Dippy Fresh - Tumblr Posts
gravity fowls screenshot redraws
I call them the eyestrain crew right now, 90s nightmares who would definitely be great at party’s (at least in my opinion)
Well seeing this reminded me of a similarity between Mabel and Stanford. Neither one wanted to be rescued. Granted Mabel didn’t greet her brother with a punch in the face, though one could consider Dippy Fresh to be worse than being punched in the face. (And in addition Mabel did decide to leave willingly as well as on good terms with Dipper.)
I MEAN SERIOUSLY MABEL. THAT’S MESSED UP. YOU CAN’T JUST REPLACE YOUR BROTHER. AND DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT TRYING THAT EITHER FORD.
I cant stop thinking about the walkie talkie. Dipper always talking to it for three days and always finishing with "i am going to find you" ahhhhhhh
that’s probably what kept him going, what kept him being brave and strong when he was all alone dealing with crushing fear and guilt… the knowledge that his sister could be out there somewhere. she might still be alive, so dipper had to stay alive. he hadn’t given up on her. i don’t know if he actually ever would have given up on her. i think you could flash forward years later and he’d still be trying to find her, cause if he gave up on her that’d be like giving up on himself.
and you know who that reminds me of?
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.
My goddess, my savior, my one and only Dipper
Not me imagining how Robb would gladly "volunteer" to warm you up whenever you got too cold *wink* *wink*- behind the stable, in the godswoods, underneath the Weirdwood tree, etc etc
can i pls request headcanons for robb stark in an arranged marriage with a princess from the summer isles?? maybe some stuff about cultures mixing, how she struggles to fit in/adapt to winterfell but he helps her, etc. thank u sm!!! <3
yes of course!! i actually had a lot of fun researching the summer isles for this haha, thank u sm for the ask <3
so i definitely think the weather would be a big adapter. the summer isles are hot & winterfell is the temperature of the krusty krabs deep freezer. as someone from an area that runs hot, i can withstand the heat but CRUMBLE in the cold. with that being said, robb would be super kind in trying his best to help you adapt not only culturally, but physically.
he would accompany you to winterfells tailor/seamstress, overseeing having custom furs made for you to keep you warm. you tried to dress for the weather, but you’ve never been the north cold, and your light sweaters aren’t doing it.
he would try & make sure you didn’t have to spend a lot of time outside/in the cold when you first arrived, wanting to give your body time to adjust. making sure you always had your fire lit on cold nights, being by your side when you did have to brave the weather, pushing back if his mother/father wanted you to make appearances out in the town before you were ready.
but, after a little while, he would definitely take you out himself. to the godswood, watching bran & arya train, to ride horses (if you ride) etc. little things that are quality time for you two & also get you used to the cold.
i’m not sure how this works with princesses of the summer isles, but the summer islanders are said to be “famed as expert archers, and their bows made of goldenheart wood are capable of firing arrows hard enough to pierce steel plate armor, even from a very far distance.” with that being said, i think these skills would help you really hit it off with everyone in winterfell.
you’re a better archer than theon, which sparks contests between y’all (literally all the time). he claims he’ll win (he doesn’t. ever.) he says it’s the sunlight hitting his eyes (it’s cloudy)
you help bran with his archery, and he flourishes under your guide. this would also make robb fall soooooo in love w you 😭 he’s standing there watching you guys with his arms crossed, imagining what you’d look like with children of your own (gorgeous) (he’s daydreaming)
& ned would love for you to accompany them on hunts, or anywhere he could watch your skill. you remind him of arya & give him reassurance that she really will be okay. speaking of arya, she would ADORE you omg.
the summer islanders are also known as the best seafarers in the world. watching you with a bow & hearing of your stories at sea would make arya look up to and respect you SO heavily. she wants to be around you all the time. she & robb fight over you LMAO
…and then we fucked so loudly, the blonde haired bastards in King’s Landing heard us
Hiiii!!! Could you please write something abt comforting Robb after a long day of leading the war? Just some nice, sweet moments between the two of em xx
anon i SPECIALIZE in this department. thank you sm for the ask, i hope u enjoy !!
the tent is dark in the cloak of night, lightly illuminated by the various candles placed about. robb fiddles with the stuck buckle of his armor inside his tent, sighing in his growing frustration at the persistence of his armor refusing to unlatch.
he’s got squires for this, he knows, but he’s been around men all day. taken lives of fathers, brothers, sons, he can take off his own damn armor.
he gives it one final tug before he gives up, sitting back and running his hands down his face, trying his best to rub the sleep from his eyes. he’s got wounded to check on, meetings to hold & ravens to answer. he can take off his armor later.
he leans forward, putting his elbows on the table & resting his head in his hands, just for a moment.
