In the dream, she had run to him. In truth, she had approached after Arya and Bran, with measured steps, a crowned stag fastened to her cloak and the whole of the South in her bearing. Dear brother, she had said, as if the right words could fill the years between them. Then she had spoken of Joffrey at table and defended the honor of marrying him. Jon had listened in silence while the gold and rubies of that brooch gleamed anew in his memory.
My lady. He had meant to hurt her when he used those words. Just a little. Enough for her to see the distance she had brought with her. Instead, Sansa had smiled as if he had made some strange jape, and that made it worse.
Ghost lay beside the door to his chambers, but he did not sleep. His red eyes followed Jon as he paced between the window and the hearth. The wolf could sense his irritation, the sour taste of the wine Jon had scarcely drunk, the need to go out and find something he could bite. Jon clenched his hands. Sansa was not to blame for failing to answer a dream she had never known. The part of him capable of understanding that seemed small and far away. The rest still saw her hesitation before the embrace and her eyes searching for wounds beneath the black wool.
She had found him exactly where she had left him: in black, at the edge, and grateful to be treated gently. No. That was unfair as well. Sansa had shown concern. She had held him as if afraid she might hurt him. Perhaps she had meant to be affectionate. Jon no longer knew how to tell what people intended from what they did, and he was weary of trying.
He was a funny man, her deceased husband – dreadfully evil, but somehow entertaining in just how absurdly horrible he could be –, and he had a liking for creating false selves. In Yi-Ti, he would’ve been a Myrish merchant. In Volantis, a disgraced septon looking for religion elsewhere.
In Pentos, he was a wealthy merchant from the Reach who was avoiding the Crown taxes by buying land and growing his grapes just outside of the city. It was a good plan, and she would give it to him. Not foolproof, for there were dangers everywhere, but good enough. Sometimes, Sansa spent a moment or two wondering why, besides his habit of making enemies wherever he went, Petyr felt the need of having all these different lives to escape to.
But maybe she was starting to understand.
Pentos was surely a beautiful place, even as she stepped off the ship onto the wharf. It was bustling with people, stinking of filth and fish, and when she thought about it, not as different from other places in Westeros as one might think. Beneath those external differences, people were all the same, and the world was only one.
Chapter 8 of Your Eternal Lies is out! Check it here on AO3.
started a new wip where jonsa fuck while thinking they're half-siblings and sansa's never been more relieved to learn jon's her cousin than she is after two months w no period
tw implied half-sibling incest
*
Sam has laid the papers out in front of them, hands wringing nervously in front of his stomach. He'd been reluctant to speak in front of anyone but Jon alone, but Jon had insisted.
Now, Jon sits staring blankly at his hands, gaze unseeing.
Ayra is saying something to Sam, arguing, but Sansa's eyes are locked on Jon, her heart beating triple time in her chest.
<i>Cousins</i>.
"Jon," Sansa say softly, ignoring Arya's tantrum.
He doesn't look up, doesn't twitch. Sansa slides from her seat to the floor, on her knees. She shuffles closer, kneeling at his feet.
"Jon," she calls again. His hands twitch. She clasps them in her own, "Jon I know— I know this is difficult," she swallows hard, "but we are <i>cousins</i>."
"Stop saying that!" Ayra yells.
Sansa ignores her, her gaze locked on Jon's face, his bowed head.
"Jon," she tries again. He doesn't seem to register it, eyes glazed. She swallows hard, closing her eyes briefly before looking back at his face. She braces, "Jon, my blood has not come."
His eyes snap up to hers, suddenly focused. He sucks in a sharp breath.
"But we are <i>cousins</i>," she says with emphasis, her eyes darting back and forth between his, "Jon, we're <i>cousins</i>."
He looks at her, lips parted.
"How long?" He asks, voice scratchy, his hand clenching around hers.
"Two moons."
They stare at each other for a long, drawn out moment, heedless of the other three people in the room.
Jon surges forward and kisses her.
Sansa gasps against his lips before sinking into the touch, kissing him back fiercely.
Suddenly Sansa's being yanked back by her hair. She falls back onto her ass on the cold stone floor with a sharp gasp, looking up to see Arya standing above her, furious.
"What are you <i>doing</i>?!" She demands. Her chest heaves, looking between them with narrowed eyes. Her gaze lands sharply on Sansa. She spits, "He is our <i>brother</i>!"
"He is <i>your</i> brother," Sansa says, pushing herself slowly to standing beside Arya, looking down at her, "He is <i>my</i> cousin."
