thenoblehouseofdayne

[thenoblehouseofdayne]

This is just a spicy thought I had that I'm too nervous to write myself but may I present to you a modern AU Ramsay 'Brat tamer' Bolton with a female bratty sub reader. I know your requests are closed but I wanted to put the idea out to someone even though not all people are like acceptive/into that sort of stuff

I love this idea! And I’d love to see it... but I’m *gods-awful* at BDSM, so it’s definitely not up my alley. Some of you may find this surprising, but I’m totally vanilla and boring, lmao

[thenoblehouseofdayne]

That last part of Better Half hurt my poor soul aaaaa

Thank you 🥰🥰🥰 I try!

[thenoblehouseofdayne]

I'm sorry to ask this you may have a masterlist or list of characters posted somewhere but I haven't been able to find it so do you happen to write for Ramsay?

Hey! My masterlist is in my description at the top of my blog! Click on the link and it should take you there! Yes— I do write for Ramsay!

[thenoblehouseofdayne]

hi, i would like to know if you intend to write a part 4 of better half? (sorry for my English)

Don’t worry about it, love! I do intend to write a fourth part to Better Half and wrap up the series! Thanks for asking!

[thenoblehouseofdayne]

hey! i’m in love with your blog! i have a question: do you think you would consider writing something for podrick? not even a full fledged one shot or anything, maybe just a number drabble? i hope i’m not being too pushy or bothersome! i love your writing!

Absolutely! If someone submitted a request (provided requests were open) I’d be glad to write for Pod! And thank you, lovely!

[thenoblehouseofdayne]

Do you have a taglist for your daughter dearest story?

I don’t have tag lists, sorry!!

[thenoblehouseofdayne]

Provocation {Theon Greyjoy x Northern!Reader}

Anonymous Requested: “Could you do a Theon Greyjoy x Reader?” 

@aw--heck requested: “was wondering if I could get a wholesome banter one shot with Theon Greyjoy where they’re like best friends verging on lovers, and the reader is from one of the lesser northern houses?”

{Warnings: potentially sexist undertones, mentions of alcohol, mentions of sex}

(Author’s Note: Not sure how wholesome this is, but I started out with that in mind! Hope you enjoy, send me some feedback, or a request for a part two if you want it!)

You could always tell when Theon was in love. That little softening in his voice when he spoke of the prettiest girl down in the village, or that smirk when he flirted and teased whoever was his latest quarry, it was painfully obvious. You would chide and nudge him, making comments about the girl and voicing your approval... or disapproval as it was necessary. He was an incessant flirt, his eyes following any woman who breathed, his eyes flashing with the thrill of a new chase.

You used to be one of those girls. The ones who would moon over him, and laugh at his remarks, and spend a little extra time brushing your hair to hear him compliment it-- but it seemed his affection was just as fleeting as it was intoxicating. He lost interest in chasing you when you were his, and you two had never even exchanged a kiss before he was onto the next girl.

It stung... for a moment. But you found some worth in the experience, because after the romance died, your friendship was born. You were still spending time with him, just without all the romantic drivel staining each encounter. It took time to heal, but soon, you found new things to love about him. You liked the relaxed Theon, when he wasn’t putting on a show for a new girl-- or puffing himself up to impress another of his more masculine friends-- you liked who he was around you.

The two of you were sharing a stolen flask of wine from the kitchens in his room, and you were sighing as he recounted his latest adventures in bachelorhood, hearing about how insanely high maintenance the innkeeper’s daughter had been through pulls of wine.

He noted your boredom and concluded the tale simply. “I’m sure she’s already told her father,” he remarked bitterly, “so, I’ll have to stay out of Wintertown for a few weeks.” It was disappointing, she’d been so pretty, but so chaste. “What about you, Y/N? Any boys catching your eye?” He nudged you with his knee, taking back the flask and taking an exaggerated swig.

“None yet,” you replied, as always, resting your chin on your fist. Not only were you hopelessly infatuated with your now best-friend, but your father would wring your neck if he caught wind of you sniffing around the men in Wintertown. 

Theon snorted at the look of longing in your eyes, attributing it to a lack of being laid. “You poor damsel,” he sighed dramatically, falling back onto the bed, laying a hand across his forehead as though he was faint. “Your knight in shining armor hasn’t come to rescue you yet?”

