Thanks @sophieturnersdoppelganger for the tag!! The scene i wrote for the robbxreader i was talking about with snowy last night, it's short but i had to get this written before i went to sleep lol
Robb smooths his hands down his front and straightens his shirt, then looks up at you.
"Alright?" he asks. "Can't tell what we've been doing?"
You look him over. There's a flush still to his cheeks, and pine needles and bark adorn his curls. You smile and pat his chest. "You look perfect."
You follow him back to camp, self-satisfied smirk on your lips that softens into a real smile whenever he turns back to you. You watch as his bannermen's eyes find the disheveled hair, then you five paces behind, and their expressions turn knowingly amused as they go back to their own business. You clock the moment Talisa sees Robb, and delight in the faint scowl as she realizes what it means that he's returning from the woods, with you, like this — that'll teach her to flirt with Robb right in front of you.
no pressure tags: @robnikmeria @goldsnows @gardens-of-babylonn @archiveofsnow
Robb losing Evander in the Riverlands and begging the gods of the South, who he has never prayed to or cared for before, to tell him how to keep going.
short and sweet lil one shot sort of based on this ask to @archiveofsnow. title from Olivia Rodrigo's honeybee. please lemme know what you think!
pairing: jon snow x reader
tags: fem!reader, hand job, slight praise kink
1.4k words
masterlist
Early mornings with Jon are your favorite time of day, when the sun is just starting to peek over the horizon, and the world hasn't stolen your husband away yet. You get up slowly enough to not wake him, braving the cold of the room to let Ghost out and then climbing back into the warm cocoon of the bed — the furs have long been kicked to the foot of the bed, but Jon radiates heat like your own personal fire, and he never lets you drift too far while you sleep.
You prop yourself up on one elbow just to watch Jon sleep. Your eyes trace the scars by his eye, the stern brow that furrows even in his sleep, the slope of his nose, the pout of his lips. You lift a hand, trailing feather-light fingertips down his cheek, rubbing your thumb along his bearded jaw. He shifts, turning into your touch and mumbling in his sleep. A soft smile comes to your face — you love when he's soft and unguarded like this, and you so rarely wake before him.
You let your hand drift lower, gentle over the scars on his chest. Your throat tightens as it always does when you see them — you hate the reminder of how close you'd come to never getting to be Jon's at all, you hate that he'd had to go through such a thing. You tuck yourself into Jon's side, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. He stirs, his arm winding around your waist to pull you closer. He kisses the top of your head, lingering there for a beat.
"Mornin', love," he says softly. A shiver travels down your spine at the sleep-rough rumble his voice is this early.
"Good morning," you reply softly, leaning up to kiss the corner of his mouth. "Did you sleep well? You came in late."
"Aye," Jon says. His hand rubs over your arm idly, and you see a smile curve his lips as you press soft kisses to his shoulder. "The trade agreements with the Free Folk needed finalizing so I can send them to Castle Black this morning."
You frown against his skin. "You still need your sleep, love. Trade agreements are nothing to your wellbeing. And you've been so stressed lately."
Jon lifts your chin and kisses you. "You take my stress away, just being here."
If asked, you'll blame your next actions on Jon's work, on the fact that being King keeps him away from you so much. You let your hand drift down Jon's torso, smiling as the muscles of his stomach tighten under your touch the lower you go. Your fingers dance over his morning hardness, and Jon's breath hitches.
"Love…" His voice sounds strained. "I've got meetings this morning, I have so much to do…"
"Shhh," you murmur, slipping your hand into his smalls and wrapping around the heated flesh. "Let me take more of your stress." You nip at his earlobe, voice barely a whisper. "Just relax. We've time enough for this."
Jon's entire world narrows to the weight of you at his side, your soft breathing against his neck, your hand around his cock. It's agonizingly slow, the way you stroke him — perfectly tight, a slight twist on every pull, your thumb pressing just under his head in that way that sends lightning zinging up his spine. He groans softly, turning his head to bury his nose in your hair.