P.S. Guys, I know you’ve been waiting for the last two chapters of A Warm Winter, and I was actually planning to update it now that I finally have decent internet again, but the Before Spring update is already pretty overdue...
E | Jon Snow/Sansa Stark | Modern AU | Hockey Player Jon | Strangers to Lovers | Fast Burn | Secret Relationship | Discussion of Past Abuse | Stumbling Blindly Into D/s Dynamics
AO3
Jon kisses her awake.
She lifts a hand to the back of his neck, sliding her fingers into his damp hair.
She frowns against his lips.
"Why are you wet?" She asks, sleepy and confused.
He huffs a laugh, pressing another kiss to her lips.
"Took a shower after my run," he says.
"Oh."
She blinks up at him expectantly and he kisses her again, his left hand trailing from her cheek, down her neck. His thumb brushes her throat, callused fingers skating along collarbone until they curl over her breast.
She sighs into his mouth.
"What time is it?" She murmurs.
"We have three hours."
Sansa lips curl up in a smile.
"Better make good use of them then," she says.
Jon hums. He kisses her lips then pulls away.
Sansa frowns.
"Where are you going?"
He trails his lips down her body in answer, kissing along her neck, her chest. He disappears beneath the blankets at her waist and she sucks in a sharp breath when he shoulders his way between her thighs, closing her eyes in anticipation. His breath is hot against her, his hands on her ass.
"Fuck, you smell good," he groans, burying his nose in her pubic hair.
Sansa flushes.
"Jon," she complains.
He presses a kiss to her mound, nosing his way to her clit with a contented sigh. He drags the flat of his tongue across her clit and she bucks under him, biting her lower lip, eyes closed. He grunts, hands sliding up around her hips. He circles her clit with the tip of his tongue, rubbing it against her while she writhes against his mouth. He parts her labia with his fingers, licking along her slick vulva to her entrance. He curls his tongue inside her and she whines, hand darting under the blankets to curl into his hair. His thumb replaces his tongue on her clit. He feasts on her cunt, licking up every bit of slick that leaks out of her.
Sansa moans and writhes above him, grinding against his face. He slides two fingers inside her and she whimpers, gasping and rolling her hips down on his hand. His knuckles are wet, slick dripping down the back of his hand. He groans against her clit, sucking it between his lips, and Sansa shouts, fingers curling tight in Jon's hair. He moans against her, renewing his efforts.
"Jon," she gasps, tugging on his hair again, "Jon, please."
"Mmf?"
"More, please, please, I need you. Need you inside me."
Jon groans. He presses a kiss to her clit before pulling away, disentangling himself so he can hover over her, his beard shining with slick. He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, looking down at her with dark eyes.
"I had plans," he says conversationally.
Sansa whines.
"Jon."
He hums, running a hand down her side, calluses bringing goosebumps to the surface of her skin.
"I was gonna spend the next three hours with my face buried between your thighs, making you come again and again so I had to carry you to the car to pick up your sister."
Sansa sucks in a sharp breath.
"Jon."
A subtle smirk curls his lips, eyes warm and dark on hers. He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.
"What do you want, sweet girl?"
"Need your cock," she says, squeezing his waist with her thighs, "please."
"You don't want to come on my tongue?" Jon asks, stroking her hip.
"I want you to fuck me," Sansa says.
Jon kisses her. He kisses her breathless, until she's whimpering against his lips. He pulls away again, and Sansa whines, reaching for him, and Jon smirks as he climbs off the bed. He stands by the side and grabs her by the ankle, spinning her in the bed so her legs hang over the side of the bed in front of him.
"What are you doing?" She asks, breathless and giggling.
Jon grunts, hard cock bobbing between them. He hitches her thighs up then grabs her by the ankles, lifting her legs until her ankles rest against his right shoulder.
Sansa sucks in a sharp breath.
Jon presses his cock to her entrance and slowly slides in, holding her ankles in place with one big hand. She moans, whimpering and twisting her fingers in the bed sheets. Jon snaps his hips into her with a grunt, fucking her hard and fast, ass cheeks flexing with every thrust.
Sansa whimpers and moans, bringing her hands to her chest to massage her breasts and play with her nipples. Jon's eyes are hot and dark on her face, her body.
"Fuck. you're hot."
Sansa giggles, moaning breathlessly.
"Not beautiful?" She teases.
"You're always beautiful."
Sansa smiles and then her expression twists as he slams into her, biting down on a moan.
Jon frowns, halting his thrusts. He smacks her open-handed on the thigh, high near her ass.
