worked — he found you long ago. you find yourself under robb’s gaze, and you both share a look. you swallow, gaze dropping down to your food. you think it’ll be a long night indeed.

꧁——————————————————꧂

BOOM

lightning strikes, making you jump- almost dropping the book in your hands. you sigh, bringing a hand to your face to rub the sleep from your eyes.

in truth, even if you wanted to, there’s no way you could sleep in this weather. winterfells library provides for a nice distraction, a chance to catch up on the books you’ve been too busy to read — and a safe space. a small offer of solace during your living nightmare. you’ve never been a deep sleeper, and you’ve never been able to sleep through storms. well- except for one.

it was a small one, light in its rain and even lighter in its thunder. still, it had you on the edge of sleep, only to be yanked back to reality when thunder would rumble overhead.

you sighed, tossing and turning, desperately trying to find rest. you had a heavy day the following morning, and already internally dreaded working through your duties sleep deprived. a knock on your door has you alert, and pushing the blankets off your body to get out of bed. you’re vaguely aware of the sound of fire dimly crackling in the fireplace as you approach the door.

it opens to reveal robb. the sight of you is enough to have the corners of his lips quirk up in a smile.

“Robb?”

“Hey, pretty. Can’t sleep?”

you shake your head, stepping to the side to let him in. he walks in, and you shut the door behind him. that night you slept in robb’s arms. he spoke with you until his voice lulled you to sleep, and the comfort of his arms kept you there — all the way until morning. you remember that night during storms, or the rain you fear will turn into one. you remember it was all okay, and it’ll all be okay again.

selfishly, you start to hope for his presence during storms. robb, ever devoted, never disappoints.

BOOM

the sky loudly rumbles, bringing you out of your head (and your book). you decide on wanting to read something different, getting up from the uncomfortable library chair & moving toward a nearby bookcase.

your gaze is trained on the book in your hands. not looking where you were going, you collide into a wall of muscle. you’d flinch back, but strong arms keep you in place.

“‘S just me.” you quickly look up & are much relieved to see robb. you sigh, lightly thumping the book against robb’s chest in some (?) act of defiance.

“You scared me.”

“I wasn’t tryin’ to.” the way robb looks at you is genuine, his gaze flickering between you and the book you’re carrying. his hand comes to caress your arm, and you subconsciously relax, leaning into his touch.

“What’s all this? Can’t sleep?”

you grumble. “When can I ever?” you don’t mean to be snappy with him, but you’re frustrated. you want to sleep, but you can’t — and the lack of rest catches up with you, no matter how many times you’ve done this dance.

he doesn’t stop looking at you. “When you’re with me.”

you momentarily pause, looking up at him, then sighing, nodding your head in silent agreement.

“C’mon. Y’need sleep.”

you interject, not wanting to leave the sanctuary that had become of the library. “The storm is-“

“Passing.”

you’re stubborn. “My book…”

“My lady.” so is robb.

you groan, silently thankful of robb’s persistence. you turn, sliding your book onto the bookcase next to the both of you. robb offers his hand, but you pause, turning back to him with newfound confidence.

“‘M not afraid.”

“Course not.”

“Truly. I’m not even-“

BOOM!

lightning interrupts your sentence, making you yelp as you (on instinct) jump towards robb. a smile adorns his face as he accepts you with open arms, fighting the urge to laugh. you abandon all pride, clinging to robb as if he can hold off the storm by battling it. he would, if you really wanted him to.

“Okay, um, perhaps-“

“Uh-Huh.” he’s one step ahead, turning you both around & ushering you towards the exit, leaving both your fear & your books behind.

the walk to robb’s room is quiet. your hand on his bicep, letting him lead you through winterfells twist and turns. you grow more tired as time goes on, as if sleep couldn’t get into the library, and is now racing to catch up with you. you’re subconsciously leaning further & further into robb, who notices, but only finds it endearing.

by the time you approach robb’s door, your eyes are closed. fully relying on robb, it’s all you can do to keep walking. your eyes only open when he gently removes you from his side, opening the door & gliding a hand on the small of your back to usher you in the room before him.

you stop in front of the window, looking out as the rain beats against it. thunder rumbles, and you almost take personal offense.

“This storm is out to get me…”

“It would have to get through me first.” once again, at your side, he turns you, directing your path toward the bed. the blankets are warm & inviting, and so are the hands that have taken purchase on your hips.

