Chapter Text
Sansa Stark had never lived through a more exciting Halloween in her life.
Night had settled in and with it, the fever. She still felt awful, and her brother’s words kept bouncing around her head: “If my mom heard this crap she’d have a heart attack. Don’t even joke about stuff like that.” She hadn’t been able to stay in Jon’s room for even a minute after lunch, so she left and let him work in peace. But once it got dark, he was done for the day, and he came back to check her temperature again and remind her to take another dose if she didn’t want things to get worse. Without him knowing, everything had gotten worse anyway, no matter how much medicine he gave her. Until she left Castle Black, that nervous flutter in her chest, that guilt wasn’t going anywhere.
“You're literally living your erotic fantasy.” her friend had told her. “You're so gone for Jon Snow.” It sounded just as unhinged as it probably looked from the outside.
Jon felt horribly guilty too, but for a whole different reason: Sansa had gotten sick. The idea of having to explain everything to Ned scared the life out of him; telling him his daughter had fever because she’d walked in the rain out of pure stupid pride. His, and hers. And even though Ned Stark was technically his uncle, Jon had never really seen him that way, and at this point he doubted he ever could.
To Jon, Ned was special because he was the only living person who connected him to the North. After he finished his studies, Val had encouraged him to go back to Westeros, at least once, and visitied Ned. He refused to go to Winterfell, but he did agree to visit his home region; Jon'd felt such a powerful connection after their first trip to the Wall that he never wanted to return to Essos. Because his ex was born from beyond the Wall, he told her about Castle Black, about the house his mother had inherited; about fixing it up, spending summers in the North. Maybe even living there, starting a family. Jon had been ready to leave his entire life behind on that exotic continent, but Val had no desire to return to the place she’d once fled. And once that hope was planted in him, the hope of going back North, nothing could rip it out. It only grew, year after year.
Ned only ever sent him a message at Christmas, wishing him happy holidays and happy birthday. The worst part about being born that time of year was getting half the gifts, though at least people didn’t forget. So when Ned called him outside those dates, Jon’s heart nearly stopped. He thought something terrible must’ve happened; but the fact that Ned reached out to him to help his daughter… it actually made him happy. That he trusted him like that. Jon couldn’t disappoint him, not when Sansa was supposed to go back home perfectly fine, without a single complaint.
Ever since the last time Jon saw her —that summer long ago, the one his mother died— he’d wanted to reunite with all of them. For the Starks to spend another summer together at the house. But he still carried the image of Catelyn, Ned’s wife, burned into his soul: the way she would gently push Sansa and Arya away from him, not letting him play with them, or eat with them, or even watch TV near. She only made one exception, and only because Ned insisted, letting Robb spend time at his side. “When Bran gets older, you can even teach him how to play football” Ned had told him, pointing at Catelyn’s huge belly. But Jon had never even met the kid; it had been so long that Bran had to be a teenager by now, practically done with high school. And Jon? Jon was nothing but a lonely man recluse in his cabin at the Wall. He was sure that’s exactly how that family saw him.
And what about Sansa? After spending almost three days by his side, what kind of picture had she formed of him? He’d admitted he thought she hated him, and she’d denied it. He ought to trust her word, sure, but she looked so much like Catelyn that he couldn’t help doubting her. Still, when he’d first seen her at the station, there hadn’t been a trace of that old, icy glare. He wouldn’t say it was the opposite, but he hadn’t seen a hint of malice in her eyes, either. It had been this mix of nerves and wonder, and he knew Sansa’d needed a moment to recognize him. She only knew him through her mother’s eyes; she didn’t remember a thing about that last summer years ago. But he did. He remembered her red braids, the way she played with her dolls, the way she used to laugh out loud. Now they were strangers with a chance to get to know each other again, and… well, that was the problem.
Jon couldn’t help noticing how pretty her hair was, how tall she’d grown, and those big blue eyes. She’d grown up, and she looked like a princess. None of that would’ve mattered if stupid Tormund hadn’t mistaken her for some girl Jon was seeing. But what was he supposed to do? Start laying out explanations in the middle of the bar; that he was Lyann's son and she was Ned's daughter? The whole adoption mess? He’d never talked about any of that with Tormund or anyone in town, and he sure wasn’t going to start now.
