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hatsukeii · 4 years

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Fam I needed to just write something to restart my brain and jumpstart some shit so

Just yeah you can ignore this fic if you’d like but I’d say still maybe give it a read because I don’t even know what I’m doing it’s 6am and I was brainstorming and got this

Angst btw, haven’t done that in a while

Okay but before that look at my baby though like he’s so perfect and precious and I love him sm🥺 so let’s make him suffer more on my blog hm🥰

Proud// Tsukishima Kei x Reader

Word count: 1.6k+

Warnings: Depression, self hatred, self harm, dead reader

Summary: I honestly don’t know at this point I just wrote down everything I could think of

All that clouded his mind were thoughts of disappearing. Staring mindlessly over the school’s rooftop, he felt a sense of euphoria. Maybe it was just his suicidal tendencies, or maybe it was more, but at that very moment, Tsukishima was imagining how it would feel to jump right off. It didn’t matter, really, did it? People took it as a joke. They took his attempts as a joke. “You’re just being overdramatic,” they’d say. “There’s no way you’d ever do that.” “Stop chasing attention.” Even with cuts on his bare skin, nobody reached out. “You wanna die? I’ll buy you pills later, yeah?” Well, yes, he did want to die, but the team never realised he was serious about it. Nobody ever realised he was serious about it. High schoolers took mental illness as a joke anyways. A twisted, disgusting, horrid joke that Tsukishima could do nothing about but smile and laugh along in order to hide his pain.

Except you.

He still remembers the way you would smile at him. God, you were the only one that would do that. How you sat with him in an empty classroom every single day, rubbing circles into his back as you told him everything would be okay. All those library weekends and study dates together, and not once did you ever complain about his need to rant. You were there to listen to him when no one was, yet all good things had to end. You were gone, and he wasn’t sure what to make of your death. It hurt. Everything hurt. His mind wasn’t stable enough to process it.

It was when you finally gave your last breath in that stupid, stupid hospital ward, did he realise how much he needed you. All the times he’s stopped himself from overdosing were because of you. He knew how devastated you would be if one day you woke up to the death of him on the news. You’ve done so much for him, he would never let himself cause you pain. Never. Yet now, he was back to square one. He was alone again. He was left on his own to fight through this dull, torturous, cruel world. He had to push on with his life, yet there was no one here to push on for. His one reason for living was gone.

The rooftop was quite chilly. Wind blew across Tsukishima’s, as if it was slapping him across the face. Did he look good at that moment? Tucking his shirt back in properly, he grabbed a jumper from his bag, pulling that over himself. If he was going to mourn, might as well mourn looking at least decent. He didn’t remember the wind being this cold. Was it always this cold? “Hey (Y/n), do you need a sweater...” He turned around, expecting to face you, when another gush of wind sliced across his cheeks. This was going to take a while to get used to. He used to let you wear his sweaters when it got chilly like this. You would always pull the sleeves over your hands to make sweater paws, the one thing that never failed to make Tsukishima smile stupidly. The extra sweater he habitually brought to school now sat in his backpack, with no one here to wear it. Sure, he could give it to someone else, another girl even, but it wouldn’t feel right. It never would.

“Ahh, it really never lasts does it?”

And he would be right. The best relationships never last for him. Was it a curse? Some kind of sick hex on him? He would never know. Two good relationships down the drain. First his brother, now you. Why didn’t he see the signs? How you oftentimes skipped school without a warning, the way your face went paler and paler by the day, it almost made him laugh at how utterly stupid and unsuspecting he was. How could he have let all those little things slide? He hated himself for not noticing earlier. If he knew he would’ve done anything to make you the happiest person he knew. There were so many things he wanted to do with you. He was planning on bringing you on a date someday, before telling you how he had quit the cutting. He wanted to show you all the constellations someday, as per your request to him. He wanted to feel your arms around him, hands stroking his hair and his neck tickly from you mumbling sweet nothings into it. He wanted to one day hold your hand in his, comparing the sizes as he laced his fingers with yours. He was trying so hard not to disappoint you. He made a promise to himself that he would let you be the first to know, yet that won’t work out now that he can’t tell you anything. He was so close to his goal, going from cuts all over his arm to occasionally a cut or two on his wrist. He could imagine the way you would cover your mouth like you do when you cried at the movies out of joy, before lunging forward and holding him tight, not letting go, just like how you usually would when he made you proud. Would someone else ever do that for him? No, that would be over demanding for anyone else. High schoolers didn’t have time for shit like this. Nobody cared enough to sit there for hours on end trying to unravel the puzzle that is his mind.

He could almost hear you next to him, patting his back and whispering into his ear just like the old days.

“Kei, I’m so sorry. I really am. But I... please don’t hate yourself. Hate me. Hate me for leaving you so soon. Hate me all you want, but never, ever hate yourself. You are the best thing I’ve ever com across. Your poor soul needs to heal, and I promise, I’ll be watching you from above.”

The thought of your last words snapped the fragile string in him as tears rolled down his cheeks, the rooftop breeze blowing them into his mouth. He would never hate you, even if you wanted him to. He simply couldn’t and that goes without question. When he heard about you being in a hospital ward, he practically dropped everything he was doing and zoomed over, praying he could see you at least one last time.

