#jon snow x oc

[feyhunter78]

Description: During your Uncle Robert's Royal Procession, you find yourself enraptured with Ned Starks' bastard son. While Jon has never dreamed so vividly until your arrival, a thread seems to exist between you and him, pulling you together. Luckily for you both, your father Tyrion sees the need for a sworn sword in his beloved daughter's life.

Ch 2

You should know better, truly you should, but you’ve always had a weakness for pitiful-looking creatures, or at least that’s what your father has always said. He stands a pace ahead of you, watching as your uncle, the King Robert, embraces Lord Ned Stark with a boyish joy you have never seen in your uncle. Your Aunt Cersei stands to the side of them, smiling politely at the Lady Catelyn Stark, Joffery all but hanging from her skirts, demanding attention. Usually, you would scowl at the back of the boy’s head, but the sight of Ned Stark’s bastard son has you quite distracted.

He is pitiful, even his name, Jon, it’s so common, so often used it cannot differentiate him from others. He stands stiffly, with gray eyes so dark they almost seem black set beneath thick brows. He has curly dark hair that frames his face, an unchanging frown upon his face, and his hands clasp and unclasp nervously as he watches the mingling of your two families. Jon’s dressed like all the other Starks, but somehow lesser, as if he has chosen only the drabbest of colors in an effort to blend into the dreary landscape. There’s a solemn softness to him that intrigues you. What secrets does he keep? Why does he look so mired in grief? He notices your gaze, and his face tints pink as he ducks his head further into the fur collar of his cloak. You bite back a laugh, for a moment he looked like a turtle.

The boy beside him, Robb, stands an inch or so taller with cornflower blue eyes, and auburn hair. The clear son of Lady Catelyn radiates confidence, nearly bordering on arrogance, as he surveys the servants unloading your family’s belongings from the wheelhouses. Beside him stands a boy whose arrogance you wouldn’t mistake for confidence, even if you were less astute than you are. But the arrogance rings false, you can see the cracks in his bravado, the insecurity leaking from every pore. It’s in the way he hovers so close to Robb, as if he fears to be away from him would be his undoing. This one you know inside and out; your father had drilled you on everyone you were going to meet before you even stepped foot outside King’s Landing.

Theon Greyjoy, last surviving son of Balon Greyjoy, a war prisoner disguised as a ward, the closest companion to Robb Stark, both accepted and held at a distance, Lord Stark’s sword an ever-looming threat should his father ever revolt once more. Theon has eyes like the sea and tousled hair the color reminiscent of the mahogany desk in your father’s study. He is lankier than the other two, hungrier, and when your eyes meet his, he winks. You resist the urge to wrinkle your nose in response, you were a lady, a Lannister, you were not so easily swayed. Theon is handsome, but if your father’s reports were true, he spent much of his time in brothels. The tactics that worked there would not work on you.

“And this is my eldest daughter, Sansa.” Lord Stark says, motioning to a girl that was perhaps two or so years younger than you. She is beautiful, with fiery red hair, eyes like Robb’s, and high, graceful cheekbones. She curtsies with the air of a Southern lady, and smiles when you do the same. This is who you are meant to befriend, and it does not seem it will be too difficult, Sansa’s eyes eagerly drink in every aspect of your being, as if she wishes to glen all she can of Southern life before it is ripped away from her.

“She is as beautiful as her mother.” Your father says, giving her then Lady Catelyn a smile.

They both thank him, Lady Catelyn beaming at the praise, while you notice Sansa’s cheeks flush with color. She is easily flattered; you must remember that.

“Allow me to introduce my own daughter, Y/N Lannister.” Your father introduces you, putting emphasis on your surname, the very fact that you have one. You are not a bastard, no matter what awful Joffrey likes to say. Your mother and father had married in secret, she died giving birth to you, it was tragic and left your father quite saddened, but you were not a bastard.

Your eyes dart back to Jon taking him in subtlety. You wish to see him blush again, but you will not make your actions so easily observed.

“It is too cold, why must we stand here all day?” Joffrey whines, crossing his arms over his chest and stomping his foot resoundingly.

Your aunt fusses over him, and Lord Stark leads you all inside, talking jovially with your uncle as you hurry to catch up with your father.

It is loud in the Great Hall of Winterfell, made of gray stone and smelling of smoke, meat, and a hint of dog, which you must assume is from the Direwolves. It is well lit and filled with people, all enjoying the bountiful feast set before them on long wooden tables. You’re seated away from your father, something you despise. He is closer to your Uncle Jaime, nearer to the King and Lord Stark, while you have been seated with the other children. It has only been you and your father for so very long, a part of you feels anxious to be separated from him, but you are a Lannister, if you cannot charm the strangers around you then can you truly call yourself such?

“Will you tell me more of King’s Landing, Lady y/n?” Sansa asks, looking enraptured by the mere thought of it. She is dressed in a gown of blue silk, her fur lined cloak on the back of her chair, her hair done up in a style you’re quite familiar with. She is very beautiful, and you spot many men staring at her, one of them being Theon who is seated at the lower tables. You catch his eye and smile knowingly. In response, he scowls and ducks his head.

You must mention this observation to your father.

You smile and return your attention to Sansa, regaling her with tales of festivals and feasts, of tourneys and services in the Great Sept. Her siblings either listen as well or turn their attention elsewhere, which you don’t mind. They are not who you are here to befriend.

Sansa sighs dreamily and turns her gaze to Joffrey, who is seated next to his mother further up the table and is staring down at his food as if it has offended him. “And what of Joffrey? Surely you must be close?”

Your cousin, and closest companion, Myrcella snorts into her drink, and you shoot her a look. Myrcella was meant to be sitting next to Joffrey but had convinced someone to switch with her so that she could be next to you.

“Joffrey is a…spirited boy, he has many…passions.” You say carefully, running your finger along the rim of your glass.

Your father suspects Robert will wish to wed Sansa and Joffrey. It’s a strategic match, but your cousin is a horrible bully, you have marks hidden beneath your sleeves to prove your words, and you do not wish to see innocent Sansa suffer in such a way. True, you have not spent much time with her, but she has been warm and welcoming, her innocence shining through like the sun on a spring day.

“Does he enjoy tourneys? I have heard the King was quite the warrior, he and father fought together.” Sansa continues, resting her chin in her hand.

You smooth out the nonexistent wrinkles in your skirts. “Joffrey has not competed in any tourneys quite yet, Lady Sansa, he is too young.”

“He is three and ten, is he not? Most squire by one and ten, why has he not been sent to one of your bannermen like his uncle?” Robb says, taking a long drink from his glass.

“My mother does not wish for him to get injured; he is heir to the throne, after all.” Myrcella chimes in, saving you from coming up with another excuse for why Joffrey has not been allowed to leave King’s Landing.

Sansa nods and gazes longingly at Joffrey once more. “That seems most wise, what a dutiful mother Queen Cersei is.”

“Where is your mother, Lady y/n? I did not see anyone else arrive.” Bran, one of the younger Starks asks, his round innocent face not dulling the sting of his words at all.

Myrcella takes your hand under the tables and squeezes it. She has been privy to the nights of crying, of mourning the mother you would never know.

“Bran, that is not polite.” Sansa hisses.

You shake your head, a soft smile on your face. “My mother died giving birth to me, but I am told she held me in her arms before the Stranger came for her, that she named me and spoke of how dearly she loved me.”

Bran makes a soft noise of apology, and the conversation lulls, until finally you have finished your meal and are free to retire to your chambers.

You wave off any offer to escort you, telling them all you wish to admire the architecture of Winterfell in solitude.

It’s not wholly a lie, though you cannot say you ever wish to be alone , you enjoy the company of others, are invigorated by it, but tonight feels different. Perhaps it is the mention of your mother, or the false face Joffrey is putting on for the Starks and their bannermen, the sound of his laughter ringing about the hall. You wander the halls of Winterfell with a faint knowledge of where the guest chambers lie, when you find yourself approaching the training yard. The night is quiet, snow falling gently, the brisk air seizes your lungs, purifying them with an icy chill.

You are not alone, the thud of blunt metal upon wood, the sounds of exertion, the turn of boots in snow covered dirt. You slowly move towards the sound, knowing your father will scold you later for such carelessness. There are countless people here, and you cannot be assured they all wish you well.

Jon Snow, the ever so distracting bastard, stands in the middle of the yard, training alone, the moonlight shining down on him, making his pale skin glisten. You rest your hand on the stone archway, one foot on the dirt, the other still firmly planted on the stone. You should leave him alone, you know it, but you’re mesmerized by the sight, the tension in his muscles, the expanse of his back, the strength in his arms. He is a little older than you, six and ten to your five and ten, both old enough to be married, yet both remaining unbetrothed.

There had been offers for your hand, even though you were the imp’s child, and many wondered if you would sire broken children, if you would pass on your father’s curse. But for the gold that backed your name many were willing to risk it. You didn’t like your suitors, they were too brash, too lewd, too old, or simply just not right.

Jon stops and lifts his tunic to wipe the sweat from his brow. His stomach is toned, his skin mostly smooth, though there are some faded scars.

Yes, they were simply not right, they did not look like that.

You feel heat rise to your cheeks and you avert your eyes. What were you, a child? A lovesick maid? You have spent no more than mere minutes in his presence, and already you are lusting after him like some silk street whore? It must be the chill that is muddling your mind, yes, the chill. Not the kindness that you saw within him as he played with Arya and Bran in the courtyard earlier in the day. Or the way he stood stiff lipped while Joffrey threw barbed insults at him as he passed him in the hall, or the stack of novels you had overheard the maester say were to be set aside for him. Merely the chill. The chill and the flights of fancy all young girls are prone to.

With that in mind, you wait until he has returned his tunic to its rightful place and step fully into the snow.

He turns on his heel, weapon at the ready. He is perceptive, you note, good reflexes, excellent hearing, fine form, carved from marble, glowing like a god in the moonlight.

Gods y/n, pull yourself together.

“My apologies, I did not mean to startle you.” You say, wrapping your cloak tighter around you. It is thin, far too thin to wear in the chill of night.