….
approaching footsteps interrupt his moment of reprieve, and greywind rouses from where he lays guard at the door. robb hopes it’s just the guards changing shifts, but he knows better. it’s someone coming to ask him for something. someone coming to tell him what he should be doing instead of what he has been. pigs are flying and he must fix it.
he closes his eyes, and he hears someone enter the tent. the guards are obligated to announce everyone’s arrival, are they not? who could they possibly let in without hesitation?
“what is it?”
his tone is harsher than he intends. he’s snappy, even when he doesn’t mean to be. when he gets no answer, he looks up, and it’s you. his expression softens in record time, guilt crawling up his spine. he puts his head in his hands again, sighing at his own stupidity. what kind of king speaks to his people like he just did? to his lady, nonetheless?
you walk over to him, wordless, and begin to unlatch the stuck buckle. it lets go in record time, and you move to the next. robb sits back to give you access to all of his armor, and you step into his space. you must be a gift from the gods, he thinks. some kind of… divine blessing that he could never be worthy of receiving.
some time passes like that. you, taking off his armor, and robb, sitting back ever so patiently, resisting the urge to pull you closer. the weight lifts off him as the layers get shed, and he can’t help the few groans that escape him. how long has he been wearing this? ten, twelve hours? his body relaxes as you work, and in tune, his mind. his hand reaches for any part of you he can hold while not interrupting your work. he almost thinks he’s bothering you until he feels you lean into him, whether you’re aware of it or not. it brings the first smile he’s worn on his face all day.
eventually you pull him up to send him to bathe.
“y’look like death.”
your comment has a playful expression adorn robb’s face as he pulls you closer, and he starts poking your ribs, the place where you’re most ticklish. you yelp in surprise, squirming in his grasp and trying to get away. he’s got a good hold of you, and your pleas for him to stop are drowned out by your own laughter.
even if you’re the victim, you secretly enjoy the playful moments like these. the ones where you get a glimpse of the robb you fell in love with at winterfell — where you both were just two stupid kids, head over heels for each other.
“robb- robb!”
he eventually decides on mercy, stopping his assault. you sway in his arms, catching your breath & letting smaller giggles escape you. he leans in, kissing your temple in a half-apology (he’s not sorry) as he leaves to wash the grime off himself.
he comes back to find you lighting a candle you just replaced. the glow of its light illuminates your features, and you’ve never looked so pretty. he approaches you, and he can’t help himself, sliding an arm around your waist & pulling you into him. however stuck you may be, you seem content with your situation. you aren’t sure how long you stand like that, soaking in each others presence, watching the candles flame dance. you’re both so enamored in this moment, you don’t hear greywind moving to stand up.
“Your grace.”
you both turn around to see the subject of the intrusion. a guard has his head poked through the tents entrance, greywind stopping him from stepping inside.
“A raven.” the guard holds up a sealed scroll, punctuating his words. robb squeezes your waist ever so lightly as he lets go, moving to collect the scroll and add it to his list of things he must do. he nods, silently dismissing the guard, and the guard bows, going back to his post.
he breaks the seal, and whatever’s written on the paper has robb’s mood growing sour as he reads it. he sets it down on the table, putting his hands on the old wood and exhaling through his nose, leaning his weight against it. his eyes are distant, overworked brain no doubt at a loss of what to do anymore. how much can one man take?
you hate seeing him like this. the crown on his head is heavy, and war has not been kind. you wish you could fix it all yourself, but you can’t. the best you can do is stand unwavering by his side, there to prop him up when he’s buckling. so you do.
you move to join him, gently moving one of his arms off of the table to give you room to wrap your arms around him. he’s immediate in his response, tucking his head in your shoulder & pulling your body flush against his. he sighs, a shaky exhale against your shoulder. he needed this. bad. and he didn’t even know it, not until he got it.
not until he feels the heat and weight of your body pressed against his own, your arms wrapped around the back of his neck. he can feel you trying to embed yourself into his memory, a reminder that even when you’re not here, he can come back to this moment. when he feels like he’s drowning in the vast sea of battle and politics — that he once felt like he was drowning here, inside this tent, too. and you were there to pull him back up. somehow, impossibly, he finds himself pulling you closer.
…✋ 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.
