Can you write a one-shot about Jon Snow set in season 8 or afterward, where the reader is a Targaryen and a relative of Daenerys? Make it fluffy and slow burn, please, with some smut!! I love the ones you've written, especially the Jon headcanon! I'm crying because there are barely any fanfics about him 😩
yESS ANON!!! i hear you loud and clear, its set before ep3 s8, sorry if its too long oops (not really sorry)
summary: a targaryen in winterfell, you’re no stranger to war. but when jon snow’s quiet intensity pulls you in, the tension between you both becomes impossible to ignore. tomorrow, the world might fall apart, but for tonight? you’re his. SMUT AT THE END
tags: smut, p in v, needy sex, unspoken tension, battle/war feels, wholesome interactions
the northern winds howled through winterfell, relentless and biting, a constant reminder that the north was a land apart. inside the great hall, the fire crackled and the warmth of the hearth couldn’t quite chase away the chill that seeped into your bones. you’d been here long enough now, a targaryen among wolves, but it still felt like winterfell was trying to remind you that you didn’t belong.
still, you made yourself useful. you weren’t like daenerys, all fire and commands. you’d grown up on the edges of war, your hands more comfortable around a blade than a scepter. you fought, trained, strategized. it’s what earned you some begrudging respect from the northerners. even sansa, sharp as the frost on the castle walls, had softened toward you. she’d become an unexpected ally, her wit and your determination meshing in a way you hadn’t anticipated.
tonight, she sat across from you at the long table, quill in hand as she reviewed plans and lists. you worked on your sword, sharpening the blade with steady movements. the quiet between you was companionable, broken only by the occasional crackle of the fire.
“do you ever rest?” she asked, her voice soft but teasing.
you smirked, not looking up. “rest won’t help me when the night king gets here. a sharp sword might.”
she rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. “you and jon are more alike than i realized.”
at the mention of his name, your stomach did this annoying little flip. you shrugged, trying to play it cool. “jon is… focused. he’s a good leader.”
before she could respond, her gaze shifted past you. “speaking of jon...”
you turned your head slightly and saw jon standing near the doorway, his dark eyes fixed on you. he didn’t look away when you caught him, just gave a small nod before returning to his conversation with davos. your stomach twisted, though you weren’t sure if it was nerves or… something else.
“he’s always watching you,” sansa murmured, her tone light but her expression curious.
“shut up,” you muttered, focusing back on your blade. but your fingers faltered, the steady rhythm of your sharpening disrupted.
jon was always there. not in an obvious way, he wasn’t the type for grand gestures or attention. but you’d notice him lingering on the edges of your vision, a glance in the training yard, a quiet nod in the strategy room. it was infuriatingly subtle, and yet you felt it every time.
one evening, you found yourself in the godswood, seeking a moment of peace. the red leaves of the weirwood swayed gently in the wind, their whispers lost in the frost-bitten air. you leaned against the trunk, your breath visible in the cold, when the sound of boots crunching on snow caught your attention.
“out here alone?” jon said, stepping into view. his voice was low, like he didn’t want to disturb the quiet of the godswood.
“yeah” you replied. “just… thinking.”
jon’s eyes softened slightly as he stepped closer, his breath visible in the cold air. he looked at you for a moment, then at the weirwood, as if trying to understand your thoughts. "the dead?" he asked, his voice quiet.
"everything," you said honestly, your tone heavier now. "the dead. The living. what it’ll mean when it’s over... if we’re still here to see it."
his jaw tightened, the faintest flicker of emotion crossing his face. “we’ll see it.”
“you sound certain,” you said, glancing at him.
“i have to be,” he replied. his eyes met yours then, and for a moment, it felt like the world had narrowed to just the two of you. the weight of his gaze was heavy but not unwelcome. it was grounding, in a way.
days blurred together, preparations for battle consuming your every moment. jon’s presence became something constant, even when he didn’t speak. you found yourself looking for him in the chaos, your eyes scanning for him like instinct.
one night, after a particularly grueling day, you found yourself in the library. it was empty save for a few flickering candles, the air thick with the scent of old parchment. you sat at a table, a book on northern battle tactics open in front of you, though you weren’t really reading it.
the door creaked open, and you glanced up to see jon stepping inside. his hair was messier than usual, and the shadows under his eyes spoke of sleepless nights.
“can’t sleep?” you asked, your voice breaking the quiet.
he shook his head, moving to sit across from you. “mind won’t rest.”
“join the club,” you said, gesturing to the book. “i thought this might bore me to sleep, but no luck.”
his lips twitched, the closest thing to a smile you’d seen from him in days. “you’re too stubborn to let it.”