When Tormund made that joke, Jon had thought yeah, I wish I have a date with a girl that beautiful. But little by little, the thrill had worn off, because Sansa wouldn’t accept a single compliment, and on top of that, they kept arguing. They’d bicker, and once things cooled down, she’d act the way Val used to when they lived together... and that’s what messed with his head. He couldn’t see Ned Stark’s daughter that way. Absolutely not. But he couldn’t help himself ever since Sansa showed him accidentally the cover of the book she was reading the night she got there. He hadn’t read in months and was curious about the kind of stuff this girl would read. And curiosity killed the cat: humiliation, public sex, bondage, lesbianism, and incest, according to the reviews of those who’d read it. Some were scandalized, others were totally into it. Jon wasn't as surprised by the subjects as he was that Sansa was toting that book around so casually, and had even brought it all the way out here. Jon couldn't help but crack a sly grin in front of the computer that same night after Sansa was already asleep, at the pleasant surprise of how open-minded she was.
The plot of that stupid book had only dialed up Jon's curiosity about her even more. How was he supposed to stop, when he’d spent the entire day before thinking about how good she looked in those jeans… how his hand had brushed her thigh in the car… how she’d practically seen him naked that same morning! He’d slammed the door shut in a full-blown panic, shocked at how bold she seemed; until he remembered she was just asleep and feverish. After closing the door, he’d found himself staring at the wood, expecting her to open it again and tell him it hadn’t been an accident. To finally get what he’d been secretly wanting ever since Tormund’s comment.
Realizing that made him feel like the lowest of the low. He’d left her standing in the rain; he’d left her alone the evening before because she was getting under his skin way too much. He’d even tryed to skip dinner just so he wouldn’t have to face whatever was happening between them.
Jon told himself that slamming the door had been the right move. It had just been a misunderstanding, end of story. If he let it become anything more, and Sansa actually went along with it… and her father found out once she got home… He didn’t even want to imagine the Starks’ reaction. They’d skin him alive.
He had to make sure no one found out, it wouldn’t do either of them any good. After all, they weren’t going to see each other again for a long while.
Maybe never again.
Jon had grown lost in thought as he melted milk and chocolate in a small saucepan. He kept drifting back to how lovely she had looked asleep in his bed, and how she had taken his hand the moment she woke. He was preparing the chocolate for the two of them, intending to ask whether she might fancy a horror picture after dinner. After all, it was Halloween.
He returned to the living room a few minutes ago after work, anbd found Sansa struggling through one of the architectural manuals she had brought along. He nearly frightened the life out of her when he appeared behind the sofa and asked, “Trick or treat?”
“Treat” she replied.
“But only if you put your thesis aside for today. You’re ill.”
“Oh, man…! And what will you offer in exchange?”
“What might my patient desire?”
Jon sat next to her on the edge of the sofa, really near her. She felt the cushion dip as he landed on the sofa, and the soft swish of his hair when he turned his head to ask the question. From where Sansa sat, she had the perfect view of his neck, that sharply cut jawline, and those dark eyes, so damn intense, fixed right on her.
Sansa lowered her gaze, releasing a faint, wavering sigh. Caught in her throat was a “you're what I desire” she simply could not let escape. She had grown so nervous that Jon, hearing the tiny sound she made, noticed at once.
“How about some hot chocolate, uh?” Jon touched her forehead. She was no longer feverish, though she certainly looked worn out.
The moment had been completely spoiled.
And there it was again; that weird shiver running straight down her spine, pulling her toward him like she didn’t stand a chance. Every time that feeling swept through her back and faded, it was like a warning: a heads-up about the heat that sparked inside her out of nowhere, knocking her off balance and pushing her to say things she’d never dare to otherwise.
The chocolate was ready. Jon found his thoughts returning once more to the idea of suggesting a movie as he poured it into two cups. He took them carefully and set them upon the table before taking a seat beside Sansa. She sat with her legs drawn up, arms crossed over them. He had noticed she always did that when she was nervous. Her nose was still red, which she tried to hide in the collar of her navy-blue sweater, and her eyes were shaded dark with fatigue.
“You really can not survive a day without studying, huh?” Jon grumbled. “Such a hardworking girl.”
“I was just looking at the pictures…” she defended herself, making a face glancing at the massive book.
“You should be watching a show. Or sleeping.”
“I’d rather read, but my head hurts too much... It’s what I enjoy the most. And I saw you do too.”
“Well… every now and then…”
“Your shelves were about to blow up!” she teased, smiling as she took a sip of the steaming chocolate. “Seriously, one of these days you’ll end up buried alive under all that.”
“Those are the books I used to read,” he said, suddenly serious, as if the comment had stung.
“And why not anymore? Don’t you like them now?”
“They bring back bad memories.” Jon confessed, sinking into the couch, unable to look at her. “I didn’t want to throw them away or leave them in Braavos. I read all of them in high school and during college, but… Mmm... I don’t know. Lately I get pissed off just looking at them. They remind me too much of Val.”
