Jon Snow x Reader One Shots

Excuses, Excuses

Sometimes, Jon Snow would make excuses just to see you. He cut his arm training, he sprained his wrist sword fighting with Robb and Theon. Ghost bit him- blah, blah, blah.

Sometimes, Jon Snow would find himself thinking of you late into the night. Wanting you next to him. Wanting to smell your intoxicating scent. Wanting to feel your small hands run through his curly locks. Wanting to hear your entrancing voice. You were a poison to him. And he loved it. He was addicted to you and he just couldn't get enough.

*time skip*

"Jon Snow," you smile as you see him enter your chambers, a bloodied cloth around one of his biceps, "how may I help you, My Lord?" You put down your dagger that you were sharpening.

"I seem to have cut my arm once again training with Robb." He gives you a look of apology, but secretly he doesn't want to tell you he cut it on a branch whilst on his morning ride through the forest behind Castle Black. He wanted to seem strong to you. He wanted to seem like a warrior- or at least a true bloody Stark.

"Come. Sit." You get up and offer your seat, which was the only place to sit beside your bed and his lap. Oh stop, you mustn't think about sitting in places like Jon Snow's lap.

Jon gratefully takes the offered seat and looks at you.

"So how did this one happen?" You smile down at him.

"I was dueling with Robb, My Lady. He sliced my arm on accident. As you see." He gestures to the cloth around his bicep.

You carefully unwrap the bandage and see a nasty cut. You sigh and look at him, "You must be hurting." You frown at him once you speak.

"It is a mere cut, My Lady."

You laugh a little as you notice a small smirk on Jon's face.

"And what must you be smirking at, My Lord?" You look down at him.

"I'm smirking because you seem to have drawn your dress poorly in the back. May I fix it?"

You feel the back of your dress; the strings are improperly threaded. How did that happen?

You nod and turn your back to the bastard, "I'm all yours, My Lord." You purse your lips once you realize how wrong that sounds.

"Someone is a bit eager." Jon stands up and fixes your dress, taking a bit too much time to fight the urge to spin you around and kiss you.

You laugh awkwardly and turn around once he's done. He still stands tall above you and you look up at him, then to his bicep.

"If you would sit, My Lord." Your lips are still purses as he sits down on the chair beside him.

Jon immediately took notice that you had nowhere else to sit, "You have no place to sit, My Lady."

"I know, My Lord. But I don't mind at all. You need it more than I." You smile down at the man before you.

"Why don't you find somewhere to sit? I can wait for you to find a place." He smiles up at you.

"Well, there is nowhere to sit." You laugh awkwardly.

Jon silently points to his lap. He knew what he was doing. He knew he shouldn't be doing that. He knew he shouldn't have a servant girl on his lap. But he just couldn't help himself. He found you irresistible. He wanted to be around you all the time. He needed to be around you all the time. He needed to hear your voice.

"If you insist," You begin to sit down on his lap. You think about how wrong what you're about to do is and you ignore your instinct to get up and go get something else to sit on, but before you knew it, your arse was on the bastard's leg, "you know, you make a lot of excuses to come see me." You smile down at the injured bastard below you.

"I just can't help myself when I fight or train. You give me the motivation to become stronger, My Lady."

"You must have a concussion- you sound like Theon Greyjoy." You laugh a little to yourself and begin to examine his arm. You lightly ran your fingers along the outside of his cut, he winced at your touch but stayed put. You walk over to a bag by one of your windows that held extra medical supplies from when you're out with the boys hunting.

You always tagged along when any of the Starks went beyond the gates of Castle Black. Nobody could guess what could ever happen to royalty outside of their home. No matter if it's their kingdom- royals still have enemies. 

You pulled out a needle and silk thread to stitch the wound on Jon's arm shut. You ate your seat back on his lap and look at him, "Now, I won't lie- this is going to hurt. A lot." You try to laugh off the awkwardness and nervousness.

Jon looks up at you nods, "That's alright, My Lady." When you look at him next, his face is close to yours. You feel heat rush to your face, you're sure your face is as red as a tomato. Jon's face gets closer and closer to yours.

The tension builds for what seems like an eternity (but is really a few seconds), and Jon leans in to kiss you. You want to pull back, but your arms are already around the bastard's neck and your lips connect to his. You feel your body ignite with warmth and you practically melt into the bastard's arms. 

A knock on the door interrupts your special moment shared with the prince. 

"Lady (Y/N), I need stitches." You look to the door to see an injured Theon. 

Of course, Lord Greyjoy would ruin your moment. You thought to yourself.

"Yes, My Lord." You quickly get off Jon and purse your lips together. 

Jon sits quietly where he was seated before. You quickly patch Theon up and send him on his way to (probably) the brothel. You set the supplies you used for Theon down and get back to patching Jon up.

"There you go, My Lord." You smile and gesture to his bicep.

"Thank you, (Y/N)." You smile at the lack of his formalities.