It stings.
Sansa gasps, sucking in a sharp breath. She looks up at him, wide-eyed, pussy clenching around him.
"Don't hold back," he says, "I want to hear you."
Sansa's eyes slip closed and she moans, plucking at her nipples.
Jon rolls his hips. He watches her reach down between her legs to rub circles into her clit. He fucks her harder, grunting with every thrust. Her mouth falls open in a silent moan as she tenses beneath him, whimpering as she comes. Her pussy flutters around his cock and Jon groans, movements stuttering. He tucks his hands in the bends of her knees and presses them toward her and down, testing her flexibility by pressing them toward the bed.
Her eyes roll back in her head as his cock slips deeper, the head of his cock crushed against her aching cervix. She reaches for him, scrabbling at his shoulders now that he's in touching distance. He keeps his hands braced in the bends of her knees, baring her down into the mattress as he fucks her. She's tighter around him after coming, gasps punched out of her every time he thrusts. She has her eyes squeezed closed, clinging to him.
"Good?" He grunts.
"Good," she nods frantically, gasping a breath, "so good, Jon."
He drives into her, chasing his release. It's fast and sloppy and he comes hard, panting above her. He slowly releases her legs, letting them fall back to the bed, hanging over the edge. He rubs his hands along her thighs as he pulls out and leans down to kiss her. She curls her fingers in his hair, pulling him close, bent in half over her. They kiss leisurely, Jon's hands wandering her body, warm, callused palms sliding along her torso, her thighs.
She sighs into his mouth.
"Come to bed, Jon."
*
Jon and Sansa stand side-by-side on the train platform, fingers tangled together. Sansa bounces on her toes watching the train approach, chewing her lower lip. Jon stands stoic beside her, toque pulled down low over his ears, a scarf covering the lower half of his face.
His hand is clammy in hers.
She squeezes his fingers, smiling up at him. His eyes crinkle at the corners in return.
"So this is him," a voice drawls from their right.
They both startle and Sansa turns with a grin. She pulls Arya into a hug that she only barely returns, pulling back looking disgruntled. Her eyes are sharp turning to Jon as Sansa pulls him forward.
"This is Jon," Sansa says, fingers tight on his bicep, "Jon, this is Arya."
"Nice to meet you," Jon says, offering a smile under his scarf and holding out a hand to shake.
Arya eyes it for a moment before slipping her hand into his, grabbing his hand firmly.
They shake.
"You too," she says, a bit belatedly.
Sansa rolls her eyes.
"C'mon," she encourages them, "it's cold."
Arya continues shooting glances at Jon as they make their way to the car, her overnight bag over her shoulder. She keeps a step behind Sansa and Jon, watching. Watching their tangled hands swing, watching their shoulders bump, the way they're pulled back toward each other again and again. She watches Jon open the passenger door for Sansa, the way she slides into her seat with a quiet 'thank you' like he does it all the time. He moves to pass Arya, to round the car and get in the driver's side, when she stops him with an arched brow.
"What?" Arya says, "no chivalry for me?"
Jon blinks at her. His ears turn red.
"Sansa said you wouldn't like it," he says.
Arya narrows her eyes at him, studying his half-covered face.
"She's right."
Jon sighs. He rolls his eyes.
"Get in the car," he says. A beat, "please."
Arya smirks at him. She opens the car door behind Sansa's and tosses her bag across the bench before sliding in.
She notices Jon does a visual check that everyone is buckled before pulling out of the parking space and that he holds Sansa's hand on the center console. He'd automatically put his phone in the holder on the dash when he got in the car and he says nothing when Sansa grabs it, doesn't react to her tapping his password across the screen. Sansa turns in her seat to face Arya, Jon's phone open in her hand.
"What do you want to listen to?" She asks.
Arya arches a brow at her.
"Doesn't driver pick the music?"
"Jon doesn't care."
"Hm."
"I didn't know that was a rule," Jon mutters, sounding amused, "passenger seat always DJs."
"Jon doesn't care," Sansa repeats.
"I don't care either," Arya decides.
She's busy watching Jon.
Sansa narrows her eyes, but doesn't say anything.
"Fine."
Sansa turns forward in her seat and clicks something on the phone's screen. Music starts playing softly through the car. She places the phone back in the cradle on the dash.
Jon's hand finds hers again in the center.
When they pull into the driveway of Jon's house, Arya is stuck by how modest it is, not a huge opulent mansion and nothing like the Stark family home. It's small with a big yard and he parks in the driveway instead of the garage.