“I... fuck- promise..?”

He shakily held out his pinkie, his eyes shut tightly as he tried to stop the tears. For a moment, he felt your pinkie graze against his, before it fell.

“(Y/n)..? (Y/n) wake up, wake up please! Please, you can’t leave me now, I can’t handle it by myself, please... I’m begging you...”

Your parents stared as the unknown blond boy wailed, pouring his tears onto their child’s hospital bed as he refused to accept it.

“(Y/N)! I’M SORRY, I’M SO, SO SORRY! I’M... I’m sorry, I couldn’t make you the happiest person in the world.”

It’s okay, you thought.

You already did, Kei.

He never got a reply to his question.

“Tsukki? Tsukki! Lunch is about to end!”

“Ah, shit”

Rubbing his eyes, he looked down, eyes painful from crying. Was it already the end of lunch? Probably, but it wouldn’t hurt to skip a class or two once in a while.

“It’s fine Yamaguchi.”

His friend was the most concerned after your death. He knew that Tsukishima was bound to have a hard time accepting the death of his anchor. He may not have realised it himself, but Yamaguchi knew Tsukishima well. And from everything that he’s seen, he was absolutely sure that he was in love with you. He was so in love with you to the point where he would probably never recover from losing you. He could see that you were such an important part of his life, that losing you would be equivalent to dying. Yet now, his best friend was alone again. Yamaguchi never fully understood Tsukishima, you were the only one that was able to dig deep into his mind and console him properly. You were the definition of his comfort and vice versa. The two of you were inseparable. Yamaguchi truly didn’t know how to help at this point. Tsukishima was damaged beyond return.

“Tsukki, I know it’s really hard on you, but I promise it’s going to get better. Please don’t do it even if you think it’s worth it because it’s not. I’m not saying this out of pity. You helped me up at my lowest and I want to do the same for you. Losing you would be losing the person I’m the most thankful for.”

Tsukishima would kill himself with no problem. What stopped him was knowing that even if he did, he wouldn’t be able to meet you. He could never see you again no matter how hard he tried. A person like you, who selflessly helped him during his hardest times, greeted everyone with a smile, you were bound to end up somewhere nice, whether it was heaven, or reincarnated into a millionaire. The universe would never accept someone like himself. He hurt himself and others in many ways, he was going to hell for everything he had done, and although that would be okay with him, a promise was a promise.

So he was going to live.

He was going to live on, stop cutting, and be the best person he could, all in honour of you.

He was going to live and make you, watching him from above, proud, even if the two of you were to never meet again.

Tags:

@izzyphantomgamer @sunshines-and-tatertots @tiredgr3mlin @tiger1719 @skyeackermans @macaronnv @ewfilthymundane @samanthaa-leanne @kaylacinderella @inlwlevi @random-fandomlover @majorfangirl37 @itmekisuu @trashcanweeb @sakusasgarbage @eightaces @fandomwriter73 @mariechan123 @iwaigroomi @oyasenpai @sneezefiction @emsvegetables @poppirocks @shoutsukii @bokutokoutarou @artsamber @xonfusedsoul @justachillgirl @just-another-bored-writer

I’M BACK FUCKERS

I’ll do some requests now lmao

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu tsukishima #hq #hq x reader #hq imagines #hq scenarios #hq headcanons #hq tsukishima #hq tsukki #tsukishima #tsukishima kei #tsukishima x reader #haikyuu angst #manga #anime

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robbmywolf · 7 years

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Wolf on a Leash

Part Two to this Part One!

OMG I got such positive feedback from the first part! I DID NOT EXPECT THIS. You guys spoil me tbh, thank you for all your kindness and support xxx

Summary: The feuding continues. Robb and Y/n manage not to get along even worse than they did before, but Ned’s resolve prevails. Starks are stubborn and breaking their will is near impossible.

Tags: THE FIRST OF THE HATE FLIRTING, s l o w b u r n, humor duh, AnGsT aLeRt, Stark family feels, unresolved jealous feelings

Tagged Lovelies: @im-smad, @salliebley, @reader-fics, @a-girl-who-loves-disney (lemme know if you want to be tagged xx)

{okay woah btw this is a LOT longer than the first part hehe sorry}

Chapter 2

“He’s mine to hate and hurt and do with as I please, no one else’s,” You hear yourself hissing at Lady Evangeline, shoving your face forward and closing in on her personal space despite the frantic beating of her delicate fan to keep you at bay.

Her intimidated expression of growing fear (of you, you realize with a twisted satisfaction) is not what pulls you from your sudden flash of gripping fury.

It’s actually the silence beside you that shakes you free of it. Robb is silent. That never happens, Robb always has something to say in retaliation to literally any words that leave your mouth whether they pertain to him or not. You pull your face back only enough to swing your blazing gaze on Robb, whose expression holds the shape of an emotion you haven’t seen on him before.

Earlier that Month -- The morning after your first night chained together

You wake yourself by accidentally biting your tongue.

You’re shivering so harshly on the floor beside Robb’s bed you worry for second when you can’t move your toes. Grey Wind is still beside you, a life-line of warmth, a furnace that you find yourself clutched around as much as possible. Your nose is pressed into the thick winter coat at his neck trying to hide your face from the merciless nipping cold patiently numbing bit by bit of your flesh.