“same to you” you shot back, earning a soft huff of laughter from him. the sound was rare, and you found yourself wanting to hear it again.
for a while, the two of you sat in companionable silence. it wasn’t awkward, just… quiet. jon’s presence was steady, like the calm before a storm. eventually, he broke the silence.
“do you miss it?” he asked, his voice low. “the south?”
you thought about it. dragonstone, the endless sea, the warmth of the sun on your skin. but the memories felt distant, like they belonged to someone else. “sometimes,” you admitted. “but not as much as i thought i would.”
he nodded, his dark eyes studying you. “the north suits you.”
“does it?” you teased, though your voice came out softer than you intended.
“it does,” he said simply, his gaze steady. there was no teasing in his tone, just quiet certainty.
you stood on the battlements, the cold biting through your cloak, but it wasn’t the cold you were feeling. it was everything else, the soldiers, the coming battle, the weight of it all. and then, as always, jon’s presence behind you. quiet, steady.
"it won't be easy" he said, his voice cutting through the silence.
you didn’t answer right away, there was nothing to say, you both knew what was coming. it wasn’t about words anymore.
finally, you turned slightly, enough to catch the moonlight on his face. his jaw was set, his eyes dark, already on the battlefield in his mind. you didn’t know when you’d started to understand him so well, but you did, better than anyone else here and it made everything feel heavier.
“is anything easy?” you finally mutter, your voice quieter than you meant it to be. it’s bitter, but you can’t stop it. you don’t know how to soften the truth right now.
his eyes meet yours, and it’s like the air shifts, just for a second. something unsaid hangs between you, heavy and unspoken. raw. vulnerable. you want to look away, but you don’t.
then, without warning, his hand brushed against yours. just a touch, a test. but it sent something through you, something sharp, undeniable. you froze, your heart racing, as if the world had paused for just a second.
his hand lingers, just for a second, like he’s waiting for you to pull away. but you don’t. you stay there, your fingers brushing together, and for the briefest moment, you wonder if he feels it too, the weight of it. the way something inside you shifts at the simple act of contact.
“stay close tomorrow,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, like he’s afraid of the words. but they’re out there now, hanging in the air between you, and you both know the unspoken truth. he needs you. and maybe you need him, too.
you don’t say anything at first. but then, almost without thinking, the word slips out. “always.”
it’s too soft. too quiet. but it’s the only thing you can give him right now. a promise, but still, yours.
he doesn’t answer right away. instead, he steps back, his gaze lingering for a second longer, like he’s searching for something in your eyes. and then, he’s gone, disappearing into the shadows of the castle, leaving you standing there, your heart still pounding in your chest.
the promise you made hangs heavy in the air, and even though your feet are rooted to the ground, your mind races. tomorrow, you know, everything changes. but for now, it’s the quiet before the storm.
you make your way back to your chambers, the chill of the stone grounding you. your thoughts keep drifting to jon. his eyes, the heat of his touch, the way he looked at you, like you were the only thing that mattered in that moment.
just as you’re about to close the door behind you, you hear it: a soft knock. you freeze, hand still on the knob
you turn the handle, open the door a crack. it’s jon, his silhouette stands there, dark against the dim hallway light. his eyes meet yours, full of something raw, desperate, something you can’t escape.
“couldn’t sleep,” he says, voice low and strained, like he’s holding back.
you nod, too overwhelmed for words, the quiet between you both heavy, full of anticipation.
he steps closer, just enough for you to feel the heat of his body. you don’t pull away. you don’t want to. you aren’t sure if this is really happening, or if you’ve imagined the way he’s looking at you, like you’re all that matters.
his hand brushes yours, the spark between you instant, impossible to ignore. the air thickens with tension, electric and suffocating, but it feels right. your breath catches.
“jon,” you whisper, like saying his name is the only thing that matters now.
he steps closer, no words needed. his hand cups your face, thumb brushing across your cheek. you wonder how you ever survived this long without him touching you like this.
before you can think, his lips are on yours, urgent, needy, like he’s been holding back forever. you gasp, but he deepens the kiss, pulling you close, his hands finding their way to your waist, drawing you toward him.
you let yourself melt into him, your hands sliding over his chest, feeling the solid muscle beneath his tunic, you could feel the way his body reacted, the way his breath hitched every time you touched him.
you wanted him, now, but you didn’t say it out loud. instead, you let your fingers trace the edge of his tunic, pulling it from his body with the slow urgency of someone who couldn’t wait anymore, but wanted to savor every second of it.