Arya follows them out of the car, swinging her bag over her shoulder.
"When is check-in at the hotel?" She asks as Jon opens the front door.
"Three," he says.
Arya nods.
She follows them into the house and immediately locks in on the sound of dog paws skittering across hard wood.
"Ghost!" Jon calls as the white beast comes barrelling into the living room, "behave."
The dog sits, watching them curiously.
Sansa immediately leans down to give the dog pets, smiling and kissing between his ears.
Arya tries to remain impartial.
Ghost cocks his head at her and she caves, letting her bag drop by the door and eagerly approaching. She offers her hand for him to sniff and then buries her fingers in his fur with a grin that he licks happily.
Eventually, she pulls away, trying to school the smile from her face. She looks around the living room while unwinding the scarf Sansa gifted her from her neck.
"Smaller than I thought it'd be," she says.
"Arya!" Sansa snaps.
Jon just looks amused, shoving his hands in his pockets.
"What were you expecting?" He asks, curiously.
Arya shrugs.
"One of those ugly modern mansions. You know — with columns and a pool."
Jon makes an amused little huffing noise.
"What would I do with all the space?"
Arya shrugs again.
"Whatever you sports idiots do."
"Arya!" Sansa snaps again, "you're an athlete too!"
Arya just raises an eyebrow at her.
"I'm an exception," she says.
Jon looks terribly amused, scratching at his beard to muffle the smile on his face.
"What do you play?" He asks.
"I'm a fencer," Arya tells him, chin tilted high.
"That's cool," Jon says, "you compete?"
Arya nods.
"Collegiate — for now."
"Aiming for the Olympics?"
Arya nods.
"That's the goal," she says.
Jon nods back at her.
"Jon is an Olympian!" Sansa blurts.
He flushes.
Arya looks amused by her sister. She nods slowly.
"I know," she says, "we watched the last games together."
Sansa purses her lips, her cheeks red.
"He could tell you about the experience," she suggests.
"I won't interrogate him," Arya says. She pauses, eyeing Jon, "not about that anyway."
Jon takes this easily enough, shrugging.
"Have you eaten?" He asks.
"I could eat again."
Jon nods. He pulls his phone out of his pocket.
"What are you feeling?"
"You're going to order something?" Arya asks.
Jon nods again. He looks at her expectantly.
"I don't want a salad," she says.
His lips tick up at the corners.
"No one said you had to have a salad," he says.
Arya scrutinizes him.
"Burrito bowl," she says.
Jon hums to himself, tapping away on his phone.
"Sansa?" He prompts.
"Same," Sansa says. She cocks her head, "we should move out of the foyer."
"Right."
Jon doesn't look up from his phone, leading them further into the house. He lets himself fall back on the couch and Sansa sits beside him. Arya takes an arm chair.
She watches them.
Jon asks what they want in their burrito bowls and tells them it'll be thirty to forty minutes when he's placed the order. He tucks his phone in his pants and puts his arm around Sansa's shoulders, tugging her into his side. She goes easily, settling against him. Jon grabs the remote from the end table beside him and tosses it to Arya. She catches it easily, only a little startled.
"Put something on," he says, nodding toward the TV.
She blinks at him.
"Like what?"
Jon shrugs.
"Whatever you like."
Arya narrows her eyes at him before turning to the TV, turning it on and scrolling through the apps. She lands on ESPN+ and puts on a replay of the Direwolves's most recent game against the Lions.
"I didn't get to watch," she explains, setting the remote aside.
Jon nods, eyes already locked on the screen.
Sansa smiles to herself, amused.
"Scoping out the competition?" She teases.
"Always," Jon grunts, tightening his arm around her shoulders.
Arya purses her lips, hand twitching toward the remote before stilling in her lap.
Jon spots it and smirks.
"I promise I'm not gaining any more from watching this than I do reviewing game tape," he says lowly.
Arya looks vaguely embarrassed, rolling her eyes. She crosses her arms with a huff and settles back in her chair.
Their food arrives during the first intermission and they eat in the living room. Sansa sits back with her burrito bowl in her lap, watching Jon and Arya discuss the game so far.
"Who do you think won?" Arya asks, mouth full.
Sansa pulls a face.
"Chew and swallow before speaking, please."
Arya rolls her eyes.
"I already know who won," Jon says, "It's important to keep track of your opponents."
Arya purses her lips.
"You keep track of every game?"
"I try," Jon shrugs, scraping his fork through the rice in his own burrito bowl, "paying attention to the standings, catching game highlights, stuff like that. I watch every game that I can."