How you managed to get any semblance of rest in your current conditions simply boggles your freshly woken mind, your thoughts slushing around disoriented in your mind before you remember the catastrophic events of yesterday. Your eyes fly open and whip to land on your shackled wrist wrenched hanging at an unnatural position.

Your stomach drops and for a moment you think you’re going to be sick when you realize why you are on the floor and who is in the bed above you. Instead of vomiting you tug on Robb’s hand gently so not to wake him, and pull your own hand down to your body. He gives no resistance still asleep and quite -- surprisingly -- pliant. His big hand falls over the edge of the bed and quickly you squirm your shackled hand under Grey Wind’s belly as he lays on it, hoping to regain feeling in the appendage that’s frozen solid. The wolf jumps mildly at the sharp sting of cold but only gives a snort before settling again, fully awake but happy to rest beside you. When your hand still feels like a block ice carved straight from the Great Wall after a full five minutes, you huff sleepily and try to think of other ways to warm yourself up.

All without waking Robb, of course.

You want some peace and time to yourself, your face naked of the mask you always put on when he looks upon you. Basking in this relief you are careful not to disturb his own shackled wrist too much and mute the little clinks of metal as best as you can.

Finally you settle in a position that has you facing the bed, shivering escalating by the second, Robb’s limp hand hanging only a foot from your face that’s going numb like the rest of your body. The hand is pink with fresh warmth from being under the many layers of Robb’s bedding, fingers long and palm wide and welcoming. The texture of his sword-callouses are revealed through curious strips of light tiptoeing down from the windows. You would have reached out to touch it, maybe hold on to it to steal some of its heat, but you honestly couldn’t feel your hand so the appendage stayed unthawed at your side.

Grey Wind gives a small whine of concern as he noses at your neck, the wet cold of it making you flinch, as the wolf takes note of your unhealthy condition. Robb stirs and gives a sleepy huff. You hold still hoping he doesn’t wake just yet. Despite you being about to black out from the cold stealing feeling from every part of your body, you desired the alone time more.

You never did have a knack for self preservation.

An old fear-warped memory of lying in a similar cradle of chill and ice wipes across the backs of your eyes you didn’t remember closing. A white forest canopy blinds you as you lay in the snow feeling your body descending into stages of a slow death. You felt your body sinking deeper and deeper into the glacial embrace of the earth around you accepting your body into its depths.

Robb wakes suddenly, yanked into consciousness from the bowels of sleep like a fish on a line. He groans and shuts his eyes against the unforgiving winter morning light pouring through the barely curtained windows. There’s a slight chattering noise that comes into his notice -- teeth clanking together -- and Grey Wind is whining loudly.

“Hush now,” Robb gravels grumpily in his sleep-strained voice at Grey Wind as he makes to turn over, but is stopped at a sharp pull on his left wrist. “What the --,”

Robb whips bleary-eyed around at the feel of rude metal clutching at his wrist. He goes into momentary panic then settles when he remembers yesterday but then panics again when he spots you on the floor. Your skin is that same grey-blue and an eerie sense of deja-vu smacks him across the face and leaves his chest feeling hollow and rickety.

Grey Wind is giving him a threatening wolf glare.

“Gods!” Robb exclaims under his breath as he entangles his legs from the nest of warmth on the bed and hauls you up. You’re dead weight, head lolling and eyes sealed shut.

Robb’s concern spikes considerably at this as he wrenches you up to the bed and hastily tucks you under the blankets, and comforters, and furs. Gods he left you one fur to sleep under. A potent self-disgust boils and gurgles in Robb’s gut as he continues frantically trying to warm you up.

You had stopped shivering. That wasn’t good.

Ice sickness was common in the North; you shiver, then start to lose feeling in your extremeties, then it creeps to claim more and more of you until you lose conciousness, then you stop shivering, then you....

Robb refused to even think the last step. With mounting panic he unwraps you quickly and strips you of your clothing. He doesn’t even feel guilt at seeing your naked body without your permission because this is life and de -- no. He will not even think it. Once your body is fully exposed he fiercely strips himself of his own clothes and unreservedly clutches you to him in a desperate attempt to lend you his heat knowing this is the most efficient way to regulate your body temperature. Your skin is nothing short of ice, freezing to touch and almost just as hard. Hoisting you up bridal style, he snags as many furs and quilts he can get his hands on and waddles over to the low burning fireplace in his room. Robb quickly revives the flames, coaxing them to roar tall and hot, and holds you against him while wrapping the both of you in the bedding before the licking heat of the new fire.

Robb shakes despite the fact that he’s sweating as your heavy head rests back against his collarbone, your back to his front, body limp between his legs and still impossibly cold. It is almost like your skin is refusing his warmth.

“Just take it! Stop being so stubborn and just fucking take it!” Robb demands of you as his fears take turns stabbing at the muscle of his heart.

He begins to rock your bodies back and forth in a subconscious effort to calm himself. His full fledged panic blocks any and all intimate thoughts that would have run through Robb’s brain any other time he might of had a woman naked between his legs and pressed flush to his chest.