Your cheeks flushed instantly, eyes widening in spite of the wine, your breathing halting in your chest. He couldn’t have read... no. If he had been snooping through your journal, he would have read the passages where you’d described your affection for him, without naming him, thankfully. But if he had put two and two together... he wouldn’t be so cruel as to throw your crush back in your face, would he? 

His eyes were fixed on a particular groove in the ceiling, a smile askance on his lips, seemingly unaware of his blunder. He lifted the flask to his lips again, his eyes twinkling with mischief and late-night conversation. It was only when the silence lingered that he took notice, his gaze flicking over to you and observing your withdrawn posture and pensive expression. “What?” He asked, noticing the hard set line of your mouth, indicating your lack of jovial mood. 

“I have to go,” you offered weakly, standing and grabbing your boots from the floor, struggling to pull them on as you felt his eyes on you. Maybe you’d drunk more wine than you thought. “Thank you for the wine, and the--” your words were fleeting, offered as you moved towards the door. 

Theon was puzzled, and got to his feet to follow you, unsure why your mood had changed so suddenly. “Y/N!” He called your name, crossing the distance in four long steps and stopping your retreat with a hand on the door. “I’m sorry I--” his mind raced to understand, knowing you’d never been sensitive to his jokes before. “You’ll find your man eventually,” he promised, his hand lingering a few paces above yours, his chest pressed to your back as he held the door closed. 

Anger bubbled in your chest. To not only spy on your intimate moments, but to mock them, to flagrantly wave them in front of your nose. You could feel his heat behind you, thin layers of fabric separating you two. “And what if I’ve already found one?” You challenged, fingers tightly curled around the door-handle, muscles taut, waiting for the second he released his grasp. 

Theon felt a burst of discontent bloom in his chest. Another man? “Who is it?” He asked, free hand falling to your hip in an effort to coax you back to bed. “Why haven’t you introduced me?” He had always been upfront about his flings, introducing you to those who would stick around for more than a single night. 

You squirmed in his grasp, attempting to sell the lie. “You already know him,” you mumbled, cursing your stupidity as the words fell from your lips. You were trying to hurt him, and your mind arrived on one name. “Robb and I... we’re lovers.” You could hardly convince yourself, your tone unsure and begrudging. You could hear him falter, and felt his grasp drop from your hip, but you could only imagine the hurt on his face as he drew back. 

“Robb?” He asked, muted anger in his voice. After a lifetime of losing everything to the Stark golden boy, he should have been used to it-- but this wound stung more than lost toys or horses. You were his friend-- and Robb would take you too?

Goosebumps rushed across your skin as you debated whether or not to continue with this lie. You had seldom seen this side of Theon, this angry, entitled, and jealous side. A selfish, shallow part of you wondered if he was jealous that he had not taken you when he had the chance. Was it possible that he carried some affection for you in kind? “Yes,” you confirmed, eyes squeezing closed as you pressed the painful lie. 

Theon let a short scoff press through his lips. “You’re right,” he withdrew further, stepping back towards the bed and staring at the back of your head, “you should go.” 

#Theon Greyjoy #theon greyjoy imagine #theon greyjoy x reader #theongreyjoyxreader #game of thrones #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones imagine

[thenoblehouseofdayne]

Gaaaah I love your Ramsay Bolton fics, especially Late Nights! I’m wondering if there’s a part 3 somewhere?

Nothing yet, but I am planning a very spicy part Three— I’m glad you like them! 💕💕💕

[thenoblehouseofdayne]

i adoreeeee daughter dearest!! its one of the more interesting reader concepts for got imo, like the "character" itself and the premise are all amazing and the like hate to love relationship with robb is so well done? amazing job!!

OMG— thank you! It’s been a very fun series to write, and I’ve been pleasantly surprised by how well received it’s been! I’m so glad you enjoy it— I’m hoping to write a few more parts to wrap things up— but I don’t want to rush it— so I’ll let things flow naturally and see where we end up!

[thenoblehouseofdayne]

Hi. Hello. You’re Joffrey piece was phenomenal! Could you possibly make a sequel?

I’d love to! I’m glad you enjoyed it so much! I’ll work on a sequel some time in the future!

[thenoblehouseofdayne]

I LOVED THE YARA STORY!!!!!!! The entire premise was very cool and the writing great as always

Omg— sweetheart— thank you! This totally touches me! I really had a fun time writing it— i suppose I’ve always liked pirate stories, and I always love some wlw fics!