"Don't you watch, like, hours of game tape with the team?"
"Yeah."
Arya looks begrudgingly impressed.
Jon finishes his food and sets his takeout container on the coffee table. He checks the time on his phone and sighs, rubbing at his beard.
"I should go nap," he says, looking at Sansa then Arya, "I'll drop you two at the hotel before I head to the arena."
"I'll nap with you," Sansa says immediately.
Jon's eyes crinkle at the corners. He tucks her hair behind her ear.
"You should hang out with your sister," he says.
Sansa pouts.
"I see her all the time," she complains.
Jon huffs a laugh. He presses a kiss to her lips.
"You'll see me after my nap."
"She can go," Arya says, watching them with narrowed eyes, "but I better not hear any funny business."
Sansa shoots her a glare.
Jon just smirks. He holds a hand up.
"Scouts honor."
He stands from the couch and holds his hand to Sansa; she takes it, letting him pull her up. They wave to Arya and disappear down the hall.
Arya doesn't watch them go, but she listens, hearing a door close. Ghost appears at her side then and she smiles, digging her fingers into his ruff. When he gets tired of her, he walks away, headed toward the kitchen. She takes the opportunity to snoop, opening Jon's fridge and cabinets, digging through the medicine cabinet in the hall bath. Eventually, she follows Ghost out into the backyard. The dog takes off at a run, chasing a squirrel, while Arya remains on the patio. She pulls her phone out of her pocket, forgoing answering her mother's text messages for just calling her.
"Hello?"
"Hey mom."
"You're at your hotel?" Catelyn asks.
"No," Arya shakes her head to herself, "We're at Jon's."
"Oh."
"They're not around," Arya tries to think of an excuse for their absence that doesn't give away what Jon does, "they went to get us food."
"They left you behind?"
"I wanted to snoop."
"Arya!"
"It's what you wanted me to do, isn't it?"
Catelyn doesn't reply.
"He seems nice," Arya admits. She scratches absently at her elbow. She should've put her coat on, "Sansa likes him a lot. They kind of. . .gravitate toward each other."
"Hm."
"He opens doors for her, but doesn't make a big thing of it," Arya squints into the yard, eyes following Ghost as he runs around, "She knows his phone password."
Catelyn makes a little noise.
"It seems fast," she says cautiously.
"Yeah," Arya sighs, "I never thought I'd see Sansa like this again," she hesitates, "maybe it's a good thing."
"You've always complained about her romantic nature before."
Arya scowls. She kicks at a pebble at her feet.
"Yeah, well, that was before Joffrey sucked the life out of her. I—" Arya swallows hard. She continues begrudgingly, "it's nice seeing her happy."
"Yes, it is." Catelyn murmurs.
*
Jon's alarm goes off and he swipes it away before rolling out of bed.
Sansa groans at the noise and the loss of his warmth, turning over and burying her face in the pillow under her head.
Jon smiles. He leaves her in the bed and heads for the closet to put on one of his game day suits. It's charcoal gray and tailored to his body. He grabs a pair of dress socks and carries them over to the bed, sitting on the edge to pull them on. Sansa rolls over behind him, humming to herself. He feels her hand on his shoulder, running down his arm.
"I thought you didn't have to wear suits anymore," she says curiously.
Jon shrugs.
"I own enough of them," he says, "I'd rather just keep using them then let them gather dust."
"Hm," She sits up and wraps her arms around his waist, chin hooked over his shoulder, "You look handsome."
Jon's lips quirk up at one corner.
"Thanks."
Sansa noses at the side of his neck before releasing him and he stands, walking back into the closet.
"I have something for you," he says as he disappears inside.
Sansa tilts her head curiously, sitting cross-legged in the center of the bed. She waits.
Jon emerges with pink hiding under his beard, a plain black gift bag in hand. He passes it to her and she furrows her brow, looking from Jon to the bag and back.
"Just open it."
She arches a brow at him before doing as he says, reaching into the bag and pulling out a black Night's Watch jersey, Snow, 13 emblazoned on the back.
"You don't have to wear it—" he says immediately.
Sansa glares at him, hugging the jersey to her chest.
"Of course I'll wear it."
He smiles, leaning down to kiss her.
"I look forward to taking it off you later," he murmurs.
Sansa flushes, kissing him again before he pulls back. He checks the time on his phone.
"We should head out."
Sansa nods. She climbs out of the bed and pulls the jersey on over her camisole before stepping back into the jeans she'd taken off to nap.