But this is Y/n and she’s dy--

Grey Wind interrupts Robb’s train of thought by curling up to both of their forms and licking warm stripes up Robb’s cheeks. It takes the young Stark a second to realize he is, in fact, crying.

Robb assigns the reasons behind this to the crazed delirium of being thrown into panic and trauma directly from sleep. Because without a doubt he still despises Y/n even as he clutches her closer to him, the full passion of his hatred still so tangible and easily accessed even now. He shoos Grey Wind away from his face, wiping the snot and tears on his shoulder so he won’t have to sniffle like a sobbing child, and regains a shred of his composure.

Y/n twitches promisingly in his arms and he feels her chest heave a big refreshing sigh, restarting her system.

She will be fine.

His skin tingles like hot coals where it touches her’s and he can’t tell if the force between them is shoving them apart or yanking them closer together. This battle keeps him where he is.

When you eventually wake Robb gets a marvelous deck to the face the second you muster enough strength to swing the weight of your arm.

He doesn’t ever tell you this, but you bruised his jaw so badly it hurt to talk and eat and breathe for weeks.

Ned refused to unchain you.

Robb sleeps willingly on the floor of your chambers now.

Middle of the Month - a week or so after that first morning

It’s not often Winterfell hosts guests in the middle of winter. But House Cerwyn has come to stay at Winterfell for a seemingly innocent visit. The party came through the recently shoveled court yard on a gentler winter morning. Ned received the head of the family Cley Cerwyn with loud, proud Northern words of greeting and jovial claps on the back.

The point of this visit baffled the Stark siblings while Ned and Catelyn seemed almost eager, giddy to host the Cerwyns. It didn’t take long to work out the hidden intention though. The day after the Cerwyns’ arrival, introductions were made as the Stark family officially received them in the large banquet hall.

Catelyn had put up quite a fuss about you being chained to Robb for the introductions but Ned kept steady to his word and left the two of you shackled. When Ned offered the visitors an explanation as to why his eldest son was chained to you, Cley had burst out laughing followed by companionable chuckles from the rest of the family.

Catelyn was still bitter but didn’t bring the issue up again until later that week.

Robb and you were currently walking across the snowy cart yard heading towards the stables. One of your favorite mares is giving birth and you wanted to watch or maybe help deliver the foal if Robb would be willing (which he wasn’t when you originally asked to attend such an event). But after much arguing, some haughty threats, and a quick fist fight, you convinced him to at least let you observe.

Lady Evangeline Cerwyn strolls arm in arm with Sansa, both ladies twirling their delicate winter parasols on their shoulders as they walk around the bustling yard. It’s midday and the snow coming down in generously light and dainty. The beautiful eldest daughter of House Cerwyn catches Robb’s eye.

He noticed Evangeline’s beauty immediately when they were formally introduced, she just had that easy natural beauty about her that men went to war over. She was the perfect gentle-woman in every way a respectable noble lady such as herself should be.

In effect, she is everything you are not.

Your beauty is like a diamond that has yet to be polished from its cage of sharp black granite. It hides itself beneath your blunt personality and the gruff-n-tough way you hold yourself. You carry yourself more like a soldier, an equal to any man rather than a lady. Plus you were not from noble birth, in fact you didn’t come from any family at all. You are an orphan.

You realize as you feel Robb tugging you towards her and Sansa, away from the stables drawn to her like a moth to a flame, that you’ve never had a last name.

It makes you impossibly sad for some reason, muting any protests you might have said and dampening any fight you might have put up as Robb comes to stop in from of the two halted ladies and gives a graceful courteous bow.

“Ladies,” Robb says in that deep voice he uses when he’s trying to be impressive and seem older.

You don’t even bother trying to hold back your eyes as they roll generously in your sockets. You cock your hip and set your weight in it stubbornly, jutting it out further as you grumpily place your hands on your hips calling attention to the shackles between binding you together. Sansa squints at you in a coded warning. She must like Evangeline although its not hard to see why, she’s everything Sansa aims to be -- minus the being married part.

Your mouth quirks a little and suddenly you know exactly why the Cerwyns have come to Winterfell.

You fight the urge to drag Robb away kicking and screaming to the stables, not knowing where such an immature childish impulse came from. Shaking it off you hone in on the conversation that’s been going on in your mental absence. Robb is charmingly giving a more in depth, quite frankly biased explanation as to why you both are shackled together as Evangeline blinks up at him under a swath of thick pretty eyelashes.

“ -- took her in and she’s been a nuisance ever since. You see my Father has this very odd sense of humor as most of us Northerners do, and thought that if he chained us together she might learn a few manners!”

You distinctly remember Ned saying this should teach Robb a few manners and some humility but you only grumble unintelligible sounds of disagreement under your breath.

Evangeline giggles then at Robb’s humor that was made at your expense, the sound of it chiming like tinkling glass bells in the wind. Her luscious hair falls around the frame of her face forming this vignette around a vision of grace. A lovely addictive smile plays at her lips, rewarding Robb for his efforts and inviting him to try some more.

You refrain from turning to face Robb wanting nothing more than to carefully analyze his reaction to this blatant beauty flirting with him, but you know you couldn’t do that without being noticed. Confused silence yawns in your heart when you wonder why you even care what he’s feeling.