Jon lowers his sword. “Lady Lannister, why are you not inside at the feast? Are you lost?”

“Yes.” You lie, batting your eyelashes at him, crafting your expression into one of helplessness. “I wished to return to my chamber, but I lost my way.”

Jon stows his sword and retrieves his cloak from a nearby rack. “I will escort you, if you do not take offense?”

You tilt your head in faux confusion. “Why would I take offense?”

He shuffles his feet and busies himself with his cloak. “You are a lady of a great house, and I am…” He lets the unspoken words hang in the air, and you have the grace to act surprised.

“Oh, yes, right, you are a Snow.” You say, taking a step towards him and extending your hand, waiting to set it on his arm. “Well, I care not if you are a Stark or a Snow, I am sure you are more than capable of escorting me to the guest chambers of your home.”

He ducks his head, that delightful blush returning to his cheeks, and he holds out his arm for you.

You take it gratefully, allowing him to guide you back towards the way you came. The wind blows through the yard as you walk and cuts straight through your thin cloak, a shiver shooting down your spine.

Before you can blink, Jon has draped his cloak over you, clasping it shut with a surprising boldness. “It is far too cold for such a thin cloak; you must remember to wear your furs if you find yourself wandering out here once more.”

You look up at him through your lashes, your heart skipping a beat at the proximity between you and him, the depth of his dark eyes. “And if I were to wander out here again…might I be able to count on you to escort me? I must confess I find the halls of Winterfell quite confusing.”

He lingers for a moment, drinking you in, his head nodding almost imperceptibly, then he wrenches himself away, his gaze set forward. “Anyone in Winterfell would be more than able to escort you, My Lady.”

You nod, feeling the sting of rejection. It’s no matter, this is only the first night, there’s still plenty of time.

Yes I used a Hozier line bc it's perfect for the vibe of this fic

#meg's writing #jon snow x reader #jon snow x you #jon snow x oc #jon snow imagine #jon snow #tyrion lannister #lannister!reader #new series alert! #I know y'all don't want this but I wanted to make the title thing so bad #tyrion's daughter #theon greyjoy x sansa stark #theon greyjoy #sansa stark #got fanfiction #robb stark

[thebastardofwinterfelljonsnow]

They were the shields that guarded the realms of men.

#jon snow #game of thrones #GOT #got Jon snow #oc #game of thrones Jon snow #Jon #jon snow x reader #jon snow x oc #winterfell #kings landing #free lands #house stark #house lannister #house targaryen #house baratheon #house greyjoy

[siravalondulac]

that silhouette | j. snow x fem!oc

summary: and then she was here and jon knew - he would be safe in her arms. always.

warnings: smut, p in v, woman on top, bottom jon snow

Silken drapes swayed softly from the canopy above him. The open balcony doors let in a cold breeze that chilled him to the bones. Rays of light from the crescent moon offered him a meagre look at his surroundings.

Jon didn't know whose bed he was lying in. Nor did he know whose room he was in.

The mattress dipped beside him, and before he knew it, she entered his view.

“Elle.”

Her braid fell over her shoulder, the brown almost black in the darkness. The blue of her eyes seemed to glow before him, making his heart beat faster. She smiled.

“Hush, my love.” She lowered her face towards his. “We do not want to wake the Others, do we?”

As his chest rose it touched hers. Only for a moment, and with layers of clothing between them, but still.

Her left hand came up to his face, her fingers lightly ghosting along his jaw, before laying down on his cheek.

Jon’s breath hitched, and then she closed the distance between their lips.

She was cold and soft and gentle, slow and controlling and wonderful. He would never let himself forget the taste of her lips, how they moved against his, the way she slowly coaxed his mouth open with her tongue. He obeyed, of course. She could do whatever she wanted with him, and he would let her.

Sometime during this, Elle had straddled his lap. He only realised after she had started grinding herself against him, burying both of her hands in his hair to get a better grip. She swallowed his moans, never once detaching herself from his lips.

Jon's hands clutched the blanket beneath him. He was getting hard, and uncomfortably quickly at that. His hips started bucking upwards, meeting Elle's halfway.

She moved her mouth away from his, allowing him to catch his breath, if only for a moment. Because soon afterwards, she started sucking on a spot right over his throat that made him let out a moan.

Elle smiled against his skin.

“You are allowed to touch me as well, my love. It would be a shame if you did not.”

His hands soon found their way underneath her shirt, gently running up and down her sides, making her shiver. And somehow, that reaction made him proud.

Her mouth left his skin as she quickly discarded her shirt and then helped him get out of his. Their pants followed.

She sat bare above him, and Jon could do little else but stare. Stare at her beautiful body, her small breasts, her strong legs.

He raised his hand and let it run down the underside of one of her breasts. Her breath hitched, and something in her smile changed. Not for the worse, thank the gods. No, it became a tad softer, more intimate - a smile shared between lovers.

As if in response, Elle moved her hips, and he wanted to pass out on the spot. Her centre rubbed over the underside of his cock, her wetness making it all the more pleasurable.

She lowered her mouth back on his, quieting his moans as he gripped her hips with both hands. He didn't even know what he wanted to do, stop her or encourage her to keep on moving, please keep on moving, never stop moving.

Her left hand travelled down his body, her nails raking over his stomach and drawing dangerously close to his dick. She smiled against his mouth at the increased movement of his hips.

“Please”, he begged quietly. “I need you.”

“Whatever you want, my love.”

Her hand encircled his dick, pumping once, twice before she raised her hips above it.

Jon held his breath.

The moment his tip was enveloped by her walls he almost came. She was so soft and warm and wrapped around him so perfectly. But he forced himself to hold back. He needed to enjoy this while it lasted.

Slowly, ever so slowly, she sank down on him, her mouth never once leaving his.

How did he come to be so lucky? Never once in his life had anyone ever spared him a second look and now he was in the arms of the most beautiful girl he had ever laid his eyes upon, being treated like he was worth more than all the gold in the kingdom.

He finally bottomed out inside of her. Elle pressed their foreheads together, apparently needing to catch her breath as much as he did.

They fit together so perfectly. His dick sat snugly between her walls and her chest pressed against his so closely, he could feel her beating heart.

One of her hands found his, still gripping her hips tightly, and interlaced his fingers with hers. She pulled both of them upwards and laid them gently onto the pillow beside Jon's head. So gently, never letting go, as if it was the only anchor that kept her in this world.

Elle moved her face away from his and opened her eyes. He had never been able to fully nail down what shade they were, appearing intense like ice one night and deep like the ocean the next. But now, with the way they glowed through the darkness, neither seemed like an apt way to describe them.

Then, she started moving.

Jon breathed in deeply in surprise, his mouth dropping open. It took everything in him not to moan loud enough to wake the entire Keep.

Her hips moved around in circles, slowly at first, then gradually increasing their speed. Her walls clenched around his cock, making him whimper and buck his hips upwards. She smiled, and started moving properly, her hand never once letting go of his.

He didn't know when or how it happened, but Elle's hair had come loose from her braid. It now fell in gentle curls just below her shoulders.

A crown would suit her well, he thought. One made of the finest of golds, inlaid with rubies the colour of blood. And her hair would be decorated with blue flowers the shape of stars, like the ones he had seen in Winterfell's glass gardens.

She bounced faster and faster on top of his cock, the slapping resounding throughout the room. His moans had turned into soft whimpers long ago. And yet, throughout all this, her eyes had never left his.

Jon was close, so close. He could tell Elle was too, the way her breathing had quickened just like his, the way her walls started spasming around his dick.

He knew he would never leave her. They belonged together, like sun and moon, like wolf and lion, like ice and fire. As long as he was with her, nothing would happen to him.

Just a bit more, he was standing right at the edge. Everything inside of him felt so good. The sweat and tears would all be worth it. He only needed one last push, then he would come. And once he did he would make Elle his-

Jon awoke with a jolt.

A dream. It had all been a dream.

Thankfully, he tried telling himself. He had not broken his vows. Even if he, technically, hadn't taken them yet.

His clothing was drenched in sweat and his dick was so painfully hard. He wanted - needed - to relieve himself, but even thinking about that brought his mind back to his dream. Back to Elle and how she fit so wonderfully-

No! He would not think about her, especially not in that way. He was to be a brother of the Night's Watch, and she was his friend. Maybe. Hopefully.

Jon looked around the room, studying his friends’ faces, wondering if he had made any sounds in his sleep that would have disturbed them in their sleep. But no one seemed to be awake.

He took in a deep breath and fell backwards onto his pillow again.

(The bed in his dream had been softer.)

He turned around and pressed his hips into the mattress, pleading for his hard-on to go away quickly.

(Much like how his dick had gotten hard so quickly as soon as he had seen her in his dream.)

His uncle had told him he would regret joining the Watch at his age, before he had experienced any of what made a man. Jon had wanted to laugh at him back then. But he didn't want to laugh now.

Why did his life have to be so difficult?

note: if you are intrigued by this one-shot and elle, might i direct you to the story this is inspired by: meet me in the dark, kiss me in the moonlight?

#jon snow x oc #jon snow smut #asoiaf #game of thrones #asoiaf fanfic #asoiaf smut #game of thrones smut #game of thrones fanfic #jon snow #fic: meet me in the dark kiss me in the moonlight #fic: gilded stars of silver grace

[toilandtroubled]

𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙡 𝙥𝙚𝙤𝙥𝙡𝙚 𝙙𝙤 — 𝙝𝙤𝙯𝙞𝙚𝙧

If I were to create a tag list for my posts who would want to be included?

#florys daulton #jon snow #jon x florys #fic title: vagabonds #jorys #game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #gif edit #asoiaf #jon snow x oc #a song of ice and fire fanfiction #game of thrones fanfiction #my ocs

[sidraofthewildflowers]

“Bear Island knows no king but the King in the North, whose name is Stark.”

.

.