“Defend my honor.”

robb nods. “To the death.”

once you’re comfortable, wrapped in his arms, he begins to talk. you don’t even need to ask, he just knows. he speaks of the bet with theon he made, bravely proclaiming that bran would hit the target. he did, and theon lost the next game he hunts. he speaks of the servants’ gossip he’s heard around the castle. apparently, arya is the servants’ favorite, and sworn to secrecy. she gets all the earfuls of gossip she wants, as long as it is never repeated. you almost ask how robb found out, but he beats you to it. he was sneaking into the kitchen late at night, then overhearing a few ladies in waiting speaking of their little starkling. you almost laugh, but the tiredness wins.

& the storm has lost. here you sit, curled up with your lover — who has promised that the storm will be at your mercy by morning. you thought you would be death on two legs on the morrow, scraping by until nightfall. but here you stand, bested. sleep comes instead.

…✋ I’ll take mean!Robb 🫠

request: letting robb stark take me feral like the wolf he is

unfortunately this is giving me thoughts.

usually, he’s ever so gentle. passionate, attentive, unapologetic in his desire for you. but he’s stressed. constantly frustrated. angry, even. so, you offer for him to take it out on you. an outlet to release all of his pent up energy. he’s hesitant at first, unsure & unwilling to hurt you, but you trust him — and you tell him as much.

so here you are. your throat & chest littered with marks, some areas bitten. he didn’t even bother to prep you, bottoming out in one swift push that knocks the air from your lungs. his nails leave indents from where they tightly grip your hips. or, anywhere he can reach, really. his pace is relentless, harsh & setting your nerves on fire. you squirm, wanting reprieve as you lose track of the amount of times you’ve peaked.

he merely pulls you closer, back flush against his chest as he leans forward, positioning his head next to your ear so you can hear him.

“where you goin’? hm?” he doesn’t get a reply. he doesn’t expect one.

“thought you could take it? y’said you could.”

he sets a new pace, tantalizingly slow as he fully bottoms out & then pulls himself almost entirely away. and again. and again. his hands roam you, and you’re not sure this is the same robb you married. he’s rough — harsh. he’s mean.

…🫠

…Dippy…DIPPY — as if this WASNT the hottest thing I’ve read this week, you just HAD to end it with THIS LINE???

“Only once?”

No - definitely not only once, lord commander Snow. We’re goin’ as many times as possible so long as I BREATHE

I’m salivating and it’s not just cause of the garlic bread I’m toasting

can I be cheeky and ask for riding jon’s face 🫣🫣🫣

yes… oh yes you absolutely can….. i fell asleep last night to the thought of jon snow canonically being a munch (funny enough) — we’re on the same wavelength anon ! (written w shy!reader in mind)

you’ve heard the talk, heard the different ladies from different statures talk about “the act”, and it’s always a different answer. some say it’s mediocre… others, that it’s their favorite way to feel good, and some, say it’s terrible. you’ve heard stories of men never caring about the woman’s pleasure, and how their only purpose was to give them children. the thought made you shudder.

you, yourself, have never had time. time to freely choose who you trust enough to share that sacred experience with (or even touch yourself). the men at castle black are sworn to celibacy, and even if they would abandon their oath for a night with you, you wouldn’t let them. most of the men at the wall are untrustworthy, and you want more than just a quick fuck. even if these thoughts plague you, you’re too busy with your duties to worry about it. a thing you’ve since long accepted.

until jon snow.

you had been there for jon since his arrival at castle black. never batting an eye at his surname, always trying to make his life a little bit easier. there was also the stolen glances, the soft touches you both passed off as “accidental”, the longing for each other. you both remained as merely “close friends”, until things boiled over and you found solace in each others lips. it didn’t go farther than that, the tentative kiss being soft & exploring, and that was okay with you. you didn’t expect more. until you got more.

sometimes, you hate jon for being so easy to talk to. your shy nature has slowly melted away in his presence, and you find yourself unable to be embarrassed about the questions you ask or answer. your late night talks are what keeps jon sane. he wants to know everything about you, and you both would talk till morning if you could (you have before). the topic often shifts, landing on anything and everything on the planet. even “the act”.

imagine jon’s surprise, when the most beautiful & endearing woman he’s ever met drops her gaze to the floor and bashfully tells him she’s never cum before.

jon short circuits. he asks if you want to. he asks if he can make you. and you say yes.

jon snow is a giver. tasting a woman is a pleasure in itself, and he’d tell you as much if you asked. his mind ran a million miles an hour, thinking about all the ways he could make you feel good. it doesn’t take long before the desire to taste you takes a hold of him, and so he does.

“You’re hovering.”

he’s not wrong. you are. you thought you had heard it all, but the act of sitting on someone’s face has clearly alluded your ears. you’re unsure. you don’t want to hurt him.. suffocating the first man you lay with would have you begging the gods to open the ground and swallow you whole. and it’s not just any man, it’s jon.

the soft glide of jon’s fingers across your thigh bring you out of your head. his hands are cold. they feel nice in contrast to your own skin, nerves lit on fire.