…🫠
Stark Men: Bark if you want me
Me: *fucking howling to the moon*
stark men come with a built in breeding kink send tweet
TWEET RECIEVED. LIKED & REPOSTED.
honestly, it’s genetics i’m afraid. just part of the deal. they can’t help it. you look so pretty when you’re with children, they just wanna give you some of your own :(
growing up and having his mother & father as an example, robb has always wanted a big family. the desire only increased tenfold the first time you laid together (he always finishes inside of you to ensure that happens)
jon doesn’t even know he wants it. not until he’s finally got you in his grasp, and he can’t think about anything else but giving you a child. your belly would be round & swollen and it would be all because of him.
cregan can’t help it. every time you’re around kids, the thought invades his mind. you, with little wolf pups growing in your belly (he grows hard at the thought). you see his expression grow distant, as he no doubt imagines little chunky toddlers running around winterfell. they’d have your eyes.
…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?”
…I’ll be his mistress but the North knows I’m its Queen
Hi!! I was wondering if you could write about Robb’s childhood best friend/lover finding out about his betrothal between him and one of the Frey girls? Love your writing!!
i won’t lie… this one hurt my heart a bit (i’m grieving) but we persevere — i’m glad u enjoy my writing & thank you sm for the ask </3 (i am a shell of the man i once was)
robb stark x fem!reader (angst, doomed by the plot i fear)
war is unforgiving. war is harsh, it is mean, and it doesn’t change direction for anyone’s feelings. terrible things happen, terrible choices have to be made, and there’s nothing you can do about it. this is a hard lesson that you’ve had to learn, ever since lord eddard stark (or as you knew him, ned) was beheaded, and the north declared war.
it all seemed to happen so fast. one thing after another, like the stone of tragedy was rolling down the hill and there was nothing anyone could do to stop it. fate has been cruel, and especially cruel to your lover, robb.
and here sits another obstacle for him to maneuver. lord walder frey.
you needed to cross at the twins. there was no other option, and it was crucial that you win the freys to your side. it was so important, that catelyn stark herself went to treat with them. she was confident that her past with lord frey would ensure her safety, and hopefully make her negotiation that much easier. you bit down on your bottom lip watching her leave, in a poor attempt to soothe your nerves.
you didn’t like this. you liked things you could control, things you could fix. this was completely out of your hands, and you found yourself praying to the gods on behalf of lord walder frey. things really have gone downhill. you spared a glance to robb, to find him already looking at you. he gives you a small nod, which you return, and you move to start heading back to the camp.
you can’t really say why this is the thing that made you so anxious, but you need to keep it together. robb needs dependability, so you did the one thing you were good at. staying busy. there was never a shortage of things to do or problems to fix, and you happened to be especially good at keeping the camp running smoothly. you had no doubt robb would find you once catelyn returned, providing you with an answer — or, with something that needed a solution.
“We’ve been granted crossing.”
you turn around, seeing robb walk in the tent you’re in. he’s got a mixed expression of relief, and the usual cloak of exhaustion & grief that doesn’t seem to leave his face much these days. there’s something else wavering underneath all of it, but you leave that discussion for later.
you exhale, nodding, and you send a silent thanks to the gods. you turn, moving to continue your organization of the maps. most were unorganized, half of them outdated, and they all could use a rewrite.
“Not without a price, I’m sure.”
your words weigh much more heavily than you intended, meant as a jest to the ever prickly walder frey. you’re messing with the scrolls, waiting for a reply. but you don’t get one. robb has hesitated.
that makes you stop your ministrations. you and robb could always talk to each other about everything. you were each others outlet, and conversation always flowed easily — even if there was grievous news, he never hesitated. you turn around, looking at him, and finally, you recognize the micro expression you saw when he first came in.
guilt.
a soft call of his name brings him out of his head, and squeezes his heart at the same time. how can he do this? can he even bring himself to look at you? he’s on autopilot, hand moving by itself to close the flaps of the tent behind him. he turns back to face you, and the expression you wear almost makes his knees buckle. how can he? how can he do this?
“Don’t scare me. I hate when you scare me.”
he knows. he remembers how he used to jumpscare you as children, until you told him (with tears in your eyes) not to — and he found himself wanting to heed your every wish. the next time theon scared you, it was robb you sought out. he pranked theon to make you feel better (oh, how you laughed). why does it have to be him? why him to do it?
“Lord Walder Frey has granted us crossing through the twins,” he exhales. “but not without price.”
all of your attention is on him, and for the first time, robb doesn’t relish in it.
“I must take Olyvar Frey as a squire, a knighthood is expected in due course.”
you watch him intently, waiting to listen to whatever’s made him hesitant to talk to you. doesn’t he know you’re steadfast, in it for the long run?
“Arya, when recovered, will marry one of Lord Walders sons.”
“She’ll like that.” the mere mention of arya is enough to make you smile. he finds himself returning it. you look so pretty when you smile. how can he make you do anything but? how?
“And…” he trails off. he’s gripping his gloves so hard his knuckles turn white. how can he? can he even?