you pull away just enough to rest your forehead against his, breathless, caught in this moment. “tomorrow,” you say, your voice soft, “it could change everything, we could…”
he stops you with another kiss, silencing your words. when he pulls back, his eyes are fierce but soft, vulnerable. “tomorrow doesn’t matter,” he murmurs. “not right now, just this, just us.”
his hands grip your waist, pulling you back to him, and in that moment, everything else fades. the war, the fear, the promises of the future, none of it mattered as your lips crashed together.
jon’s hands followed the movement of yours, pushing your nightgown off your shoulders, leaving your skin bare beneath his touch. his lips trailed down your neck, and you shivered at the feel of him, the heat of his breath against your skin.
when he finally got the gown off, exposing you completely to him, his breath hitched, and for a moment, he just stared at you, his eyes dark, filled with something primal.
his fingers grazed the curve of your waist, your hips, his touch light but leaving a trail of heat behind. when his hands brushed your breasts, his thumb running over your nipple, you couldn’t help but gasp, the feeling radiating through you like lightning. jon froze for a second, eyes wide, like he couldn’t believe he had made you react that way.
"gods," he muttered, voice rough as he traced the curve of your body with his eyes. "you're beautiful."
before you could respond, he was pushing you backward, guiding you toward the table. you caught the edge with your hands, the cool wood contrasting with the heat building between you.
jon’s hands slid down to your hips as he bent you over the table. the position made your pulse quicken, a thrill running through you at the sheer dominance in his actions.
his hands pressed against your back, bending you slightly as he took a moment to adjust his position.
you felt him shift behind you, heard the rustling of fabric as he finally freed himself from his trousers. his cock suddenly pressed against you, teasing, making your breath catch.
“shit,” you whisper, your hands gripping the edge of the table in front of you as you feel the tip of his cock press rub against your entrance.
one hand gripped your hip, holding you in place, while the other found your shoulder, he entered you slowly, inch by inch, as if testing the waters, and you couldn’t help but bite your lip at the stretch, the fullness. jon groaned, a deep, guttural sound, his face tight with concentration.
“i've wanted you like this,” he muttered, his voice low, almost strained. “for so fucking long.”
you pushed back against him, urging him to move. his pace remained agonizingly slow, his thrusts deep, controlled, his hands holding you firmly in place.
with each slow stroke, your body grew tighter, more desperate, the tension in your stomach building until it felt like you might break. jon was relentless, his movements never wavering, only deepening as the seconds stretched out into eternity.
“fuck, jon,” you gasped, your body arching into him as your own hands gripped the edge of the table, nails digging into the wood. "f-faster." you could feel him pulse inside you, the friction driving you higher.
you’re both too fucking needy for this to be slow. his thrusts become harder, faster, each one more desperate than the last. the sound of skin on skin fills your chamber, and you can’t stop yourself from meeting every push, every pull, your body craving the release that’s building.
you can barely form a coherent sentence, the only thing you can do is hold onto the table, each thrust making you just forwards. everything is too much, but in the best way. "f-fuck" you gasp, "don’t stop."
he doesn’t stop. ofcourse he doesn’t.
“you’re killing me,” jon growls, his hand slides down your back, fingers digging into your skin, and you know he’s holding you there, keeping you in place for himself.
you don’t answer, can’t answer, just a breathless moan slips past your lips as you feel the first wave of your orgasm starting to crash over you, the way your body tightens around him, the way he’s fucking you through it.
"gods" he whimpers, the words barely making it past his lips as he forces you to take all of him.
his hands are tight on your hips, pulling you into him, every inch of him is buried deep, and you can feel him in places you didn’t even know existed, making you gasp with every move, every shift.
his breath was ragged now, his groans a constant hum in your ear as his rhythm faltered, his control slipping. “i can’t—gods, i can’t stop now.” his voice was strained, desperate, and you knew he was at the edge.
then, with a final, brutal thrust, he snapped. his whole body jerked above you, shaking as his release hit. you could feel the heat of his seed inside you, leaving you breathless and trembling beneath him.
you could feel the slickness between your legs, the evidence of what had just happened, and though it should have felt overwhelming, it only deepened the sense of connection between you two.
jon’s breath was steady against your neck, and after a moment, you heard him chuckle softly.
jon’s fingers traced light circles on your back as he pressed a kiss to your neck. “guess I was wrong then,” he teased, his lips curving into a smile. “the dragon’s not so bad after all.”
“just remember,” you added, your voice low as you turned your head to meet his gaze, “targaryens don’t take kindly to being underestimated.”
jon’s chuckled at your words, the corners of his mouth twitching with a hint of something close to respect. “i’ll keep that in mind.”
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