Chapter Text
Jamie
Gods, he was nervous as fuck for this dinner.
They’d dropped their bags at Jon’s house before heading out, but Jamie couldn’t focus on much beyond the churning in his chest. He watched the snow fall heavy outside the window, streetlights glowing dim and orange, casting the streets in a comforting haze. Jon’s hand was warm, fingers laced with his.
He prayed he wouldn’t make a fool of himself tonight. This mattered. He wanted to impress Jon’s family—wanted to be the best version of himself. But the old thoughts lingered, shadows that clung no matter how hard he tried to shake them. That he wasn’t good enough. That Jon would one day see what everyone else saw.
Jon squeezed his hand, and when Jaime looked over, he caught that quiet, knowing look. Jamie exhaled a shaky breath and mouthed, I’ll be okay.
Jon nodded softly and leaned closer, their shoulders pressed together as the snow kept falling.
The Stark estate looked impossibly cozy from the outside, every inch covered in Christmas decorations. Strings of lights glowed along the roof, a massive pine tree sparkled in the yard, and three snowmen stood crookedly near the porch, scarves frozen stiff around their necks. The Starks hadn’t held back.
It made Jamie smile. No wonder Jon had been so insistent about the festive wrapping paper.
“You’ve got snowflakes, Santa Claus, reindeer—this is overkill,” Jamie had teased.
Jon pouted, hands on his hips as he surveyed the bed covered in rolls of bright paper.
“It’s Christmas! It has to look like Christmas.”
“I don’t know about that…”
Jon gasped, scandalized. “Of course it does!”
Jamie smirked. “You’ve got this cute look in your eyes right now.”
Jon blinked, cheeks turning red. “What?”
“Nothing,” Jaime had murmured, smiling softly. “You’re beautiful.”
Jon had giggled—shy, flustered, happy—and turned away. “Get out. I need to wrap your gift before you ruin the surprise.”
Jamie had laughed, retreating from the room with his heart stupidly light.
He blinked and was back in the present.
Inside, the Stark home was exactly what he’d expected—cozy, lived-in, warm in a way money couldn’t buy. The walls were lined with family photos and decorated with garlands and lights, and faint Christmas music hummed from another room. It felt real. Homey. The kind of warmth he hadn’t known since his mother was alive.
He glanced toward Jon, who was hanging up their coats.
Jon smiled at him, that same soft, grounding smile. “Ready? Sorry if it’s going to be really loud.”
Jamie exhaled a nervous laugh, brushing a hand through his hair. “I’ll survive.”
Jon’s eyes softened, like he didn’t quite believe him—but he reached out anyway, taking Jamie’s hand again as if to say you’re not doing this alone.
And for the first time that evening, Jamie started to believe it.
The dinner table stretched nearly the length of the room, every inch covered in platters of food. The air smelled heavenly—cinnamon and sugar from the desserts mingling with the savory warmth of roasted meat and buttered rolls. His stomach growled before he could stop it.
Jon guided him to sit beside him, with Rhaegar and Arthur across the table.
Arthur gave Jamie a small, kind smile before turning back to his conversation with Eddard, while Rhaegar was speaking quietly with Arya. Jamie recognized her—the youngest daughter, bound for college soon, if he remembered right. The memory didn’t stop her from giving him a playful glare the second she caught his eye.
Jon leaned closer, voice low against his ear. “My aunt Catelyn is next to my uncle—you can just call her Cat. You’ve met Robb, but that’s Theon next to him—his boyfriend. Sansa’s the redhead beside Margaery—they’re together too. You’ve met Arya. Then we’ve got Bran and Rickon. Bran’s a sweetheart. Rickon’s… kind of a wild card.”
Jamie smiled, whispering, “Thanks for the briefing.”
Jon grinned. “You’ll need it.”
Dinner was exactly as Jon had warned, loud. So loud it almost made Jamie laugh. Everyone talked over each other, passed plates, argued about recipes, and teased one another nonstop. But it wasn’t uncomfortable. In fact, it was the opposite. The noise filled every quiet part of him he hadn’t realized was still empty.
