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geekprincess26 · 7 years ago

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Mistletoe Merriment

A bit of Christmas fun for @subjunctivemood, my lovely recipient for the Holidays round of @jonsaexchange‘s Jonsa Exchange. I hope you like it!

It all started the year Theon Greyjoy kissed Margaery Tyrell at the Starks’ Christmas party.

Catelyn Stark had a fondness for mistletoe, and she scattered sprigs and of it all over her house when she did her Christmas decorating every year. Rumor had it she had acquired a taste for the plant when she and her husband Ned had had their first kiss underneath a spot of it in her grandmother’s kitchen when he had been helping her with the dishes after her family’s Christmas party. And he never failed to find a bunch under which to sweep his wife every year, even decades into their marriage.

Catelyn, however, was also more than wise to the unpredictability of teenage hormones, so once Robb and Sansa hit their adolescent years, she stopped hanging standalone bunches in the middle of the ceilings and instead wove sprigs into the Christmas wreaths decorating the walls and the evergreen garlands wound around the banisters. Nobody ever noticed it much, although on occasion Theon caught Ned and Catelyn kissing fiercely under one or the other of the wreaths on the family room wall when he snuck out of Robb’s room to filch a drink from the downstairs refrigerator. One year the Starks rearranged the family room furniture, and the wreath happened to be hung over one of the couches. Ned and Cat both had quite a bit of Arbor Gold at that year’s party, and Theon, unfortunately, snuck out of Robb’s room exceptionally late, well after everybody should have been in bed. He wasn’t sure his eyes or ears would ever quite stop burning from the display he’d witnessed the Stark parents putting on that night.

Still, Theon had eyes, and he couldn’t help but notice how drop-dead gorgeous Sansa, the elder Stark daughter, was. By the time she went off to college she’d grown as tall as a model and every bit as hot. She had a head of fiery red hair that could light up a room, and she had legs for miles and one holy hell of a body. But Sansa was Robb’s sister, and that meant she was way off limits. The one time he’d tried to flirt with her, Robb had shouted, “Oi, Greyjoy! You wanna try that again?”, and Jon Snow, Robb’s broody best friend who barely ever said a word, stalked over and shoved him away from Sansa.

“Leave off her, Greyjoy,” he’d growled, making a noise in his throat Theon could have sworn sounded more wolf than human, and Theon did.

Then he went to the first session of Psychology 101 his sophomore year in college and laid eyes on Margaery Tyrell. So did every other guy in the room. Hell, the girl was a knockout. She might not be as tall as Sansa, but she had the finest backside a man could ask to look at, hourglass curves for days, and a saucy smile that made Theon drool. She had the professor eating out of her hand by the end of the first class period, and it didn’t take much longer for Theon to realize her flirtation game was a fearsome thing to behold – almost as fearsome as his. Try as he might, though, he could not get her to give him the time of day. He tried every grin and wink in his repertoire. He attended her volleyball games. Hell, he trotted out pickup lines he reserved for only the hottest, smartest, classiest girls in his life. All he got for it, though, was a smattering of smiles, and they weren’t those big, bold grins he saw her use on other people. She knew how to play it coy, Theon would give her that.

So he waited to make his move until that year’s Stark Christmas party. After Bran and Rickon, the two youngest Starks, had gone to bed, Theon spiked the punch bowl and helped him to several glasses. Then he nicked a sprig of mistletoe from one of Catelyn’s wreaths, duct-taped it to the doorway between the basement’s family room and game room, filled another cup with punch, and offered it to Margaery along with his most winning smile just as she stepped under the mistletoe. A snigger spilled out of Theon before he could stop it – in fact, he managed to stifle a string of moment-ruining giggles only just in time – and when she raised an eyebrow at him, he saw his opening. Clearly, he’d intrigued her. The long game had paid off – now it was time to close the deal. He closed the distance between them in a flash, pulled her flush against him, and gave her his most swoon-worthy kiss. He might have hiccupped a bit in the middle of it, but Margaery did not seem to notice. In fact, when he finally let her go, she winked at him. Theon’s eyes lit up, but Margaery shook her head and clicked her tongue at him.

“I’m flattered, Greyjoy,” she cooed, “but I’m very particular about the caliber of kisser I need.” She turned her back to him, stalked off to the punch bowl, ladled herself a glass, and drained it all in one go. Across the room, Robb and his friends Pyp Black and Grenn Wall burst out laughing. So did Shae Smith and Myrcella Baratheon, who had been tittering over on the other side of the room.

Well, son of a bitch. Theon Greyjoy had never been played quite so hard.

Theon slunk toward the pool table, but before he got there he saw Sansa Stark out of the corner of his eye. She swept over to Margaery and the others, flashing one of her megawatt smiles at something. Theon goggled at her for a moment before turning out of instinct to check for Robb and Jon. Robb was nowhere in sight, but Jon was sitting in the corner holding a beer and looking even gogglier than Theon.

He was staring at Sansa Stark, too.

Weird, Theon thought before he passed out in the nearest chair. Snow must have been drunker than he thought.

By the time next year rolled around, Margaery had begun dating Robb Stark. Theon’s one consolation was that she brought her friend Ros North, a curvaceous redhead with a wicked grin and a reputation to match. Two beers and two glasses of punch into the evening, Theon snagged another sprig of mistletoe and taped it over the same doorway. He approached Ros with a glass of punch, just as he had done with Margaery, and graced her with his much-improved kiss, which he’d practiced thoroughly with a couple of week-long girlfriends the prior year. Barely five seconds into the kiss, Ros burst into giggles, pulled away, and patted Theon on the head.

“Poor baby,” she snickered. Theon still couldn’t quite tear his gaze from the way her bright, full red lips caressed the words. She tilted her head so those lips were nearly brushing Theon’s ear. Theon’s face went as red as Ros’s hair.

“I like to roll with men, dear,” she whispered. “I’ve had enough of the boys.” She whirled around, giving Theon a view of her perfect ass, and sauntered over to talk to Myrcella Baratheon and Shae Smith, who were giggling like crazy.

Bloody hell. Maybe he was losing his game. Thank gods Robb hadn’t noticed – he was too busy snogging Margaery Tyrell in the next room. Nor did Jon Snow, who was in his usual corner but talking to Sansa Stark instead of nursing his usual beer.

Theon raised an imaginary glass to Sansa. The girl had more tricks than he did if she could get Mr. Antisocial himself to smile at a party.

The following year, with both Robb and Jon occupied at the pool table, Theon used his mistletoe – and, of course, the punch – on Sansa Stark, who got more stunning every year. Sansa gave a startled yelp and shoved him backward. Theon stumbled wildly and nearly fell on his backside, only saving himself by crashing into the wall.

“Geez, Greyjoy,” said Sansa, rolling her eyes. “Sod off. You’re drunk.”

“Oi!” Suddenly Jon Snow’s glowering face obscured Theon’s field of vision. “Leave her be, Greyjoy.”

“He’s just drunk, Jon.” Sansa’s soft voice sounded from somewhere behind the curly-headed menace currently occupying Theon’s shifting eyesight. “We should get him to Robb’s room.”

Jon shook his head. “Robb and I’ll get him,” he said. “You should stay and – and have fun.”

His hand reached over to rub the back of his head. Somewhere between slumping to the floor and staring at Ros, who had come to the party with her new, rich boyfriend, Theon risked another glance at Jon. His face looked awfully red.

The following year, Sansa brought Myrcella’s nasty older brother Joffrey to the Starks’ Christmas party. Joffrey had loved nothing more than bullying Theon and anyone else he felt owed him some human misery back in high school, and from the moment he swept into the Starks’ house looking as though he owned it, Theon could tell the blond prick hadn’t changed one bit.

Good God, thought Theon as he unscrewed a bottle of rum over the punch bowl and watched Joffrey snap at Sansa for the third time in an hour. The guy was one hell of a douche. And even if Theon didn’t stand a chance with Sansa, he knew she deserved better than that twat.

But hot damn if Joffrey Baratheon didn’t have a gorgeous sister. She entered the room just then, and Theon’s eyes bulged almost out of their sockets. Myrcella got prettier every year, especially when she wore short, sparkly dresses like that…

Not until Myrcella had headed over to talk to Shae Smith did Theon realize he’d accidentally dumped the entire bottle of rum, instead of only half, into the punch bowl. Oops.

So it only took Theon until his third glass of punch to get drunk enough to kiss Myrcella under the mistletoe. She squealed and flung his arm away from her.

“Go away, Theon,” she said in that tone of prim disapproval not even Sansa Stark could match. “You’re drunk.”

Theon giggled. “I kn-know!” he agreed. “It’s called letting loose, Myrcella. You should try it some time.” He gave her his most charmingly subtle wink, although somehow he sensed that it was not coming off as subtly as he wanted it to. Myrcella merely rolled her eyes and strode off in Margaery Tyrell’s direction. Halfway there, she frowned and changed course, this time to where her brother was snapping at Sansa yet again. Jon Snow, however, got over there before she could, and before Baratheon knew what had hit him, Snow spun him around by the arm and started growling at him. He really did look almost like a snapping Rottweiler, Theon thought, and managed a few more giggles before he collapsed on the nearest couch.

The following year, Sansa had dumped Joffrey Baratheon, who was smart enough not to show his face at the Starks’ party. His sister showed up, though, on the arm of Trystane Martell, who spent much of the evening getting his ass handed to him at pool by Arya Stark. The spirited younger Stark daughter was in an even feistier mood that night; she had apparently lost some bet or other with Sansa and had to wear a dress to the party, instead of her usual baggy sweatshirt and jeans, as a result. Now she was taking out her anger on the pool balls and not missing a beat despite the constraints of her form-fitting dress. Luckily, Trystane was a good sport about it, and so was Jon Snow, who got her frown to transform into a hearty laugh by the end of his second match with her.

Damn. Who knew Arya Stark could look that good when she smiled?

Theon hadn’t until now, but after a few glasses of punch, he decided to show his appreciation. Unfortunately, those glasses had made him forget just how proficient Arya was at martial arts. His lips were on hers for all of one and a half seconds before she twisted his arm around and kicked him to the floor. She emptied the glass of punch he’d offered her onto his face for good measure.

“Bugger off, Greyjoy,” she spat, and stomped off. Gendry Waters and Grenn Wall whooped from their perch in the corner. Arya glared at them, and they promptly subsided. Jon Snow and Sansa Stark, whom Arya had startled out of one of those philosophical sci-fi discussions they’d gotten so fond of all the way back in college, both had shit-eating grins on their faces. Luckily, Arya was too busy stomping over to the refrigerator for a beer to notice them.

Theon snorted, and then winced when he felt the remnants of Arya’s drink getting sucked into his nostrils. That hurt worse than the kick she’d given him, although he had a feeling that if Arya had really wanted to hurt him, she’d simply have knocked him out cold. The girl was bloody fierce, he thought, grinning, although he waited to make sure she was safely across the room before pushing himself off the floor.

He was mildly surprised when Gendry showed up as Arya’s boyfriend to the following year’s Christmas party. Aw, shit. Another one bites the dust.

Wait. Another one?

Theon stopped cold in the game room doorway on his way to retrieve the rum, which he’d stashed in the spare room he was occupying for the night.

Last year, when Theon had kissed her, she hadn’t had a boyfriend, and now she had Gendry. The year before that, it had been Myrcella Baratheon, and she’d begun dating Trystane Martell the month following the party. That had been the year Sansa Stark had shown up with Myrcella’s jackass of a brother, but they hadn’t gotten together until after Theon had kissed Sansa the prior year.

Back when Ros had shown up with that rich asshole, whom she’d only snatched up from gods knew where after Theon had tried his mistletoe game on her a year prior. And that had been the year Margaery had started dating Robb Stark, but not until after Theon had kissed her a year before that.

Theon scratched his head. Well, shit. Apparently the mistletoe worked after all, if not exactly the way he wanted it to. He frowned. It hadn’t worked so well for Sansa, though. Every other girl he’d kissed had done all right – hell, Robb and Margaery were engaged now, and so were Myrcella and Trystane – but all Sansa had gotten was six months of preening viciousness from Myrcella’s jackass brother.

Theon scratched his head again. Maybe that problem could be remedied.

“And you told Mum about the wreaths down here, right?” Sansa swept up to the punch bowl alongside Robb. “Gods know Theon won’t leave the bloody stuff alone if he gets an eyeful of it.”

Robb nodded as he poured her a glass of punch. When he reached out to hand it to her, she regarded him with a sharply raised eyebrow. Her brother held out both hands in a gesture of utter placation.

“Yes, I spoke to Mum, as requested,” he answered. “You should know by now that when a woman in my life asks me to do a favor, I am only too happy to oblige.”

A flurry of giggles bubbled out of Sansa’s mouth. “Oh, I know,” she remarked, wiggling both eyebrows at him. “How could I ever forget all three hours’ worth of assistance you gave Margaery and me when we were looking bridesmaids’ dresses?”

Robb rolled his eyes and mumbled something Theon couldn’t hear. Sansa grinned and kissed him on the cheek.

“I love you, too, big bro,” she said in her sweetest voice.

Theon shook his head. Margaery Tyrell really did have Stark trained in the art of pleasing women. But he was still sorely lacking in the art of keeping up with Theon Greyjoy.

Theon headed back toward the spare room. He’d found out a couple of years ago that Catelyn Stark stashed her mistletoe in one of the laundry room cupboards. She’d asked him to stay at the house for a few hours with Bran and Rickon, whom she had deemed not yet old enough to watch themselves, while she and Ned headed off to Torrhen’s Square to rescue Arya and her broken-down car, and they’d amused themselves with a few rounds of hide-and-seek when the boys’ PlayStation had short-circuited. Theon had opened the cupboard looking for Rickon, who’d been just small enough to fit in it, but had found the mistletoe instead. Every year since then, he’d helped himself to a sprig when the mood had taken him to kiss a beautiful girl. Robb and Sansa probably didn’t even know it was there.

Theon opened the cupboard door, smirking. Amateurs.