There are only some many petty urges you can strangle back when it comes to Robb, and right now, in the presence of a flirting Evangeline -- the perfect wife chosen for Robb by his parents -- they are practically impossible to restrain.

“He takes longer to do his hair than I do.” You blurt in a vomit of words out of a numb mouth, the statement ridiculously random and having nothing to do with the conversation.

The memory of standing impatiently beside Robb this morning as took his sweet time arranging his deep mahogany curls atop his head still fresh in your mind. You’re pretty sure he does it to piss you off but you hoped the little tid-bit would serve to embarrass him. Because it’s unmanly to groom yourself too long right?

You want to show her how close you are to him, a small curious voice curls up from the black depths of the your mind that you never venture into, a sign that says ‘DO NOT ENTER, GO BACK’ placed at the threshold.

Everyone pauses then looks to you as the weirdness of what you just said settles in the air like an echo of a bass bell. At this point you don’t even have the decency to be embarrassed, you just are glad Robb’s not looking at the Cerwyn vixen anymore.

The pretty noble-lady in question looks you over for the first time even though you’ve been standing there for more than ten minutes. Blatant and purposefully not hidden disgust colors her lovely features. You fight the urge to curl into yourself and hide behind your own shadow at the unexpected sharpness of her gaze. Sansa’s eyebrows knit together and her eyes flash at you in more warning not to embarrass her any further in front of her respectable family-friend.

“Well I can see that.” Evangeline eventually breaks the silence, retaining a cruel lightness to her tone that lets everyone know who is higher on the food chain. “Robby’s hair looks dashing fit for the young noble lord that he is,” She pauses to send Robb a gorgeous half smile at the compliment, batting her eyelashes at him once before returning her eyes back to you in full force, judgment and all, “But as for you and your hair I dare say it is not quite up to par.”

Robb hides his snicker poorly as your face falls a little in a moment of caught off guard insult, but you easily regain your composure. Really? She was insulting the state of your hair? It seems you have grossly over-estimated her ability to dismantle someone. Her rank was her only weapon against you. Getting insulted by her was like the equivalent of Evangeline throwing one of her handkerchiefs at you.

Evangeline easily out ranked you, like by leagues, therefore you knew you could never publicly slander her back and get away with it like how she just did to you. You grit your teeth knowing your presence before her is only tolerated because you’re literally shackled to the heir to Winterfell.

“I apologize for the ugly mark I’ve dashed across your day, maybe I should retire so as to not further disturb your peace.” You respond in easily registered mocking tone, ticking your head to the side like a bird of prey and giving her a chilly threatening smile (the mechanics of which you learned from Catelyn Stark).

“Oh! How kind of you to go to such measures to rid me of your ill-timed presence.” Evangeline plays back with a smug smirk on her face, like she just dropped a bombshell.

You pity her if that’s the best she can do. You yourself know you could bring her down but you know she’s not worth the effort, it’d be too easy. But you get good practice out of it none the less.

Sansa observes Evangeline every twitch and hangs onto her every word like she’s witnessing something sacred. The young red head quickly learns (to her extreme disappointment, ‘how dare you be better at something than Evangeline’) though that even though Evangeline has the higher status, your verbal sparing skills greatly out due Evangeline's. Robb happily watches, completely entertained, as you two continue to exchange icy phrases having to sometimes think hard to keep up with the coded insults.

You both eventually end with overly articulated flourishing sentences, even Sansa looked fed up at this point, and you parted ways. You fully expected for Robb to put up a fight and want to stay with Evangeline (in fact you were bracing yourself for it), but he easily followed you as you turned sharply and trudged away. He had only shouted a polite farewell to a pouting Evangeline.

“What was all that about?” Robb questions in a tone you’d never heard him use before. Okay, never heard him use with you. “Was that how women fight over men? Did you two fight over me?” He has a bounce to his step you noticed and when you looked up at his face he was smiling.

Instinctually you want to point that he’s smiling and somehow twist it into an insult or thing to hold over his head, but at the last minute your throat clogs up and blocks the habit from controlling your tongue. Instead you gulp thickly as you expertly run your eyes over his face, getting hit with how handsome Robb is. You don’t notice so much but for some reason its smacking you in the face now.

His eyes are bright, similar to how they are when he’s angry but its a different kind of lightness. It’s carefree. You watch how his face molds around his smile thats big and generous and inviting, drawing you in and welcoming you to share in his happiness.

With a gallant amount of effort you get a shaky grip on your emotional reigns and roll your eyes before smacking him upside the head sharply. Robb exclaimed a surprised ‘Ow!’ but gave no more protest other than rubbing the back of his as you began talking.

“No you idiot, we weren’t fighting over you. What we were doing was determining who was more powerful. It’s how women size each other up.” You explain in the most elementary way possible as you both walk on, some sort of synced autopilot taking you both towards the stables.

(You had not noticed until now how in-tune you both had become. Robb and you already were highly intelligent of the others emotional inner workings do to you both manipulating each other all the time, but now that awareness has grown to something more powerful than you realized. You had entire conversations without needing to speak, made decisions based on the other’s body language. It was so overwhelming and so out of either of your control, that you pretended it wasn’t happening.)