Arya is watching another game on the TV when they enter the living room, looking up at them with both eyebrows raised high.
"Time to go?" She asks.
Jon nods.
"Yeah, c'mon. I'll drop you two off at the hotel on the way."
*
Arya throws herself onto the hotel bed with a sigh, rolling onto he back and looking up at the ceiling. She casts her eyes at Sansa who follows her into the suite at a more sedate pace, taking a seat at the desk in the corner. She swivels around to face the bed and they make eye contact.
"So." Sansa says.
Arya arches a brow.
Sansa rolls her eyes.
"What do you think?"
Arya shrugs her shoulders.
Sansa huffs.
"Arya."
Arya rolls her eyes.
"He seems nice I guess," she says reluctantly.
Sansa narrows her eyes.
"What'd you tell mom?"
Arya slides her gaze back to the ceiling.
"Who says I told mom anything?"
"Arya."
Arya huffs.
"I told her the same," she says, "it's not like we had some long ass conversation — first impression: seems nice."
Sansa eyes her for a moment before nodding.
"Good enough," she moves from the desk chair to the edge of the bed, grabbing the remote along the way, "we've got a couple hours — wanna watch a movie?"
*
The Night's Watch lose.
*
Sansa chews her bottom lip, standing outside the hotel with her coat on over her Snow jersey. It's dark, the game long over. Her breath clouds in front of her with every exhale. She tucks her hands in her armpits. Arya stands beside her, squinting into the dark.
Sansa's phone vibrates in her pocket.
Jon: maybe you should stay with Arya
Sansa furrows her brow.
Sansa: why?
Jon: not good company tonight
Sansa purses her lips.
Sansa: i don't care
Jon doesn't reply right away.
"What'd he say?" Arya asks, trying to peek at Sansa's phone.
Sansa pulls her phone screen to her chest, glaring down at Arya.
"Apparently he won't be good company," Sansa says, rolling her eyes.
Arya rolls her eyes too, crossing her arms.
"Well, is he coming or not? We could be inside where it's warm."
"You don't have to wait with me," Sansa reminds her.
Arya just scoffs.
Sansa's phone vibrates in her hand.
Jon: be there in 5
Sansa sends a thumbs up and tucks her phone back in her pocket, crossing her arms and bouncing on her toes.
"We could at least wait in the lobby," Arya complains.
"He said five minutes."
"Five minutes we could be warm."
Sansa rolls her eyes.
"Fine."
They go back into the lobby and take seats on the chair across from the front desk. Sansa perches on the edge with her arms crossed, ready to pop up them moment Jon texts her.
Her phone vibrates and she stands without checking it. Arya follows suit, trailing Sansa back out the front doors.
Jon's parked at the curb, standing by the passenger door with his hands in his pockets, a deep frown on his face. He runs a hand roughly through his damp hair.
"You sure you don't want to stay with Arya?" He asks.
Sansa rolls her eyes.
"Get in the car, Jon."
His lips twitch, not in a frown, not in a smile. He nods.
"Good night, Arya." He says.
"Night Jon!" Arya says. She eyes him for a moment, "you played well."
Jon grunts and nods and rounds the car to the driver's seat.
Arya looks at Sansa, one eyebrow arched.
"You sure you want to spend the night the with sourpuss?"
Sansa rolls her eyes and sighs.
"Yes."
"Okay." Arya shrugs.
They wave at each other and Sansa climbs into the passenger seat of Jon's car. He waits for Arya to go back into the hotel before pulling onto the road. Jon doesn't say anything, mouth set in a frown. Sansa follows his lead, chewing her bottom lip. She lays her hand on the center console, palm up, and waits.
It takes him a moment to notice and she watches him flick his gaze toward her hand twice before taking his right hand off the steering wheel and linking their fingers together.
Sansa fidgets in her seat, occasionally shooting looks Jon's way.
He watches the dark streets steadily.
Sansa swallows hard, turning her head to look out the passenger window, Jon's hand a warm anchor in hers.
They finish the drive in silence.
They pull into the driveway and Jon moves to let go of her hand, but she tightens her fingers around his. He pauses and turns to face her, meeting her eyes.
He blinks, still frowning, eyes dark.
Sansa leans across the center console and kisses the corner of his mouth.
Jon lets out a long breath then kisses her on the lips. He presses his forehead to hers. They linger for a long moment and then Jon pulls away and pushes the car door open.
Sansa follows. She stays a step behind, following him up the porch steps and into the house, shrugging out of her coat and stepping out of her shoes.