He snuck back into the game room just in time to watch Sansa and Arya kick Margaery and Shae to all get-out on the foosball table. Sansa giggled and did that funny little skip on one foot that she’d always done when beating one of her siblings at a game, and her red hair danced in the shimmer of the overhead lights.

Across the room, Jon Snow froze with his beer bottle halfway to his mouth. His eyes were glazed over, and a very stupid grin was painted on his normally dour face. Theon could sympathize with him, although this was hardly the time for it. He had mistletoe to wrangle and some bloke other than Joffrey Baratheon to find as a boyfriend for Sansa.

Now that his mission was clearer, Theon discovered, he needed fewer glasses of punch than usual. After all, he was no longer trying to snag Sansa for himself. He, Theon Greyjoy, was sacrificing some of his happiness to help her find her own.

He grinned as he made his way over to Sansa, but the grin faded when she pulled away a mere second after their lips had touched.

“You’re drunk again, Theon,” she sighed, and then Theon’s grin vanished altogether, because Jon Snow had grabbed him by the arm, dragged him halfway across the room, and deposited him briskly into a chair. It was an old recliner, and Jon bumped the faulty side lever as he pushed Theon down into the cushions. Both the footrest and Theon’s feet flew into the air, and Theon yelped. Ouch. Jon, however, did not miss a beat.

“Leave off her, Greyjoy,” he growled. “Stop bloody pawing like that. It’s not funny.” He slapped the sprig of mistletoe, which judging by the torn duct tape hanging off it he had just ripped from its position in the doorway.

“’M not drunk,” Theon protested. Buzzed, after all, was not the same thing as drunk. He hadn’t even been drunk since last Christmas. “And I wasn’t pawing.”

Jon Snow, however, did not hear that, for Sansa had walked up to him to lay her hand on his shoulder. The anger melted off his face as he did so, and his eyes and voice gentled at the speed of light.

“You all right?” he murmured, and Sansa nodded. She threw a blanket over Theon, who was still gaping at Jon.

“Get some rest, Theon,” she said. Theon shook his head.

“It’s the mistletoe,” he insisted. He picked up the spring and held it out to Sansa, who only shook her head.

“Rest, Theon,” she repeated, and turned to speak to Jon.

Theon bumped his head back against the chair’s headrest. “Mistletoe,” he groaned again, but nobody paid any attention to him.

At least his pain had not been for nothing, he reflected the following year when Sansa showed up at the party with a Ken-doll lookalike called Harry Hardyng. He didn’t snap at her, or anyone else for that matter, and Theon sighed with relief as he poured a third of the contents of his rum bottle – he couldn’t quite hold his liquor as well now as he’d done in the past – into the punch bowl. Sansa was brimming with smiles, and, as was her wont, her mirth infected everyone she spoke to. The only exception was Jon Snow, who looked even more dour than usual. He spent most of the night playing pool and foosball with Pyp, Grenn, Sam Tarly, and their girlfriends, and spoke to Sansa hardly at all. That was the only time, however, that the dour look left his face.

Huh. Theon was so absorbed in Snow’s altered demeanor that he completely forgot to refill the punch bowl with rum.

He also forgot to kiss a girl.

When he returned to the Starks’ house the following Christmas, Sansa was once again single. Hardyng, it turned out, was as lousy a wanker as Joffrey Baratheon, for he’d spent nearly the entire relationship cheating on Sansa. She’d cried her eyes out, quit her job in King’s Landing, and moved back to Wintertown. Theon had taken to hanging out with her now and again, which also usually meant hanging out with Arya, Gendry, and Jon. Sometimes Theon would bring a girl and make it a double (or triple) date. Not that Sansa was dating Jon or anything, but they acted an awful lot like it sometimes. Theon Greyjoy, after all, had eyes and ears. He saw the way Sansa squealed and huddled against Jon’s shoulder when whatever movie they’d gone out to got freaky or intense, as well as how quickly Jon wrapped his arm around her in response. He heard them finish each other’s sentences while thrashing Theon’s ass at Scrabble and Trivial Pursuit. He heard the low growl rumbling in Jon’s throat when they were out at a restaurant and Sansa went to the bar to get a round of drinks, only to get hit on by a couple of random guys. He saw Jon’s eyes light up when they picked Sansa up for Margaery Tyrell’s grandmother’s midsummer ball and she dashed down the stairs apologizing for being late in a shiny golden gown that made her look like a goddess. He saw Jon’s jaw drop, and he saw the weird, hazy look on the other man’s face. It was a look Jon displayed more and more often as the months wore on, and he started to wonder whether it wasn’t even more annoying than the broody scowl Jon used to favor.

Then he heard Jon crack a joke one day. Well, it was more an actual pun than a joke, but in any case, Jon Snow had displayed humor – humor – and there was Sansa, laughing like she hadn’t a care in the world. She put a hand on Jon’s shoulder, and Theon saw the flush coloring the back of the other man’s neck, and he heard Jon mumbling something about not being a comedian or a bleeding poet. Sansa just smiled and said, “You underestimate a lot of things about yourself, Jon Snow,” and then Margaery Tyrell came over to talk to her, and when Sansa looked back over her shoulder at Jon, she bit her lip and got one of those weird, hazy looks on her face that Jon only got around her.

Aw, man.

Theon wanted to kiss Sansa for a third time at the Starks’ Christmas party that year. He really did. Maybe then Snow would actually grow the balls to ask her out.

Or maybe she’d end up with somebody as bad as Baratheon or Hardyng.

He couldn’t risk it.

But then Jon plodded down the stairs into the Starks’ family room, and Sansa’s face lit up with another of her gorgeous, hazy smiles, and Jon gave her one of his dopey grins, and Theon suddenly knew what he had to do.

Oh, shit.

He really was getting to be a lightweight, because he started to go fuzzy on just his fourth beer – he’d skipped spiking the punch, because it was way too important that both Jon and Sansa be sober for this. If either of them got even the slightest buzz, they might read way too much into things, and tomorrow they’d be back to pussyfooting around everything, and Theon would be damned if he let all his hard work and sacrifice go to waste.

So he screwed up his courage, hung up another sprig of mistletoe, dropped his plate and let the chips and popcorn on it spill to the floor, and loudly hailed Jon to come over and help him. As soon as Jon bent down, Theon wrinkled his face, planted his lips smack on the latter’s mouth for as short a moment as his reflexes would allow, and spat onto his empty plate. Jon whirled around as though Theon had just set him on fire. Theon, startled, lost his balance and sat smack on the floor.

“There you are,” he hiccupped, still gagging. “Gods, you taste bloody awful. Now go – ” he gestured wildly in Sansa’s direction – “go ask her to be your girlfriend. I’ve given you the lucky charm, mate.”

He waved his hand in the direction of the mistletoe, which was hanging forlornly in the doorway. Jon stared at him as though unable to decide whether to punch Theon or ask him what the bloody hell he meant. Then his gaze turned to Sansa, who was blushing furiously and biting her lip and looking at Jon with the same googly, silly looks as he was giving her. Theon opened his mouth to yell at them to just kiss already, but all that came out was a loud belch.

“’Bout bloody time,” said several voices behind him. Theon turned to see Gendry, Arya, and Margaery directing identical Cheshire-cat grins at a red-faced Jon, who was scratching his ear and listening with rapt attention to something an equally red-faced Sansa was saying. She took his arm and led him into the hallway, out of Theon’s sight.

“Huh.” Theon turned again to see Arya Stark regarding him curiously. “Not sure which one’ll give Mum the bigger heart attack – those idiots seeing the bloody light or you being useful for once, Greyjoy.” Theon opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off with a sharp wave of her hand.

“Take that shit down,” she said, nodding up at the sprig of mistletoe. “I don’t need my eyes burned any more tonight.”

It took a few heaves and wobbles, but Theon finally managed to stand up and remove the mistletoe, tape and all, from the game room doorway. He regarded it for a long moment and then shrugged. Maybe he really shouldn’t push his luck any further, especially after the lengths to which he’d had to go tonight. He turned around and headed for the laundry room. When he reached the doorway, he lurched and nearly fell over again.

Jon and Sansa were standing just underneath the cabinet where Catelyn Stark kept her mistletoe, wrapped around each other like paper around Christmas presents and kissing like there was no tomorrow. Jon had one hand cupped at the nape of Sansa’s neck, his fingers threaded through her hair, and she was caressing his curls with one of hers. At one point Jon drew back long enough to nuzzle her cheek gently and whisper something in her ear. Sansa blushed and grinned at him, and Theon expected cartoon hearts to come flying out of her eyes at any moment.

Huh. Jon Snow was a hell of a lot better with girls than he’d ever thought.

Theon grinned and pocketed the mistletoe. He could always save it for later – like at their wedding, where he could threaten to hold it over their heads through the whole bloody dinner if they didn’t name their firstborn son Theon in his honor. Or, come to think of it, name him best man. He grinned again as he turned away from the couple, whose lips were getting more fused together by the second.

Gods knew they’d given him more than enough material to make one hell of a toast.

#jon x sansa #jonsa exchange #jonxsansaff #jonsansaff #jonsa fanfiction #modern au #christmas au #comedy #lots of mistletoe #ft. theon greyjoy #my writing #one-shot fics

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ladywolfmd · 7 years ago

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We’ve got a thing called radar love

I wanted to do the challenge but I lacked time. :( So I’m entering an old fic of mine. :) This is for @jonsafanfiction‘s 12 Days of Shipping Event : January 3 Bodyguard AU

Summary: Jon Targaryen is the son of Prime Minister Rhaegar Targaryen but he is more famously known as "The Ghost" in the racing world by being three-time champion of the Sprint Cup when he was younger, to going for his sixth-peat for the F1 Grand Prix. In the middle of a race, he was lead to an unauthorized detour as part of a kidnapping scheme that was quickly thwarted but was actually a ruse when the real attempt was when he was en route back to the Red Keep. Lucky for him, his beautiful PA who he's been secretly pinning for has secrets of her own as, to his surprise, Sansa Stark takes charge in leading him to safety as she reveals she's been his bodyguard all along

39/51 Lap

"Jon, keep going, you're almost there. The gap between you and the Brat-theon prick is still there at 9/5th of your time but you can lose him on the 4th turn."

"Copy that Edd."

Jon started slowly decelerating to prepare for the turn, to bait Joffrey Baratheon into charging full speed ahead of him at the sharp turn that curved right then left, wishing he was conceited and stupid enough to take it and lose traction to steer away once he makes the turn.

"The Brat is falling for it! What a dipshit! Make him eat your dust, Jon."

In Jon's peripheral vision, he smirked as he saw the bane of his existence on his Golden Tooth toeing side by side with him when they neared the turn and just as he expected it, just as Jon slowed down, Joffrey's car roared as he pushed it ahead of him to take the curve.

Also as expected since Jon's slow wasn't just anyone's definition of slow, so Joffrey wouldn't be able to turn left in time and he'd head straight off track with the speed he tried to match with his.

Jon grinned when he did exactly that while Edd whooped over the team radio as he started flooring it.

"Wow will you look at that? The Brat's car spun around and--seven hells he's back on track, climbing back from P6 - P5 - Seven hells he's on P3 now and passing Royce for P2. Royce needs to block him so we'd take top two for the Night's watch."

Jon was impressed. The little shit was stubborn and, he hate to admit it, good enough to survive one of the oldest tricks in out-racing. Thank the gods his team-mate Waymar Royce gained speed for P2. He won't let Joffrey pass. There was no way their team was going to let the Gold cloaks win, not after the Crag debacle which was still up for debate.

But this wasn't the time to think about anything other than finishing this race. If he wins this, this would be his sixth consecutive Grand Prix win. He felt the second wind of adrenaline rush through him then as he drove over the mark signaling his completion of his 40th lap.

"Eleven more to go. You and Waymar got this! Joffrey is now down to P5 while Trystane and Daemon are tailing you both at P3 and P4 - wait, oh no Martell just passed Royce. He's hot on your tail - oh for the love of all things holy, where did that little shit come from? Royce and the Bratt are neck-in-neck behind you. Lose them now!" Edd screamed over the radio making Jon cringe but he did as he was told, drifting to gain some more speed to widen the gap.

He can't afford a pitt stop right now, not when the race was so close to ending.

Continue reading here or on AO3.

41/51 Lap.

The roar of his engine and the smooth skid of his tires spurred him to move faster as he stepped on the gas again, his fists gripping on to the wheel just so. Only ten more laps to go and Jon was feeling pretty confident since the Snakes were keeping Joffrey busy while Waymar sailed back to P2 behind him.

He had just made the fourth turn again when he saw a marshall waving a detour flag at him.

What the hell?

"Edd? Edd? What's going on? Why is there a detour? Edd?"

But the airwaves remained static which was very odd.

Jon had no choice then but to follow the detour and into a track that lead to one of the abandoned practice tunnels. Something must've happened ahead of the track but he didn't see or hear anything unusual.

But what was unnerving was the team radio line dying on him.

This never happened before and he started slowing down because he wasn't familiar with this track and he was starting to suspect there was no car trailing behind him anymore.

As he went further, so did the darkness but he couldn't turn back because the track was too narrow and was obviously a one-way.

His heart raced and it wasn't from excitement anymore.

Finally, he saw the light and there were people wearing the race officials uniforms waving him over to stop and Jon thought that maybe this wasn't a race thing but more of a Prime Minister's son safety issue.

He stopped the car and hopped off cautious of his surroundings. He didn't completely remove his helmet, just lifted the visor as he greeted an approaching official but when he saw Arthur Dayne and Larence Snow, both of which were part of his security detail, he relaxed a little.

He removed his helmet, pulled down his balaclava and ear plugs, then and met them halfway. "What's going on?"

"You were almost kidnapped sir."

Jon turned sharply to the voice he'd recognize anywhere on the planet and beyond and he was greeted immediately by red flowing hair and bright blue eyes of his personal assistant and love of his life though she doesn't know it yet, Sansa Stark, who was holding up a phone and her tablet while her smart watch kept flashing on her right wrist, looking at him with concern.