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A Mormont and the King in the North…

#jon snow x oc #I’m not sure what this is but I like it #bear island #jon snow #mood board #house mormont #asoiaf #oc #game of thrones #bear island aesthetic #bear island knows no king but the king in the north whose name is stark #the king in the north #got #jon snow got #moodboard #house stark #winter aesthetic #the starks #house stark of Winterfell #mormont #florence pugh #house mormont of bear island

[valaenatargaryensdragon]

Legacy of Fire (II)

Chapter Two: Departure

Summery: Vaeloria Targaryen begins her journey

Warnings: Cursing, death by sword, death by fire, death by hanging, war, humiliation, betrayal, violence, use of the word bastard, incest, angst, fluff, burning, threatening, future smut, P in V, fingering, cunnilingus, scissoring, blowjob, handjob, anal sex, girl x girl, boy x girl, boy x boy, dragons

Word Count: 2,6K

The moon hung low in the night sky, its pale light casting long, ghostly shadows across the chamber of Vaeloria Targaryen. The room, once a sanctuary where she had dreamt of dragons and heroic deeds, now seemed oppressive, its walls closing in around her. She moved with a sense of purpose, packing her belongings into a simple leather satchel.

Gently, she folded her Targaryen garments, each thread infused with the weight of her heritage. The dragon and wolf pendant, its silver chain cold against her fingers, rested next to her heart. It was a reminder of the legacy she bore, a legacy she had only recently discovered.

Her father, Rhaegar Targaryen, had always been a distant figure in her life, his memory a hazy specter of a time she could barely recall. The tales of his songs and prophecies had always intrigued her, but they had never truly defined her until now.

As she reached for a well-worn book of Dornish poetry, a soft, hesitant knock sounded at her chamber door. She paused, her heart quickening, and then hurriedly stashed the book in her satchel. Her life had become a tapestry of secrets, woven together with threads of deception and danger.

“Come in,” she called, her voice steady despite the turmoil raging within her.

The door swung open, revealing two figures who slipped into the room with the grace of whispers. They were Tyene and Elia Martell, her cousins, the daughters of Oberyn Martell. Their expressions were a blend of confusion and concern, their eyes wide with worry.

“Rhaenys,” Tyene began, using the name they had known her by for years, “what are you doing? Why are you packing in the dead of night?”

Elia’s hazel eyes, so much like her sister’s, mirrored her worry. “Is something wrong?” she asked softly.

Vaeloria hesitated for a moment, torn between her duty to keep her true identity hidden and her love for her cousins. She couldn’t tell them the truth, not yet, not until she understood it fully herself. “I’ve had restless dreams,” she replied carefully, “and a yearning for something more than what Sunspear can offer. I need to find myself, to discover who I truly am.”

Tyene and Elia exchanged uncertain glances. “But why so suddenly?” Tyene pressed. “And in the middle of the night?”

Vaeloria knew she needed a convincing lie, a tale spun from threads of half-truths and crafted with the care of a practiced storyteller. “I’ve heard whispers,” she said, her voice tinged with false concern, “whispers of a Targaryen resurgence, of a new dawn for our family. I cannot ignore it. I want to see the truth for myself, to be a part of this change.”

Elia’s expression softened, and she stepped closer, her hand reaching out to touch Vaeloria’s arm. “You could be in danger out there,” she said, her voice filled with sisterly concern. “You must take someone with you, at least for your safety.”

Vaeloria’s heart sank. She had hoped to slip away unnoticed, to embark on this journey alone, but her cousins’ protective instincts were unyielding. After a moment’s thought, she relented, realising that their concern was rooted in genuine love for her.

“Very well,” she said, her voice tinged with reluctant acceptance. “I’ll take Lara, my trusted maid, and Ser Ian Caerlight, my sworn protector. They will ensure my safety.”

Tyene and Elia exchanged glances once more, finally relenting. “Promise us you’ll return safely,” Tyene implored.

Vaeloria nodded, her eyes glistening with gratitude for her cousins’ love and concern. “I promise.”

With that, she closed up her satchel, her hands trembling as she secured the last of her possessions. The room felt emptier now, as if a piece of her heart had been packed away with her belongings.

As they left her chambers, Tyene and Elia walked by her side, their presence a comforting reminder of the family she would leave behind. They descended the grand staircase of Sunspear, the ancient castle that had been her home, and stepped out into the moonlit courtyard.

The night air was cool against her skin, a stark contrast to the warmth of the Dornish sun she had known all her life. Vaeloria felt a mixture of relief and sorrow as she crossed the threshold. Her departure marked the beginning of a journey filled with secrets and uncertainty, a journey into the heart of Westeros where she would uncover the truth of her lineage and fulfil the legacy she carried in her heart.

Under the watchful gazes of Tyene and Elia, Vaeloria took her first steps into the moonlit night, accompanied by her trusted Lara, her loyal maid, stood by her side, her dark eyes filled with determination. Ser Ian Caerlight, a towering figure in gleaming armor, had taken his place as her sworn protector. The road ahead was shrouded in darkness, but Vaeloria was determined to navigate it with courage and purpose.

She turned to her cousins one last time, a bittersweet smile on her lips. “Thank you,” she said, her voice soft but filled with gratitude. “For understanding, for caring.”

Tyene embraced her tightly, whispering words of love and encouragement. Elia followed suit, her hazel eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “Take care of yourself, Rhaenys,” Elia said, using the name they had always known her by, a name she no longer possessed, it did not belong to her. This name she did not deserve, apparently the story of a servant's child having taken the place of poor baby Rhaenys was a lie after all and the real one had died the horrible death people shuddered when reminded of. Vaeloria wanted to tell them, but she did not have the heart to throw this truth in their faces, their poor hearts wouldn't be able to take it, not after their father's death, not after everything they've been through.

With their blessings and promises of reunion, Vaeloria, Lara, and Ser Ian Caerlight set out into the night, leaving behind the familiar walls of Sunspear. The path ahead was unknown, a tapestry of uncertainty waiting to be unraveled.

As they ventured further from the palace, Vaeloria couldn’t help but wonder about the truths she would uncover and the challenges she would face. Her heart beat with a sense of adventure and the weight of her true name, Vaeloria, that had been revealed to her, a name that meant the Valiant Queen in the language of her ancestors, a language she insisted to learn from a young age.

With each step, she moved closer to her destiny, determined to rewrite the story of House Targaryen and fulfil the legacy she carried within her. The journey had begun, and Vaeloria Targaryen was ready to face whatever lay ahead.

The night was alive with the sounds of Dorne as Vaeloria and her small retinue made their way through the winding streets of Sunspear. The city had always been a place of vibrant colours, exotic scents, and bustling markets, but tonight, it seemed different, as if it were holding its breath, waiting for something to change.

Lara, Vaeloria’s trusted maid, walked beside her, her steps soft and sure. She had been with Vaeloria since childhood, a loyal confidante who had shared in both her joys and sorrows. Her presence brought comfort to the young Targaryen as they navigated the unfamiliar terrain of secrecy and uncertainty.

Ser Ian Caerlight, the sworn protector assigned to her by House Martell, kept a vigilant watch over their surroundings. His armour gleamed in the moonlight, and the hilt of his sword was within easy reach. He had sworn an oath to safeguard Vaeloria’s life, and he took that duty with the utmost seriousness.

As the moon cast its silvery glow upon the road ahead, Vaeloria could no longer bear the weight of her hidden truth. Lara and Ser Ian Caerlight had been her loyal companions, steadfast in their support, and they deserved to know the full extent of her identity.

Vaeloria slowed her pace, causing Lara and Ser Ian to do the same. Her voice quivered with the magnitude of the revelation she was about to make. “Lara, Ser Ian,” she began, “there is something I’ve kept from you, something that no one else in this world knows.”

Both Lara and Ser Ian turned their attention to Vaeloria, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and concern. The night seemed to hold its breath, waiting for her to continue.

“I am not who I’ve pretended to be,” Vaeloria confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. “I am not Rhaenys Targaryen. My true name is Vaeloria. Vaeloria Targaryen.”

The words hung in the air, a revelation that shattered the foundation of the life they had known. Lara’s eyes widened in disbelief, while Ser Ian’s stern countenance softened with understanding.

Vaeloria nodded, her heart heavy with the weight of the truth. “Yes,” she confirmed. “Jon Snow is my brother, and we were separated at birth to protect us from those who wished harm upon House Targaryen.”

Ser Ian, ever the stoic protector, absorbed the revelation with a sense of duty. “My lady,” he said, addressing Vaeloria by her true name, “your safety and your mission remain our highest priorities. Your lineage does not change our loyalty to you.”

Lara’s eyes shimmered with emotion as she spoke. “You are our lady, Vaeloria Targaryen, the true heir of House Targaryen. We will stand by your side, as we always have.”

Vaeloria felt a profound sense of relief and gratitude. Her decision to reveal her true identity had been a momentous one, and she was relieved that her trusted companions had accepted it without hesitation.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice filled with sincerity. “We are embarking on a journey that will reshape the fate of House Targaryen and the entire realm of Westeros. Together, as a family, we will navigate this path and reclaim our legacy.”

With her secret finally unveiled, Vaeloria, the Dragon, continued her journey northward, her heart filled with newfound strength and purpose. She was no longer burdened by the weight of deception, and her true identity would guide her as she sought to reunite with Jon Snow and rewrite the story of House Targaryen.

As they made their way through the city, Vaeloria couldn’t help but feel a pang of nostalgia. She had grown up here, amidst the splendor of Sunspear, where the shadow of House Martell loomed large. It had been her sanctuary, and her cousins, Tyene and Elia, her closest confidantes. Now, she was leaving it all behind in pursuit of her true identity.

The streets grew quieter as they ventured farther from the palace, and Vaeloria’s thoughts turned to the challenges that lay ahead. She had learned the truth of her lineage, but the world beyond Sunspear was vast and unforgiving. She had to find Jon Snow, her long-lost twin, and seek out Daenerys Targaryen, her aunt, to continue the legacy of House Targaryen.

But she also knew that her journey would be fraught with danger. There were those who would stop at nothing to extinguish the last remnants of House Targaryen, and she had to remain vigilant.

Lara, ever perceptive, spoke softly, breaking the silence. “My lady, are you certain this is the right path?”