“And must take one of Lord Walders daughters to wife.”
the tranquility melts off your face. your smile is nowhere to be found. he has. he did.
he can see the gears in your head turning. your expression morphs into sadness, grief. he watches you try and steady your breathing. can he reach out for you? is that his place anymore?
you’re nodding, as if you expected this as a possibility, but the tears welling up in your eyes betray you.
“We… we can cross, that’s…” you swallow down your cries. “that’s good.”
you’re picking at your hands now. you do that when you try and hold yourself together. it’s not working.
robb isn’t fairing much better. if you took your attention off of choking back your sobs, you’d see his expression is helpless. painful. he understands your pain, he feels it tenfold. when did his eyes get so wet?
“I need…” you pause as if you don’t even know. “I need you to go.”
he whispers your name. he wants you in his space. he wants you closer, and you want him away. he begins to take steps towards you without even realizing it.
“Robb, please,”
“Don’t make me…”
“I need you to leave. Please.”
all the times you’ve pulled him towards you echo in his mind. now you’re pushing him away. he’s approaching you. you have a hand on your stomach, trying to steady yourself. you sense his presence, putting a hand out to the side he’s standing on. he’s slightly behind you, trying with everything he has to respect your wishes. his heart wins. his giant, aching heart.
he puts a hand on the one you have outstretched in a poor attempt to keep him away.
“Robb-” you begin, tensing up. you tense at his touch. his.
“Don’t.”
he’s never been a good listener.
he reaches for you. at first you pull away, cries of his name spill from your mouth as your voice breaks. he doesn’t stop. you melt into him.
selfishly, you find comfort in his arms. you grip him like he could disappear. he’s not disappearing. he’s leaving.
you are touching another woman’s husband.
they will share a bed.
he is not yours.
they will share a soul.
his heart is, but his body never will be. and isn’t it all the same, at the end of the day?
Listen, no one ever said he wasn’t welcome to join us 😘
real talk do you think theon gets jealous when robb starts spending time with reader instead of him
ouhhhhhyhyhh lord y’all keep blessing me with these asks. this is so interesting thank u for giving my brain this delicious food
so, it really depends on the dynamic i think. do you mean it in a romantic context? is there romantic subtext? or is it just platonic jealousy in pure theon fashion?
either way the answers about the same, because god knows theon is just incapable about recognizing his feelings toward robb. “He owed me a smile that day.” YOU ARE GAY!!
to be real with y’all (we keep it 💯💯 here) i write robb x reader with the childhood friends to lovers dynamic in mind. it’s my blueprint, and unless stated otherwise in a request/ask or it’s different for the plot, that’s how i’m imagining their relationship came to be, and i write with that intention in mind.
so, with that dynamic, being childhood friends with the starks means theon included, and robb & reader have loved each other for sooooo long. it’s kinda just always how it’s been, so it’s normal for theon to spot them spending a lot of time together. it’s the norm if that makes sense
but, if it was different and robb just started spending a bunch of time with reader, theon would definitely get jealous. he wouldn’t even recognize it, just feel irrationally angry and frustrated. would definitely let it fester (because he doesn’t recognize it, so he can’t fix it) and take it out on reader 💔 dirty looks, angrily telling you off if you ask if he needs help, and he would just give robb the silent treatment (with a sprinkle of attitude)
but it can definitely be fixed!! with a conversation between him and robb & him and you, some adjustments, and things would go back to normal/be okay !
…yea, he says he’s sleeping but he’s just waiting till I’m off guard and he eats me out
I love robb’s hair more than anything tbh. imagine him needing comfort n just sitting between reader’s legs, head on their stomach while they just play with his hair 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭
yes yes yes yes YES. YES!!
i love his hair. the auburn curls, they’re so pretty. and you just know robb loves having his hair played with. he could be stressing about the most politically complicated shit ever, and as soon as your nails are scratching at his scalp, he just melts into you. groaning from the tension leaving his body, almost shuddering at the feeling.
sometimes, he just needs you. needs your comfort, your reassurance, and you’re more than happy to offer it to him. he can be stubborn at times, refusing to sleep because he has too much to do and “cannot afford it”. all you gotta do is gently coax him to lay down with you for just a minute — for you really, definitely not him. he says he knows what you’re doing, and you’re not half as sly as you think you are. he gives in. every time.
it doesn’t take long. he lies between your legs, head on your stomach as your fingers run through his curls. his arms are wrapped around your waist, and he says he’s not sleeping. just “resting” his eyes. he’s asleep in record time.