"C-come again?"

"Hang on," Sansa held finger up while she took a call from her headset. "Yes, he's safe Robb. Arthur and Larence as well as some of the staff are here with us. I'll brief him and we can rendezvous back to the Keep from the Dragonpit. Arthur already talked to Barristan. Mmhmm. Yes. Okay."

She tapped the mic off and walked over to him calmly, nodding at Larence to go ahead. "There was a plan to lead you here off track and take you. We're heading over back to the Keep," she explained.

Jon's blood froze. He knew about several kidnapping attempts done on his family but this was the first time that he was the sole target and he was barely listening as Arthur started explaining what happened while they escorted him into one of the Targaryen safe cars.

"It was the Blackfyres and their Golden Company. We got an anonymous tip to watch you closely when you reached your fortieth lap. When Sansa saw your car disappear off track, I had my men go ahead from the other end of the tunnel you entered. Before that we've already blocked off all the exits when you reached your twentieth lap. Long story short, my men apprehended ten company members and their getaway car."

He tried to concentrate and process but he was definitely shaken up. He knew there was something he wasn't telling him but then he felt a warm hand on his arm and saw Sansa's small dainty hand on him before meeting with her eyes.

"Hey, you're safe now, sir," she said softly, her eyes as warm as her touch that Jon visibly relaxed, even offering a weak smile.

"I thought I told you to call me Jon."

Sansa just smiled up at him and waited for him to slide in the car while Arthur held the door open for him. He went in automatically, sliding inside to make room for Sansa to sit next to him as part of the safety drill they've practiced numerous times of having no two doors open at the same time.

Jon was still uneasy. "It's too...easy," he said once Arthur rode shotgun and Larence started the car.

"It is, that's why we're bringing you home for now while the rest secure the Dragonpit," Arthur explained, nodding to Larence to drive once the front escort car rolled away. Jon looked behind them and saw the rear escort car tailing them.

"Why me?"

"We don't know yet," Sansa answered and Jon looked at her then and noticed her tapping away in her phone and tablet that was balanced on her lap. She paused what she was doing to look at him fully then, her eyes filled with determination. "But we'll find out."

He nodded and leant back, setting his helmet on the floor and not bothering to remove anything else yet since his overall wasn't only fireproof but bulletproof and his hands still shook enough for him to remove his gloves.

"So...who won?" he tried not to sound too bitter knowing that his streak ended.

Sansa looked at him sadly before giving a tiny smile and Jon appreciated that she once again, stopped whatever it was she was doing to concentrate on him. His heart started racing when she slid closer and settled her hand on his arm again. "Waymar then Trystane, Daemon, Joffrey, Arys" in that order. Sorry sir, but it's still a win for the team. And if anything, you would've won it hands down if it weren't for this," she started frowning then.

Jon was touched that Sansa cared - what was he saying? She always cared. But he didn't want to see her frown. He wanted nothing but to see her smile so he cracked a grin and ran a hand through his hair. "Hey at least the Night's Watch is still on top and you guys did a fantastic job stopping my abduction."

Sansa smiled a little then but got distracted when she started taking calls again and checking emails, giving him an apologetic look that he waved off with an understanding smile.

He realized then that this kind of thing would drain her from the shit storm of the media, his team, the whole F1 organization, and of course, the whole of Westeros wanting to know about this. Seven hells, Sansa will be completely swamped, communicating with the Palace lawyers and PR staff.

Seven hells, it probably started minutes ago - right at the moment he disappeared off track, but with Sansa as his PA, he'd never know the difference. She was incredibly efficient and not once did he see her as nothing but a picture of grace under pressure over the six months that she started working for him. Father did a good job of handpicking her and her twin brother Robb to work for him. The Stark twins worked with Sansa being in charge of internal affairs while Robb handled the external ones, often representing him politically as well as legally as his personal lawyer.

They were actually bargains if he wanted to continue his career as a professional racer, his father, or rather, Prime Minister Rhaegar made that clear. You can't just run off and leave your responsibilities on the track. Especially now with talks of the Blakfyres trying to overthrow his father's rule.

He sighed but then, at least he gained a friend in Robb and most importantly, he met Sansa.

Sansa.

She was the most beautiful woman he's ever laid eyes on with her creamy alabaster skin, her bright blue eyes, that fiery mane and those incredibly long, long, legs she often displayed under those tight pencil skirts she wore and the fuck me heels that often left him helpless and wanting when it made her tower over him an inch.

But she wasn't just another beautiful face. Sansa was a sweetheart. Kind. Courteous. Sweet. But what drove him mad was how intelligent she was. She was incredibly smart and witty and so in charge that - that turned him on more.

It wasn't really a secret that he was attracted to her. She was working to serve under him but everyone saw that he was putty in her soft delicate hands. But as professionalism goes, they couldn't date.

His father made sure to remind him of that. She was too valuable an asset for the Targaryens with how efficient she worked that sometimes Jon thinks Rhaegar wanted to adopt her, especially with Rhaenys eloping with Willas Tyrell, and Aegon faffing around the world on Jon Connington's boat, his uncle Viserys being an insufferable prick in Dragonstone and his aunt Daenerys galivanting the Free Cities.

It was clear to Rhaegar that once his rule has ended, none of his issue would follow after him.

Really, the Starks cleared their messes with their father Ned Stark often acting as his right-hand man. Ned, like Robb, was a lawyer and had been appointed as the Attorney General of the regime. He then offered the twins' services. Sansa, he learned, had a degree in Diplomacy and International Relations. Truly, if anything, Rhaegar wanted to adopt either her or Robb to continue his platforms.

Jon asked them if they wanted to run for office one day but they both humbly declined saying that they were fine with what they were now, and that there were more important matters. Jon never understood what could be more important than holding office? Surely there were more things they could accomplish than fixing his messes or refraining him from making them.

They slowed down suddenly and the scratch of the radio broke the silence.

"This is Arthur. Hmmm. Copy that."

Jon held his breath as he saw Arthur's eyes go to his from the mirror. "We've been compromised. We're moving you to the safe house. We're being followed," he explained quickly while he punched on the GPS and continued talking to someone on his two-way.

Jon froze then and gripped his knees hard.

"Yeah, Robb. Turning off all comms except the untraceable. I'll update you."

His head snapped to Sansa and saw her turning all her gadgets off and extracting a slim black phone he's never seen before and syncing it with her head piece. And by the Seven, why was she so calm?

"How are you doing it?"

She looked up at him confused. "Hm?"

"How are you not freaking out?"

She blinked. "Oh. Nerves of steel, I guess," she shrugged before she studied him. "Hey you're shaking."

He was?

He looked down at his hands and saw that he was. He knew part of it was still the adrenaline from the race, the attempt, and now this. "Sorry."

Jon sucked in a breath when Sansa slid right next to him that her hip was touching his and leant a bit to take his hand in hers as she carefully pulled on the velcro straps and tugged his gloves off one by one.

"Why are you sorry? For being scared?" she said in a low voice without looking at him, concentrating on her task.

"Yeah, not exactly manly of me," he chuckled nervously.

"Hmm, well my father always said that the only time you can be brave is when you're afraid," she said soothingly before holding both his hands in hers and looking up at him with those vivid blue eyes of hers.

Jon could only look at her and their hands before he closed his eyes and took deep breaths and once he was calm enough he opened them and saw her still looking at him, giving him a half-smile when their eyes met again.

"You'll be fine, I promise. I'll protect you," she winked at him.

He couldn't help but smile at her joke. "Sure. You just bat your long lashes at them and they'd be wrapped around your cute little finger. Easy."

She blushed then and Jon realized what he just said. "Er, I mean-"

The car lurched as Larence made a sharp turn, causing Jon to press against Sansa when they got thrown to her side.

"Sorry about that, we're here," Larence muttered.

Arthur went down first to check while the rest of them waited inside the car.

Jon then realized he was on top of something soft and he bolted to the other side in a flash when he realized his head was pressed against Sansa's torso. "Sorry."

Sansa was flushed too but offered him a weak smile as she smoothed down her black twin-set with red details and that was when he noticed that Sansa was wearing his team's colors.

Arthur opened Sansa's door then while Larence helped her out and quickly ushered her inside the safe house in Fleabottom with him and Arthur following behind and flanked by two more men.

Once they were inside, Jon was whisked into the eleventh floor and into a suite. The safe house was actually an intel building.

"This is actually not the safest but it was the closest and we need to keep you safe," Arthur met his eyes.

"Tell me the real danger, I can handle it," Jon said determinedly, knowing there was something they were keeping from him.

Larence and Arthur as well as Sansa exchanged looks. "The order was to capture you. Dead or alive," Arthur laid it out then and Jon stared at him baffled.

They heard a crash then and running followed by shots outside.

"Fuck," Arthur pulled his gun out then and so did the men as they went for the door and formed a perimeter around Jon. "They're here."

Arthur then looked at Sansa. "We'll hold them off. Get him out. Larence will come as far as he can with you. Get the brief and head to the garage with the service elevator." He threw a set of keys to Sansa who caught it in one hand, her eyes hard, and her jaw firm. "Your card will work fine on everything. Get him out and rendezvous at Wolf Den."

"What? Why Sansa? What's going on!" Jon shifted from Arthur and Sansa and his eyes bulged when he saw Sansa toss the painting over the headboard and opened a hidden safe, pulling out a steel briefcase.

"Jon."

He turned to Arthur who wasn't looking at him but at the door where he was aiming his gun at. "Go with Sansa. Now."

Before he could react, Jon was being dragged by Larence towards the closet with Sansa walking briskly ahead.

He saw Larence shut the closet door and bar it then back to Sansa who placed her key card over a panel she revealed and a secret door opened just as they heard shots being fired from the other room.

"Shit, go, go, go, I'll lock behind you," Larence pushed Jon just as Sansa tugged at him.

"Larence but-" Jon felt the reality finally sinking in.

Larence Snow, who he played poker with, had pulled him out of his drunk ass more times than he could remember, being an actual friend more than a guard was going to die for him.

"Come with us," he pleaded.

Larence smiled at him grimly. "It's been fun, Jon. Now go with your girl. She's the Ace." He said before the door slid down between them.

"Jon, come on," Sansa urged as she continued to tug at him. "He knew what he was doing," she whispered hurriedly while dragging him towards another room that she locked after them.

Jon was still in shock until he felt hands on his face and blue eyes steadying his frantic ones. "Jon. Listen to me. You're going to be fine. I'm going to get you out of this. But I need you to do as I say. Do you understand?"

He blinked at her.

"Jon," she said more firmly.

He nodded and swallowed while Sansa let out a relieved breath before she started kneeling as she opened the silver briefcase.

She pulled out another bulletproof vest and handed one to him while she shrugged off her black coat and wore one of her own and that was when Jon saw the twin gun holsters strapped to her lower back.

"You-you're-"

She looked at him over her shoulder and smiled tightly. "Yeah," before securing her headset and taking out two more handguns. He watched as she slid the magazine in, pulled the slide release, and clicked the glock into place like she was doing it all her life.

"Do you know how to use this?" She looked at him then and he saw the first sign of worry on her face with the tiny furrow between her brows.

"Not well," Jon admitted and cursed himself for not taking those shooting lessons to heart.

Sansa stood in front of him then and took his hands, placing a glock in his right hand and positioning his hand properly. "It's easy. This is a semi-automatic and I've released the lock already. All you have to do," she raised his hand and made him point it straight forward while she used both hands to keep him in position. "Is point and shoot."

She placed his finger on the trigger with hers on top of his. "You don't need to shoot fancy. Just go for the easy targets - the biggest space so you won't miss. Hit the chest or the back. Don't hesitate. It's your life or theirs. These men will not hesitate to shoot. You got it?"

Jon swallowed. This was really happening. "Y-yes."

She released him then and helped him tighten the vest. She placed a radio on the holster of his vest explaining quickly. "If we get separated, use this and go to channel one and shout "Winter is coming," then follow the voice."

He nodded again.

"Okay," she walked in front of him then. "Jon. We're going to use the service elevator. Beyond this room, there is a short hallway we have to pass and we'll encounter men. I need you to stay behind me at all times. Don't be a hero. I'm trained for this. You aren't. You'll get in the elevator first and I'll try to follow. You'll be immediately brought to basement 2 but you'll have to climb out the escape hatch and climb to basement 1 where they won't expect us. Get a car. Any car and drive the hell away and use the radio for directions."

He grabbed her by the arms then and bore at her. "What about you? I can't let you--"

She cut him off with a hurried kiss. "Jon. I'm just telling you the plan in case I can't follow you. But I'm telling you, I'm trained at this. I'll see you through until you're safe. I promise. Now, we need to go."

She fixed him a look that had a hundred different promises swirling in those baby blues and all he could do was keep nodding at her repeatedly, hoping she'd see his own too.

Sansa gave him a firm nod and released him. Strapping on ammo belts over her and setting her own gun.

She tapped on her headpiece then just as she switched her smartwatch on. "Red Wolf to Grey. Do you read? Over."

Jon could hear from his own radio strapped to his chest where Sansa must've kept the line on just in case.

"This is Grey, I copy. Over. I've locked in your position. Is Rhaegal undamaged?" Robb. He recognized the voice. So he was part of this too? Was Ned Stark one too?

"No. I sent you our coordinates. I need surveillance and possible backup," Sansa checked the windows before hovering over the door.

"Locked in on your coordinates. Activating Warg mode. I'm your eyes Red."

"Good. We're heading out to the hallway. How many men are there? Positions?"

"Seven and four waiting at the left intersection, three guarding the chute. They can't call for backup as I've denied all access to the chute but I can see they're working on override."

Sansa pursed her lip but was still relatively calm. "How much time do I have?"

"Sixty-five seconds. Go."

"Jon, do you trust me?" She looked at him then.

"With my life," he answered right away and Sansa's eyes glinted with something before she placed her keycard over the lock and opened into the hallway.

"Then let's run," She ran ahead and he followed as they sped off into the narrow hallway, spotting the left intersection where four men appeared from, blocking their way while pointing guns at them.