“I don’t want to hurt you…”

“You won’t.”

“Jon-”

“Do you trust me?”

he’s steadfast in his reassurance. his thumb has been rubbing circles in your hip while you both have been talking. does he do it all on purpose, or is he just this naturally desirable?

“You know I do, but-“

“Good. Sit.”

you still hesitate, and that’s when jon takes matters into his own hands. his hands stop their tracing, and instead grip your thighs, bringing you down himself.

whatever expectations you had are exceeded tenfold. jon eats you out like a man starved. your head spins with the way you can feel his tongue, exploring you and swiping over your clit. it has white hot pleasure shooting up your spine, and your thighs quiver ever so slightly, but jon’s firm grip keeps you in place. he’s confident in his movements, precise and sure in a way that makes you see stars.

jon thinks he’s found the place where he would be content to meet his demise. you taste so good, and the pretty sounds you’re making have blood rushing straight to his cock. jon has always loved the sound of his name on your lips — whether it be small acknowledgments in passing by, or just mentions in mere conversation. but he’s found he much prefers hearing you moan it.

you’re almost embarrassed how quickly he has warmth building up in your belly, pressure building as he gives you the most pleasure you’ve ever had. he’s giving and giving and giving, and you find yourself selfishly taking all of it. he doesn’t slow down, keeping a steady rhythm that makes the cord in your stomach wind impossibly tighter.

“Jon, I’m-!”

you don’t get to finish your sentence, interrupted by the snap of the cord in your stomach that was previously tightening. pleasure overtakes your nerves, flooding your veins and momentarily removing your ability to speak (or think). jon’s tongue doesn’t stop fully, only slowing down to help you ride out your peak.

you catch your breath, feeling jon kiss the inside of your thighs as small aftershocks have you clenching around nothing. you find yourself seeking his touch (as if he hasn’t been constantly on you), your hand running along the surface of your thigh to find his own. he reaches for you, trapping your own smaller hand beneath his own. it’s reassuring, grounding you back to the present after he brought you so far over the edge.

you move to get off, to let him get up & breathe — but he doesn’t release his grip, keeping you in place. you hear him speak.

“Only once?”

no because i was reading your stuff about being friends with jon theon and robb and the idea of those 3 pining after the same person just 😩 also the way that would go to my head so quickly if i had those 3 whipped for me

No anon samzies 😩😩😩 the way my legs would be open for these three men would bring shame to my ancestors

I do intend to write out more headcanons, but it's taking awhile since I've recently started an OBX JJ Maybank x OC fic, BUT I INTEND TO POST MORE HEADCANONS SOON!

It's been 934704284 years since I had a Robb Stark x reader post, but I'm finally gonna do it! Forgive me, fellow Robb Stark thirsters - for it was the gaze of a certain blonde himbo with blue eyes that caught my fancy, but now I'm back!

I'm planning to write a dark!Robb x Reader smut fic. It'll probably be pretty short, but hopefully it'll be enough for me to get me back into my Game of Thrones groove.

This fic could come out tomorrow and I’ll still need it yesterday 🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵

Girl when you finally write a sex scene with Logan and Rafe you gotta drop some hints or a snippet for us because I am dying 😭 I’ve never been so excited for a book before. On the edge of my S E A T

A SNIPPET YOU SAY? 👀

18+ | MDNI | Spicy spice full steam ahead!

Logan shook her head, her body wanting more of him as she squeezed him intentionally and when the head of his cock nudged that spongy spot inside of her she almost came right there, her back arching just a little further as a loud moan escaped her lips. “Rafe!”

“That’s right, baby,” Rafe groaned into her neck, his hand moving to cup the side of her jaw, their lips meeting for a hot, open mouthed kiss, “scream it for this whole fuckin’ town to hear. Let ‘em know who’s fucking you good.”

“So good,” Logan’s legs slipped further around his waist and Rafe nodded his approval, his sweaty forehead pressing to her shoulder as he continued to move inside of her at a steady rhythm, obscene noises filling her bedroom. Sweat dripped down his back and Logan knew she was coated in it as well, the too hot temperatures combined with their activity almost enough for them to both combust, and when he pulled back and stole another kiss from her she could have melted right there.

“Harder, Rafe,” Logan begged when they parted, his forehead pressed to hers as he picked up speed, one hand running along the underside of her leg to bring it up further, “please.”

“Whatever you want, doll,” Rafe did as requested and Logan moaned her approval…