Vaeloria nodded, her resolve unwavering. “I must know the truth of my family, of who I am. Sunspear cannot contain me any longer.”

Ser Ian Caerlight’s voice was gruff but filled with loyalty. “We’ll protect you with our lives, my lady. You have our word.”

Vaeloria smiled at her two trusted companions. Their unwavering support meant more to her than words could express. “Thank you, both of you. We’ll face this journey together, as a family.”

As they continued through the night, the world of Westeros stretched out before them, a vast and mysterious realm waiting to be explored. Vaeloria knew that every step would bring her closer to her destiny, and she was determined to embrace it with the same spirit of courage and determination that had defined her life thus far.

The legacy of House Targaryen had awakened within her, and with it came the responsibility to rewrite the story of her family. The road ahead might be perilous, but Vaeloria Targaryen was ready to face it, armed with the truth of her identity and the unwavering support of those who believed in her.

As they walked on beneath the Dornish stars, the world watched, unknowing, as the Dragon embarked on her journey to reclaim her legacy and reshape the fate of Westeros.

Under the watchful gaze of the Dornish stars, Vaeloria and her companions ventured further into the night, the path ahead illuminated only by the pale moonlight. The world of Westeros was vast, and its mysteries awaited discovery. Each step they took was a step closer to the truth, a step deeper into the tapestry of intrigue that enshrouded their family’s legacy.

As they moved through the quiet streets of Sunspear, Vaeloria’s thoughts were a whirlwind of emotions. She carried the weight of her true identity, the knowledge that she was not Rhaenys but Vaeloria Targaryen, the lost twin of Jon Snow. The burden of her heritage was both a source of strength and a shadow that clung to her.

Lara, her loyal maid, remained by her side, her presence a soothing balm to Vaeloria’s unease. She had been more than a servant; she had been a friend, a confidante, and a pillar of support through the years. Her unwavering loyalty had been a constant in Vaeloria’s life, and tonight was no different.

Ser Ian Caerlight, the sworn protector, maintained a vigilant watch over their surroundings. His eyes, sharp as a hawk’s, scanned the darkened alleys and corners. His every movement spoke of unwavering dedication to his duty, and Vaeloria knew that he would defend her with his life.

Their journey took them through the heart of Sunspear, past the grand bazaars that had once been Vaeloria’s playground. She remembered the laughter of children, the tantalising aroma of spices, and the vibrant tapestries that adorned the stalls. Tonight, those memories seemed distant, overshadowed by the gravity of her quest.

As they reached the outskirts of the city, Vaeloria glanced back at Sunspear one last time. It was a city of secrets and intrigue, a place where the legacy of House Martell had thrived for generations. Now, she was venturing beyond its walls, into a world where the Targaryen name carried both power and peril.

The road stretched before them, a ribbon of moonlit silver leading to an uncertain future. Vaeloria knew that they would encounter challenges and adversaries on their journey, but she was resolute in her determination to uncover the truth of her family and forge her own destiny.

Lara broke the silence once more, her voice gentle. “My lady, do you have any idea where we should begin our search?”

Vaeloria paused, her mind racing with possibilities. “We must head north, towards the Wall,” she replied, her voice filled with conviction. “There, we may find Jon Snow, my twin, and from him, we may learn more about our family’s legacy.”

Ser Ian Caerlight nodded in agreement. “The Wall is a formidable place, my lady. We’ll need to tread carefully, for it is a land of ice and danger.”

Vaeloria acknowledged the warning, knowing that their journey would be perilous. But she also understood that she could not turn back. The truth of her identity and the destiny that awaited her compelled her forward.

With every step they took, the world of Westeros unfolded around them, a tapestry of kingdoms, alliances, and betrayals. Vaeloria carried the legacy of House Targaryen on her shoulders, and as the Dragon, she was determined to rewrite the story of her family.

The night was their cloak, the stars their witnesses, and the road their guide. The legacy of House Targaryen had awakened within her, and she was ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead. The journey had just begun, and the fate of Westeros hung in the balance as the Dragon embarked on her quest for truth and redemption.

#game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones fic #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones oc #game of thrones #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones smut #game of thrones daenerys #game of thrones au #jon snow smut #jon snow #jon snow x oc #jon snow fanfiction #daenerys fanfiction #daenerys targeryan #queen daenerys #daenerys imagine #daenerys smut #house targaryen #house stark #house martell

[zepskies]

Writer Tag

Thank you so much for tagging me @venus-haze! As always, your responses on this were really interesting and got me thinking about my answers. (Here's the original post.)

So these first questions are geared toward Ao3 stories.

How many works do you have on AO3? 48 and counting.

What's your total AO3 word count? Aw geez. According to the statistics page, 1,022,400.

(But I have more fics listed in Tumblr thanks to headcanons and things not yet posted in Ao3.)

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Every Loyalty - (Jon Snow x OC)

And So It Goes - (Butcher x OC)

Never Say Goodbye - (Dean Winchester x Reader)

Break Me Down - (OC Version | Soldier Boy x OC)

Checkerboard - (Soldier Boy x Reader)

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? Yes! Always. I love getting feedback and engaging with the people who take the time to read my work. 💜

What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending? Ooh, it's gotta be this imagine in SPN fandom: "Sam crosses the line." In which he's in love with Dean's girlfriend.

(Sequel to "You are Dean's one exception.")

What the fic you've written with the happiest ending? Well, most of my stories have happy endings. But probably Never Say Goodbye (Dean W. x Reader). It's a soulmate AU, so very rom-com and fluffy, despite all the drama they went through.

Though I could also say the same of the last story in the Midnight Espresso-verse: In Bad Weather.

Do you write crossovers? No, I don't. I've enjoyed reading a few though.

Have you ever received hate on a fic? Yes, unfortunately lol. It's inevitable for as long as I've been writing though.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind? Oh yes lol. I'm a romantic though, so it's often a mix of fluff, straight up romance, occasionally dashed with angst and/or hurt/comfort.

Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not to my knowledge. (I hope not!)

Have you ever had a fic translated? Nope, but I've received solicitations lol.

Have you ever co-written a fic before? Yeah, when I was a teenager just starting out writing, I used to write with one of my best friends growing up. (We're still good friends to this day.)

What's your all-time favorite ship? That's pretty much impossible. 🤣 It depends on the fandom! Nowadays I tend to write for OCs or reader inserts though.

What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will? Ooof, nothing recent. But I finally finished And So It Goes, which took me 3 years for some reason. 🙃

Though I do have both a Jason Teague x OC series and a Smallville Clark Kent x OC series outlined that realistically, I probably won't get to. 💔

What are your writing strengths? I've been told I'm good at dialogue and keeping canon characters in character, which is always amazing to hear! I try my best.

What are your writing weaknesses? Action scenes and smut scenes are my biggest writing challenges, though I've been told I do a decent job at them. I know I tend to use adverbs a lot lol (I'm trying to curb that).

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic? So I try to minimize use of this, but, I've gotten critiqued (putting it mildly) on this before for two reasons. Admittedly, I've had to revise myself in certain use cases, but also, there are slang words and phrases in certain Spanish cultures that wouldn't make sense to another Hispanic/Latino culture that doesn't use the word/phrase. So sometimes, it's not that it's wrong grammatically, but that it's slang.

What was the first fandom you wrote for? Oh jeezus, probably Chronicles of Narnia fandom when I was like, 10 and brand new to writing. 😂

What's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet but want to? Ooh a tough one. I feel like there are so many! I do have a story I had outline years ago now for Steve Rogers/Captain America back in the MCU fandom (which I've written in before). But that fandom is a bit intimidating. 😂

What's your favorite fic you've written? Also really tough for me. I think it's a tie between two series:

Break Me Down (Soldier Boy x Reader)

Midnight Espresso (Dean W. x Plus-Sized Latina!Reader)

One totally took me by surprise by how much I enjoyed writing the series and the characters (and figuring out how to write Soldier Boy/Ben 😂).

While the other allowed me to be a little more indulgent with myself, writing from my personal experience and my culture.

The responses on both stories have been amazing and incredibly heartwarming. 💗

No pressure tags:

@thatonewriter15 @waywardxwords @impala-dreamer @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior @deanwritings @deanwinchesterswitch @deanbrainrotwritings @kaleldobrev -- and whoever else wants to join! 💜

#writer tag game #Ao3 #Supernatural #spn #the boys #game of thrones #jon snow #billy butcher #soldier boy #dean winchester #jason teague #sam winchester #clark kent #dean winchester x reader #smallville #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x oc #butcher x oc #jon snow x oc #dean winchester x you #soldier boy x you #favorite fics #getting feedback #on writing #writers who tumblr #writers on ao3 #writing strengths and weaknesses

[cdragons]

Back in my GOT Era, because my ADHD brain won't shut the fuck up 凸(^-^)凸

Let’s pretend Yi Ti and Westeros have an okay trading relationship with each other, and merchants from Yi Ti are always treated with celebrity status in the Seven Kingdoms. Let's also pretend that the GOT writers haven't completely fucked up all of Stannis' fantastic characterization and complexity.

I love Shireen Baratheon so goddamn much, and the fact she died in the show is such an insult to both her's and Stannis' characters. I decided to blast D & D's canon with a bazooka and make Selyse die when Shireen was a baby. Because Stannis needs to make sure she has a mother figure, he marries a childhood friend, OC, who hails from Yi Ti and owns one of the largest sea merchant companies in the Golden Empire. Oh, and she'll have her own kid, too.

Why am I doing this? Don't I have a shitload of other fanfic ideas to write out? Yes, as a fanfic writer, having incomplete ideas is part of the job.

Do I still have an incomplete Robb Stark x YI Ti!OC story? Also, yes, but I replaced my laptop and forgot to save Chapter 4 in the iCloud Drive. The file is on my old laptop, but that's currently across the Atlantic Ocean in Shanghai while I'm in Boston right now 🤷🏻‍♀️.