"Stop. Drop your weapons and come with us quietly now and no one gets hurt," came the burly man with an eyepatch.

Sansa stayed Jon with a hand behind her back indicating to stand down. "Funny, I was going to offer you the same courtesy Greyjoy."

Greyjoy?

"Ah. What a delight you are. But no girl, hand over the boy and I promise to make it good for you when I take you back with me. Be a good girl now and I'll return the favor when I let you suck me off," Greyjoy taunted and Jon saw red but Sansa stayed him again with her hand.

"Ooh, so you're the dragon spawn's bitch, I see. All the more sweeter to mount a dragon's moun-Fuck you bitch!"

Sansa shot him straight to the crotch and fired another to his leg, bringing him down while she pushed Jon to the ground, shielding him with her body when Greyjoy open-fired.

Jon heard Sansa fire another shot and watched the lifeless eye of Greyjoy, a bullet lodged in between his eyes.

"Stay down!" Sansa yelled at him as she strode forward and pulled another gun from behind her and began shooting from both sides, taking down three men straight to the head while she aimed at two others but Jon saw the last of the men aiming behind her.

Jon didn't think then, brought himself up, aimed at the man's chest and shot.

Jon watched as the man clutched at his stomach that was starting to shoot out blood before dropping his weapon and collapsing.

He was still heaving and holding the gun with wide eyes when he heard more shooting from behind him and his name being called.

"Jon - Jon."

His head snapped to Sansa and he saw another guy aiming at her. "Sansa!"

Sansa was too quick as she dodged and lunged at the guy, elbowing his chest while she leant across that guy's shoulder and shot at the other guy straight to the heart when he saw him aiming for Jon but in a second she was caught in a headlock with the first one, a gun pointed at her head.

Jon's eyes locked with Sansa's then and she urged him to run. Pleaded with her eyes as she mouthed "Go!"

But Jon couldn't leave her. He won't. And Sansa saw that he wouldn't but tried to shake her head at him anyway as she clawed at the arm that was holding her back.

"Don't make another move. Drop your weapon or I blow her brains out!" The lone henchman spat at Jon.

Jon raised his hands and dropped the gun slowly, his eyes never taking them off of the attacker. He kicked the gun towards him and took a step back. "Take me. You can let her go. It's me you want."

Sansa was about to shout her protest when a hand clamped over her mouth.

"You have thirty seconds left Jon or you won't make it to the chute in time," came Robb's voice over the radio. "Sansa knows. We have to get you out. Let her go Jon." He could hear the pain over the controlled voice of his lawyer who quickly became his confidante at letting his sister go. But Jon wasn't raised this way.

He had to fight for the people willing to risk their lives for him too.

"Jon."

Sansa's eyes softened at Jon then and she gave him a nod that the attacker noticed when Jon saw him grin. And that was all the signal he and Sansa needed - his sudden arrogance as he saw Sansa escape from the man's loosened grip, kicking the gun out of his hand before she pulled his arm and threw him over her shoulder where he landed roughly on his back with Sansa's knee digging on his spine while he pulled at his arm making him scream.

Jon ran to them, picked up the gun and threw it to Sansa who caught it and shot the man in the back before quickly grabbing her two other glocks and nodding at Jon to run as fast as he could to the service elevator with only ten seconds left.

Sansa quickly placed her keycard over the monitor and the doors slid open. She pushed Jon inside quickly while they heard Robb bark at them that there were a dozen men going their way.

Just as the doors were sliding close, Jon pulled Sansa all the way inside before repeatedly pressing the door button close as the men started appearing. Sansa shot a few rounds until the door finally shut close and they were both panting and splattered with blood and sweat as the elevator went down.

Sansa looked up at Jon as she wiped her brow. "You oka-mmph

Jon cupped her head and kissed her fiercely then before pulling away. "Seven hells, woman! You almost died!"

Sansa chuckled. "So did you, sir. Thank you sir." She smirked.

Jon was about to retort when Robb's voice came through.

"Well done. Both of you. But remember to get off B1. I'll open the doors for you. All of them are expecting you from B2 so you'll only have a window of thirty-five seconds before they catch up to you on the street. You have to shake them off as best as you can. Do you copy?"

"Roger," Sansa answered just as she observed the ceiling. They were now at the 8th floor.

7th.

6th.

"Jon, I need you to boost me up," Sansa tilted her head at him.

"What?"

She pointed to the escape hatch. "That's our exit. The faster we're up there, the easier we can go. Help me up?"

Jon looked from the ceiling to her and understood, crouching down so she could climb up his back. He felt Sansa's hands on his shoulders then before a leg hitched over his shoulder, and then another on his other side that made him suck in a breath as he felt her skirt against his nape and heard a rip.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. I had to rip it because it's too tight to move freely," she muttered. "Um, Jon, I need you to steady me because I'll be reaching up."

"Oh, sorry," he mumbled back as his arms held on to her thighs where he felt garters that made him pause again.

"They carry my gun and a knife. Boost me up?" she said hurriedly.

Jon nodded and stood straight, trying not to think of Sansa's gartered and stockinged legs were around his neck and focused instead on the sounds of Sansa tinkering with the hatch as they descended to 4th when suddenly the elevator lurched to a stop, the lights flickering on and off until darkness then the emergency light.

Jon kept Sansa steady while he braced against the wall with one hand.

"Grey, what the hell?"

"Hang on Red. I'll hook it back. I had to terminate an attempt. Sorry, hold on."

Sansa cussed for the first time and that was when Jon felt that shit was real. He didn't know how much his sanity depended on her cool.

Sansa noticed him stiffening and worked faster before urging him gently to let her down.

"We're still good. I'll protect you, I promise, didn't I?" she smiled up at him as she cradled his cheek.

Jon grabbed her wrist and looked straight at her. "What exactly did you promise when you took the job? You promised your life?"

She didn't back down and leant forward that their noses were touching. "Yes."

"Fuck, Sansa-"

"Don't. Not now. Tell me later," Sansa said before she backed away, then sprang on the elevator rail before pushing her body upwards to catch on the opened hatch where she dangled for a moment before hoisting herself up and disappearing into the ceiling just as the elevator started moving again.

4th.

3rd.

She appeared again and offered him her hand. "Jump up Jon. You can do it. Grab my hand."

Jon did and it took three tries before his hand clutched at Sansa's where she pulled him up with both arms, grunting while he saw her teeth clenching until finally they were both holding on to the top of the elevator as it sailed down.

2nd.

Sansa closed the hatch.

"This is our stop. When I say jump, jump okay?" She took Jon's hand in hers and Jon squeezed it tightly. "Yes."

Sansa looked to her left then where the doors where and slowly she stood up with one hand bracing Jon's other arm and nodding at the direction.

1st.

"Jump!"

Hand in hand they jumped towards the ledge of B1 level. But Jon slipped if not for Sansa's iron grip on his arm.

Jon could see the strain heavy on Sansa as she struggled to pull him up. "I'm too heavy. Let go."

Sansa shook her head. "Don't you dare. Now try and swing your hand to grab on to my arm. Try."

Jon tried and missed and Sansa winced. "Try harder."

He did and this time he was able to grab ahold of Sansa's arms with his other hand and they both hoisted themselves up over the tiny ledge, with Jon collapsing on top of Sansa, both of them panting.

"Gods be good, Jon! Just do as you're told!" Sansa scolded as she slapped his back. Jon didn't know why but he started chuckling while shaking his head.

"Yes, yes it's all very amusing. Now get off me and let's get our car."

Jon quickly got off her and offered her a hand and helped her up.

"Grey, Alohomora this bitch," Sansa tapped her headset.

"Opening the portrait. Good job you two."

The elevator door opened and Sansa stepped inside first, gun out and gestured for Jon to stay low behind him.

"All clear. Proceed." Robb's voice broke through.

Sansa chose the nearest car then, a Porsche Panamera, and Jon should've known that of course there would be armored sports cars in every safe house.

On instinct he went inside the driver's side but was quickly shoved over to the passenger side by Sansa who gave him a look that said seriously going to fight me at this point?

He raised his palms as Sansa started the car, syncing her smartwatch to the comm at the dash where Robb's face came to view. "Hey guys. Let's get you out, shall we?"

"You okay?" Sansa demanded as she received the coordinates Robb entered on the GPS split screen.

"What?"

"Sit tight," she said instead while she backed out the parking space. "You're not the only one who can drive fast."

Jon obeyed at once while Robb chuckled from the screen. "Better do as she says, sir."

"You two have been saving my ass, I think it's time you called me Jon," Jon grumbled.

"Oh heads up sis, you're going to be met with a lot of resistance once you reach the gate. There's a shotgun at the back and two more pistols on the glove compartment. Godspeed. I'll keep surveillance and get back to you."

Robb's face disappeared then while the GPS zoomed out.

Sansa peeled out of the basement and up the exit where probably thirty armed men were waiting, shooting at them right away.

"Keep down," Sansa drifted to let her side face the onslaught while they heard the bullets pelt against the car that aside from a few cracks, held.

Sansa was able to escape the firing squad and onto the street.

"Fuck!" Sansa cursed again when they were flanked both sides by larger cars where men were shooting at them.

"Robb! Where do I go? We're surrounded!" she glanced at the rearview window where another car was gaining on them.

"You gotta take them out and speed up towards the backstreet then through the Muddy Way and we can come get you on the Street of Steel."

"Shit," as the car shook after a few more rounds at them. She looked at Jon then. "Jon, I have to take them out."

Jon held on to her look, not liking where this was going but she pleaded trust from him and he was going to give it. "What do you need?"

"I need you to take the wheel and let Robb guide you while I try and take them out. Do you understand me? Can you do that?" she used the full force of her gaze at Jon as she took a large swerve to the right, still pressing the gas to the floor.

Finally, something he could do. Something he was good at. He started to slide in to her space as he nodded. "Yes. Leave it to me."

Sansa smiled at him softly then before she lifted her body up so he can slide under her. Quickly Jon's hands replaced hers on the wheel and on the pedals while she started clambering off his lap but before she could do so, the other car slammed at them from behind that Jon almost hit a pole if he hadn't turned swiftly to the right to avoid it, but he was able to right them immediately.

"Jon. I'm going to take out the left car first, okay? So I'm going to open the door and shoot and I need you to keep driving straight, okay?"

"Okay."

"Good. Don't be scared," and then she opened our door catching the assailants by surprise as she shot at them straight, hitting both the driver and the passenger with one shot each and Jon pushed the car so fast ahead to avoid colliding against the now spinning car to the left.

Sansa shut the door right away and started climbing to the back where he could see her taking out the shotgun and loading it from the mirror.

"Jon?"

"Robb?"

"I can help you two escape. I found a route. Follow my directions. Go straight for three kilometers then turn right."

"Gotcha."

"I'm going to take out the back now," Sansa declared. "Just keep driving, you're doing fine." She said while she opened up the sunroof and climbed up. "Sansa! What the fuck?!"

Sansa was now on the roof, shooting at the back and depending on him to keep the car steady or else she'd fall.

Okay, calm down Jon. Calm down. You've driven worse tracks at faster speed. You can do this. He mentally cheered himself and gripped on the wheel like his life depended on it, sighing in relief when Sansa dropped back inside from the sunroof. The car behind them hitting another car, turning over before crashing on a sidewalk, catching fire at once.

"Seven hells, Sansa at least warn a man!" he glanced at her.

"Just keep driving Targaryen," she tore at her sleeves and that was when Jon saw that she was shot.

"Sansa-"

"I'm fine," she said through gritted teeth. "Just a bullet graze." She started wrapping the giant gash it left on her right arm with her torn sleeve. "Keep driving. Our turn is near."

And she was right, Jon could see the turn and he made it just as Robb started ordering again.

"Good. Now you just need to keep going straight until you see The Hook. Take the sharp left then immediately the next right exit then go the roundabout to Street of Steel. It's not that far now."

"Okay." He shot a worried look at Sansa who was reloading the shotgun when they were hit with a big blast from her side that shattered the glass.

Jon kept the car from spinning around and ducked when he saw a car going straight for them from his left.

He let go of the wheel then and allowed the car to spin before he drifted off the path and watched the car collide against the new one tailing them at the back. Just how many were there?

Once he was able to get them back on course, he noticed that Sansa was quiet and saw that she was unconscious with a big cut against the side of her head.

"Sansa - Sansa" he hissed and he breathed out when her eyes fluttered open as she winced but started going for her shot gun again.

A motorcycle with two people sped up to her side again and they were so near her side. Jon tried to bump them off but they were too quick and Sansa aimed the shotgun at them from the broken window and fired but missed.

"Shit," she cursed and before Jon knew it, Sansa opened her door, shot the rider at the back and jumped on the motorcycle, kicking the one at the back off while pointing a gun at the driver's head and firing. She pushed him away then and Jon saw Sansa now driving towards the back.

"Sansa no! Get back here!"

But Sansa didn't and open fired behind her, targeting the wheels of the two cars that were following before she drove back to the still hanging passenger door.

Jon glared at her horrified. "Get in, now!" He reached his hand as far as he could stretch it, leaving the wheel on straight lock as he frantically reached for Sansa's own overstretched hand.

"Come on!" He shouted and finally he was able to grab Sansa's hand and pull her in, smiling in relief when they heard a shot fired with Sansa collapsing on his shoulder, her arms falling from his body as she slid down his.

"No, no, no, no!" Jon quickly assessed her and there he saw it, Sansa got shot at her left shoulder from the back. She took a shot meant for him.

Jon saw red then as he quickly shut the door, buckled in an unconscious Sansa who was still breathing heavily from the pain, and got back to driving.

"Robb, Sansa's been shot at the back. Shoulder but she's still breathing. Only one more car is tailing us. Where will we go?" He said completely clear headed now and focused on the drive.

"Fuck. Okay, change route. On the next right exit, take it and head straight to River Row. There's a medic bay there. Drive the fuck over there and save my sister."

"Roger."

He saw it then. Two cars toeing in on either side and he slipped into his racing mode.

