At the start, Jon was embarassed by the size differences. He never thought he was scrawny, at least not compared to others at Winterfell, but he knew he could never stand at eye level with Tormund

Jon Snow has been having dreams. Of Old Valyria, of a girl with brown hair and grey eyes, of a silver haired woman with dragons. He spends his waking hours brooding and pretending he is not watching Tormund Giantsbane too closely and that Tormund is not watching back.

“You are more North than anyone of those cock-sucking lords and ladies, crow. You fought alongside us against the dead. You died for us, and for that, you’ll always have a home beyond the Wall regardless of who sired you.” Jon’s breath stilled in his lungs when Tormund pressed their foreheads together. He’d seen other wildlings embrace like this before, but it had always been between family members. Warmth bloomed from the contact. Jon swallowed, willing his heart to be still so he could hear Tormund’s whispered words. “Jon,” The fire-kissed wildling said, “Not a Targaryen or Snow. Just Jon.” (Season8!AU where Daenarys does not burn down King’s Landing, Jon actually helps, and Rhaegal lives. Self Indulgent Fix-it.)

Jon notices how Tormund keeps looking at him and he admits that he may be looking at him the same way.

In which Jon Snow, a Brother of the Night’s Watch, breaks no vows but somehow ends up with a family anyways. (An AU where instead of meeting Ygritte, Jon runs into Tormund and his daughters first.)