[thenoblehouseofdayne]

Attraction {Joffrey Baratheon x Servant!Reader}

@legendsaresooftenwarnings requested: “where the reader is one of the help and joffrey grows attached and actually might like her?”

{Warnings: self-deprecating reader, class divide, ignorance of poverty? sweet enough to give you a cavity.}

It began innocently enough. You had just completed your duties for the day, cleaning various royal chambers and helping in the kitchen when needed, and had finally retired to your chambers for an evening of well-deserved rest. You shrugged off the soiled apron, retiring it to a corner where you could recover it in the morning. You turned to your bed, pulling back the covers and frowning when a glimmer caught your eye.

Your curious fingers closed around something cool, and as you lifted it to the sunlight for inspection-- you found a fine golden necklace with three verdant green emeralds hanging from the chain.

You froze. How had this ended up in your bed? You had never been the type to pocket something-- the Lannisters were perceptive when it came to their treasures, and you’d seen more than one maid punished for sticky-fingeredness in your time. You didn’t have any enemies, or at least, not the type to wish you such harm. You sat on the edge of your bed, staring at the finery, and frowning.

Suddenly, it dawned on you. The gems were green, the exact shade of his eyes. A sigh met your lips as you realized that this must have been another of his jokes. The King could be... unusually sweet when you were concerned. He hadn’t gone as far as requesting you as his personal maid-- though he’d teased the idea more than once, but he wouldn’t hesitate to linger in his chambers when he knew you would clean them, offer you a morsel from his plate when you served him, even more than once comment on your beauty.

To you, it was nothing more than his game of choice-- fighting off boredom by teasing you. You would smile, and graciously accept whatever he offered you, but would never stay longer than your duty required. You were a servant, and no good could come of you getting mixed up with someone above your station... no matter how handsome he was.

You had to return it, you knew, of course you had to return it... but it didn’t hurt to keep it just one night.

So, you carefully donned the necklace, and admired your reflection in the dusty reflecting glass you’d managed to purchase with your wages. It looked nice on you, and for a moment, you indulged the fantasy of being a queen. You would always treat those below you with kindness-- having lived in their shoes, but wouldn’t you look so pretty in all those royal dresses? Dancing with Joffrey at whatever gala would emerge, having the most spectacular wedding in the Seven Kingdoms-- the sweet dreams carried you to sleep with ease.

But in the morning, it was time to return the necklace. You tucked it in your apron, and made haste for the King’s chambers, hoping that his meeting with the Hand of the King would hold him for long enough for you to make your escape. You stepped into the massive and extravagant chambers (at least eight times the size of yours, you remarked) and surveyed the room for a suitable hiding place.

You decided that it was safest just to leave it in an obvious location (carefully placed atop his vanity) and quickly remade his bed, taking the dirty sheets and disappearing out the door long before he would return.

And that was the end of it... or so you thought. Because not even a single day had passed before you were being roused by your superior, and instructed that the King had personally summoned you to his chambers-- immediately.

Heart pounding in your chest, you took the familiar route to his chambers (you’d been cleaning them for years) and knocked cautiously, being ushered in by a nearby Kingsguard who closed the door behind you.

Joffrey, your King, was holding the necklace in his hands, and had a tight frown in place. He didn’t speak as you entered, his eyes surveying you with an ounce of distaste, but the fondness still lingered behind it.

You took a few hesitant steps until you were in the center of the room. “My King?” You curtseyed softly, “you summoned me?”

“Yes,” he sat straighter upright, his fingers playing with the three lovely gemstones that dangled from the chain. “I was quite surprised myself to find my gift returned so soon. Did you... dislike it?”

“No!” You insisted suddenly, meeting his eyes with surprise. “It was lovely-- it just... wasn’t meant for me.”

His brow furrowed. “What do you mean? I chose it for you, I left it for you, I had one of my Kingsguard deliver it personally, it was meant for you,” he asserted, leaning forward and allowing the necklace to hang from his hand. “Would you refuse a gift from your King?”

You shook your head, unsure of how to explain what you meant to a man who’d gotten everything he’d ever wanted in his whole life. “It’s too nice for me,” you explained, “I wouldn’t have anywhere to wear it with-- aside from just beneath my maid’s clothes,” you lifted the soiled apron as if to demonstrate. “Someone might try to take it or sell it, and--” you sighed, “it’s just better off that you keep it, your grace.”

He was perplexed. “I can buy you nicer clothes, Y/N,” he said as though it was as simple as breathing to him.