This is just another race.

You've never lost a race in years.

The last one didn't count but this would.

Sansa's life depended on it.

They all know me as a dragon, Rhaegal they named my mount in court.

But in the track I'm only known by one name.

And that's Ghost.

It's time to vanish on the streets.

He gripped the wheel and started letting on the gas, breaking a little, making them think he was slowing down for them as he eyed the curve.

They roared beside them then and Jon smirked as he lead them to the narrow curve, stopping abruptly and watched as they vainly tried to turn but ended up crashing against each other.

Jon started the car again, roaring it to life and steadily started backing up, gaining speed, before pushing forward full throttle as he used the piled car as a ramp and let the car fly over them and back into the street with a loud screech and a jolt, moving as fast as he could away as the cars exploded behind him, pushing his car forward from the impact.

But he didn't relent.

He drove and drove until finally he reached River Row where he immediately saw Robb Stark get out off a car and ordering a team to get them.

Jon slowed to a stop. Hands still tight on the wheel as he heaved in and out, his pulse throbbing in his ears. And he heard his door and Sansa's being opened but he couldn't move, or let the voices register. Not until he heard a familiar whimper.

His eyes shot to Sansa now who was being held by her brother then. Her eyes fluttering open and searching his, offering a weak smile at him. "You okay?" she said through gritted teeth.

Jon felt all the tension slip away from his body then only to be replaced with exhaustion and relief as he returned her smile, reaching over to move her hair off her face. "Never better. You?"

"Just another day," she grinned.

"Okay, that's enough for now." Robb carried Sansa then and looked at Jon gratefully. Jon could only nod at him. Of course.

Jon stepped out the car and shook off the paramedics fusing about him, going instead to Sansa still in Robb's arms as he carried her towards the medic bay himself.

"Did anyone...?" Jon asked Robb and a shadow fell over his face. "Arthur was the only one who made it. Larence..." he shook his head. "There were too many of them."

Jon's chest constricted. They all died for him. He's going to make sure he deserved this - their sacrifice as he looked down at Sansa who was frowning, thinking about her fallen comrades. After a few more races, he was going back to work for his father and then convince Sansa to run for office and campaign the hell out for her. None of them had the capacity to rule, unfortunately, but the Starks had two - three if Ned wanted to as well. The Starks were the best people to take over the regime after his father. This is how he'll honor his family's security team.

Sansa's eyes met Jon's and she smiled at him softly. "Thank you, Jon."

Jon snorted. "No, thank you."

"Well, the jig is up, I guess," she giggled then winced after, earning a frown from Robb.

"Who would've thought my sweet and pretty assistant could be lethal. Hiding knives and guns under her skirt," he joked earning a glare from Robb but didn't comment.

"A skirt, you've been trying to chase," she winked.

Jon blinked but laughed instead. "Well, you did say the jig is up."

"I hope you're not too betrayed."

"Stark, you took a bullet for me. You killed for me. Betrayed is the last thing on my mind," he scoffed.

Sansa closed her eyes then and smiled. "I'm just doing my job. Pretty smooth driving though. World class."

"I'm just doing my job," he shot back at her.

Sansa reached up and took his hand then, looking up at him. "Jon, now that we're out of the woods. Do you know yet? Did they tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

She tilted her head. "Where will you go?"

He bid Robb to stop walking a minute so he could lean down Sansa. "Where will we go?"

Sansa grinned up at him then though she looked pale and worn but still fucking beautiful. "You're my bodyguard, right? You made a vow to me. You promised you'd protect me," he winked.

"I guess I did," she said before closing her eyes and surrendering to her exhaustion.

Jon leant down again and kissed her forehead. "I'll protect you too."

And they started walking again.

"You know she can't be your bodyguard anymore, right?" Robb eyed him.

Jon just grinned. "Of course not. But she'll still be obligated to stay by my side."

"Oh, is she now?" Robb raised a brow at him.

"Yes. When she runs for office after my father, naturally, the first gentleman's place is beside her," he said matter-of-factly.

Robb burst out laughing. "Rhaegar will be pleased."

Jon snorted. "Rhaegar will shit bricks when he finds out Sansa's finally going to run and then he'll throw those bricks at me when I tell him I'm going to marry the daughter he never had that he specifically told me not to date."

"I'm sure Sansa will make him come around," Robb grinned at him. "You've seen how demanding she is."

Jon grinned wickedly. "Yeah, yes she is."

"Oy, get that filthy thought away from my poor incapacitated sister or I'll kick your ass. We're not known as Stark Protection for nothing."

"Yikes."

"Oh, yes, yikes. Wait until you meet our mom. She's the one who taught Sansa how to fire guns and arrows."

"Double yikes."

"Will you two shut up. I just got shot here," Sansa mumbled, squinting an eye at them. "And it hurts like the seven hells. I think it's lodged in my scapula."

Robb laid her down the stretcher and stepped back, dropping a kiss on her forehead as the staff went over her. "See you later Red Wolf. I'm proud of you pumpkin."

Sansa rolled her eyes and looked at Jon then who was looking at her tenderly.

"So, first gentleman, huh? The Palace is the cart before the horse there or what?"

Jon chuckled and kissed her gently then to the sigh and grumbling of the medics. "Yes. And that's after we have three children. One mini-you, one mini-me, and one a combination. Oh and a dog too."

"Awfully sure of you," she winced a little.

"Take it easy, and yes. Yes, I've never been more sure. I should've said it earlier but I love you."

Sansa closed her eyes and smiled serenely. "I love you too."

"I'll see you later," Jon squeezed her hand.

"You'd better," she muttered before looking at him then.

Jon watched as they wheeled her off, raising a hand in a wave and watched as Sansa smiled at him and lifted a hand, though a little weakly, back at him.

Sansa's been following him around and cleaning up after him as he went on his races but starting now, he'll be chasing nothing but her.

It was his turn to follow.

Professionalism be damned.

It was time to rip out her contract and give her a new one while he planned just one more race.

The race to the altar.

No way in seven hells was he wasting any more time.

Not when speed was all he knew.

When you knew, you knew.

And seven hells they both almost died today.

She was it.

She was the goal.

And speed...not necessarily a bad thing.

He smirked.

Not a bad thing at all.

#jonsansaff #ladywolfmdfic #jonsa #actually jonsa #bodyguard au #jonsansaff 12 days of shipping

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nyangibun · 7 years ago

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Jonsa and 70? But sansa is the one that says it

“You’re so beautiful!”

Jon chuckled as her hand found his face, palming his cheek like he was a dog. He hated to admit it, however, but it felt nice. Even if Sansa did smell like she had robbed a liquor store and downed its entire content.

“Sans, we need to get you home.” He tried to stand up, but she just pulled him back down onto the sofa.

“No, Jon!” She tilted her chin up proudly - although the effect was lost by the slurring of her words and the adorable way she kept swaying in her seat. “You don’t get it. You’re beautiful. Not hot. Beautiful!”

He flushed in spite knowing this was just drunken jibberish, but maybe Sansa being drunk was a good thing because he could say things like this without worrying about the repercussions. “Not as beautiful as you, love. Trust me.”

Sansa pouted and crossed her arms over her chest. “Ugh! You’re just not getting it.” She abruptly jumped up to her feet and began racing out of the lounge and down the corridor. Jon raced after her, all the while trying not to chuckle at her continued rant. “It’s just - you’ve always been you, right? And I’m me. A Stark, and you a Snow. And you’re so pretty. It’s not fair!”

Jon followed her into his bedroom and decided to wait to see what she’d do next before he wrangled her out of the door and into his car so he could drive her home. Sansa turned around, still pouting, and placed her hands on her hips.

“Do you get it now?” Sansa demanded. For someone who kept trying to compliment him, she was very quick to anger in this state. But Jon didn’t mind. Whenever she got frustrated, her nose would scrunch up and it was the single most adorable thing Jon had ever seen.

“I’m trying to, Sans. Maybe we can discuss this in the morning? When you’re not three bottles of wine deep.”

“Ugh!” she groaned again. Sansa turned her back to him, and to his horror, she stripped off her dress in one fluid motion. She threw it onto his bed before reaching into his wardrobe and picking out his favourite Winterfell University hoodie. “I love this one,” she murmured softly, before turning back around to smile goofily at him. “It smells like you.”

Seeing her in nothing but his hoodie was doing really inappropriate things to his body, and Jon really didn’t want to be here right now. It was one thing being wildly attracted to Sansa on a normal day, but with her here in his room looking like that and smiling at him in a way that made his heart do somersaults, Jon was royally, irrevocably screwed.

“Sansa… We should get you home,” he said, surprised at how calm his voice sounded, while inside, he was wrecked.

She shook her head and crawled onto his bed, slipping under his duvet. “Nah uh. Not going home. I’m staying right here.”

“Oh, bloody hell.” This was torture. Pure torture.

Jon sighed and tried to distract himself by texting Robb. A physical reminder that he was in the presence of his best friend’s little sister. Even if said little sister was not so little anymore, nor very clothed either. She was still Sansa, and he really needed to get a grip. There was no physical bone in his body that would ever try to take advantage of her in this state, but it didn’t mean that he wouldn’t inadvertently blab about how into her he was. It could only end badly if he did.

“Okay,” Jon said after pocketing his phone. He went out to the kitchen to grab a glass of water and came back to place it on the bedside table beside Sansa. “I’m going to go sleep on the sofa, okay? I’ll drive you home tomorrow morning.” He pushed back stray locks of her hair from her forehead. Sansa let out a soft moan of approval and leaned into his touch. “Get… uh, get some sleep, Sans.”

He heard her murmur an agreement, already halfway to sleep, and made his way across the room. Just as he reached the door, he heard her speak again.

“Jon, wait…” The bed creaked and he turned around to see Sansa staring at him. “I love you, okay? And not like… a friend or anything. I really love you and…” She yawned, snuggling further into his duvet. “Remind me tomorrow?”

His heart thumped loudly in his chest as he continued to stare back. Jon wasn’t sure how long he stood in that doorway for, but by the time he found his voice, Sansa was already fast asleep.

“Yeah, I love you too, Sansa.”

#jonsa #jon x sansa #jon snow #sansa stark #game of thrones #jonsa fic #my fics #quotes drabble #jon x sansa fic #jonsansaff #anonymous

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lookingatyousideways · 7 years ago

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Have you guys read this amazing fic called Apparitions by th3craft3r?

This is one of the most wonderful, hilarious, lovely Jonsa fics I have ever read! I have to thank fedonciadale for putting it on her list, otherwise I would’ve never stumbled upon it.

The fic takes place after all the wars have ended, and peace has been restored. The three Starks and their cousin live in Winterfell. Jon and Sansa have a cold (distant) relationship. One day this little boy pops up, Jon and Sansa’s FUTURE SON who time traveled with Bran to ensure his existence in the future!

#jonsa #Jon x Sansa #jonsansaff

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fedonciadale · 5 years ago

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Judicatrix - Chapter 20 - Decisions

With all the time at my hands, I made an effort and finished one of my WIPs. Here is the final chapter of Judicatrix, which will be followed by an epilogue shortly after. I admit I probably could have wrapped up this sooner, if I had not fallen into the Dramione hellhole,... But I finished it. Thank you to everyone who has been patient with me!

Now there is only my long time WIP ‘Bittersweet’ for Jonsa and my Bloodraven series - I will return to them soon. I still have too many ideas though. Also on AO3.

Jon’s heart beat erratically in his chest. His thoughts seemed to have stopped, his mind was a maelstrom pulling him down. Lady Catelyn lay amidst the tresses of her cut hair, looking like a rose cut in full bloom, and Jon frantically tried to understand what had happened. The courtyard was eerily silent, only Brynden’s sobs were to be heard. The old warrior knelt beside his niece and held her hand.

As if from far away he heard another wail and although he felt as if he was petrified and could not move, he still managed to intercept Sansa, when she came running. Before she fell beside her mother, Jon caught her and supported her. Her face was flooded with tears, and she called out for her mother. Jon let her gently down, and she took her mother’s hand, pressed it and called her, again and again. She put her hand under her mother’s limb form and tried to pull her up.

It tore at Jon’s heart to see it, and he kneeled beside her, took her in his arm and gently rocked the sobbing Sansa.

“What happened?”, Sansa got out in a ragged breath. She sat back on her heels and looked at her right hand where the remnants of the vial shards had cut open her skin. She did not seem to realise that she bled. Jon’s breath hitched when she realised that she wore the ring he had given her.

“Your mother confessed that she murdered my father,” Jon said. “That you are not Brandon’s daughter.” Just saying it out loud, made Jon realise the enormity of Catelyn’s confession.

‘Magna peccatrix’ indeed.

Sansa began to sob again.

“Did you know?”, Jon asked.

Sansa shook her head. “She only told me yesterday, but I had overheard her in the crypts. But why would she do that. I would never have told her secret.”

Her tears and anguish tugged at Jon’s heart. Wordlessly he stroked her back.

“You are the rightful lord of Winterfell,” Sansa told him. “And I had a plan… I had a plan to make it right. To ensure justice. Why would she do that? And why is she dead?”

Jon had a sinking feeling that his confession had forced Catelyn’s hand. “She took the poison that murdered my father. She faced an ordeal of her own making.”

The emperor had come closer.

“Sansa?”, he asked.

Sansa raised her tearstained face.

“Your majesty…” she said hesitantly.

“I am sorry to intrude on your grief… I promise, to make this short. But justice must be done.”

He held out his hand and Sansa took it and stood up.

“What was your plan, Lady Sansa?”

“I wanted to publicly make a vow to enter a nunnery, so that Jon could inherit Winterfell as is his right.”

“So, you wanted to set the injustice right. What about your betrothal to Bishop Randyll’s son?”

“I could not have married Sam,” Sansa insisted. “Not under false pretences.”

“And what about now?”, the emperor asked. Jon’s heart clenched.

Bishop Randyll protested loudly. “My son will not marry the daughter of a murderess.”

Tears began to run down Sansa’s cheeks again, and Jon felt the urge to punch the bishop in his face, even if he was supposedly a man of God.