Jon turns toward her, looking at the crest on the front of the jersey she's wearing and his frown twists deeper. He shakes his head turns away, stalking further into the house.
Sansa sighs.
She watches him disappear into the bedroom and decides to give him space, going to the kitchen instead. She pours herself a glass of water, leans up against the counter, sipping it slowly. She pulls out her phone, idly scrolling through instagram.
After a few minutes, Jon appears in the threshold of the kitchen wearing a t-shirt and briefs. He's still frowning, but he came looking for her and that makes her heart skip a beat.
"Are you coming to bed?" He asks quietly.
Sansa nods and sets her water glass in the sink.
"I should probably shower first," she says.
Jon nods.
"Okay."
He continues just standing there.
Sansa smiles a little.
"I'm coming," she promises.
He nods again.
"Okay," he repeats.
He turns and heads back toward the bedroom.
Sansa follows, bypassing tbe bed for the en-suite. She showers quickly, scrubbing herself down. She blow dries her long hair until it's just tolerably damp. She didn't bring any pajamas to the bathroom with her so she braves the cold of Jon's room and scurries to the bed, diving under the covers nude to curl up beside him. He lifts an arm to welcome her and she presses close, an arm around his waist, leg thrown over his hip. He presses his lips to the crown of her head and stays there.
*
Jon's alarm goes off at five in the morning and he turns onto his back to stare blankly at the dark ceiling. Sansa follows in her sleep, snuggling close, her warm breath damp on his neck. He closes his eyes and a breath shudders out of him. He turns the alarm off and presses a kiss to her forehead, nosing at her cheek.
He sighs.
Jon slips out of bed and Sansa sprawls in the space he left behind, her face buried in his pillow. He watches her for a moment before going to the closet and pulling on a pair of sweatpants over his briefs. He grabs a black sweatshirt and a pair of thick athletic socks and puts those on too. He snags his phone from his nightstand and checks the weather, before heading for the front door, bundling up as much as he's willing and shoving his wallet, keys, and phone into his pocket. He puts his running shoes on and stretches his arms above his head with a groan.
He locks the door behind himself when he leaves, taking off at a jog.
Sansa is up when he gets back, sitting at the kitchen island with a cup of coffee warming her palms. She's on her phone, but looks up at the sound of the front door opening. She offers Jon a wary smile and his stomach clenches.
"Hey," he says softly.
"Hi," she says back.
He makes a beeline for her and she opens herself up to him, turning in her seat to spread her knees. He steps between them, one hand on her bare thigh, the other cupping her cheek. She leans into the touch, blinking slowly up at him.
He sighs.
He kisses her.
"Sorry I'm a surly bastard," he murmurs.
Sansa laughs, bright and sharp.
"Jon," she shakes her head, eyes crinkling at the corners, "you're fine."
He frowns and she kisses him. She loops her arms around his neck and he leans into it, kissing her hard. He squeezes her thigh, using his thumb on her jaw to tilt her head just so. Her breath trembles out of her.
"When do you have to go?" She asks quietly.
"We have time."
Sansa huffs.
"How much time?"
Jon licks his lips, pulling back to look her in the eye.
"Enough for me to turn you around and fuck you right here."
Sansa sucks in a sharp little breath, squeezing her thighs around him where he stands between them. His hand creeps up her thigh, under the too big shirt she's wearing. He closes his eyes at the feeling of bare skin all the way up to her hip.
"Nothing?" He asks roughly.
Sansa bites her lower lip.
"Didn't know how much time we'd have."
Jon shudders. He kisses her again, licking into her mouth to taste the coffee on her breath. He kisses her until he's hard in his sweats, then pulls back a step. He tugs on her hand until she slides off the stool then turns her around by the hips. She braces her hands on the seat of the stool, curving her spine toward him. She watches him over her shoulder with dark eyes as he pushes the hem of her shirt up around her waist, baring her bottom half to his gaze. His eyes are hot on her ass, her thighs. He slides a palm up the center of her spine then down again, calluses catching against her soft skin. Goosebumps break out across her body, nipples tightening to little peaks. She sucks in a sharp breath, letting her head fall between her shoulders.
Jon pushes his sweatpants and briefs down around his ass and strokes his hard cock, eyes hungry on Sansa's ass. He guides the head toward her cunt, lashes fluttering at the feel of her hot and wet against his sensitive tip. He presses into her and she mewls, rocking her hips back to pull him in further. He grips her hips hard and fits his cock inside her with a groan, letting his head tip back. He snaps his hips into her, setting a fast pace, knowing they really barely have time for this. He reaches around to rub at her clit and she moans, fucking herself back against him, meeting each thrust.