🔆Backstory Time🔆

OC’s Name: Xu Mei-Ling & Face Claim: Michelle Yeoh

Mei-Ling's family was on good terms with the Baratheon House, and she was actually staying with Stannis during the Siege of Storms End. She is a few years older than Robert and Ned but is good friends with both boys. Stannis grows a major crush on her because of her support during the siege, and Mei-Ling thinks highly of his stubbornness to hold down Storms End for Robert. After the blockade, she ends up marrying someone in Yi Ti. She ended up giving birth to a daughter in the middle of a major storm.

I'll go into more details when I make the first official post about it, but long story short, Mei's husband dies, and so does Selyse. Mei eventually learns about Stannis' daughter and decides, "Fuck it."

They get married, and Mei moves to Dragonstone. She oversees his daughter's education and prepares her to be an heir worthy of the Baratheon name. She also makes sure Shireen interacts with other kids her age. Shireen gets a badass older sister and a mother who isn't the worst. Hooray!

Also, Mei's daughter will end up knowing Ned's kids and Theon for a good fucking portion of her life. She's Med's and Luwin's favorite because if someone pisses her off, she'll yell out profanities while chasing after them with a broom twice her size. One time, Robb tried to pull her hair, and the next thing he knew, he was pinned face down with his face eating mud and Mei's daughter's knee on his back. Another time, she called Ned a fat idiot for not knowing a basic Yi Tish term, and Ned swore it was being scolded by Mei all over again.

In the end, Stannis and the North will be saved from D&D's shitty writing because two WOC immigrants decided to take matters into their own hands.

I'm still having trouble deciding on a title, so if anyone has any ideas, let me know in the comments!

Tagging: @a-libra-writes, @aphroditesmoon, @asa-do-your-thing, @arcielee, @valeskafics, anyone else who is a fan of Stannis the Mannis, Shireen, the North, etc.

#robb stark x reader #robb stark x oc #stannis baratheon #stannis the mannis #stannis baratheon x reader #stannis baratheon x oc #yi ti #yi ti oc #woc oc #got fix-it #westeros fix-it #shireen baratheon #theon greyjoy #theon greyjoy x reader #jon snow x reader #jon snow x oc #theon greyjoy x oc #ned stark x oc #not the same oc #hope that does't get confusing #robb stark #got x reader #game of thrones x reader #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf x reader #got imagine #game of thrones imagines #robb stark imagine

[dragonsbone]

━━ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐥𝐟 & 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐠

“I will write,” Jon whispered. “I promise.” His voice so soft, so quiet, he worried it might've been carried away in the northern wind, along with the boy’s dream of a future with the woman he loved. 

It was foolish. He understood better than anyone the many paths of a bastard’s life. None of which consisted of marriage between a noble man’s daughter and a lord’s bastard. Though, the harsh truth didn’t cease twisting of the sharp blade in his heart. 

If only I bore the name Stark, he thought countless times, more in her presence. When she held his cold, calloused hands in hers, which were just as rough and rugged as his own. When she brushed her lips against his for the first time and he could taste the fruity wine lingered on her tongue. When she was ridden of her furs and velvet gowns to reveal her bare skin, willing to forsake her maidenhood to him without a sliver of doubt in her mind. If he were a trueborn son of Eddard Stark, he would’ve held her hand longer, kissed her deeper, and lied with her that very night. 

But he’s no trueborn son nor a Stark. He’s a bastard of the north, burdened with the surname Snow. And now he was on his way to the Wall, soon to be sealed in his fate as a sworn brother of the Night’s Watch. Soon enough, Alynne would fulfill her own duties, marry a highborn man to compete with the wild stag in her, carry on their dynasty, become the lady she was meant to be, and his name would be a distant memory of her youth. 

“Be mindful of your promise, Jon Snow,” Aly said, pulling him away from his thoughts. “If you break it, I will ride to Castle Black myself. Not even the lord commander would be able to withstand a lovestruck girl waiting for word from her lover.” She spoke the words with a grin upon her lips, but Jon knew better than to forego the truthfulness of her warning. A Baratheon’s wrath was not one to tempt. 

Perhaps, they’d meet again when they’re fully grown and aren’t blinded by their affection. Until then, he would keep his word and write to her until his watch has ended.

tag list 🧚🏻‍♂️ : @zoyazenik @prosemoireia @dio-nysvs @kiara-carrera @fleetwoodmcs @daisyjohvson @aaudace @jessiemieli @chlobenet @iron-parkr @elmunson @luucypevensie @princes-jasmine @julianblackthcrns @darkwolf76 @megdonnellys @edshopper @bravelittleflower @lepetitchoux @fiercefray @misshiraeth98 @itsjustgracy @fragilestorm @notanannoyingfangirl @phoebestarks @ichorwithwine @darkling-er @purpleyearning @lovehermioneforever @stanshollaand @eddiemunscns @hiddenqveendom @foxesandmagic @nik2blog @daughter-of-melpomene @impales @arrthurpendragon @dyhlanobrien @fakedatings @princessmadelines @stachedocs @toilandtroubled @eddysocs

[ want to be added/removed? click here! ]

#fyeahgameofthronesocs #fyeahgotocs #ocappreciation #asoiaf oc #ochub #allaboutocs #alynne baratheon #jon snow x oc #game of thrones oc #GoT oc #otp: i'll crawl home to her #my ocs #idk where this blurb came from or why its in his pov.... but hey.... i wrote something #but anyways... surprise !!!!! this is the new oc from the poll i posted #hope y'all like hella slow burn and angst... as per usual

[feyhunter78]

Chapter Two - Your arrival in Winterfell stirs more than just feeling within Jon. Ch 3

He is an honorable man, not as honorable as his father or his Uncle Benjen, but he strives to be as good and true as they are.

The thoughts that enter his mind as he looks down at Lady y/n do not make him feel honorable. She’s beautiful, with emerald eyes and thick lashes, snow dusting her hair, the light of the moon giving her a crown of light, one befitting a princess. That’s what she is—practically is, the daughter of a Lannister, not any Lannister but Tyrion, the imp, the clever one. Jon could study for a hundred years and never come close to the knowledge her father possesses.

His own boldness surprises him, the way he claps his cloak around you, securing it deftly, lingering a moment too long, wishing to spend eternity mere inches from you, breathing in your perfume. It’s light, floral, and sweet, perhaps jasmine? Sansa had been given a bottle once, she hadn’t liked it, preferring the scent of vanilla, and had thrown it out. Jon remembers how he retrieved it from where she had disposed of it and secreted it in his room. That night he dreamt of a future; one he knew he could not have but craved anyways. He had a keep, and a wife, a pretty, sweet wife who smelled of jasmine, and children who had his curls and ran to him smiling when he returned home. He would take them all into his arms, his children, his wife, and would be loved.

Perhaps it was the knowledge that you had been watching him, that he had heard the sharp intake of breath when he lifted his tunic to wipe the nonexistent sweat from his brow. He had known you were there by the sound of your bracelets clattering against the stone wall, the sound of your half step in the snow. He could feel your gaze burning into him the same way it had when you first arrived.

The lovely Lady Lannister, that’s what he’d taken to calling you in his head. The sound of your laughter was like bells, the smile you gave Bran and Rickon, the interest you paid to Sansa as she prattled on, it ensnared him.

So, he lingers, desiring nothing more than to gently tuck back the hair that the wind has blown in your eyes, to caress the curves of your face, to brush his lips against your own if only to know the taste for one fleeting moment, to pull you closer and drown himself in the scent of jasmine— he wants you. It’s a shocking thought, not that physical desire is unknown to him, he’s not a child, but this is different. He’s always known his place, known to rein himself in, but now? Now he has to jerk himself away, cast all thoughts of you from his mind lest he fall upon you like a madman and ravage you in the snow.

His throat tightens at the thought of what the Lannisters would do to him if he disgraced you in such a way, nevertheless what his father would do.

There is a flicker of hurt that flashes in your eyes, he can see it in his peripheral, but he stands strong. You’re not for him, you’re too good for him, he’s not worthy, what could he give you? Snow, that is all he could give, and snow is not enough for his lovely lady.

After he escorts you back to the guest chambers, he sets to walking, wandering the halls in the darkness, his mind so entangled he nearly misses the muffled cries. They come from an alcove, further down the hall, and he approaches carefully.

The sight he comes upon makes his heart drop, it’s Anna, one of the kitchen staff, a sweet girl with dark hair and joyful eyes, she is young, a year older than Arya. She’s curled in on herself, her clothes torn, her face wet with tears. There are even some marks, some bruises beginning to form.

Jon drops to his knees, holding his hands out and calling her name softly.

Anna looks up at him, startled, a doe nearly in flight. “Lord Jon—I—I am so sorry—”

He shakes his head and shushes her gently. “What has happened.”

Her bottom lip trembles, her voice thick with tears. “The prince, he—I was only trying to return to my chambers, I was not tempting him I swear, but he grabbed me and…” She burst into tears once more, burying her face in her hands.

Jon clenches his jaw, he had heard rumors from the other servants, stableboys who came with the Lannisters, he had hoped they would prove untrue. “Anna it is not your fault, please, let me walk you to your chambers, then I will call Laurayn to come and sit with you.”

Anna took his hand, her own trembling, and lets him tuck her under his cloak, keeping her close as they made their way to her chambers.

“I will tell my father the truth of it; you will not be blamed.” He promises her, letting out a slow, steady breath to keep from raising his voice in righteous anger and startling her. Anna was kind and meek, she did her work diligently and didn’t cause any trouble, she should not have been attacked in her own home, his father would not stand for such violence against one of his people.

Anna shakes her head, clinging to the door frame of her chambers, tear tracks down her cheeks. “Please Lord Jon, do not tell him, I cannot bear the shame.”

“It is not your shame to bear Anna, it is his, that cruel prince, you did nothing wrong.” Jon says, the words coming out more forceful than he intends.

Anna shrinks back, and he apologizes softly, tucking his hands behind his back.

“No good will come from Lord Stark knowing, Prince Joffrey is heir to the throne, there is nothing that can be done, I will not be believed.” She says, resigned to her fate.