“More powerful?” Robb asks with a naughty curl to his smile that made your breath catch in your throat, his happy mood determined to prevail the fall of his pride. He continues to practically trot at your side; you tell yourself its annoying.

“Yes like, oh how can I explain this to your primal male brain?” You sigh dramatically as you squint up at the grey sky while easily dodging his fist that was aimed for your shoulder, “It’s like a ‘Who Has the Bigger Cock’ contest.”

When you look back down from the sky, blinking some of the water out your eyes since the clouds made it too bright to stare at for long, to catch Robb’s gaze you find his eyes wide. His mouth had dropped out of its full grin to hang open in a mock-scandalized ‘O’, but the corners of his lips were still suspiciously curved up giving him away.

“Did you just say–,”

“Cock? Yes, men and prostitutes don’t own the word. Cock. There I said it again.” You challenge as you playfully shove him away from you (where did that urge come from?), him breathing out a strange noise through his nose that sounded almost like a laugh as he regains his step and shoves you back.

Robb looks fascinated at the fact that you said a dirty word when you both recover your gaits beside one another and reconnect gazes. You smirk at him as a witty thought pops into your head and slips off your tongue.

“Lady ‘Your Hair Isn’t Up To Par’ wouldn’t be caught dead saying the word cock.” You tease as you jut your chin up at the jab. A foreign but yet oddly addictive energy zings between you two then, the atmosphere around you morphing and changing into something new -- something....exciting.

Robb’s cobalt irises shake with mischief and flash at you, except this time its not anger its something else.

“I bet I could make her say it.”

You gasp, trying to hide your scandalized grin, and go to smack him upside the head again but Robb unfortunately learned from last time and ducks away in time. With his stupidly fast reflexes he snatches your offending shackle-free wrist and chucks a triumphant cocky smirk at you over the horizon of your fingers.

“Let go of me Curly.” You grunt playfully as you wrench your wrist out of his grip and start up your walking pace again. The nickname coming easy and out of the blue.

“Then don’t hit me Stray.” Robb throws right back at you and this time the chain doesn’t need to yank him to fall into step beside you, he does it himself.

When you roll your eyes at him as you always do, there isn’t a single hint of the usual frustration or anger or bitterness that accompanies the gesture. What appears in replacement is a fuzzy and weird and warm feeling that sits esoterically on the throne of your heart. You shy away from figuring out what it is and what it means, scared for some reason.

You both watch the foal be born. It’s a young stallion. With a murky expression on his face Robb tells the stable master to name it Curly.

End of the Month - current day

There had been a small ball that had been thrown in the Cerwyns’ honor (and the anticipated unannounced union of their houses, you had thought bitterly though you did not want to know this aggravated you so much). It was just the two families who were in attendance, but there was music and dancing in the banquet hall after a grand meal. Catelyn unlocked Robb from you for the entire evening.

It was strange to not have his presence always at your right. It was almost akin to losing a limb -- a weird, frustratingly uncomfortable hollowness. You kept torturing yourself with questions you couldn’t answer; like if Robb felt the same way, felt this emptiness that plagued you.

As expected you were not allowed at the festivities, and instead spent the evening fencing with Jon out in the chilly court yard. Jon noticed how you moved like you had a limp, an illusion that something was missing -- an intangible feeling that you were off-kilter -- but he already knew the reason. Jon knew you better than you knew yourself honestly, but he wouldn’t ever dream of telling you that. You might not be a Stark, but you had the temper of one.

It wasn’t until Ned called you inside when everything was dying down and people were retiring to their chambers so he could lock you and Robb back up, that things took a sharp fucking turn to the left. Robb had appeared in the hallway leading to the court yard you had just in from -- with Evangeline on his arm. They were chatting away, easily leaning in towards each other like a magnet was coaxing them closer. They really were a perfect match. For some reason the thought made your stomach twist, then plunge into your gut.

As Robb, without looking or paying any attention to no one other than Evangeline, offered his wrist to his Father and Ned gently took yours, something in you died. A small tragedy that was being mourned by your soul as it wept in the flesh cage of your body. You ignored this and kept your eyes down, following Ned’s fingers as they deftly moved around your wrist and Robb’s, familiar with the lock and key by now.

Ned noticed how quiet you were and concern seeped into the lightness of the evening. He knew better than to ask a young woman if she was ‘okay’ and let it be. When he announced his departure with nothing more than a polite Stark Grunt, you immediately wanted him to stay.

Don’t leave me with them! Your eyes pleaded, by you kept them down so Ned couldn’t read them and fufill your wishes.

When Ned was gone you endured the horrific torture of having to wait for Robb and Evangeline to bid each other good night. Evangeline was prolonging things on purpose, I mean you couldn’t blame her. What really struck home for you though was the smile Robb was giving her. He never looks at you that way (not that you ever tried to earn it).

“He’s mine to hate and hurt and to do with as I please, no one else’s,” You hear yourself hissing at Lady Evangeline, high on this powerful strange emotion coursing through your veins and letting instinct carry your actions.

You shove yourself in between the two with no warning making them unlink arms. With mounting chargin you close in on her personal space despite the frantic beating of her delicate party fan to keep you at bay. Her intimidated expression of growing fear (of you, you realize with a twisted satisfaction) is not what pulls you from your sudden fever of gripping fury. It’s actually the silence beside you that shakes you free of it.