"Fuck" she gasps, "fuck, Jon, you feel so good. Always so good."
He grunts, "Sansa." grip tightening on her hip.
She tightens up around him suddenly, crying out as she comes, and Jon slams into her, spilling deep in her cunt. He pulls out slowly, pressing a kiss to the back of her neck. He flicks his gaze toward the oven clock.
"I think you have time for a quick shower," he says.
Sansa shakes her head, turning around to face him. She licks her lips, studying his face.
"Gonna carry you inside me all day," she murmurs.
Jon groans. His lashes flutter. He grabs her by the ass to haul her closer, kissing her firmly on the mouth.
I feel like everyone moved on but I’m still into the geisha-verse and I’m pissed netflixes cancelled another show I started getting attached to but like always let’s take that and make it dark Jonsa hahaha. Idk maybe Sansa being the sun summoner and darling as Jon idk or you can caste them as part of the six of crows since I can totally see the stark kids forming a band of misfits.
that or Jonsa half siblings or even full siblings, if we want sinful let’s go all out! Idk how comfortable you are with darker themed romance but I’m thinking Jon practically babied Sansa growing up because she’s so different from the rest of their siblings, growing up spoiled by Jonny boy she pretty much Idepends on him and low key develops and good girl kink for Jon and Jon doesn’t realize it till but his somber and need for dominance stemmed from his good girl Sansa being so obedient and attached to him
A bad seed kills the garden (jonsa bookverse /4k words)
Hiii dear anon! Tysm for your request!! <3 I took the second idea bc I didn't read Six of Crows sorry :c but I hope you like the fic (half-siblings), set during the War of the Five Kings with the wolves in their dreams and the godswood defiled by them… (warnings in the notes)
Jon and Sansa stand side-by-side on the train platform, fingers tangled together. Sansa bounces on her toes watching the train approach, chewing her lower lip. Jon stands stoic beside her, toque pulled down low over his ears, a scarf covering the lower half of his face.
His hand is clammy in hers.
She squeezes his fingers, smiling up at him. His eyes crinkle at the corners in return.
"So this is him," a voice drawls from their right.
They both startle and Sansa turns with a grin. She pulls Arya into a hug that she only barely returns, pulling back looking disgruntled. Her eyes are sharp turning to Jon as Sansa pulls him forward.
"This is Jon," Sansa says, fingers tight on his bicep, "Jon, this is Arya."
"Nice to meet you," Jon says, offering a smile under his scarf and holding out a hand to shake.
Arya eyes it for a moment before slipping her hand into his, grabbing his hand firmly.
They shake.
"You too," she says, a bit belatedly.
Sansa rolls her eyes.
"C'mon," she encourages them, "it's cold."
Arya continues shooting glances at Jon as they make their way to the car, her overnight bag over her shoulder. She keeps a step behind Sansa and Jon, watching. Watching their tangled hands swing, watching their shoulders bump, the way they're pulled back toward each other again and again. She watches Jon open the passenger door for Sansa, the way she slides into her seat with a quiet 'thank you' like he does it all the time. He moves to pass Arya, to round the car and get in the driver's side, when she stops him with an arched brow.
"What?" Arya says, "no chivalry for me?"
Jon blinks at her. His ears turn red.
"Sansa said you wouldn't like it," he says.
Arya narrows her eyes at him, studying his half-covered face.
Jaime Lannister still had a place in his anger. Jon saw the golden hair, the hand resting on the hilt of a sword, and the ease with which the man had stood beside Sansa as though he had always belonged there. He had gone for her in the Vale when no one else had. He had rescued her, protected her, and earned her gratitude. Gratitude, Sansa had said. Not love. The Kingslayer might have stepped from one of her songs, but he was not the man Sansa had pulled back.
That certainty pulled the teeth from Jon's worst doubt. For days, the mere sight of Jaime near her had been enough to fill his mouth with the taste of anger. The Lannister knew parts of Sansa's life that Jon had only heard of afterward, kept memories of the road that Jon would never share, and had been there when she needed a sword. None of that had won him what Jon had just received.
Harry could offer the knights of the Vale, Petyr could weave all the promises he pleased, and Jaime could cross the Seven Kingdoms with a sword in hand. None of them would have her.
Blood still stood between Jon and Sansa, a problem that would have to be faced, but he would not surrender to another man the woman who had chosen him while he searched for a way through it. If any of them came to claim her, they would find Jon in their path.