He has always felt caught between two worlds. Too common for the nobles and too noble for the servants, but he prides himself on keeping a strong rapport with those who serve in his home. Prides himself on striving to protect those who are more vulnerable, which is why it wounds him so that there is no action to be taken for Anna.

Laurayn arrives, wrapped in a cloak, her hair in disarray, and she thanks Jon before ushering Anna into the dark of the servant quarters, leaving him staring at the thick wooden door that closes behind them. It’s not right, Joffrey should be held accountable for his actions, Anna should not have to suffer in silence.

His jaw clenches and he turns on his heel, stalking back to his own room. There’s nothing to be done, and soon he will be at the Wall, he will be able to fight to protect everyone there. He will join a band of brothers dedicated to upholding the sanctity and safety of the North, of the continent.

Ghost is waiting for him, curled up beside the fire, raising his head, at his approach. Jon sinks onto the floor beside him, resting his head on the wolf’s flank, and scratching that spot behind his ears. He stares into the fire, breathing slowly like Old Nan taught him, calming his mind. Ghost gave a huff and licked his ear before laying back down, content.

He awakes on the floor, his body stiff, Ghost slumbering beneath him, the fire nothing but cooling embers. The room is cast in shadows, the moon full in the night sky, and a strange melody floats through the air, reminiscent of the wind whistling through the parapets as Jon gets to his feet to pull the curtains closed. His window overlooks the Godswoods, he draws comfort from the sight, and closes the curtains swiftly before turning to remove his clothes and slip into his night clothes.

The melody grows louder, no longer sounding like the wind, but high-pitched screaming, it pierces through him, and he stumbles forward, throwing open his door and falling into the hall. The hall is doused in blood, bodies lying strewn about and strung up on the walls. Jon pushes forward, bile rising in his throat, seeking the source of the screaming, if only to make it stop. His footsteps echo and squelch, he keeps his eyes forward, his mind racing even as it feels he is fighting through molasses with each step towards the sound. Where is Robb? Where are Arya, Bran, his father? Theon, Sansa, Lady Catelyn? Where has everyone gone?

The screams die down replaced by heart-wrenching sobs, and the hall transforms, it’s no longer his home, instead he’s in a holdfast he’s never seen before. The walls are lined with Baratheon and Lannister banners, the carpet plush beneath his feet. The world spins, his head reels, the wind knocked out of him as if he’s been knocked to the ground during sparring, then there is a door before him, half opened and marked with blood. He pushes it open carefully, and steps into another foreign hall.

It's much smaller than the Great Hall of Winterfell, with panels of richly carved wood and sconces made of silver mirrors, reflecting the torchlight. High arched windows on the south wall allow the daylight to stream in, and through them, he can see what some part of his mind whispers is King’s Landing. The sight would be beautiful if not for the carnage the lay before him. Dozens of bodies litter the floor and against the far wall is you, slumped to the ground, your sobs echoing off the ceiling, your gown darkened with blood as you clutch your father’s body. The scent of winter roses mired by the stench of blood seeps into the air, choking him.

He cannot stop himself, he retches, the sight, the smell, the sensations, all too gruesome to bear.

“Jon?” Your voice is weak, choked with tears and disbelief.

He wipes his mouth and looks at you, his feet moving without his command. He doesn’t want to approach you; he doesn’t want to see the dead, not like this.

You’re badly injured, the blood on your gown ever spreading, a sickly tint to your skin. “How could you do this? How could you leave me?” You sob, the look in your eyes hollows him, digs into his soul and dumps it among the corpses at his feet.

“I—what is this? I do not know what has occurred.” Jon says, keeping his eyes steadfastly on you, and away from the corpses.

“I was able to help Sansa escape but—there was no time, I could not go with her.” Your words are broken by a fit of weak coughs, speckles of blood covering your hand.

Jon’s heart bangs against his chest like a war drum as he reaches for you. “Do not try to speak, I will carry you away from here. We will find a maester, then Sansa, then we will go North, my father will be able to help.”

“Your father is dead, murdered, and Robb will soon follow. Our—our bannermen, they rose for the wrong bastard.” You mumble, your eyes threatening to close, your head lulling forward.

Jon kneels, and gently lifts your head, fear striking through him at your words. “What do you mean, Lady y/n who killed my father, who will kill Robb?”

You grab the collar of his shirt with surprising strength. “You cannot leave me, you cannot go to the Wall, Stannis will come, he knows, he knows about Joffrey, Jon, he will kill us all.” You cry, eyes alight with fear. “Promise me, promise you will protect me.”

The scent of winter roses returns, mingling with your jasmine perfume. His tongue is heavy, the words catch in his throat.

“Promise me.” You beg, your grip failing, your shattered expression so painfully clear it’s like a dagger through his chest.

“I will, I will, I swear it. By the old gods and the new.” Jon says, stumbling over his words as he gathers you in his arms.

A kick to his side startles him awake, and Arya stands over him, her eyes shining with mischief. “You cannot sleep here all day; you promised you would help me train.”

Jon Snow TL: @mostclevermiss

Grey title card = Jon POV Red title card = Y/N POV

#meg's writing #jon snow x reader #jon snow x you #jon snow x oc #jon snow imagine #jon snow imagines #lannister!reader #jon snow #got fanfiction #game of thrones fanfiction #Changed up the title cards #for fun

[asa-writes]

Dreams - Masterlist

They all need each other, though each in their own seperate way. Growing up and loving in times of war isn't easy at all. Especially when you have to fight for the lives of the people you thought you loved - when you have to abandon everything for the greater good, when you have to choose between sexual, familiar and romantic love.

18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Warnings and General Tags under the cut.

Dividers by @cafekitsune

Chapters:

1 - Jon ¦ 2 - Robb ¦ 3 - Lucie ¦ 4 - Robb ¦ 5 - Jon ¦ 6 - Lucie ¦ 7 - Jon ¦ 8 - Robb ¦ 9 - Lucie ¦ 10 - Jon ¦ 11 - Lucie ¦ 12 - Robb ¦ 13 - Jon ¦ 14 - Lucie ¦ 15 - Jon ¦ 16 - Robb ¦ 17 - Lucie ¦ 18 - Robb ¦ 19 - Jon ¦ 20 - Lucie ¦ 21 - Robb ¦ 22 - Jon ¦ 23 - Lucie ¦ 24 - Theon ¦ 25 - Jon ¦ 26 - Lucie ¦ 27 - Theon ¦ 28 - Jon ¦ 29 - Lucie ¦ 30 - Theon ¦ 31 - Robb ¦ 32 - Jon ¦ 33 - Lucie ¦ 34 - Jon ¦ 35 - (surprise) ¦ 36 - Jon ¦ 37 - Lucie ¦

Drabbles and One-Shots:

"My Sweet" - Robb Stark x Lucie Templeton

Also available on:

Archive of our Own and Wattpad

Warnings / Tags: Canon Divergence - AU, Smut, Fluff, Angst, Misogyny, Canon-Typical Violence, Dubcon, Alcohol, Drugs, Age Difference, Religious Guilt, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, War, Forced Marriage, Arranged Marriage, Pregnancy, Character death, Child Death, Age Play, Bondage, Masochism, Edging, Derogatory Language, Infidelity, Oral Sex, Unplanned Pregnany, Breeding Kink, Masturbation, Hunting, Underage Sex (Canon-Typical)

#asas fics #fanfiction #asa writes #got #game of thrones #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #jon snow #robb stark #robb stark angst #robb stark fluff #robb stark x oc #robb stark fanfic #robb stark smut #jon snow x oc #jon snow fanfic #jon snow angst #jon snow smut #theon greyjoy x oc #theon greyjoy

[rostherightfulheir]

Alysane Rivers, Daenerys Targaryen‘s bastard sister.

// The Vailed Dragon || by @Rostherightfulheir wttp \\



ᖭི༏ᖫྀ jus pretend anything with petry is her ᖭི༏ᖫྀ

I need fc recs 🙏🏽

Tiktok is the same @

#game of thrones #queen daenerys #daenerys targeryan #jon snow #robb stark #sansa stark #drogon #house of the dragon #daemon targeryan #tiktok #lord baelish #ned stark #wattpad #jon snow fanfiction #jon snow x reader #jon snow imagine #jon snow x oc #cersie lannister #arya stark #bran stark #game of thrones’ king joffrey star looks unrecognisably grown up with a moustache as he goes shopping in london #robb stark x reader #jon snow x y/n #jon snow x you #jon snow x daenerys targaryen #house targeryen #rhaenicent #prince aemond #house stark

[siravalondulac]

meet me in the dark, kiss me in the moonlight - act 1 - memes

because i am neurodivergent and this is my special interest atm

+ bonus

links >>> ao3 | wattpad | ff.net

#fic: meet me in the dark kiss me in the moonlight #fic: gilded stars of silver grace #game of thrones #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #jon snow #jon snow x oc #jon snow fanfiction #asoiaf fanfiction #asoiaf meme #ao3

[toilandtroubled]

𝙞 𝙬𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙗𝙚 𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙙𝙖𝙮 — 𝙡𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙝𝙪𝙧𝙤𝙣

#game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #game of thrones fanfiction #a song of ice and fire fanfiction #asoiaf #original character #florys daulton #millie brady as florys daulton #maric snow #bradley james as maric snow #yvaine sand #anya chalotra as yvaine sand #gwyneth hill #daisy ridley as gwyneth hill #my ocs #this is a revamp of some of my earliest asoiaf writing/plots and is very dear to my heart #any engagement would mean the world #jon snow x oc #lots of ocs not included #so many traumatized babies #fic: vagabonds #all my lost children

[catofadifferentcolor]

Terrible Fic Idea #64: ASOIAF, but make it House Hightower

A little while back @kyuremking mentioned how reading my plot bunnies made them want a female Jon Snow/male Hightower fic - and gave us a wonderful look at how they'd go about it. Being who I am, I ended up having to have a go at it myself.

Or: House Hightower was once one of the most powerful houses in Westeros. How might it become so again?

Aka: The Elia the Magnificent Fic

Just imagine it:

Everything follows canon - until Lyanna dies giving birth to a daughter who looks as if she might well be her clone. Inexplicably, Lyanna's one act before dying is to name the babe Elia.