The emperor called out. “Alcuin, what do you think. Maybe a nunnery might be a good idea?”

The learned monk nodded. “Lady Catelyn confessed her crimes, but she died unshriven, although the all merciful God might forgive her, for she truly repented.” His voice was grave. “Sansa could pray for her mother’s soul in a convent.”

“You can’t put her into a convent!“ Jon protested loudly.

“What do you suggest, Jon?”, the emperor asked. “As future Lord of Winterfell? Your father’s murderess lies dead.”

“Not to put her into a nunnery, before she has lived,” Jon answered.

He sank on his knees. “I told you how I feel. I want to marry her. She is not my sister.”

“Son of Brandon, you would marry the daughter of his murderess?”, the emperor asked.

“Not only that, I would love her and cherish her.” She is not my sister. She is not my sister. He hardly managed to calm the chorus in his head.

“Your majesty,” he heard a woman’s voice call out. The emperor’s daughter, Emma, elbowed her way towards her father and fell to her knees.

“Father,” she said after she stood up again. “Don’t you think Sansa should have a say in her future?”

The emperor smiled. “It was my intent to ask her, Emma.”

“Sansa,” he addressed her. “What do you want?”

Sansa stood. Her face had flushed a deep red, but her voice was firm.

“I want to mourn my mother, I want to pray for my mother, but a nun’s veil is not my true calling.”

She looked at the emperor, her eyes pleading. “If Jon will have me, I will take him gladly.”

When you do not right by her, I will come back and haunt you. Jon heard Catelyn’s voice whisper in his head. I will do right by her, I promise. I’ll be brave and gentle and strong for her and she’ll be the Lady of Winterfell, beloved and respected.

Jon stood and took Sansa’s hand. It felt like a little bird in his hand, that nestled into his hand, trusting. Jon raised her hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles.

“What a strange stroke of fate,” the emperor said. “We wonder if God’s hand changed injustice to justice after all.”

He raised his voice. “This is my judgement. Jon, Brandon’s bastard son will be the Lord of Winterfell and Sansa, Lady Catelyn’s daughter will be his wife and Lady.”

He held up his hand. “But Lord Jon will ride at my side for a year, and Lady Sansa may mourn her mother for a year. And after a year and a day the wedding bells may toll in Winterfell, so God wills.”

“This is my decision.”

#Jonsa #Jonsaff #Jon x Sansa #Jonsansaff #Jon Snow #Sansa Stark #Catelyn Stark #Judicatrix #Historical AU #Chapter 20 #decisions

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jonsa-creatives · 7 years ago

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Bar Confidential

Submitted by: @jonsaforlife for @jonsa-creatives JonSa Summer Challenge

Day 1 (Jul 10) - Food & Drink

Chapter 2 - Red Light Special

Rated M for language. Read Chapter 1 here

Jon swallowed and realised how dry his mouth had gone. He wasn’t so certain that it was an effect of the hangover from the night before.

“I-I’m so-sorry.. Wait, sorry what?” Jon stammered as little beads of sweat pooled on his forehead. Sansa only gave him a slight upturn of her sensuous lips and crossed her legs again, slowly. Jon’s eyes drifted down just as she had meant him to.

This is going to be super fun.

“Do I really have to say it twice?” Sansa’s husky tone brought Jon back to the back room office they were both in - standing face to face, breathing in the air so thick with tension, a knife could slice through. Jon shook his head and turned to lock the door.

I’m so fired.

“Sit.”

Jon obeyed and walked over to the large dark brown leather settee and did as he was told. He fidgeted, knowing he was done for. He winced slightly at the possible repercussions and played them in fast forward mode in his head. He quickly went through his mental list of contacts and tried to recall if he had any lawyer friends he would need to get in touch with the next day. So fraught with worry that Jon missed Sansa slithering off the table and in a matter of seconds, stood before him, just inches away. Jon’s jaw barely grazed the floor as he took in all of her, her creamy alabaster skin pulling together her curves in all the right places. The black skin tight dress was a one piece Sansa had picked specially for tonight’s shift - classy, elegant and easy to pull off in a second or two.

Jon was jolted back to his senses when he felt a light touch that lingered gently on his shoulder. He looked up and saw a flushed Sansa looking at him with hungry eyes and wet lips. He wished there was button he could push to freeze everything that was happening in that room in that very second. He was stunned into silence. All he could do was lean back on the couch and watch Sansa make her move, her long delicious legs slightly parting now, beckoning him to reach out to touch. He needed a kick in the head to know if all this was real and not some hungover wet dream he had yet to wake up from.

A hand running gently through his curls eased him into it, an unforgettable moment - live and happening in real time. His cock standing at attention confirmed it just as much.

“Miss… Sansa.. I.. You… I mean, we..” Jon was dumbfounded. Should he stop her? But wasn’t this what he had dreamed of ever since his first day on the job? The first time he saw her, as she walked in through the glass doors and introduced herself with a smile so lovely that it made Jon believe that perhaps there was some truth in ‘love at first sight’. It didn’t help he had a weak spot for gorgeous, pale and curvy redheads.

“Well, I suppose it’s fair..” Sansa whispers as she moved forward to straddle him. Jon sucked in a deep breath and licked his lips in anticipation. Sansa smiled as she realised, wiggling into a seat on his lap, what she had sat on. Pleased that it felt like what she had imagined, after seeing the fated text when it found its way to her phone. Maybe it wasn’t meant for her, maybe it was for another girl but damned if she didn’t have a taste. His longing looks and stares the past few months hadn’t gone unnoticed. Sure it wasn’t professional at all but she wasn’t exactly on the company pay roll anyway.

Just helping out, eat restaurant worthy food and sample wines. Well, that was the plan. No harm in trying the quality dick too.

Jon hissed in pleasure as Sansa pressed her lips on his neck and nibbled gently. Jon’s hands had a firm grip on Sansa’s thighs, squeezing her soft smooth flesh as they impatiently roamed up her slender waist.

Fuck.. she’s perfect.

It was now or never. Jon gently tugged at her ponytail and pulled Sansa away from their embrace, his dark grey eyes staring right into her ocean blues. Jon’s desire mirrored her own.

“Are you sure you want this, Sansa? Because god knows how long I wanted this. How much I wanted you, to taste you.”

Sansa chewed on her lip, slightly taken aback by Jon’s seductive confession. There was no going back from here, surely. Maybe there had always been something there, bubbling and simmering underneath, that they both were too shy to dip their fingers in. And what was there to be shy about, truly? She thanked the universe for that wrongly sent text. Serendipitous? Maybe. Timely? Oh yes. She wanted this. She had wanted him all along.

“Well, if you show me yours, I guess I’ll have to show you mine. You wanna see?” Sansa nodded and teased, the naughty grin that crept up her lips spoke more than she intended to.

“Fuck yes. Show me everything.”

#jonsas7summer #jonsa fic #jonsansaff #jon x sansa #restaurant au #multi chapter fic #modern au

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mon-blanchetts · 6 years ago

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We Fight Ourselves (4/?)

Jon never truly belonged to her, but she knew that already. Fate had cast its die a long time ago—everyone, including herself, had to live with the outcome. At least she had her babe; at least she had her home. Sansa re-evaluates the state of her marriage after brushing too close with death, but she’s not the only one whose views have changed. Post-series.

“What do you make of this colour, my sweet? Do you think it just as lovely as I do?”

Sansa held the end of the fabric up to Bran’s face. The babe gave it a brief look of confusion before reaching for it with both of his little hands, eager for this new thing. She giggled, watching as he fisted the fabric and pulled it further towards him. A shame he was still in his birthing gowns and would be for a while yet; she would have delighted herself with making him a handsome little doublet out of the deep blue velvet that had come from the Reach. It would be nice for a gown of her own, though, or perhaps she could present one to Alys Karstark as a wedding gift.

The bolt of rich-blue velvet wasn’t the only thing that had recently arrived from Horn Hill. A steady line of carts carried treasures like hides of buttery-soft leather; others contained bushels of long grain that that were used for that fluffy, white bread she remembered so fondly from King’s Landing.

continue on ao3

#jon x sansa #jonsa #jonsansaff #jon snow #sansa stark #got #writings

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damdamfino · 7 years ago

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Chapters: 1/35  Fandom: Game of Thrones (TV)  Rating: Mature  Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings  Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark  Characters: Sansa Stark, Jon Snow, Brienne of Tarth, Tormund Giantsbane, Davos Seaworth, Petyr Baelish, Podrick Payne,  Additional Tags: Jonsa, Angst, PTSD, Trauma  Summary: Sansa and Jon’s victory for Winterfell brought with it the responsibility of The North and the survival of it’s people. Now they are faced with the questions of who are their enemies, who are their allies, and whether two broken wolves can become a pack. Will they work together to overcome their personal demons and perhaps find solace in their pain, or will revenge and duty jeopardize everything?

[aaaaaaaah, finally posting! I am new to AO3 and tagging so I will probably be changing a lot of the tags as they are brought to my attention. I want to be clear, theres a TW for PTSD and trauma, as well as a lot of angsty thoughts. But this story has been screaming to be written for a very long time now and I’m finally posting it for public consumption. The anxiety is deafening.]

#jonxsansa #jon x sansa #jonsa #jonsaff #jonxsansaff #jonsansaff #my fanfiction #a baleful howl

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everythingjonsa · 7 years ago

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Chapters: 2/? Fandom: Game of Thrones (TV), A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark, Catelyn Stark/Ned Stark, Arya Stark/Gendry Waters Characters: Jon Snow, Sansa Stark, Ned Stark, Catelyn Tully Stark, Robb Stark, Bran Stark, Rickon Stark, Benjen Stark, Rickard Stark, Lyarra Stark, Samwell Tarly, Edd Tollett, Grenn (ASoIaF) Additional Tags: Other Additional Tags to Be Added Summary:

Getting her first taste of freedom also meant that she was now her Boss's neighbor - Her Boss Jon Snow - whom she had known all her life, who was her brother's best friend. Of course the fact that Jon was King's Landing's resident playboy didn't ease matters. Sansa knows all about Jon's reputation and yet, acting on a whim, she does the one thing she shouldn't ever do.

Jon Snow has never looked at Sansa as anything but his buddy's little sister, until she moves into his spare apartment, his office and his life.

Jon has always kept all his relationships, casual and fun. Everyone knows that, which is why any involvement with Sansa could mean risking his friendship with Robb - a risk Jon can't afford. However, Sansa makes his life brilliantly difficult by complicating matters with a simple wish which spark off a series of events that Jon cannot control.

Jon must now decide, if he's ready to risk his heart or lose the woman who completes him.

Chapter 2 - Extract

“And that’s how I scored the tenth goal!” exclaimed Edd and the rest of the boys cheered. Jon put down his empty pint of beer, after draining the remaining contents in one gulp. “Alright guys!” he said looking at his watch. “I think I’m going to call it a night.”

All of a sudden, the cheerful mood in their booth changed. Sam and Edd looked at him like he’d suddenly grown two horns. Grenn looked around him in a drunken stupor, as though it was someone else and not Jon who had said those words. Sam looked at his watch and then back at Jon, as though he’d definitely got something wrong. “But, it’s just seven, Jon. Technically, you can’t even call it a night.”

“Cause it’s still evening?” Grenn asked with a raised brow and an unnecessary debate about the fine line of distinction between evening and night began around him. Jon shook his head smiling. This is what happened, when your cronies were nerds at heart, if not in appearance.

“It doesn’t matter” Jon broke into the discussion which was now steadily turning into a heated argument and all their attentions were back on him. “I have to get home early tonight.”

“Are you feeling sick, man?” Edd looked at him with a worried expression. Then suddenly his expression cleared and he sighed. “Wait! This is your new game to hook up with that brunette who’s been staring at you from the bar, isn’t it? To act like the good guy we all know you’re not?”

“Wait, what?” said Jon looking across at the bar and sure enough there was a hot brunette smiling down at him and he knew with one look at her, that this was an open invitation. All he had to do to score was get up and walk towards her.

“Well, kill me!” exclaimed Sam with utter surprise and shock etched on his features. “You really didn’t notice her, did you? That’s a fucking first!” he said, taking a huge swig from his pint. “Jon Snow, not being able to spot a woman – a hot woman – hitting on him.” His mouth twitched as he looked back at Jon, curiosity written all over his face. “Exactly, why do you have to get home early tonight?”

Jon hesitated slightly, but only just, before replying. “Sansa’s cooking tonight and it will look terribly rude if I turn up late for dinner.”

“Ahhhhhhh…” His three friends exclaimed in unison. “Sansa!”

- Click on the above link to read the rest of it on Ao3.

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#jonsa #actuallyjonsa #jon x sansa #his wolfish charm #jonsa fic #chapter 2 #jon and sansa #I don't know how this became a fic #jonsansaff #my fic

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geekprincess26 · 7 years ago

Text

The Snow: Chapter 14

Summary: Sansa Stark thought she was well rid of Jon Snow. Then an untimely blizzard reunited them. Now Sansa wants out, and Jon just wants to explain.

Previous chapters can be found here on my blog and here on AO3.

It took the consecutive slams of the Escalade’s two front doors to jar Sansa Stark’s eyes open. The vehicle’s windows were tinted, and Sansa could not get so much as a glimpse of Jon, though she squinted and held a desperate hand to her forehead to block the glare of the sunlight reflecting off the snow around her.

Not a minute ago, Jon had held her in his arms as gently as if she’d been his gram’s vase, and had kissed her more gently still. For a moment, she had been surrounded by his heat and his evergreen scent and his hands and his lips. For a moment, she had been transported back to their house in London, where Jon used to hold her and kiss her every day and make love to her nearly as often and neither the divorce nor the ugly years since had blighted their lives.

Now he was gone, and now Sansa’s thumb was rubbing the spot on her forehead where Jon’s lips had rested.

“Sansa.”

Sansa watched the Escalade’s taillights disappear out of view before she turned to face Brienne Tarth’s piercing gaze.