"You're so good to me," he mumbles, a little in awe as always that he gets to have you. "Faster, please." A soft chuckle makes a confusing mix of dread and arousal pool in his gut. His hips rut up against your hand, and he groans again as your ministrations pause. "Sweet girl…"
"Just relax, Jon," you laugh. You lean up, kissing the curve of his frown. "You do so much, just let me take care of you."
You wait until he's stopped trying fuck your hand, and then resume your slow, steady stroking. Jon's arm tightens around you, pulling you closer as if to fuse you to his side. You drop your mouth to his shoulder, kissing along his collarbone, letting your teeth scrape ever so slightly against the curve of his neck. He jerks in your hand, leaking steadily, easing your grip. He's a mess of visible need, just the way you wanted, and the bitten off moans, the twitching hips, are making your own need grow into a pool of liquid heat.
You let Jon's cock fall back to his stomach, trailing feather-light fingertips down the shaft, painting circles on his sensitive inner thighs with the slick pre your fingers are damp with. He shivers at the touch, his legs spreading to give you more access.
"So good for me," you murmur absently, delighting in the full-body shudder and the wonderful moan that tears from his throat. You make a mental note to try such words the next time you make love, to see if the reaction to your praise is just as lovely when Jon is buried in you. "So beautiful like this."
Your fingers find his sack, and you roll his stones between them, a gentle fondling that makes Jon bury his face against the top of your head and his hands clench onto your upper arm and waist with a bruising strength. The thought that you'll carry his handprints with you all day makes you ache deliciously, and you surge upwards to kiss him properly.
"Gods, I'm so close, love," he mumbles quickly against your lips. His hips buck and you think he might actually whine when you move your hand away. "So close, just a little faster, plea—"
You shake your head. "I quite like you like this," you inform him. "I have no desire for it to end so quickly."
"A menace," he grumbles, but the tone is undercut by the desperate edge of his voice and the way his eyes roll back when you squeeze him in retaliation.
The morning drifts into a syrupy sort of warmth, hazy and dreamlike. Jon is a squirming mass of need — he wants so badly for you to pick up the pace, he itches to have the weight of you on top of him, but surrendering is its own kind of pleasure. You stroke him with a lazy sort of exactness, and he will never admit it, but the soft praises falling continuously from your perfect mouth, searing into his skin where you press gentle kisses, make his stomach tighten and his veins heat better than any quick release could.
When Jon finally comes, your eyes are locked on his face. He's quieter than usual, coming like this, as if he doesn't want to shatter the tranquil moment. His mouth falls open on a low, strangled groan, his pretty brown eyes shutting tight. You kiss his pulse, smiling as you feel it flutter under your mouth. He's so beautiful, you could watch him come forever.
It makes your mouth water a bit, watching the way his seed splatters up his stomach, painting his abs in ropes of pearly white. You work him through his high, until he's wrapping a large hand around your wrist and pulling your hand away. You lift yourself up onto your elbow again, watching him pant for breath.
"Good?" you ask, idly swirling your fingertips through the mess of his abs.
"What have I done to deserve you?" he asks instead of answering. He's still a little breathless, and the intensity of his gaze on you — like you're the only thing worth living for — makes your cheeks heat.
You shrug. "Who says you had to do anything?"
You lift your come-covered fingers to your mouth and lick them clean — maybe you should have started the morning by sucking him, you do enjoy the way he tastes. Jon groans, and you yelp in shock as you suddenly find yourself underneath him.
He kisses you fiercely. "You drive me mad, woman."
You giggle, looping your arms around his neck. "I thought you had meetings?"
"No meeting is more important than thanking my beautiful wife for taking such good care of me," Jon says in a low voice that has your thighs squeezing together. He kisses his way down your body, and your pulse picks up in anticipation. "They can all wait."
You have enough time to be thankful you locked the door earlier — no interruptions — before Jon descends upon you, and the ability to think of anything but his mouth on your center and your hands in his hair quickly leaves you.
Neither of you leave the bedchamber until well into the day.