As female bastards are inherently less danger to patriarchal systems, Ned decides to pass his niece off as the illegitimate daughter of his brother Brandon and Ashara Dayne. Not only does this allow the girl to keep her name, Ashara being a well-known friend of the late queen, but it should temper his wife's reaction.

It doesn't. Catelyn is nearly as wroth about Ned bringing home her ex-finance's bastard as she was about Jon in canon. The only difference is she feels that she can be open about her dislike of Elia in a way she never could quite manage with Jon. For the sake of peace in his household - and a chance of giving Elia a happy childhood, - Ned sends his niece to foster with the Mormonts at Bear Island shortly before the Ironborn Rebellion.

Elia thrives on Bear Island. Free of anyone's expectations other than her own, she grows into a stubborn, fierce, and proud Northern woman who can wield a sword if necessary and will pick up a needle to tend her own clothes, but has little interest in tourneys or fine needlepoint. Though no one realizes it, she bears a remarkable resemblance in both personality and appearance to the young Queen Who Never Was, Rhaenys Targaryen.

Around the year 290, Jorah brings Lynesse Hightower to Bear Island as his new bride. This goes about as well as canon - with the exception that he doesn't resort to selling men into slavery for coin, not wanting to risk it while Ned Stark's niece fosters on the island. Lynesse eventually packs up and leaves for Oldtown, only for her father to send her back to her husband. This process repeats several times before she manages to smuggle herself to Lys and a position in Tregar Ormollen's harem c. the year 297. But not before Leyton Hightower sends one of his grandsons to keep an eye on Lynesse - Lymond, second son of Baelor Hightower.

Lymond is not quite a southron knight out of Sansa's stories, but is about as close as it is possible for a real human being to be. Five years older than Elia, he's a little too stubborn - reacting fairly negatively to the idea of women bearing arms at first, though he does come around during the first Free Folk raid he's present for - and has far too many freckles for anyone to consider him handsome - though he shares the hair Queen Alicent was famous for. He's also a staunch follower of the Seven, seeing followers of the Old Gods as little more than heathens.

It's this later that puts him in Elia's path. It's not slap-slap-kiss so much as I know you're wrong, so I'm going to drag you around and show you how wrong you are and make disappointed faces at you every time you say something hurtful or just plain wrong. And it works. Lymond comes to understand Northerners and the Old Gods in a way few Southrons bother, and the reverse is true of Elia.

By the time Elia reaches an age where it wouldn't be wrong for a southron knight to fall in love with her, she and Lymond have become close friends.

Shortly before Jon Arryn's death, Lynesse runs away for the last time and Lymond is called home. Jorah goes with him to talk with Leyton and the Faith about having his marriage dissolved - and Elia joins him, wanting to see the Hightower she's heard so much about. Though a series of accidents, misfortunes, side trips, and delays, they're still there when Robert dies and the War of Five Kings begins.

House Hightower, being close kin to the Tyrells, is getting ready to throw their lot in with Renly when one of the septons they'd been meeting with about the dissolution of Jorah and Lynesse's marriage comes forward. Leyton and Lymond are a little leery because they've seen how this particular septon watches Elia - only for the septon to reveal how he was the former High Septon's closest assistant and knew about Rhaegar's second marriage, and how he's fairly certain Elia Snow is Princess Elia Targaryen, rightful heir to the Iron Throne.

It takes some convincing, but eventually House Hightower puts forward Elia's claim - and convinces their Redwyne and Tyrell cousins to join them. Renly's claim falls apart before it can even get started, especially after Robb tosses his lot in with Elia. The combined might of The North, The Riverlands, and The Reach allow King's Landing to be taken fairly easily and the remnants of Stannis' army to be mopped up not long after. Though pockets of rebellion remain, Elia is crowned queen of the Seven Kingdoms within the year.

The rest of the fic should be about putting down rebellions and solidifying Elia's claim to the throne. Lymond should make a bit of a name for himself during these, as should Elia on the few occasions where she's called upon to defend herself from an assassination or is separated from her guards.

It should be at some point during the absences this fighting requires that Elia and Lymond come to realize they care for each other as more than friends. This should move somewhat comically from Mutual Pining to surely the queen will need to marry higher than a second son, no matter how in love they are to our relations have been planning our marriage for years and we were too stupid to realize it.

They marry on Elia's eighteenth birthday, in a ceremony far grander than her wartime coronation two years earlier. They are, perhaps, the happiest royal couple Westeros has ever seen and start a bit of a fad for love matches amongst the nobility - provided everyone is of the appropriate rank. (Think Regency England.) Historians will later say that Elia had the wisdom of Jaehaerys I, the prudence of Aegon I, and the compassion of Alysanne, for which they call her Elia the Magnificent, while her husband had the rare ability to know exactly how best to support his royal wife without undermining her position.

Bonuses include: 1) the implication that Elia Martell was a lesbian, Lyanna Stark a disaster bi, and Prince Rhaegar an asexual who only had the relationships he did in an effort to produce the three-headed dragon. Had things happened differently, they would have scandalized Westeros with their relationship; 2) An in-depth exploration of the Old Gods and the Faith of the Seven, including their belief systems and practices. This should come with the realization that both faiths want essentially the same things from their followers but have been misused by each when it suits, and the the introduction of a reform element into both; and 3) House Hightower regaining the power it's rarely been seen to have since before the Dance. It's not enough to destabilize The Reach, but it is enough for the powers that be of the Citadel and the Faith to be leery of drawing their attention, and so both groups are a little more willing to fall in line than in canon. This leads to reform movements in both, removing corruption and - eventually - the admittance of women to the Citadel and the higher ranks of the Faith.

And that's all I have - though admittedly I petered out a little around the middle, because RL is exhausting. As always, feel free to adopt this bun, just link back if you do anything with it.

Other Jon Snow Headcanons: Aelor the Accursed | Aegon the Adopted | Aegon the Undying | Aegon the Unyielding | Aemon the Adventurous | Baelor the Brave | Bastard of Winterfell | Daemon the Destroyer | Daena the Dreamer | Daeron the Desired | Dyanna the Defiant | Elia the Magnificent | Jon Whitefyre | King of the Ashes | Lady Arryn | Lady Baratheon | Lady Lannister | Lady Stark | Lord of the Dance | Prince Consort | Prince of Summerhall | Queen Mother | Rhaegar the Righteous | River Queen | Shiera Snowbird

More Terrible Fic Ideas

#plot bunny #fic ideas #a song of ice and fire #game of thrones #asoiaf #got #female jon snow #jon snow #jon snow is a targaryen #house targaryen #house hightower #jorah mormont #house mormont #jon snow x oc

[asa-do-your-thing]

Dreams

Chapter 05 - Jon

18+ MINORS DNI Word Count: 2.9k Chapter Warnings: angst

The haunting nightmare had returned with a vengeance. Jon felt the clammy chill of the castle walls wrap around him as he held the wailing infant in his arms. His face was caked in crimson and droplets of blood trickled from the corners of his eyes.

An eerie voice called out his name, urging him to turn around. Fearful yet determined, Jon slowly twisted his body and saw Lucie's lifeless frame crumpled on the cold stone floor, surrounded by a growing pool of her own lifeblood. The babe had stilled in his embrace, its wide eyes fixed on Jon's face - it seemed to be begging for rescue.

He took one step towards her, when an overwhelming pain surged through his chest, like a thousand arrows piercing deep into the innermost depths of his core.

Jon tried to move forward but was unable to do so, as if he was stuck in time itself. He looked down at Lucie, noticing her lifeless eyes which were still filled with love despite her death. Tears started streaming down Jon's face as he realized that it was all his fault--he had been too slow to save her; now she lay dead before him due to his negligence.

The pain in Jon's chest only intensified as he saw the babe lying helplessly next to Lucie's lifeless body, its little hands clutching her arm tightly as if begging not to be taken away from its mother even in death.

He knew he could never make up for what had happened; all he could do now was offer it some comfort by taking it away from this place of tragedy and giving it a better life elsewhere.

Waking up with a start, Jon saw the way Ghost, his direwolf, looked at him with concerned eyes and shook his head. What the hell?

He knew Lucie would get engaged to Robb at some point, yet he hadn't anticipated his mind to react in such a dastardly way. He gently scratched Ghost between his ears and groaned, running his hands through his messy hair. Maester Luwin had been right all these years ago - going to bed angry was never a good idea.

He pulled on a fresh shirt and traipsed over to his washing basin, quickly washing his sweaty face in the icy water. Lucie hadn't shown up yesterday to the library. Did something happen to her? Pulling on his breeches and lacing them, he shook his head. No, most probably Robb forbade her. He knew it wasn't just for him that she went there - it was her only place where she could talk openly about her worries. Besides, Robb did have a certain posessive streak about him, since the moment where they started... noticing women.

Throwing on the rest of his clothes, along with his sword belt and a fur cloak, he quickly fixed his dark, tousled hair and walked out of chambers down to the hall to break fast with the others. Would Lucie be there? Straightening his shoulders, he bit his tongue. Of course she'd be there, gods, she isn't married to Robb yet, she'd have no reason not to eat with everyone else.

Quickening his pace, Jon entered the dining hall and looked around for her. To his relief, she was there. She was sitting next to Robb, and the two of them were engaged in a lively conversation with Sansa, looking like the closest of family. Jon felt a stab of pain in his chest and walked over to where the food was kept on the long trestle tables.

"Hey, Jon, you look rough."

Jon turned around to see Theon standing behind him, grinning like a fool. That little prick. Jon gritted his teeth, raising his brows. "You don't look so good either, Greyjoy."

Lucie and Robb both looked up at once, glancing at each other and then back at Jon. He walked over to the table with his food, trying to make his features into an innocent expression.

"Jon." Robb got up from his seat and walked over to him, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. "Come to my chambers later, we need to talk."

He gave Jon a hard look before turning around, and sitting back down again. Jon's body tensed up, but he collected himself, walking over to his seat and sitting down. He glanced at Lucie who had a perplexed look on her face. He gave her a small smile and she returned it, whispering something to Robb who nodded his head.