They made him feel welcome like he wasn’t a stranger sitting at someone else’s table.
Across from him, Rhaegar and Arthur seemed equally at ease. Rhaegar, especially, looked lighter than Jamie had seen him in months. At one point, the youngest—Rickon, he assumed—climbed straight into Rhaegar’s lap like they’d known each other for years.
Eventually, Jon cleared his throat. The chatter died instantly.
Jaime’s pulse jumped.
Jon smiled, calm on the surface, but Jaime saw the subtle tension in his shoulders. “I, uh… actually have a little announcement,” He began. “Jamie and I are dating.”
For a second, silence. Then—
Theon barked a laugh. “Finally! I thought you were gonna die alone—brooding in your corner, grumbling at people. Who the hell would date that?”
Robb snorted. “You have no idea how hard it was not to say anything. I was this close.”
Jon chuckled. “Yeah, that’s why I said it now before you exploded.”
Eddard sighed, shaking his head. “Three out of six. Benjen owes me fifty dollars.”
Jon blinked. “What?”
Eddard didn’t look up. “Told him you were at least half of you were gay when Sansa put makeup on you. He disagreed. Guess I was right.”
Theon opened his mouth, then closed it. “Can’t even argue. She got me too.”
Sansa smiled smugly. “And I made them beautiful!”
Arthur nearly choked on his wine, turning away to hide his grin. Rhaegar lifted his glass to his lips, failing miserably to hide his laughter.
Jon groaned, rubbing at his temple. “That’s… great, everyone. Thanks.”
Arya leaned over and gave Jamie a light smack on the shoulder. “Welcome to the family, Prince Charming. Hope we don’t scare you off.”
Jaime blinked then laughed. “Oh, I think I’ll manage.”
And he meant it.
The conversation flowed again, laughter bouncing off the walls, and for the first time in a long time, Jamie didn’t feel like he had to shrink himself to fit. No judgment. No awkward questions. Just warmth, teasing, and acceptance.
Under the table, Jon’s hand found his. Jamie glanced sideways—Jon was smiling, wide and unguarded, eyes crinkled at the corners.
Jamie wanted to kiss that smile right off his face. But for now, he just held his hand tighter.
This—this felt like home.
Later, when the four of them returned to Jon’s house, Jaime sank into the bed. He felt exhausted—but in a good way. He had enjoyed every bit of that dinner: the food, the laughter, the easy conversation. The few silly games they’d played together. It had felt like a real family—something he hadn’t realized he’d wanted so badly until now.
Jon climbed into bed beside him, resting his head against Jamie’s shoulder. “You feeling okay?” He asked softly.
Jamie didn’t answer with words. Instead, he tilted Jon’s chin up and kissed him—slow, deep, and certain. That was his answer.
Jon’s hand found the hem of Jaime’s tank top, fingers curling lightly into the fabric, the other sliding behind Jamie’s neck to pull him closer. Jamie’s hand settled on Jon’s hip, thumb drawing slow, lazy circles.
When they finally broke apart, both were breathing hard. Jamie rested his forehead against Jon’s, noses brushing, their breaths still mingling. Jon kissed him again—quickly, sweetly. Once. Twice. On the third, Jamie caught him and deepened it again.
When they parted at last, Jon’s fingers toyed with the strands of hair at Jamie’s nape. “That good, huh?” He murmured with a grin.
Jamie smiled, still a little dazed. “You just looked so stunning smiling like that. I had to kiss you.”
Jon giggled softly. “You’re ridiculous. And gods, do I love you.” He nestled closer, arms wrapping around him.
Jamie chuckled, pressing a kiss into Jon’s hair. “Yeah? I love you too, darling.”
Jon hummed against him and nestled closer. The room was quiet, save for the soft creak of the house and the wind outside. Jamie’s hand found Jon’s again beneath the blanket, their fingers lacing together as sleep began to pull them under.