Robb Stark

draconisa heeft op je foto gereageerd “Munday picture because Fall is finally here and I couldn’t be happier...”

yelling bc you are gorgeous!!!

FACEBOOK MEME | status: accepting

“Couldn’t I?” Cassia teased, appraising him as she leant back as far as she could. Robb’s arms were a prison, securing her in place; there was no escaping the hunger in his embrace, the lust in the dark of his dilated pupils. Every line of him was pressed against her ( HARD ), skin warm and flushed as hers and yet infinitely less soft. Throat tilted, lips parting as she felt first the scruff of his beard, then teeth graze flesh; sharply she inhaled, nails raking over his pale shoulders. “Aye, maybe not, but then I suppose you’ve seen what’s under my pretty dresses once too often. In fact, I haven’t been in a meeting with you where you don’t end up with you hand under my skirt. ‘m willing to bet most of your colleagues wish they could do the same. What d’you reckon?”

Hands were firm around her hips, fingers digging into soft skin, Robb’s grip tight as can be as he hoisted her up. She let out a surprised bark of laughter, holding on for dear life until she felt the cool marble of the counter against her bare thighs. For a moment she wriggled in an attempt to get comfortable; it was his wicked grin that caught her attention, heart stuttering in anticipation as she witnessed his lowering to the floor. The smug smirk lingered on his red lips ( wolfish, almost ) as both legs were drawn over his shoulders in one fluid motion. She could feel the heat of his breath against her skin, prompting a familiar pool of warmth in the low of her stomach. Lip was bitten, head thrown back, a foot skimming down his bare back as she debated giving in to his demand – to have to plead would put her in a vulnerable position to be sure, but the cheeky gleam in his eyes was hard to resist.

Lip jutted in a pout as Cassia pondered a way out, a compromise of sorts, fingers already tangling in his auburn curls. She let out a hefty sigh as his mouth was against the inside of her knee ( how well he knew her ), lids fluttering, knees parting to allow him more room. “Please,” she muttered, voice husky with need, brows knitted in frustration. She shifted to bring herself closer to him, tongue briefly wetting her lips. “Please, Robb.”

For Robb --- who’d half expected Cassia to balk at his command, too proud by far to beg as quickly as all that --- hearing her plead with him in that breathy voice he’d grown to love, was sweeter still than the scent of her skin. He gave a soft grunt in reply, dragging his lips over the inside of her thigh as he hooked his fingers under the fabric of her panties. She spread her knees without needing to be asked, legs opening beautifully to accommodate him, and if it weren’t for the sole purpose of ridding her from the lace that kept her covered, Robb wouldn’t have pulled back at all.

The club’s music is drowned out the moment the door slams shut behind his back, as if he’s just put his head underwater. The air outside is crisp and pleasantly cool, the feel of it welcome on his flushed cheeks. More welcome still is the sight of the alley; deserted, not a high heeled girl —or worse, one of her biker buddies–- in sight. Where he sees an advantageous situation and possibilities, however, Ygritte appears none too impressed. She wriggles out from under the arm he has around her shoulders the moment they spill onto the street, already fishing inside her purse for her cigarettes and lighter.

❝ Ah,❞ Robb tries to grasp her jacket and pull her back, but she’s too quick; already leaning back against the building for support. He glances up at the night sky, clear and splattered with the light of a million dead stars that are only just now reaching them. 

❝ You know, smoking really does kill. You should probably quit❞ He shoots her a half smile as he goes to stand in front of her, hands in the pockets of his jeans.Ygritte says nothing, simply narrows her eyes at him a little in that way she does. She takes a long drag from her cigarette and exhales to the side. 

❝ Should I?❞ She asks him, with an eyebrow arched and her chin stubbornly jutted forward. She looks like the stereotypical trouble making bad girl in every high school movie Robb has ever seen –not that he’s seen all that many– and he’s reminded yet again how far from home he really is. Not just geographically, though the neighbourhood they’re in isn’t one he’s ever visited before, but with HER. He can’t read her, and he’s in deep. Lost at sea without so much as a paddle.

❝ Y’should,❞ Robb croaks, eyes darkening as he takes a single step forward, chest nearly touching hers. ❝ I’d like to have you around for a while.❞ For a long time.

I just discovered that not only is my tag broken yet again, it appears my activity feed is as well. Is anyone else experiencing this problem? I get notified of new followers, but not reblogs, answered questions... this makes RPing nigh impossible and I’m super frustrated right now.

DRABBLE MEME | status: accepting

It is cold when they meet again, even by Northern standards. Cold enough to freeze ears and noses and make breathing a painful chore. There’s frost clinging to Robb’s beard and his fingers ache in spite of the fact he’s wearing heavy gloves lined with fur. Not the sort of weather a man should brave, but he’d insisted on meeting her on the shore and so there he stands. No doubt his men mislike him for it, unsure as to why they’re freezing their balls off when surely Balon Greyjoy’s daughter could simply join them at camp. They do not know of the history their King shares with her, nor how important this possible alliance truly is.

Gods willing, Asha Greyjoy can gain him a Kingdom.

As she crosses the distance between them, working through the snow coated sand with heavy legs that are sure to be steadier at sea than on land, Robb thinks her much the same. The years between their last encounter and this one have not affected her as much as all that. 

She isn’t much changed, but he certainly is. He’s a King now, with a crown on his head and men to lead, if not yet a Kingdom.

DRABBLE MEME | status: accepting

She comes to him only when the hour is late, after darkness has descended on walls that were once so familiar to him but grow colder every passing day. He’s growing to hate them, like he hates the men occupying them. Bolton and his bastard son, their men — who are barely worthy of being called such. Animals, more like. As rotten as the Lords they serve. They slaughtered his wolf, spat in his face as he was dragged through Winterfell’s courtyard and up the tower. They guard his door.

They always let her through, though.

Robb thinks it highly unlikely Roose knows of her visits, wonders whether the boy monster does. Ramsay. Is it his command that drivers her up the winding steps and to his makeshift cell, or simply the need to satisfy her own perverse pleasure? It could be either motivation or both. He’s seen the way the girl – a bastard herself, he knows – looks at the boy. Longing evident in her eyes, and where there is longing there’s an eagerness to please.

But he’s also seen what she does to innocent people. The horrors, and knows she is twisted in her own right. She’d make him scream for her own sake as soon as for Ramsay’s.

Oh, and how he screams. Not right away. Not ever, but she has her ways and eventually he always does. Whether by the touch of her knife or her tongue, she never leaves without getting exactly what she came for. She’s dedicated like that.