"Thank you for the meal." Jon said with a curt nod to Maester Luwin who was standing on the other side of the table.

Theon muttered an agreement which was echoed by the younger children.

Lucie glanced at the pile of eggs and bacon on his plate and gave him a smirk. Gods, that smirk... "Have you not had enough to eat, yesterday, at the feast? You look like a starving man." The lightness in her voice brought a smile to Jon's face. He hadn't heard Lucie sound so cheerful in so long.

Though he was glad that she was so content, were her joyous feelings connected to Robb? His heart grew heavy at the thought but he tried to remind himself that it wasn't his place to question her happiness. No matter what, she would soon be married and he had to quell these confusing emotions.

“Yesterday's feast had been magnificent, but today my stomach rumbles once again, Lady Lucie,” he said with a faint smile as he lifted his mug of warm beer to his lips. At the same time, he could feel Robb's looming presence in the back of his mind; nothing ever good comes from his need for further discussion. He had to force himself not to shudder at the thought.

Lucie giggled, further surprising Jon and Robb. Lucie... giggled? The two of them shared a look before Jon cleared his throat. "So... what are your plans for today?" he asked, turning back to Lucie.

"I'm going to go embroider with Sansa and Arya, I'll try to get them to stay still and not insult each other for a while," she said with a bright smile. "And then I think I'll go into the godswood and draw, I think."

Jon glanced over at Robb. "Do you want me to come with you outside? It's getting colder now, I'll try to keep your ink from freezing."

It was clear that Robb was uncomfortable by the suggestion but Lucie's face lit up. "Yes! That would be wonderful."

Jon felt his chest tighten as he watched Lucie finishing her breakfast, the motion of her lips mesmerizing him. His heart raced at the thought of touching those lips with his own, to see them wrapped around his member...

He had to force himself to look away in order to keep from thinking about these wicked things - never before had he experienced such longing and lust for someone so close yet so forbidden. He nearly choked on his thoughts as he realized that he'd never be able to escape them.

He'd never have thought that someone so dear to him could lighten up his day and dampen it at the same time just by simply existing.

Robb's voice interrupted his thoughts. "If you two are done here, I'll need to discuss something with Jon in my chambers."

Lucie nodded, pushing her chair away from the table. She grabbed Arya's hand as Sansa followed close behind them and started walking towards the door.

Jon quickly stood and followed them out of the dining hall, though he couldn't help but feel a sting of disappointment at having to leave Lucie's presence so soon. As Theon strode away, his echoing laugh reverberated through the room. "Ha! Little Snow's going to get an earful for fucking the ice-maid", he jeered mockingly.

Even through his shock, Jon couldn't help but notice Lucie's cheeks flush pink in reaction. He was furious that Theon would even suggest such a thing - did he really think it was funny?

"Shut your damned mouth before I give you one," Robb retorted and shook his head, motioning Jon to leave with him.

Ignoring Theon's comment and Robb's apologetic look, Lucie left the hall. With one final tug on Arya's hand she disappeared around the corner, which left him to follow Robb up to his chambers.

Noting the stiffness in Robb's expression, Jon was sure that he had heard Theon's comment.

"I'm glad we can talk, Jon." Robb took a deep breath as they came up the stairs to his chambers. "Please, in, in here."

Jon stood on his side of the door and waited for Robb to open it, which he did after a moment of hesitation, allowing Jon in first before closing the door behind them.

"So, uhm... never mind that." Robb said in an attempt to sound casual. "I mean, it's not important, I guess. Go on, take a seat."

Jon folded his arms over his chest, his eyes locked on Robb's. "Robb, Theon's an idiot who doesn't know what he's talking about - I can't believe that he would says something like that in front of the kids, in front of Maester Luwin."

Letting out an annoyed growl, Robb massaged his temples. "I know, I know, don't worry, I'll tell him to stop. He's been trying to suggest I fuck Lucie before our marriage so she might warm up to me, but that's just... so wrong."

Shrugging, Jon sighed. "That's Theon for you. Though most of the stuff he said probably come from his own dreams."

Robb stared at him, tilting his head. "You don't mean...?"

"I'm not saying anything," Jon said, lifting his hands in surrender. "But I think you should relax and stop worrying so much, Robb. You're too tense for courting Lucie - I honestly don't know why... uh... it doesn't work between you two."

Robb let out a deep sigh, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "It's not that I don't like Lucie, it's just that... I feel like we barely know each other. And then there's you," he said as he turned his gaze to Jon, his eyes filled with an intensity that made Jon's heart race. "How did you manage to get so close to her, Jon?"

Jon felt his cheeks heat up, his mind racing to come up with a plausible answer. He couldn't admit to the sinful thoughts that plagued his mind whenever he was near Lucie and the fact that he didn't have to do anything special... He was just being himself.

"I... I don't know, Robb. I guess we just clicked," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Robb narrowed his eyes, his jaw clenched as he studied Jon's face. "There's something you're not telling me, Jon. I can see it in your eyes."

Jon's heart raced as he felt Robb's hand grip his shoulder tightly. "Please, Robb, let it go. It's not important."

"It is important, Jon. Lucie is going to be my wife soon and I need to know everything about her."

Jon felt a pang of jealousy and anger at Robb's words. How could he be so blind to see that Lucie that she had feelings too? Feelings that were human, like grief, anger and fear? "Why don't you just ask her then? Instead of interrogating me?"

Robb's grip on Jon's shoulder tightened, his eyes locked onto Jon's. "Because I trust you, Jon. You're my brother."

Jon could hardly breathe as Robb stepped closer to him. "It's just so confusing, Robb. I know you don't want to hurt her, but... I like her, Robb, I adore her." The words left Jon's mouth before he could stop them, but it did not matter anymore - he could not take them back.

Jon gulped, his throat dry as he watched his brother move even closer to him, his free hand lifting to Jon's other shoulder, staring down at him. "I know, Jon. I know how much you love her and I know how much you want her. But I want her too. She is mine - my betrothed."

Robb's voice was firm, yet it held a pleading tone that tugged at Jon's heart. He swallowed the lump in his throat as he felt Robb hesitantly loosen his grip on him. "Please, Jon, you're the only one who can help me with this."

Jon closed his eyes, his voice barely above a whisper. "Yes, Robb, I'll help you. Always." What did he get himself into? Was he mad, telling Robb about..?

"I'm so sorry, Jon. I know this must hurt you, but I need you. I need you both." His brother's hand relaxed its grip. "I know I'm being selfish, but I can't help it. I need her."

Jon opened his eyes, his heart hammering in his chest as Robb's hand lingered at his shoulder, his gaze boring into Jon's as he walked back to his chair.

Jon felt a pang of sadness rush through him as he stared at his brother's broad back. He couldn't help but wonder what it would be like if things were different. If Robb didn't have to marry Lucie, Jon could tell her how he truly felt and be with her like he had always wanted. But that was impossible now, Robb had chosen Lucie and there was no going back from that.

He exhaled sharply, feeling a sudden wave of admiration for Robb flood through him despite everything. His brother trusted him so much and still wanted his opinion even though Jon had revealed his true feelings about Lucie. He was so grateful for the trust between them - something that they had never really shared before - and he vowed to do whatever it takes to keep it alive. It meant more to him than anything else in the world right now, even if it meant having to put aside his own feelings about Lucie just this once.

Clearing his throat, Jon gave Robb an awkward smile. "Well, uh, now that that's settled, what would you like to know about her. I'll try my best to answer all of your questions."

Robb relaxed his shoulders, the tension leaving his body as he settled back into his chair. "Thank you, Jon. I appreciate it." He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he gazed at Jon. "So, tell me, what does Lucie like to do? What are her interests?"

Jon thought for a moment, his mind racing through all the conversations that he had had with Lucie over the past few months. "Well, she enjoys drawing and reading. She's had a lot of free time lately, so she's been trying to improve her skills."

Robb's eyes lit up, a smile forming on his lips. "That's great. Maybe I could commission her to draw something for me."

Jon nodded, a sense of relief washing over him as he talked about Lucie's hobbies. Maybe this would help Robb see her in a different light and stop worrying so much about connecting with her.

"But there's something else, too," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Lucie hates public speaking. It makes her really nervous."

Robb frowned, his brow furrowing as he looked at Jon. "Why would that matter?"

Jon shrugged. "I don't know, Robb. It's just something that I've noticed about her. Maybe you could try to avoid putting her in situations where she has to talk in front of a crowd? It seemed like you startled her greatly at the feast, when you announced your betrothal."

Robb leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping on the armrests as he thought about what Jon had just said. "I see. That's good to know. Thank you, Jon. I... uh,,, Will try to approach her in a different way. And if uh... no, you know, forget it. Shall we go and spar for a bit? This has gotten so awkward, I'm looking forward to blowing off some steam."

Jon smiled, a wave of relief washing over him as he saw his brother's tense shoulders relax. "Yes, that's a good idea." He rose to his feet, feeling a knot of tension leave his body as he stretched. "I'll meet you outside."

With a deep sigh, Jon shut the door tightly behind them and smiled as he strolled down the hall towards the courtyard.

He had done it again - helped Robb, and by extension, Lucie. He had managed to hold his feelings for her at bay, even if only for a few moments. And he knew that it was for the best because now, he could stand by Robb's side and help him truly connect with Lucie.

As Lucie and Sansa's laughter rang out in the halls, he couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. He had worked so hard to be in this position, to have her close to him, but now that it was within his grasp, he had to let her go. She was untouchable, and he knew he could never truly reach her.

His heart ached with every step he took, the pain growing with every breath he took, yet he felt strangely light and free. He had done it for Robb and Lucie - he had sacrificed his own happiness for theirs, it was the epitome of chivalry. And he would do it again.

#asas fics #jon snow x oc #jon snow fanfic #jon snow angst #jon snow smut #jon snow #robb stark fluff #robb stark au #robb stark x oc #robb stark fanfic #robb stark smut #asoiaf smut #asoiaf fanfic #asoiaf fanfiction #got #goth aesthetic #game of thrones