You were stunned that he knew your name, your real name and not the short monikers of ‘maid’, ‘servant’, or worst of all ‘wench’. He knew your name and used it effortlessly, as though you two had been close friends for years. You had never ever heard him address any of the other staff by name, and had never heard him use your name before. It sounded sweet on his lips: Y/N.

“Have you lost your tongue?” He teased, his expression amused. “You would wear this for me?” He asked, gesturing for you to stand, and unhooking the clasp with ease.

You stood, pulling back your hair to allow him to place the necklace around your throat. “If you so desire, your grace.” It felt like something out of your dreams, your King bestowing a gift upon you personally-- selected by his own hand.

“I do desire,” he mused, fingertips gently brushing against the nape of your neck, “and one more thing, before you go,” he stated, retracting his touch and waiting for you to face him. “I desire some reparation,” he used the back of his hand, the soft knuckles caressing the side of your face. “You’ve still disobeyed me-- and I cannot allow word to exist that I have rewarded disobedience.”

You felt your heart stutter in your chest, and you fought to keep yourself upright as the romantic in you fought to swoon. “Whatever you need, my King,” the words were barely a whisper, but the intent was there.

“I require a kiss,” a smirk curled at the corner of his mouth. “to ensure that you are truly loyal to me.” His hand slipped below your chin and tilted your mouth up to nearly match his height.

Now this must’ve been a dream, but you were in little temperament to refuse such a tempting offer. You could hardly sound a word before you stepped forward and lovingly pressed your lips to his in a short chaste kiss. Your face felt warm, and you couldn’t fight the smile that had risen. “Thank you, my King.” You whispered, before losing your nerve and scurrying out of the room.

An echo of laughter followed you, and Joffrey watched as the object of his desire disappeared in a flurry of tan-colored skirts. Yes, perhaps he did desire her-- if it would lead to such amusement. He touched his lips, still warm from their contact with yours. He would speak to his mother in the evening, he decided, he wanted you to himself.

#joffrey baratheon #joffrey baratheon imagine #joffrey baratheon x reader #joffreybaratheonxreader #game of thrones #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones imagine

[thenoblehouseofdayne]

Ummm?!? O’ Captain was gloriously amazing and could you pretty pretty please with a cherry on top continue it? Pretty please?

Absolutely! I’m happy you enjoyed the request and it was super fun to write! I’d be glad to do a part two!

[thenoblehouseofdayne]

O, Captain {Yara Greyjoy x Salt Wife!Reader}

@legendsaresooftenwarnings requested: “yara takes a salt-wife and they just be badass pirate lords?”

{Warnings: mentions of possible abuse, mentions of potential sexual abuse, mentions of violence, language... it’s yara, you guys}

{I really enjoyed writing this! I hope I did the character justice! Hope you guys enjoy! Tell me if you want a part two!}

It was an old tradition, one almost entirely done away with. The custom was barbaric, and Yara had little need for coerced brides-- she could get them easily on her own. She wasn’t lacking in lovers, or in need of a new bedmate... until she met you. 

It was a simple merchant ship bearing Lannister colors, small, and likely without proper defense to be sailing through hostile waters. It was an easy prize, and Yara was sure that if she allowed it to slip through her fingers, another raider would catch it soon enough. She observed it boredly, and looked to her brother at her side. “Is it worth it?” She asked, a frown of complacency growing on her face. She didn’t like this, chasing after little ships while she waited at the beck and call of a Queen. It wasn’t Ironborn-- it wasn’t Yara. 

Theon shrugged, though in truth, he was happy to let the boat go. It would maybe have goods, or a little money, but nothing worth the endeavor of capturing it. “If you want to pursue it, we need to move quickly.” He commented, pointing out two distant ships bearing similar colors. 

This caught her attention. An escort? A Lannister escort at that. They were making haste to greet the ship and provide a layer of protection against future raids. A smile curled over her features. Interesting indeed... they must have something worth protecting. “Follow,” she ordered, decisively, “and prepare for a fight... those escorts won’t go down easily.” 

And of course, she was right. The two larger ships fought tooth and nail to protect the smaller, but ultimately, the crew of mercenaries had either surrendered or met the blade, and Yara was permitted to board the small ship, her eyes sweeping the deck with curiosity. 

The crew consisted of a few young deck hands, a few seasoned sailors, and an aging captain who spit at her feet. They’d surrendered, but it didn’t mean they would show her the respect she’d more than earned. “Bitch,” he cursed, looking up at her with hatred. 