Robb is silent.

That never happens, Robb always has something to say in retaliation to literally any words that ever leave your mouth whether they pertain to him or not. You pull your face back only enough to swing your blazing gaze on Robb, whose expression holds the shape of an emotion you haven’t seen on him before.

This sets a flock of starving crows into a madden flurry in your stomach, their sharp beaks plucking at your insides and eating you alive. Because you know all of Robb’s faces; Every. Single. One. Having memorized the intimate paths to take in order to unlock his different emotional states, these maps of mind, heart, and soul you’ve made well trodden over the years, learning him from the inside out to get the best reactions from him. You know how to manipulate him just as he well as he knows how to manipulate you.

But now, staring at him with the fire in your soul weaning a bit and twisting into a new foreign kind of burn, you don’t recognize him. Who is this? What’s that face? Your mental radars are setting off alarms in your head as you rush to figure out what in the name of the Seven is going through his head. You always know what Robb is thinking, usually you despised this talent (but also found it quite useful) but now could not for the life of you take advantage of it.

You didn’t even realize the gentle-lady Evangeline had scooted away and gratefully fled the bubble of tension, leaving Robb and you openly glaring -- or gawking -- at each other in the middle of the hallway. A tender winter breeze sneaks in from the closed door behind you, whistling lowly as it sweeps by and nips both of your noses in cosmic jest.

It dawns on you quite slowly.

But once your mind catches the thought, takes firm but gentle hold of it in its embrace making sure that it won’t slip away, do you start to unwrap the answer to the emotion on Robb’s face. Your soul holds its breath.

Agreement.

Pure, gilded, unrestrained agreement was what it was -- the feeling looks so raw and new on his features, like it shocked Robb so thoroughly he didn’t have the means to hide it. Enigmatic acceptance follows closely behind to color in the leftover untouched bits of canvas on Robb’s face, reigning free and wild to mix like drops of blood in water, swirling like whirlpools to full collected potency in the azure blue of his eyes.

His soul stares at you hard from behind matching cobalt windows, sizing you up and after a couple heart beats, cautiously waves invitingly at your own soul. You feel her press up curiously against the back of your eyes to analyze him back. The pressure in your eye sockets may have indeed been due to the presence of your soul, but the pressure was also do to the accompanying vengeful tears, anxious to be released having been pent up and barred from their grave of the outside world for so long.

The whiplash-like emotional shock that you are crying in front of Robb kickstarts in your body and your skin erupts in gooseflesh. Robb does nothing in response to seeing wetness in your eyes bulge then give as one tear sparkles poetically down your cheek, accept curving the center of his eyebrows up in clean concerned awe of you. You feel disconnected from your own limbs as they move you on their own accord, sprinting off somewhere as everything becomes overwhelming.

Its too much.

You feel like a wave is cresting in your chest and you’re not sure your heart will survive it washing over you.

You’re so focused on running from yourself that you don’t even register that Robb’s being hauled along with you, the chain binding you both together.

Robb doesn’t know what to make of things. Too many emotions have torn through his heart tonight and he’s more than a little hesitant to break all, if any of them down. He’s more than a bit surprised when you drag him to his chambers (since they have been sleeping in yours since you almost froze to death). His mouth opens to make a comment but he thinks better of it and shuts up.

He lets you lead, recognizing that you’re taking your day clothes off in the weird ballet you both have mastered over the past month. How you manage to get out of your day clothes one-handed baffles Robb every time with all the layers and skirts and corsets and shifts. You leave yourself in your plain white fabric shift and Robb strips down to his undershirt and matching underpants.

Without a word you shock him once again and crawl down to the floor, settling on the thin fur carpet beside his bed, grabbing multiple quilts and furs and pillows down from the bed to make a small comfy nest.

Robb again can’t find his voice so he wordlessly lays on the bed, letting his hand hang off for your comfort, and listens as you make a last few adjustments and settle. Right on cue Grey Wind noses in through the cracked open door, the heavy wood slightly uneven on its hinges, creaks back closed. He hops on the bed but stops when he sees its Robb, then hops back down to nestle into your nest with you.

Robb sighs.

The room goes quiet.

He hopes things go back to normal, whatever normal is, tomorrow.

Robb doesn’t get his “normal” back quite the way he expected.

It’s the wee hours of the night and his mind never really shut down from all the craziness of the evening. His consciousness may be resting but his brain has refused to stop thinking.

He dreams about vague shapes moving through grey snowy light, familiar intimate colors he recognizes blur and mix together trying to confuse him. He reaches for something, knowing that he wants whatever he’s reaching for but unsure as to what it is. This does not deter him. His dream-self sifts through these colors, wades through them hoping to spot that tell tale color even though he doesn’t know what color he’s looking for.

You don’t dream at all. Your heart closed off the pathway that connects your mind to the secret unknown chambers of your heart, leaving only blackness to consume you.

Suddenly, instead of darkness, pain consumes you and shoves you awake like a tub of ice water had been poured over your head as something heavy traps you to the ground, making it hard to breathe. For a moment you think the ice water is real and you hold your breath and try frantically kicking to the surface, working your legs and waving your arms around as best you could under the weight holding you down.