This dynamic is very The Challengers and I need a 17k fic of it NOW
you think robb and theon ever share👀
OOOOOOO GOOD QUESTION
okay, so, if we’re being real, i don’t think robb would share his lady. theon probably wouldn’t either, BUT BUT BUT….
if you were a sw, or it was just casual, i could DEFINITELY see it. i honestly think they’d have an almost sort of rivalry… walk with me, anon. they’d like to show off to each other, like seeing who could make you cum the hardest, the most amount of times, the fastest etc. like you could be walking with theon down a hallway, and robb would walk past y’all, but not without pulling you towards him and just giving you the fattest, sloppiest smooch. he’d let you go, look theon in the eye, smirk, and walk away. then theon has to watch you try and regain your composure (you can’t) (you and theon find the nearest broom closet)
also (just a thought) since we’re talking pre-ramsey theon, he would so totally grope you. allllll the time.
Only a Stark would get me off with a goddamn sword
cheeky anon here to slay the day - basically I was chatting to my friend abt Jon Snow and I was like 'yeah he's got a cool sword.... a cool.... sword....'
and then I started thinking abt Jon whipping Longclaw out whenever his girl is being bratty (obvs not in a stabby way) and just like... using the handle on her? 😭
'there's a good girl, not so rowdy now, are y'?'
idk bro im just a longwhore for longclaw
cheeky anon… you are such a genius for this. i am genuinely drooling. THE DIALOGUE? ITS SO ACCURATE? HELLO BECOME A WRITER
you’re pent up. frustrated that nothing has gone your way all day. you’re fidgeting, like you always do when you don’t know how to fix what’s bothering you. your usual solution is to busy yourself until you feel better, but it’s late at night. you can’t unwind, and even worse, you can’t distract yourself. jon eventually has enough of seeing you squirm.
he pulls you to his lap, and he knows what you need. it’s not long before you’re relaxing, sighing into his lips because gods, he’s fixing it. he’s still dressed, longclaw sheathed to his waistband — and that’s when he gets an idea. his hands move to your hips, pulling you closer, and your clothed cunt bumps against longclaws handle. you sharply inhale, small sparks of pleasure coursing through you. you go to move off of the handle, embarrassed, but jon’s firm grip keeps you in place. you look up at him with parted lips, and you watch his pupils dilate.
“You trust me?”
you nod, and he moves to rearrange you both. he takes off his shirt, leaving him bare-chested as he leaves his bottom half covered, with longclaw still attached waist. you undress yourself, eager for relief, and whatever jon has in mind. you swallow, unsure, but he reaches out for you and pulls you to him. his hands find purchase on your hips as your lips connect, and slowly, he guides you against the handle — adjusting the angle to make it hit you just right. you whimper his name at the unfamiliar feeling, and jon feels blood instantly rush to his cock. you put your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself, burying your moans in the crook of his neck. warmth pools in your abdomen as longclaws handle catches on your pearl, and you hear jon’s voice close to your ear.
“There’s a good girl… not so rowdy now, are y’?”
you sigh, pleasure raking up your spine. jon bites back a groan at seeing your slick cover longclaws handle, and he watches your frustration melt away with every rock of your hips — his hands smoothing over any part of your skin he can reach. he hums at the way you melt into him.
“‘Js needed some help, huh?”
*Not me with my hands tied over my head* I’m all yours, Lord Stark
(ok yeah ive sent like 4 asks already this morning IDGAF!!! it’s squidward anon btw i simply couldnt hold my thoughts in any longer. i’ll relinquish my time on the floor after this one🤭)
something something riding cregan for the first time😼 he’s just sooo BIG. and he works so hard, with the war coming up, he never rests enough or ever relaxes. he’s just got his pretty little wife (in comparison to him. literally u could be 6 feet tall and he still just engulfs you lawd.) who’s ready to go after a long day of not seeing each other and just climbs into his lap when he sits to take his boots off. a lil grinding (good for the soul) and making out and u can just tell he’s sooo tired. soft groans and sighs as u rake ur hands thru his hair and massage his scalp a lil. just the feeling of u in his lap has him like… boneless. lord he hasnt even put it in and ur both close 😭 so when u just unlace his trousers enough to slip him out and finally sit on him it’s like. lord he’s gonna break ur hip w that grip!!! oh and dont think u have control btw! if u think his ass isnt pickinng u up and dropping u back down on his cock girllll……. also thinks there’s nothing lovelier than his beloved wife, truly the most important thing in his life, on top of him. also the both sitting up pos is SOO personal😭 like ur breathing each other’s air and just sighing and moaning into each other’s mouths. u try to bury ur head in creagans neck and a big hand comes to the back of ur neck LLORDDD HOLD ON THE VISION!!! his arms wrapped around u, one across ur hips to guide u and the other around ur upper back to keep his grip on the back of ur neck to just keep u as close as possible. none of that leaning back and letting it happen.