She drew her blade, and held it to the flesh of his throat with a cold smile. “What are you carrying, old man?” She demanded, looking into the eyes of a particularly terrified deck-hand. 

He was silent with defiance. 

She pulled her blade, and watched him sag with relief. She approached the deck-hand now, and hoisted him to his feet. She tightened her jaw, and shoved him forward in front of the captain. “I’ve spared you out of better sense,” she announced, turning to survey all the assembled crew. “You saw what we did to the other ships, and I promise, a few sailors won’t fare any better. Someone, talk, or I’ll start with the boy,” she delivered a swift kick to the weeping boy, her expression set tightly. 

“The girl!” The boy sobbed, curling his arms around his head, frightened for his life. “The girl! They’re hiding her in the Captain’s quarters.” He admitted as other crew members cursed at him and bade him to be silent. 

This peeked her interest, and she gestured for the men to keep watch as she moved for the indicated quarters, wiggling the handle and finding them obviously locked. Sighing, she waved over one of the burlier men, and directed him to break it down-- which he did with ease. 

There was a scream from inside, and a flash of blue colored fabric as a lithe woman lunged for Yara-- a blunt letter opener in hand. 

Yara sidestepped the unimpressive blow, and caught the girl in her arms, one hand tightening around her wrist. “Drop it,” she ordered, pushing you up against the frame of the door. “Now.” 

You whimpered, loosening your grip and letting it drop to the deck with a clatter. You averted your face, trying not to give her the satisfaction of hearing you cry. 

Yara smiled. Finally, some respect. She helped you to your feet, and visually checked her over. You were well-dressed, obviously wealthy, with tears dripping down your cheeks, in a lovely blue dress. You were pretty, frightened, and most obviously, hurt. There was a stark bruise on your cheekbone, curling from your cheek up towards your ear She gently touched the injury, and forced you to meet her eyes. “Did these men hurt you?” She asked softly, containing the anger in her voice to keep from scaring you further. 

You could hardly muster the strength to speak, seeing the mean eyes of the captain glaring at you-- demanding your silence. You were afraid, but you looked back to the woman’s eyes, clearing your throat. “Just him,” you admitted softly, your eyes flicking towards the captain. 

Yara’s eyes flashed with anger, and she carefully released you from her arms, though she kept a hand lingering on your bicep. “Throw him overboard,” she ordered, gesturing to the old bastard who would dare lay a hand on such a docile creature. 

You watched as the cruel man disappear beneath the waves, screaming curses at you as he went. Your stomach tightened, but you didn’t look away. 

Yara pulled you to her chest, her arms sliding around your torso as she carefully directed you back to her ship, looking to Theon as she left. “Spare the rest, raid the ship, recruit any who wish to come with us.” She ordered lowly, before looking back to you. “Are you hungry? Thirsty? We’re going home now,” she guided you back onto her ship, and into her quarters, making sure you were comfortable as she set about taking care of you. 

“Who are you?” You asked, curiosity nibbling at you as you sipped the offered water from her flask. 

“Yara Greyjoy,” she offered, turning back to you with what she hoped was a reassuring smile-- but came off as more of a cocky smirk. “What’s your name?” She was so confident, even more than once turning her back on you as she set about cleaning up her chambers for company. 

“Y/N...” you answered, hesitantly, clutching the leather flask between two hands as you took in the small room, feeling the rocking of the ship as you waited for the other men to return. She was being kind, gentle even-- and it was very much unlike the stories you’d heard about the Ironborn. 

“Are you noble?” She asked, presenting a small platter of assorted food, and setting it on the bed beside you. “Why were you traveling alone, Y/N?” She took the seat on the opposite side of you, her arm moving to rest behind you as she relaxed and kicked off her boots.

You straightened your shoulders, unsure of what to say, heart beating faster now that she was so much closer. “I am not noble,” you began cautiously, “but I know those who are.” 

She raised a brow, interested. “Who?” 

“I was a preferred concubine of...” you took a short breath, “Jaime Lannister.” you smoothed out your skirts to distract yourself, “he wanted to see me safely out of the city, and as far away as our ship could manage. We were heading for the Summer Isles when you--” you flushed, “well, when you commandeered our vessel.”