“What happened to your elbow?” she asked with a slight nod toward Sansa’s injured limb. She looked as though she wanted to say more, but contented herself with, “You’ve been favoring it since you got out of that car.”

Sansa sighed. “I banged it on the seat of Jon’s car,” she said. “Tormund was swerving to avoid the paps, and my seat belt wasn’t fastened completely, so I fell out of the seat.”

Brienne pursed her lips. “And that’s the man who drove you all the way from York?”

Sansa grimaced. Where distrust of anyone with whom he client had contact was concerned, Brienne could get even testier than Catelyn Stark.

“Yes,” she replied. “There were almost forty paps, Brienne. He had to avoid them somehow.”

Brienne sighed. “How bad is it?” she asked, nodding once again toward Sansa’s elbow.

Sansa shrugged. “Probably just a bad bruise,” she said. Brienne shook her head.

“Best get you to a doctor to make sure,” she said. Sansa thought it was best too, partly because it would get Brienne off her back, but she could not help rolling her eyes.

“You’re almost as bad as Jon,” she said as the older woman waved Dacey off and opened the passenger door of her Lexus for Sansa.

“At what?” Brienne’s eyes narrowed. Sansa sighed. Right. She had forgotten that her guard, along with almost everyone else she knew, still thought of Jon as an unfaithful, untrustworthy git.

“Worrying,” she said quietly, training her eyes on the road ahead of them. “He did it almost the whole time I was there.”

“He worried?” Brienne sounded as though she wanted to ask the doctor to scan Sansa’s brain as well as her elbow.

“Yes,” Sansa replied, still staring at the road. “He was always worrying.” She bit her lip. “He – ” A lump appeared in her throat, and Sansa bit her lip harder. A simple fact, she thought, should not cost so much effort to speak. But the longer she waited to speak it, the less chance it had of escaping, of being known by more than just her and Jon.

There. Just think of it as an obvious fact. Brienne has blonde hair. The sun is shining. Jon was wearing a black T-shirt this morning.

Jon didn’t cheat. Jon didn’t lie.

“He was right.” Sansa sighed and willed her throat to squeeze out something more. “I was wrong.” And more.

“He didn’t cheat.” Her voice was so low, she could barely hear herself speak. “He worried because he’s – that’s what he’s always done with me.” Now that she thought of it, she could not come up with a better reason than that, although God knew he’d worried far too much considering they’d spent the last three years apart because of her; but Sansa could not think of why else he would, and she certainly could not explain it to Brienne. “Because he’s the same person he always was, and not a cheating dick.”

Brienne raised her eyebrows. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice softer than Sansa had ever heard it. Tears sprang into Sansa’s eyes, and she turned her head away.

“It’s nothing you did,” she replied. “It was my fault, really.”

Brienne drew in a breath, but the words Sansa expected never came. Instead, her guard fell silent, which Sansa preferred anyway. Every word she’d spoken had drained her energy, and now, after fewer than two dozen, she was exhausted.

She leaned her head against the window, rolled the hood of her coat between her hair and the cold glass, and closed her eyes. She did not open them until Brienne shook her gently by the shoulder and informed her that she had slept all the way to the doctor’s office in Leeds.

As Sansa had hoped, the X-rays the physician took showed no broken bones. She left the office with a bottle of painkillers and strict orders to bathe her affected elbow with ice water every hour. By the time Brienne and Dacey had left Sansa’s flat, however, she felt even more tired than she had during the trip to Leeds. She stayed awake long enough to text her mother, Margaery, Hannah, and Myranda to let them know she’d arrived safely back in Leeds.

Going to bed early, she added at the close of each message. Talk to you tomorrow.

She hesitated a bit longer over her text to Jon. Eventually she decided on Home OK. Dr says elbow fine. Thank you. She chewed her lip for a few moments before adding very much and then for everything before she sent the message.

She filled a bowl with ice and cold water and carried it with a towel to one of the end tables by her couch so she could dip her elbow into it. No sooner had she set both items down than her phone buzzed with a message from Jon.

Glad 2 hear it.

Three dots blinked in a gray bubble across the left-hand side of her screen. Sansa plunged her elbow into the bowl and yelped when her skin made contact with the freezing mix of ice and water. She gritted her teeth and pushed her elbow all the way in, then grabbed her phone again to set the timer. No sooner had she done so than Jon’s next message popped up on her screen.

I forgot to give you the brooch. I’m sorry. Can bring it 2 you if you want.

Sansa blinked. She’d completely forgotten about the brooch. Guilt twisted her stomach.

I should have remembered, she typed back. I’m sorry. Don’t need to come all the way here. We can meet later.

She hit the send button and sighed. That probably sounded like a brush-off. She should know better than to try texting anything of much substance when she was this tired and holding back screams over her quickly-freezing elbow.

I’m in London @Bridge next month, she typed. Maybe meet then?

Jon replied at once. Sure. You can pick a day.

Will let u know, Sansa replied. Good night.

She hit the send key, but her thumb slid over and the message sat still on the composition screen. Sansa bit her lip again and added his name to the end of the message.

Good night Jon, read the green bubble with her sent message in it.

Night, popped up beneath it. Sansa stared at the screen for a few moments, then put down her phone. She should have remembered that Jon had never been the type to use three words where one would do. Still, it was just one word. One word for all the illness, fighting, misery, miscommunication, and even friendship they’d been through together over the past week. Maybe Jon was just glad to return to the peace and quiet he loved so much.

How could she argue with that, after all she had done? Even if she’d thought he might have more than one word after the way he’d kissed her when they’d said goodbye that afternoon?

Sansa sighed, leaned her head back against the couch, and begged her timer to speed the hell up. Her traitorous fingers spent the entire time ghosting over her forehead.

Eventually the timer did go off. Sansa snatched her fingers from her forehead and her elbow out of the bowl, dumped the contents into the kitchen sink, and headed off to her bedroom.

She was bloody exhausted.

When she woke up a few hours later, she visited the bathroom and settled back into bed. It was so quiet, Sansa could have heard a pin drop.

It was far too quiet, so quiet that Sansa turned over in bed several times just to break the stillness. She realized with a start that she’d gotten accustomed to the ventilation system and the dishwasher and the fans and the faint sounds of Pink Floyd from Jon’s apartment. She’d even gotten used to the hum of the toilet tank in the bathroom next to the bedroom she’d occupied there.

She’d slept better over the past few nights, ever since Jon had recovered from his fever, than she’d slept in years, probably since before the divorce. Back when she’d still been able to curl herself up against Jon’s warm body and fall asleep to the low, steady beat of his heart. Maybe – she felt her face growing red – maybe that explained why she’d slept so peacefully the morning she’d returned to his flat from the café and he’d carried her to his couch and cradled her in his arms. Arms she very much missed at the moment. Arms she could have had around her for the past three years, had she not been such a blindingly brainless ball of idiocy.

Arms she missed, even now. Especially now.

Her body clearly agreed, because it fell asleep only to wake up again and again.

So did her mind, because every time she woke up, it chanted the same things over and over and over.

Jon never cheated.

Jon never lied.

Jon didn’t throw me out. He should have done, though.

I’m the worst fucking fool in the bloody fucking history of goddamned, brainless, spineless, worthless fools.

Jon got hurt. I hurt Jon.

I took away his friends. I took Shae and Grenn and Jory. I bled him dry and sucked the life out of him like a bloody fucking vampire.

He never hurt me. Not once.

By about 4:00 in the morning, an aching knot had begun to form between Sansa’s eyes. She sat up wearily and massaged it with her fist.

Jon should have hurt her. He should have told everyone who would believe him just how easily the wife he’d loved had turned to hating him, and how easily she’d believed and spread Ygritte’s lies about him, and how little time she’d given him to explain everything before she’d changed her phone number and moved out of their house and cut him out of her life like some kind of criminal or stalker or abuser.

He should have started dating every girl he laid eyes on as soon as the judge had awarded them the divorce decree just to show her that even if she couldn’t appreciate him, many others would. After all, Sansa herself had shown up at several awards shows after the divorce with a few different actors. Not that much of anything had happened after the cameras had gone away – every time she kissed another man, she felt dirtier and sadder and lonelier. Lonelier for Jon and his lips on hers and his beard lightly scratching her chin and his hands caressing her waist through the fabric of yet another flimsy gown and his mouth whispering about how badly he wanted to get off the red carpet and away from the cameras and back to their home, where they could find much more exciting things to do than field inane questions from a battery of journalists.

She was lonely now.

Sansa scoffed at the thought. She hadn’t seriously dated anyone since the divorce, let alone moved in with anyone. She’d been single for almost three years. She’d been staying with Jon for only just over a week, and for a good portion of that time he’d been sick enough to scare her stiff.

She had no reason to be lonely, or to miss a bunch of strange sounds in an apartment she hadn’t visited before last week and probably never would again.

Sansa’s heart beat nearly out of her chest at the thought. What if she never saw Jon again?

Two weeks ago, the thought would have made her cheer. Now she wanted to cry.

She flopped back onto her bed, heart still hammering, but the tears refused to come. She groaned in frustration and punched the pillow next to her and blinked ferociously, but her body refused to produce the good cry her mind needed so badly.

Jon never cheated.

Jon never lied.

Jon should never want to see me again.

The sky was turning from silver to pink when Sansa finally fell back to sleep.

-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-

Sansa was awakened a couple of hours later by the blaring of her alarm. She slapped the snooze button on her phone, only to see a notification pop up on her calendar app reminding her that she was due at the Bridge Theatre for a rehearsal on “An Ideal Husband” in an hour and a half. She groaned and buried her head into the pillow.

Bloody living hell. Of all the days to have her first rehearsal.

But the session did not go as badly as Sansa had feared. It went even worse.

She spilled half a cup of coffee all over her clothes not ten minutes after entering the theater. She spent so much energy fighting off yawns that the director had to repeat some of her instructions more than once. She drew back startled when Loras Tyrell, Margaery’s brother and a fine actor in his own right, bent to kiss her a line before she had been expecting it. She flushed beet red when she realized she had had the wrong line in mind.

“Sorry!” she whispered to Loras when the director called for a halt to the scene. “My mistake.”

At least the director had liked the idea of Sansa’s character pulling away from the kiss because it would recall the argument she’d had with her husband earlier, Sansa thought as she exited the theater. That meant one good thing had come out of the whole mess.

She glanced at her phone and saw voicemails on it from Myranda Royce, Hannah Freeman, Margaery Tyrell, and her mother. She decided to return home and sit down with some food and tea before dealing with any of them. That turned out to be the best decision Sansa had made all day, since the first ten seconds of her publicist’s voicemail had her scurrying to the first celebrity news website she could find. Sure enough, it was peppered with pictures taken by the paps who had followed her and Jon out of his flat the prior day. Most of them featured her or Jon ducking and shielding their eyes, but one or two lucky photographers had managed to obtain shots of Jon grabbing for her as she tumbled out of her seat. They were hardly the most compromising photos in the world, but the headlines made up for that.

SANSA STARK AND JON SNOW: BACK TOGETHER?

LATEST SIGHTING POINTS TO BLIZZARD OF LOVE FOR EXES SANSA STARK AND JON SNOW

Oh, holy mother fucking shit…shit...shit…

Not until Sansa’s phone rang did she realize she’d been moaning the words aloud. She checked her phone screen and groaned even more loudly before hitting the connect button.

“Hello, Mother,” she said as politely as she could. “Sorry I didn’t get back to you earlier. I’ve been a bit busy since getting back from York.”

“So I hear,” replied Catelyn Stark. It never ceased to amaze Sansa how much disapproval her mother could inject into just three words. “You didn’t tell me you’d been staying with your former husband, Sansa.”

Sansa cringed. She should have known the older woman would see the photos. Fuck the paparazzi. She never would have known otherwise…fuck, fuck, fuck…

“No, I didn’t,” she replied. “I didn’t intend to, anyway. I got stuck in the blizzard after the accident I told you about, and Jon offered to take me to his flat to wait it out. It wasn’t as though the police didn’t have a hundred other stranded people to take home as it was.”

Sansa could practically see Catelyn Stark pursing her lips. “And that may well have been preferable,” she answered. “At least the police are usually trustworthy.”

“And Jon is trustworthy all of the time,” Sansa retorted. Shit. She had hoped to wait some time before having this particular conversation with her mother.

“Excuse me?” Catelyn’s voice was sharp enough to carve an ice sculpture. Sansa let out a breath through gritted teeth.

“I said that Jon is trustworthy,” she repeated, trying to keep her voice steady. “He’s never lied to me in any way. I found proof of that while I was visiting him. He didn’t cheat, and he would never mistreat me, if that’s what you were trying to say.” She was nearly shouting into the phone by the end, but at least her words weren’t wobbling out of her mouth.

“I am always concerned for your welfare, Sansa,” her mother answered, “especially when it involves a man whom you had informed me was unfaithful to you with his former girlfriend. Even your father never had the gall to do that. So I naturally wonder what sort of proof he gave you to change your mind so suddenly.”

Sansa wanted to scream, but that would solve nothing; if anything, it would only lead to more lectures and clucks of disapproval. She exhaled again, turning away from the phone as she did so.

“I appreciate your concern, Mother,” she bit out at last, “but my welfare is fine, especially since I do have proof that Jon never cheated on me with that woman or anyone else. It was proof I should have waited for before deciding to leave him so soon. I was the one in the wrong, not him.” Her voice began to tremble again. Shit. “And it’s not refutable. He didn’t do what Father did, Mother, but if you’d rather not believe that, I won’t tell you what to think.”

“Hmmm.” The tone of Catelyn’s voice had lowered by at least an octave. Sansa shuddered. Her mother’s voice lowered more the less she liked something, and right now it was nearly as low as Sansa had ever heard it.

“But thank you for calling to check up on me,” Sansa managed. “I appreciate it. I’ll call you later this week with an update on my projects after I talk to Myranda.”

“Yes, and perhaps after you’ve had more time to settle down and think after all this running around,” Catelyn Stark replied. Sansa felt yesterday’s headache making its way back to the front of her skull.