Purple feathers explode in Robb’s dream as he lands on something soft thats writhing savagely underneath him, still searching for that One. Seven forsaken. Color.

Disoriented you lurch and spaz under the weight on top of you when your breath starts to run out, tangling yourself in ropes of thick seaweed...or are those arms? A weird noise leaves your mouth, lips pressed to something unidentifiable. A softness brushes over your face and you can’t fucking see --

Whatever has cushioned Robb’s fall squirms under him like an angry shark, sharp pokes of bone jutting into his gut making more kaleidoscopes of color burst like fireworks behind his eyes.

“Umph!” You grunt as you free your non-shackled hand from its anonymous captor and wave it around blindly trying to come to grips with what, exactly, is happening. You’re not sure if you’re still drowning or even in water.

A crisp smack! sounds in the room and a stinging sensation burns across Robb’s cheek. This jolts him out of his dream-world and plunges him head first into loud confusing reality.

For some reason Robb yells on the rocketing fall back down to consciousnesses,

“The feathers aren’t yours!”

You momentarily pause your struggle like you were struck dumb by lightening, before resuming your shoving when you feel more than hear the rumble of Robb’s familiar morning voice as his chest you find, is in fact -- impossibly -- pressed flush to yours.

His voice is an anchor and now you know for sure you aren’t underwater.

“What, Robb?! How -- get OFF!” You shriek in the scattered anarchic chaos of the darkness, your voice cracking from a tight throat and words coming out a jumble of nonsense due to your sleep-lazy tongue. “You great oaf! Your chest -- OW! Robb that’s my breast, get your filthy hands --,”

You grunt in pain as his head knocks hard against your skull when he suddenly jerks on top of you, and a slight ringing sounds in your ears. Honestly you can’t tell where your body starts and his begins as you both scramble to cradle your throbbing foreheads. Both your hands tangle on the way up causing more dismantled disorientation.

Grey Wind sits neatly on his hind legs a safe distance from the mess, watching you both struggle, ears twitching, wondering in a wistful wolfy way what the heck his dumb humans are up to now.

“Robb -- get, just move your, Gods, will you just get off!” You cry as Robb regains an idea of where he is what -- who you are.

“Stray?” Robb gravels once his head stops spinning and the stinging sensation in his cheek roles into numbness.

Robb stills over you and before he can carefully remove himself from you, you take his hesitation as stubbornness and knee him clean in the groin. Of course, if you were more awake, you would have realized that kneeing him in his family jewels would only delay his departure from your body, not hasten it.

Naturally, Robb’s body hunches and curls down into your further as blinding white pain courses through him, groaning loudly in your ear.

You make a very embarrassing squeaky noise as you feel the chords of his muscle stretched across his body bunch and pull to collect in his abs as he crunches over, forehead grinding into the carpet beside your head, face squished up in blind agony against your neck.

A small disconnected part of your mind notes the feel of resurrecting stubble on his angular cheeks as he presses against your sensitive skin.

Rationally you know Robb isn’t doing this on purpose because you kinda set yourself up for this one, but the feeling of all that sinewy muscle working against the length of your body sets fires in your veins. Heat licks up your neck and stings in your cheeks. You have never been so grateful for pitch black in your entire life.

You try to say something witty and sarcastic as Robb writhes on you in paralyzing pain that crawls like molasses through his system, but you find that you suddenly did not know any words. Language is a foreign concept to your brain as the weight of Robb on you churns your mind steadily to mush and makes your body go more pliant beneath him.

You think you hear yourself slur something about beauty sleep but you’re not quite sure.

It takes Robb a really long time to come back into his head after the pain in his groin lessens just enough to allow coherent thought to filter to through. It takes a Robb an even longer time to work out where all his limbs are.

As limb locations start popping up, he slowly realizes why you are so still beneath him. His body is on fire with the ghost of your touch smothering him.

He mistakes your stillness and absence of words for disgust and horror instead of the current pile of fluff and goo you actually are. The darkness rolls it eyes but serves its purpose to confuse the two of you further, if that’s even possible. He immediately huffs an apology and scrambles awkwardly off you, wincing dramatically still in quite a bit of pain. You really dealt a punch. Once Robb is a safe distance from where he estimates your knees are, he speaks.

“Y/n?” He honest to Gods whispers like you’ll explode, or maybe injure him fatally this time.

You don’t respond as you stare wide eyed up at the ceiling you can’t see. After a moment you gulp and ask no one in particular, maybe the blackness above you,

“What the fuck?”

Robb chews over your words for a hot second, snorts, then collapses to the carpeted stone to lay down on his back beside you. The tension from earlier breaks like a dam.

“You do realize I’m not going to be able to have children right?”

Robb hears you roll your eyes at him in the darkness and receives a very unlady-like scoff, followed by a weak punch in the shoulder for his trouble.

“Men are such babies.”

Robb smiles.

Okay shit wow, sorry that was a lot longer than the first part! Let me know if you liked it or not if you want to :) I take requests xxx

#Robb Stark x reader #Robb Stark x Y/n #Robb Stark fanfic #Robb Stark imagine #Robb Stark angst #Robb Stark fluff #GoT imagine #Nikki writes #Wolf on a Leash #robbmywolf

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