ok yeah. need to take a WALK.
squidward anon i love u. i love u i love u i love u. THIS IS. ARFGH. JUST TAKE OVER MY BLOG AT THIS POINT. (also send five more asks pls my inbox is forever open!!!)
i so agree with the exhaustion thing. that’s how it happens the first time. with the realm in shambles he’s got so much to attend to. readying his grey beards to march, making sure the people have enough food for winter, usual lord duties & guarding the wall on top of that. omfg.
he’s so tired… but he also wants you — and you need him. you’re practically aching. he takes off his cloak, his gloves, and sheds most of his outer layers that protect him from the cold. he sits to take off his boots & that’s when you saunter over. greeting him with a small hug, and his head falls against your chest as he sighs. you can almost feel the exhaustion radiating off of him. he shifts after a moment, pulling you down onto his lap & connecting his lips with yours. he can’t help it, he needs to feel you. he sighs, deepening the kiss.
“Cregan..” you whine his name against his lips. “want you.”
his response is quick. “Have me.”
he slips his tongue in your mouth, and your hips begin to grind against his clothed cock. he groans at the feeling, his hands groping at the soft flesh of your waist. your hands rake through his hair, massaging lightly at his scalp & giving the occasional tug. he’s pliant, yet in control even in his exhaustion. he’s more reactive than normal, giving you breathless sighs & soft groans at your small ministrations.
you break the kiss, moving your hips off of him and cregan can feel the frustration bubbling beneath his skin. he wants you closer. as close as you can get. he’s about to pull you back to him when he sees your hands go to fumble with the laces of his trousers, and he grasps your intent. you unlace them just enough to free his cock, and his inhale at the feeling of your hand around him is sharp enough to cut butter. you don’t have to undress, already bare beneath your night-shift, a loose fitting robe that does a poor job of concealing anything. not that you’d ever hide from cregan, anyways.
you guide him to your entrance, sinking down on him, and cregans brows harden, eyes closing as a grunt spills from his lips. his hands are on your hips, hard in their grip, but he can’t help it. you’re killing him here. he sinks to the hilt, and you both take a moment to catch your breath. you’re tight, warm & wet around him, and he’s filled you, that delicious stretch that you love so much making you hiss.
“Let me see you.”
you hum in acknowledgment at his words, hand moving to undo the poorly tied center lace of your night-shift. as you do this, his hand comes to aid in sliding the material off of your shoulder. there’s something exhilarating about you being fully bare, and cregan remaining still fully clothed.
his hands begin to guide you, setting you up & down on his cock. you help where you can, lifting yourself when he guides you to do so. the pleasure is almost overwhelming, hot flames of desire licking up your spine at each drag of his cock. his hand comes to cradle your jaw, bringing you closer to connect your lips. your mouths move against each other, small moans & gasps exchanging between the both of you. he adjusts the angle, making his cock hit that spot that makes you whine, tensing with pleasure.
your head falls to the crook of his shoulder, muffling your moans against his skin. the hand that was cradling your jaw slides down to the back of your neck, keeping you flush against him.
& in this moment, cregan can’t think of anything he loves more than his wife. his sweet, gorgeous wife that just makes the loveliest noises when he’s sheathed deep inside her, and looks the prettiest when she’s cumming.
*toe curl activate*
sneak peak 🙂↕️
hiii i see you lurking :3 miss u love u muah muah muah!!!!
I don't know what you're talking about, my love O//W//O, but please enjoy this little drabble dedicated to another one of our brainchild. Happy 1K followers, my love! It's been so wonderful to see how much your blog has grown and it brings me so much joy to know that others see what an incredible writer you are.
"It's not fair!" Sansa insisted to her parents, stomping one foot on the stone floor, emphasizing her anger and ire. "Birdy is MY friend, not Robb's! He can't keep trying to steal her!"
"She's not an actual bird, sister," Robb quipped back, annoyed that his younger sister was making such a pointless fuss. "And I wasn't stealing. We were simply talking."
Lord Eddard Stark was exhausted after a long day of acting as the high lords of his ancestral home. The last thing he had expected was his solar to be barged in by his eldest daughter, demanding that his eldest son and her older trueborn brother be barred from speaking from her favorite handmaiden. However, it seemed that dealing with Robb was going to be as much as a dread, if not more than Sansa, if his tense shoulders and scowl were anything to go by.
It wasn't that Ned Stark wasn't grateful for your presence, however strange the circumstances of your arrival were. It was highly unusual for a bastard of a noble to come to be the handmaid of a highborn lord's daughter such as Sansa, even more so when your sire was none other than Roose Bolton himself. Truly, he was shocked when Sansa begged him and his wife to promote you to such a high rank. But he couldn't deny how happy you've made his daughter.