Yara was silent for a second, and then she began to laugh, heartily. On a lucky draw-- she’d managed to steal Jaime’s girl? Her smile was still bright when she finally stopped laughing, pulling you tighter to her side. “And do you love him?” She teased, letting her lips slowly begin to lay kisses on the exposed skin of your neck. 

You shivered, feeling your face grow hotter still. “N-no!” You admitted, your breathing unsteady and unsure. 

This was too good. “No?”

“I don’t like... him,” you were embarrassed and flustered, and it showed, stuck between pulling away and curling closer to her. “Or any men.” 

The food forgotten, Yara pushed the flask out of your hands and heard it clatter to the floor. “No?” She asked, a smirk curling over her features as she hoisted you closer, balling up your skirt in her hands, and pulling you onto her lap. “Well, isn’t this my lucky day?” She mumbled, resuming her conquest of kisses up the column of your throat. “Can I touch you?” She asked, pulling back for a second, and meeting your eyes. 

You, in a surge of unexpected confidence, caught her chin and whispered: “only if you kiss me first.” 

Suffice to say, the waves weren’t the only thing rocking the boat that night.

#yara greyjoy #yara greyjoy imagine #yara greyjoy x reader #yaragreyjoyxreader #game of thrones #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones imagine

[thenoblehouseofdayne]

Do you have any Daenerys x Male Reader or Cersei x Male Reader’s stories coming up by any chance? Btw, love your work :D

I don’t have any on the agenda as of now— I don’t think I even have requests for Dany x Male!Reader— but I do have a fic coming out tomorrow at noon EST!

It’s an old request for Yara Greyjoy x saltwife!Reader and I really like how it turned out!

Thank you for the kind words! <3

[thenoblehouseofdayne]

Daughter Dearest 5 {Robb Stark x Bolton!Reader}

Series Masterlist Here!

{Warnings: mentions of mental illness, mentions of manipulative behavior, argument, some language.}

{Sorry for the long wait! I’ve been darting around on vacation for a few weeks, and haven’t had time to settle and write. To make up for it, here’s a lengthy Robb sequel! Kisses, TNHOD.}

Tensions were high inside the Stark encampment. It seemed that the men had forgotten that there was a war to be fought outside the village of tents, and were content to argue and dispute amongst themselves. Robb was the King of the North, but he was also your husband, and he was visibly worried for your safety at all hours. Ramsay, your half brother, was having a grand time being a pain in the ass, making comments about Robb’s feminine approach to ruling and his gentle touch. Roose was staying out of the argument all together, and had more than once suggested you do the same. 

You didn’t care, Ramsay could choke and you’d dance on his grave. He was a dirty rotten bastard, and he caused nothing but trouble. It was only a matter of time before he said the wrong thing, and your ruse would be through. 

That was another matter entirely. Was it a ruse? It had to be-- you were insistent on the fact. You didn’t love Robb, he was a means to an end, a position for your father, and a safe bed for the rest of your life. He could’ve been old or cruel or ugly, but the Gods had seen fit to give you the perfect husband. He wasn’t perfect for you, but he was perfect. 

Robb was pouring over maps, trying to find the perfect ground on which to engage the Lannister army. And more so, where he could hide you during the bloodshed. He was the King in the North, and he didn’t have to bend to the Boltons and their archaic customs. The bastard unsettled him, but he said nothing of it, other than a few snide comments to you in the privacy of your bedroom. 

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you are more interested in those maps than the men who made them,” you quipped from the bed, resting your chin on your elbows, observing his admirable ass with a half-smile. 

“I’m sure,” he replied dismissively, though a smile came to his face at the sound of your voice. He was deep in thought, scratching the comings-in of a beard that he hadn’t had the time or luxury to remove. “It’s late. You’re usually asleep by now,” there was an edge of concern in his voice, but he didn’t chide you. 

“You’re usually asleep by now,” you returned, pulling the heavy furs closer around your shoulders to shield you from the cold. “And I can’t sleep when I can feel the tension radiating off of you like heat waves,” you complained, lifting the edge of the blanket and offering an enticing smile, hoping to coax him to your side. “You need to rest-- or you’ll fall asleep with your sword in hand.” 

It was an amusing image, and it conjured a matching smile at his lips. Sighing, he extinguished the pair of candles on his desk, and began to shrug off the heavy layers of clothing that adorned him during the day. There was no grace or seduction to the movements, but they were done hastily, to close the distance between himself and you. 