HEYOO! it’s the one and only 🪑anon here to say i love all of your work!!!! you’re ocs are SO COOL! how would an AU with evander and eleyna work? i’m DYING to know 😭😭🪑
Thank you!! Sorry it took so long to answer whoops.
I think in an au with both of them they might end up kind of sharing? Kind of similar to @sophieturnersdoppelganger's nedaly + jaime, in a very loose form of similarity. Robb would be publicly wed to Eleyna, and Evander would, basically, be his consort, a very badly kept secret lol.
It would take longer for Robb to warm up to Eleyna post-rw, because he'd have Evander to lean on with his grief and to keep him from relying on her as much as he does in THES. I think once Robb starts to warm up though Evander very reluctantly follows, like a feral cat.
It would be really hard on Eleyna though, if i really think about it, because she's spent her whole life being the consolation prize, and i think it would really wear on her mentally to know for a fact that Robb has always and will always love Evander and put him above practically everything and everyone. I think she would make herself be content with being the only woman either of them is looking at, even if they're very wrapped up in each other.
short and sweet lil one shot sort of based on this ask to @archiveofsnow. title from Olivia Rodrigo's honeybee. please lemme know what you think!
pairing: jon snow x reader
tags: fem!reader, hand job, slight praise kink
1.4k words
masterlist
Early mornings with Jon are your favorite time of day, when the sun is just starting to peek over the horizon, and the world hasn't stolen your husband away yet. You get up slowly enough to not wake him, braving the cold of the room to let Ghost out and then climbing back into the warm cocoon of the bed — the furs have long been kicked to the foot of the bed, but Jon radiates heat like your own personal fire, and he never lets you drift too far while you sleep.
You prop yourself up on one elbow just to watch Jon sleep. Your eyes trace the scars by his eye, the stern brow that furrows even in his sleep, the slope of his nose, the pout of his lips. You lift a hand, trailing feather-light fingertips down his cheek, rubbing your thumb along his bearded jaw. He shifts, turning into your touch and mumbling in his sleep. A soft smile comes to your face — you love when he's soft and unguarded like this, and you so rarely wake before him.
You let your hand drift lower, gentle over the scars on his chest. Your throat tightens as it always does when you see them — you hate the reminder of how close you'd come to never getting to be Jon's at all, you hate that he'd had to go through such a thing. You tuck yourself into Jon's side, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. He stirs, his arm winding around your waist to pull you closer. He kisses the top of your head, lingering there for a beat.
"Mornin', love," he says softly. A shiver travels down your spine at the sleep-rough rumble his voice is this early.
"Good morning," you reply softly, leaning up to kiss the corner of his mouth. "Did you sleep well? You came in late."
"Aye," Jon says. His hand rubs over your arm idly, and you see a smile curve his lips as you press soft kisses to his shoulder. "The trade agreements with the Free Folk needed finalizing so I can send them to Castle Black this morning."
You frown against his skin. "You still need your sleep, love. Trade agreements are nothing to your wellbeing. And you've been so stressed lately."
Jon lifts your chin and kisses you. "You take my stress away, just being here."
If asked, you'll blame your next actions on Jon's work, on the fact that being King keeps him away from you so much. You let your hand drift down Jon's torso, smiling as the muscles of his stomach tighten under your touch the lower you go. Your fingers dance over his morning hardness, and Jon's breath hitches.
"Love…" His voice sounds strained. "I've got meetings this morning, I have so much to do…"
"Shhh," you murmur, slipping your hand into his smalls and wrapping around the heated flesh. "Let me take more of your stress." You nip at his earlobe, voice barely a whisper. "Just relax. We've time enough for this."
Jon's entire world narrows to the weight of you at his side, your soft breathing against his neck, your hand around his cock. It's agonizingly slow, the way you stroke him — perfectly tight, a slight twist on every pull, your thumb pressing just under his head in that way that sends lightning zinging up his spine. He groans softly, turning his head to bury his nose in your hair.
