Some nights they can’t get close enough. It’s all intertwined limbs, Margaery resting her head on Robb’s shoulder, his hands in her hair, their legs tangled. Other nights when it’s a bit warmer, they’re still touching each other in some way, shape, or form. Their hands meet, his leg brushes against hers, her fingers are splayed over his chest. Robb takes comfort in Margaery’s flowery smell, and she takes comfort in his strong, safe arms.
She loves living in Wintefell because it gives them an excuse to cuddle under furs and blankets. Sometimes they kiss each other and exchange soft words before they drift off. Other times they make love and stay up until it becomes light outside once more, and they both agree that the sleep deprivation is worth it.
They don’t find a need for clothes when they’re in bed, and they are convinced they could write a book about reasons to sleep naked. Margaery enjoys the view more than she’d care to admit out loud, though she tells Robb every so often because she adores the way his cheeks flush red when she does.
When they have their first child together, they decide that maybe there are a need for clothes in the bedroom after all. They place her between them on the bed and kiss her cheeks on either side, making her giggle. She stays in a crib in their room during her first few months of life, and Robb insists on being the one who rocks her back to sleep or changes her diaper when she wakes up because Margaery has already done enough by bringing their daughter into the world.