"Look, Father!" she was beaming the other morning when she came down to the Great Hall to break fast with the family. "Do you notice anything different today?" Now, Ned loved all his children, but he was the first to admit that he was as ill-informed as any other man regarding matters of women and young girls. However, looking up from his plate, he was surprised to indeed have noticed something different about his daughter's appearance today. "You've done something with your hair," he replied, inwardly delighted with himself from how Sansa smiled wider. "It looks lovely, dear." "Isn't it beautiful? Birdy brushed and braided it for me!" Sansa went to her seat. "She found wild blue roses the other day and thought of braiding them into my hair today!" "It looks wonderful, Sansa," Catelyn Stark nodded. Despite her distaste for her husband's decision to take in Roose Bolton's bastard, she couldn't deny that the girl was good at her work. "Birdy said she could go to the market at Winter Town tomorrow. But she said that she'd wait until after my lessons with Septa Mordane if I wanted to come with her," Sansa looked at her parents with pleading eyes. "May I please go?" Catelyn nodded, "Robb, would you mind escorting your sister and Lady Snow to the marketplace later after your lessons with Rodrick?" Sansa spoke for her brother. "There's no need for Robb to join us. Birdy already asked Jon to do it." "I'll go," Robb interjected, ecstatic with glee at the idea of walking around town with you. He looked back to see your reaction. As usual, you weren't paying attention to anyone and lost in your little world. You seemed to be talking to a new bird today, the little creature cheerily twittering into your ear. Robb spent the rest of the meal lost in his daytime dreams of you, utterly oblivious to the growing irritation of his younger sister.
Sansa pouted and crossed her arms, "You already have Jon, and Theon follows you everywhere! Why do you need to talk to Birdy for anything anyway? She doesn't like to talk about swords or hunting..." She turned to their father. "He even went so far as to pull her into a corner after we broke fast!"
"WHA-!" Robb balked, and the tips of his ears went red. "I did NOT--!"
"Robb," their father, Ned Stark, turned to his son with stern eyes. While Ned was confident that Robb knew better than to act so dishonorably, he wasn't blind to how quickly his eldest son and heir had taken to Sansa's new handmaiden. "Is what your sister speaks true?"
Robb rubbed his eyes and loudly sighed out his frustration. He loved his sister as much as anyone else in his family, but gods above, she could be so much. Really, how can you ever manage to keep your patience with such a tiresome girl he'll never understand?
"No," he firmly replied. "I was merely informing her that I would be joining Jon in escorting her and Sansa to the market."
"I already told you that you don't have to come!" Sansa growled. "Every time Birdy and I talk, you have to come in and interrupt!"
"You spend so much time together. Have you ever considered that perhaps I'm rescuing her from you?" Robb muttered, just low enough for his sister to hear but not his father.
"I heard that, Robb," their father grumbled. Ned looked like he had aged ten years since his children came in and interrupted his peace. "Sansa, you know better than to falsely accuse your brother like that. Robb, please refrain from any impulsive actions. As the next Lord of Winterfell, you need to remember your differing stations."
"Yes, Father," the siblings grumbled in unison. But anyone could tell that this issue was far from over.
"Honestly...! Robb can be so annoying!" Sansa and you have just returned from the market stand with your favorite spinner. What should have been a relaxing walk turned out to be a tiresome activity with the addition of not one but both of her older brothers. "He always has to put his nose into everything!" She waited for you to agree, but you were silent. Turning to look at you, her frustration grew when she realized you weren't paying attention. "Are you even listening to me?"
You finally looked up from your knitting and impassively blinked. "Not really...why? Was it important?"
Sansa sighed before sitting beside you. You and her were sitting underneath the Weirwood Tree, your favorite spot in the Godswood. "As your lady, everything I say to you is important. You're my handmaid; you should know this..."
You dispassionately shrugged. "I'm still not very familiar with the ways of highborn nobles."
Sansa indignantly huffed before pouting. You gave a small smile before going back to your knitting.
“Who do you like better, me or Robb?”
You look at her lady in surprise and confusion. “Your brother? Lord Stark’s firstborn?”
Sansa nods. “Yes, now tell me, do you like me or him better?”
You cocks your head to the side. “Why would that matter, my lady?”
“Because it does!” Sansa rolls her eyes. "He's always interrupting us and trying to flirt with you!"
You carefully think about it. You hadn’t really spent much time with Lord Robb. You're more likely to play with the little ones or Jon, which is common ground for both of you being bastards. In the beginning, Robb tended to avoid you whenever he could. But now he tends to single you out whenever he sees you and his sister talking. “Your brother has been very kind to me. He is certainly very nice. But I haven’t spent much time with him to know. When he does try to talk to me, I find it sometimes difficult to talk with him.”