Finally, he slipped beneath the offered sheet, and wrangled you closer to him, effortlessly sliding his arms around your waist. He stilled soon after that, his nose buried in your hair, breathing evening out as he allowed the tension to slide out of his shoulders. “Can I ask you something?” He murmured, almost lost in the sound of the wind howling outside. 

You nodded, fingers carving soft grooves in the plains of his chest. 

“That first night, after we...” he paused to allow you to fill in the blank, “you swore that you would never love me. You wouldn’t touch me. Called yourself my prisoner. What changed? You went from feral to docile practically overnight, and I just--” he sighed, “I don’t understand.” 

You felt like he’d just dropped a massive weight on your chest, and squeezed all the breath out of your lungs. You’d thought you’d been so careful... “I--” your mind reeled for a way to rectify the situation. “I don’t know.” You answered honestly, fidgeting in his arms so you could turn to face him, and see those hauntingly beautiful eyes. “My father used to love my mother, more than anything in the world. He was stiff, but he was happy. When she got sick, and when she started to lose her mind...” you hesitated. “I watched him fall out of love with her. Secluded her away to a tower, a few servants to care for her, and told me never to visit. Said it would only hurt more when we left.” You couldn’t look away from his eyes, from the pity in them, and the adoration that still lingered. “I didn’t want to marry you. I never wanted to marry. I didn’t want to be her, loving a man who would end up confining me to a little room to rot.” 

“You don’t have to--” his voice was softer now as he tried to pull you back to his chest, “I am never going to be your father, Y/N,” he insisted, metal in his voice. 

“You’re so lovely,” you continued, ignoring the sympathy in his tone. “And soft and sweet, and you want so badly to believe in love... and I took advantage of that.” It felt like a cool rush of relief to admit to the guilt that had been weighing on your conscious. “My father was worried that you would lose fondness for me, so I embellished a little-- just to give me time to truly grow fond of you.” 

He was very still.

“Robb?” You asked, wiggling in his arms to catch a look at his face. “No, that’s not what I meant!” You insisted, once you saw the hurt and color draining from his face. “I do love you, there was just a moment when--”

“That first time,” he asked quietly, “when you told me you loved me, that was him?” He didn’t release you, his eyes searching your face for truth. “Your father?” 

You were speechless, heart aching as you realized what jeopardy speaking the truth had landed you in. “He didn’t--”

Robb unwound from you at once, scrambling away from you like you’d burned him. “And when we made love, was he pulling the strings? The puppeteer, feeding you venom to spit back in my face?” He was indignant, snarling, hurting. “I loved you!” He spat, not even bothering to don clothes as he retreated to the far side of the tent. “You knew how much I loved you-- and you lied to me!”

“I do love you, Robb, please!” You pleaded, curling up on the edge of the bed, and watching his expression twist in disgust. 

“How do I know this isn’t another trick?” He demanded, cheeks flushing red with anger. “That these aren’t your father’s words leaving your lips?”

You opened your lips to respond, but saw the far tent-flap peek open, and a grinning Ramsay peer inside, seemingly close enough to have overheard the obvious spat. 

“My King,” his voice was oozing with smug pride at having caught his rival in a compromising position, “is everything alright?”

Robb, a fire burning in his chest and his heart-shattered into more pieces than he could count, looked to you. His love, the sweet woman that he had grown to adore-- tears shining in her eyes as she begged for him to forgive her... and he couldn’t hate her. He wanted to, Gods did he want to hate her, cast her out and remove the thought of her from his mind. But he couldn’t. Your brother, however... “everything’s fine,” he insisted, his voice low and testing. “We were having a disagreement.” 

“I’m sure half the encampment knows at this point,” he entered the tent without invitation, his eyes sweeping over to you and taking a look of lechery at your disheveled state. “Is there anything I could do to ease this?”

Robb’s jaw twitched, watching your half-brother ogle over you with shameless lust. He hated Ramsay. Without a word, he stepped forward, a fist curling at his side, and a cruel look in his eyes. “Yeah, actually,” his movements were sharp and predatory, “eat shit.” And Robb’s fist collided with his jaw in a brutal cracking motion. 

#Robb Stark #robb stark imagine #robb stark x reader #robbstarkxreader #game of thrones #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones imagine

[thenoblehouseofdayne]

Hi! I just read champagne and cracked mirrors (loved it) and I was wondering if you’re going to make a part to for it. Thanks :)

I’m definitely planning to make a part two! I’m glad you loved it— thank you for your kind words!

Love, TNHOD