"You're so good to me," he mumbles, a little in awe as always that he gets to have you. "Faster, please." A soft chuckle makes a confusing mix of dread and arousal pool in his gut. His hips rut up against your hand, and he groans again as your ministrations pause. "Sweet girl…"
"Just relax, Jon," you laugh. You lean up, kissing the curve of his frown. "You do so much, just let me take care of you."
You wait until he's stopped trying fuck your hand, and then resume your slow, steady stroking. Jon's arm tightens around you, pulling you closer as if to fuse you to his side. You drop your mouth to his shoulder, kissing along his collarbone, letting your teeth scrape ever so slightly against the curve of his neck. He jerks in your hand, leaking steadily, easing your grip. He's a mess of visible need, just the way you wanted, and the bitten off moans, the twitching hips, are making your own need grow into a pool of liquid heat.
You let Jon's cock fall back to his stomach, trailing feather-light fingertips down the shaft, painting circles on his sensitive inner thighs with the slick pre your fingers are damp with. He shivers at the touch, his legs spreading to give you more access.
"So good for me," you murmur absently, delighting in the full-body shudder and the wonderful moan that tears from his throat. You make a mental note to try such words the next time you make love, to see if the reaction to your praise is just as lovely when Jon is buried in you. "So beautiful like this."
Your fingers find his sack, and you roll his stones between them, a gentle fondling that makes Jon bury his face against the top of your head and his hands clench onto your upper arm and waist with a bruising strength. The thought that you'll carry his handprints with you all day makes you ache deliciously, and you surge upwards to kiss him properly.
"Gods, I'm so close, love," he mumbles quickly against your lips. His hips buck and you think he might actually whine when you move your hand away. "So close, just a little faster, plea—"
You shake your head. "I quite like you like this," you inform him. "I have no desire for it to end so quickly."
"A menace," he grumbles, but the tone is undercut by the desperate edge of his voice and the way his eyes roll back when you squeeze him in retaliation.
The morning drifts into a syrupy sort of warmth, hazy and dreamlike. Jon is a squirming mass of need — he wants so badly for you to pick up the pace, he itches to have the weight of you on top of him, but surrendering is its own kind of pleasure. You stroke him with a lazy sort of exactness, and he will never admit it, but the soft praises falling continuously from your perfect mouth, searing into his skin where you press gentle kisses, make his stomach tighten and his veins heat better than any quick release could.
When Jon finally comes, your eyes are locked on his face. He's quieter than usual, coming like this, as if he doesn't want to shatter the tranquil moment. His mouth falls open on a low, strangled groan, his pretty brown eyes shutting tight. You kiss his pulse, smiling as you feel it flutter under your mouth. He's so beautiful, you could watch him come forever.
It makes your mouth water a bit, watching the way his seed splatters up his stomach, painting his abs in ropes of pearly white. You work him through his high, until he's wrapping a large hand around your wrist and pulling your hand away. You lift yourself up onto your elbow again, watching him pant for breath.
"Good?" you ask, idly swirling your fingertips through the mess of his abs.
"What have I done to deserve you?" he asks instead of answering. He's still a little breathless, and the intensity of his gaze on you — like you're the only thing worth living for — makes your cheeks heat.
You shrug. "Who says you had to do anything?"
You lift your come-covered fingers to your mouth and lick them clean — maybe you should have started the morning by sucking him, you do enjoy the way he tastes. Jon groans, and you yelp in shock as you suddenly find yourself underneath him.
He kisses you fiercely. "You drive me mad, woman."
You giggle, looping your arms around his neck. "I thought you had meetings?"
"No meeting is more important than thanking my beautiful wife for taking such good care of me," Jon says in a low voice that has your thighs squeezing together. He kisses his way down your body, and your pulse picks up in anticipation. "They can all wait."
You have enough time to be thankful you locked the door earlier — no interruptions — before Jon descends upon you, and the ability to think of anything but his mouth on your center and your hands in his hair quickly leaves you.
Neither of you leave the bedchamber until well into the day.
Um actually scrub daddy is my comfort character and it physically and psychically hurts me to see you chop him up and eat him after freezing and cracking him up with liquid nitrogen while naked with big boobs?