Sansa’s eyes widen. “He hasn’t been rude to you like Theon, has he?” She shook her head.
“No, just…hard to talk. Not much to say from me to him I suppose.”
“Is that how it is with me?”
You turn to Sansa. “No, I find it very easy to talk to you, my lady. You are very different from me, but I like our discussions very much.”
Each word you spoke was true. Many would consider your Lady Sansa, a silly little girl who believed in too many stories about pretty princes and great heroes. But you knew true evil - you were born from it and was raised with it looming over your shoulder for your entire life. Snasa may have been naive, but she was a kind girl who still saw the beauty in her world. A beauty you couldn't see, but could appreciate.
You and her were very different, but you enjoyed spending time with her. It was apparent she was very proud of her noble birth, but you never felt uncomfortable. In fact, you felt as relaxed with her as you do with Maester Luwin, going so far as to speak informally with her without any other company.
Sansa smiles and hugs you. “I think so, too. So you do like me more than Robb.”
You think and nod. “Yes, I am very confident to say that is the case.”
Jon loved Robb - really, he did. But gods above, his brother could be a brat. "Future lords aren't supposed to sulk."
Robb growled, "I am not sulking."
"Pouting, then..." Jon muttered, going back to aim his arrow at the target. But the arrow flew over the wall when a stray snowball hit his head. Jon turned to his brother, annoyed. "If you want to get to know her so bad, why don't you talk to her without Sansa? You might stand a better chance than just pining after her all day."
"I am not - oh, fuck off," Robb went back to hacking the straw dummy before him. He didn't want to admit it, but Jon was right. It didn't take a genius to guess that his terrible mood had little to do with training and more to do with the fact he failed in his chance to get you alone...again. "Why does she have to be around Birdy all the time, anyway?"
"...Because she's her lady...?"
Robb wanted to scream, "Yeah, but - y'know...doesn't ever annoy you?"
Jon shook his head. Truthfully, it wasn't long ago that his relationship with his half-sister was very different. Before you arrived at Winterfell, the way Sansa treated him was barely better than Lady Stark. She neither acknowledged his presence nor ever referred to him as her brother. But ever since your arrival, the icy wall that separated began to slowly thaw. After befriending you, Sansa gained a whole different perspective on bastardy and was more thoughtful and considerate of how she treated Jon. She even gave him a handkerchief with an embroidered direwolf for his name-day gift.
Jon doubted he and Sansa would ever be as close as he and Ayra, but they were making progress.
Robb wiped the sweat pooling on his forehead. "What would I even talk about with her?"
Jon had the nerve to act oblivious. "Why're you asking me?"
Robb's curse nearly spewed out, "You know why. You're the only one she likes talking to... what the hell do the two of you even talk about for so long?"
"I dunno," Jon shrugged. He knew he wasn't being particularly helpful, but he really didn't have an answer. "Look, just talk to her about anything. Better than what you do now..."
"What are you two talking about?"
Robb and Jon turned around in a panic. There you were, standing in the courtyard with your infamous impassive stare. It was painful to see how effortlessly beautiful you were. You stood like a true beacon of Northern beauty, so much so that all the animals inside the keep craved your company. Robb couldn't recall the number of times he found you cheerily conversing with rats from the kitchen or the crows in the rook.
What he would give to have you speak with him with such eagerness...
"Nothing of importance, my lady," he tried to act as normal as possible. "Why? Do you need assistance with anything?"
You shook your head. "I just wanted to drop something off, " you said, digging into your pouch. You pulled out a package wrapped in a burlap sack and twine. "I mended your gloves. They were looking a bit frayed, so I stitched them. They should last a bit longer now."
Robb didn't respond. He just stood and stared like an idiot who had forgotten his own name. It wasn't until Jon jabbed into his side with his elbow that he thanked you for your help.
"Thank you, my lady," He cleared his throat before taking the package from your hands. He opened the package and wasn't surprised in the least at how his old gloves looked better than when he first got them. You always had that magic touch. "They smell different."
You nodded, "Yes, Ayra mentioned that you were upset last week because I didn't give you my favor since I promised to give it to Jon. She also said you stink after training, so I should ensure the gloves mask the odor." When he didn't react, you decided to provide further clarification. "She said it would help you."
"I'm going to kill Arya," Robb thought to himself. He could see Jon's shoulder shake with laughter from the corner of his eye.
You bowed to take your leave. "Now, excuse me, my lords. I must attend to Edwina."
"A fellow maid?"
"No, the duck in the stable. She's pregnant, and I knitted a scarf for her."
Happy 1K, my love!