“Goodbye, Mother,” she choked out and pressed the red button. She flopped to the side and buried her head in the couch’s armrest.

She wanted to scream, but suddenly she had no energy to do it. Just as with yesterday’s conversation with Brienne, explaining Jon’s innocence and her own guilt, even in brief, seemed to suck the life out of her.

Maybe she was even more fucked up than she thought.

Sansa napped fitfully for the next hour, but woke feeling groggy and uncomfortable.

It was still way too quiet. And the quiet was really starting to wear on her nerves.

She sighed and picked up her phone to call her publicist. Then she realized how rich it would be of her to do that without ensuring that she and Jon both told their publicists to make identical statements about the photos. The media were both sharp and ruthless when it came to finding and investigating discrepancies in multiple statements about such pictures.

She pulled up their text thread, sent Jon the most emphatic apology she could think of, and waited for his response. In the meantime she called Myranda Royce, who had two new role offers for her and agreed to schedule an audition for Wolves R Us posthaste. Sansa heard the faint buzzing indicating incoming text messages during the phone call, and, sure enough, once she ended it she saw a smattering of them from Jon.

Nothing to be sorry about, they began, and Sansa felt a warm lump form in her throat. She also felt like smacking the phone screen, as if it were responsible for Jon’s refusal to acknowledge the possibility that the paps had only come along because of her. Instead, she scrolled through the rest of his messages. At least they showed more common sense. Jon did not want to give the media the satisfaction of a comment, and Sansa heartily agreed, but they both knew that would only invite more scrutiny. In the end, they settled on a brief statement acknowledging that Sansa had had car trouble and Jon had graciously allowed her to stay with him. The assertion that the two had been discussing business matters was a bit less accurate, but they added it anyway. After all, the media had no need to know that the business matters had been entirely personal.

Sansa related the results of the discussion to Hannah Freeman, whose voice never lost an ounce of cheer. Within ten minutes, she had e-mailed Sansa a statement for her approval and copied Jon and his publicist on the e-mail. Sansa scanned it and sent a reply-all message approving it. She clicked through a few more of the dozens of e-mails sitting in her inbox while waiting for responses from Jon and his publicist. They were identical to hers. Sansa sighed with relief and shut her laptop.

She needed a drink. She needed a distraction. She needed therapy.

She needed to keep at least one of her promises to Jon. Besides, she was a fucking mess.

Sansa sighed, reopened her laptop and typed a quick message to Mya Stone asking for a meeting. She reviewed and re-reviewed her lines for “An Ideal Husband,” then practiced them in front of the enormous floor-length mirror she kept in her bedroom just for that purpose. Eventually, though, she lost her focus. She got the same result when she tried to go through her e-mails, and again when she attempted a few rounds of Sudoku on her tablet. She even did an online kickboxing workout, hoping the physical exertion would refocus her mind, but all she wanted to do afterward was collapse into bed, so she did. She even opened the Pandora app on her phone to play a quiet stream of music, just to drown out the silence that had become so deafening from the moment she’d returned home.

She supposed that was why she ended up sleeping longer than she had the prior night. She still woke when the sky was dark, however, and she still only managed to doze between bouts of wakefulness.

At first she turned her music off. She also checked her e-mail inbox, which contained a reply from Mya. Sansa typed a quick reply accepting her therapist’s offer of an appointment later that day, then headed back to bed.

Back to bed and that deathly quiet. The quiet her mind was only too happy to fulfill.

Jon didn’t cheat.

I hurt Jon.

Jon didn’t lie.

I said that he did.

I made people believe that he did.

I didn’t listen to Jon.

I hurt Jon.

Jon didn’t hurt me.

After half an hour of tossing and turning, Sansa restarted the music on her computer and turned down the volume a bit. That allowed her to doze off, but she woke less than an hour later. She pawed through two closets before she found an old fan that she’d used half a dozen times since she’d moved into the flat almost three years ago. Its noise helped, but Sansa woke several more times before the alarm on her phone blared once again.

By the time she arrived at Mya’s office, she was exhausted, irritated to hell, and on her third cup of coffee. She caught her reflection in the hallway mirror and cringed at the sight of the bags underneath her eyes. Ugh. I look every bit as lovely as I feel.

“It’s all right,” Sansa blurted as soon as she had seated herself in front of her therapist. “You can tell me I look awful.”

Mya, who had just picked up her notepad, gave Sansa one of her therapist looks, the one that combined the aura of a patient listener with the X-ray vision of a cartoon villain. It meant her brain was working about fifty times faster than Sansa’s, which just irritated Sansa more.

“Or that I have cognitive dissonance,” Sansa remarked. “I totally believe in the concept now.”

That, she thought, should get a real reaction. Mya had explained the idea of having or trying to have one set of beliefs while acting according to another all the way back when Sansa had begun her therapy, back when she’d still been so stung and hurt over Jon betraying her. Stung and hurt and wishing desperately that she could have found proof that he hadn’t. And wishing that she could make that wish go away. Jon had cheated on her, pure and simple. He’d fucked his ex-girlfriend so he could be rid of her. There was no use in trying to pretend he hadn’t. No, she believed just one thing about Jon and acted accordingly, as far as she could tell. Neither cognitive dissonance nor the agonizing her mother had done long ago, when she’d finally made the long-overdue decision to divorce Sansa’s father, was a problem for Sansa.

But some defiant shard of her shattered heart would unearth itself and murmur in Sansa’s ear far more often than she liked, wondering what if and Jon wouldn’t and it’s just not him. She’d almost listened to it at first, almost let herself believe Jon when she’d met with him back in her Leeds flat and he’d explained everything so convincingly and begged her to believe him and looked so wounded and genuine and sad.

She’d been so close to throwing herself into his arms and not bothering to call the jeweler or the goldsmith whose names Jon had given her. Even when she’d screwed up her courage by reminding herself sternly about her father’s lies and her need to make sure Jon wasn’t telling her any, she’d hung up the phone twice on the first ring when she’d called the jeweler. Only on the third try could she manage to squeak out actual words.

God, she wished she hadn’t. She wished she’d chased Jon down, thrown herself into his arms, and never let him go.

Mya’s voice echoed into her consciousness then, and when Sansa looked up, the other woman had clearly just spoken to her. Judging from her expression, she’d called Sansa’s name more than once.

Sansa shook her head quickly to rouse herself from the memories. “Sorry,” she said. “What was the question?”

“What happened to change your mind about the idea of cognitive dissonance?” asked Mya, placid as ever. That only irritated Sansa.

“What? No asking me how I feel about it?” she snapped. Mya merely raised an eyebrow.

“Feelings aren’t the only way we process the world and the event around us,” she said. “But if you’d prefer to talk about your feelings, I’d love to hear them.”

Only Mya could have said a sentence like that with a straight face and no hint of sarcasm or subterfuge. Sansa wanted to scream at her.

Or maybe I should be screaming at me.

“So what do you want to hear?” she snapped. “Do you want to hear that I got stuck in a blizzard and Jon was the one of all bloody people that showed up to help me? Do you want to hear how I spent the next day screaming bloody murder at him for cheating me and humiliating me only to find out he never did and I was wrong the whole time? Do you want to hear how I based the last three years of my fucking life on a fucking lie from hell and made his life hell because I was bloody stupid enough to believe it because I should have known better and I even wanted to know better before I dumped him out of my life? Do you want to hear that he got so sick I was afraid he’d – that I’d – and then after he got better he was nice to me? Even before? And that the whole reason any of this happened is that the woman in the car in front of me died at the wheel and crashed and loads of other people almost crashed too? And the police – the police – told me I couldn’t have done anything about it, but every day I imagine her face from when I stopped to check on her and call 999? And that I was afraid I’d see Jon like that every day too if he had – and him I could have done something about because I should have listened to him, I should have given him more than four days before I filed for divorce, and I should have – I should have thought more about it.”

Not until she paused to take a breath did she realize that the hot lump in her throat from the previous day had returned, or that two more had sprung up in the backs of her eyes.

“I should have known,” she whispered. “Jon never cheated. Jon never lied.”

Then the lumps gave way and the tears poured out freely.

Sansa was not entirely sure how long she spent alternately weeping into her hands and emptying half of the box of tissues Mya always kept on the side table. Eventually the tears stopped, although fortunately the supply of tissues did not, and Sansa blew her nose one more time before she forced herself to look the other woman in the eye. She expected to see the same placid expression; but, if possible, Mya only looked sad. Sad, and concerned. A bit like Jon, really, Sansa thought, and blew her nose again.

I’m fucking pathetic.

Only when she looked at Mya again and saw the other woman’s raised eyebrow did Sansa realize she had spoken the words aloud.

“Why do you believe that?” asked Mya gently. Sansa arched a brow back at her.

“Because I should have known,” she replied. “If I’d just listened to him a little more, and checked for myself beyond the first layer of things. Or, bloody fucking hell, to myself, even. You were right when we talked before. There was always something – some part of me that knew Jon better than that, but I didn’t listen.” She took a shaky breath. “I didn’t listen, and I didn’t try long enough to figure out that it wasn’t Jon’s fault; it was all a setup by his ex-girlfriend trying to get him back.” Two tears welled out of her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. “I should have known. I really should have known.” Another set of tears joined the first. Sansa reached for another tissue.

“So you were lied to,” Mya said. Sansa’s head snapped upward to face her.

She’d never considered that. She nodded anyway.

“I guess – yeah, I was,” she replied.

Still looking sad, Mya nodded.

“Sansa,” she asked, “have you ever been to a mirror house?”

Sansa’s brow crinkled. “What?” she said.

“You might have heard it called a fun house instead,” Mya continued. “They used to have them at carnivals and circuses. They were small buildings whose hallways and rooms were covered with mirrors. Each mirror distorted your image in a certain way: some would show you upside-down, some would make it look like you’d been sawn in half, others would magnify your head and face…”

“Oh. Right.” Sansa had been to one or two as a child. She’d been terrified, and Robb had had to hold her hand during their entire time inside.

“Some mirror houses have normal mirrors at the end or right outside,” Mya went on. “Many people get confused or can’t believe it when they see those true reflections because their brains have gotten accustomed to the warp ones.” She gestured, palm barely upturned, toward Sansa, as if offering Sansa an invisible object. “You’ve been living in a mirror house for three years, Sansa. It’s normal to get overwhelmed when you see a real mirror.” Her voice softened. “Especially in the context of having witnessed a death.”

Sansa shook her head. The lump had returned to her throat, and it took a few moments for her to be able to speak.

“I didn’t actually see her die,” she said. “I just saw her right afterwards, when I went to her car to check on her.”

Mya nodded. “You did see her right after she died,” she said, with just enough of a question in her voice for Sansa to nod.

“It’s normal to be overwhelmed by that sort of experience as well,” she said. “And you told me Jon was very ill?”

Sansa nodded again. “He had a really high fever,” she whispered. “He’d had them back when we were married, but this one was worse.”

“Then that’s three difficult, high-stress events in a row,” Mya observed. “Being overwhelmed by one is perfectly normal, let alone three. So is showing that you’re overwhelmed. In fact, from what I know of you based on our time together, I would be more concerned if you weren’t visibly upset. What you’re doing is valid and healthy.”

“Healthy.” Sansa shook her head as another set of tears spilled down her cheeks. “I’m anything but healthy. I’ve spent three years poisoning Jon’s life, no matter what bloody lies I believed. I’m – for the love of Christ, I accused him of being like my father.” She spat the last word out, along with several more tears. “I mean, I told him when I found out the truth that I knew he wasn’t anything like that and how sorry I was that I ever did, but it’s – he’s still – it’s still done. I still damaged him and hurt him so, so, so, so badly, and it doesn’t matter that he was so much nicer about it than he should have been – he’s still so hurt, and it’s my fault. It’s completely my fault.” She reached for another tissue and wiped her eyes, which immediately filled up again.

“So you took responsibility for your actions,” Mya said softly. “That’s also valid and healthy, Sansa.”

Sansa shook her head. “It still can’t make things right, like Jon deserves,” she whispered. “It can’t make me go back three years and just listen and not poison everything.” She blinked, producing two more tears. “He just – he didn’t even want me to – when I brought up some things I wanted to do to make up for it, he didn’t want me to. He said it doesn’t work that way. I – I’d rather keep going because he deserves at least that much, but…” She shook her head. “It still doesn’t turn things back. He’d still be hurt because of me.”

Mya nodded. “No, nothing can change the past,” she affirmed. “That doesn’t have to doom your future, though. You’ve already taken ownership of your actions to both Jon and yourself.” Her voice softened as she lowered her gaze to meet Sansa’s, which was obscured by the tears flowing down her cheeks. “It’s OK to let yourself grieve over the consequences now that you know what kind of mirror you’re looking into.”

Sansa managed a nod before dissolving into sobs once again.

-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-

Fuck, she thought two days later as she strode into Hot Pie’s, her and Margaery’s favorite brunch spot, and saw her best friend chattering merrily with their friends Shae Lorath and Beth Cassel in the corner booth. She’d forgotten that Margaery had texted her after she’d gotten home from her therapy session asking if the other two women could join them on their coffee date. Sansa, whose head had felt like it weighed a hundred pounds at that point, had numbly typed “yes” and then collapsed on the couch to cry herself to sleep.

But she pasted a smile onto her face and greeted the other women warmly. It wasn’t their fault that she’d been walking around in a fog for the past few days.

“So glad you’re back from York, Sansa,” Shae remarked when the waiter had left the table with Sansa’s coffee order. “Especially since you were stuck with him. God, I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

Sansa shook her head. “I’m fine,” she said, although her stomach had twisted at Shae’s words. The other woman had been befriended both Sansa and Jon while they had been dating, but after the divorce she had firmly sided with Sansa and had, as far as Sansa knew, cut out all contact with Jon.

Sansa supposed Mya would say that Shae had been looking at the wrong mirror. That, however, was not Shae’s fault.

“Jon didn’t cheat,” she said, and three wide-eyed stares turned to face her. “Jon never lied.”

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