Oh, great, here we go again.
“She hated my sci-fi books...” Jon explained before Sansa even asked. “Same way she hated the North… and a bunch of other things about me.”
“What a bitch.” Sansa said bluntly. “If you’re not willing to accept every part of the other person, why even date them? Seriously… That wasnt even a thing you did wrong that she could hold against you.”
“Sam used to say the same thing - one of my friends from back when I was a student. For a guy who’s only ever had one girlfriend, he gives surprisingly good dating advice.”
“And you?”
“Me?”
“How many girlfriends?”
“Pft.” Jon muttered, uncomfortable, hiding behind his mug for a couple seconds.
Sansa straightened up, brushing her hair back. God, what was she doing? How did she dare ask him something like that…? All she was missing now was biting her lip and running her hand up his thigh.
“Well… there’s not much to tell, honestly. I’ve had two girlfriends, and one of them barely counts. I went out with an exchange student, a girl from Karhold named Alys. It happened when I started studying Computing, we were 19… and it only lasted a few months. She cheated on me with a guy called Sigorn, one of Val’s classmates. They’d both come to Essos from beyond the Wall. I found out because Val told me herself, actually.”
“Wow. It doesn’t count because it only lasted a few months?”
“Well, not just that. I’ve always thought she didn’t really like me as a boyfriend. It was just… a fling, you know?” Sansa nodded, watching him closely. “Or maybe… I don’t know. She was the first girl I ever… well… the first in every way.”
“I thought you were gonna start by telling me about some little high school crush…”
“Ha...! Nope.” Was Jon actually blushing? “I mean, you saw that picture of me…! Back then I'd no friends, so, how was it possible that I had a girlfriend? Besides, that year I got into a fight and got expelled. I had to repeat and ended up finishing way later than everyone else. I was the werido... Anyway, it doesn’t matter anymore… because Alys cheated on me, and it was probably my fault for not paying enough attention to her.”
“That wasn't your fault. Don’t say dumb things!”
“Whatever,” he said, brushing off her protest, “a couple years later I started dating Val. We got really close. Five years of… everything.” Sansa’s eyebrows shot up, five years was almost a lifetime! If that relationship had lasted a bit longer… with that house already built… The next photo they would’ve seen of Jon would’ve been him in a tailcoat. “I’ve talked too much about her already. I’m probably boring you.”
Not boring me, worrying me, she thought. I need to get her out of your head.
“No, it’s okay, really. Vent all you want about her,” she said. “She hated your glasses too, right? I’m glad you finally listened to me.”
Jon had come down from his office wearing them; he actually felt comfortable around Sansa with them on.
“I know, I should wear them more often…”
“Don’t worry, I get it. I mean, I'm a redhead.” Jon arched a brow at her, puzzled. “Come on, don’t make me say it…”
Sansa stirred on the sofa, stretching her legs, they hurted because she had been in the same position for a long time. Her knees brushed against Jon's, setting much closer to him.
“I’m just surprised, because your hair is actually really pretty.”
“Yeah, my carrot hair is so gorgeous…” she shot back, dripping sarcasm. “When I’m back in Winterfell, I’m dyeing it brown.”
“Well, if I listen to you, you listen to me. Don’t do it, especially not over something that dumb. And your hair is not that, here we say you’re kissed by fire.”
Sansa pulled a face at that and took another sip of her hot chocolate.
“So...?” he asked.
She stared at him, confused, a small nervous smile blooming as her mind went blank.
“Oh.” Right, boyfriends. There was absolutely nothing worth telling. And, should she even mention Mya Stone to him? What if Jon turned out to be some awful, raging homophobe who lived way up there because he hated everyone? She had to say something, and she had to say it now. “There’s not much to tell, honestly. And none of it’s good. The worst of it happened in college. He was older than me, a journalism major.” Ugh, fucking Joffrey Baratheon. “He had me completely wrapped around his finger and treated me like crap. He’d twist everything around until I looked like the bad guy. He’d always ghost me for days, no reason at all, and I’d end up crawling back just so he’d talk to me again and agree to go out…”
“What? Are you serious?”
“Dead serious. I told you it was bad. That guy always had some perfect excuse to ditch me... figures, being a journalist, he was great at lying.”
“What an asshole,” Jon muttered. “that guy was a straight-up psycho.”
“I know…”
“I hope the guys in high school treated you better.”
As Sansa spoke, Jon’s hand drifted slowly toward her leg. He didn’t even mean anything by it, just to touch the denim, give it a little tug. It was stupid. He wanted to take her hand, tell her that idiot deserved the worst. How could people like that even exist? Doing that kind of damage to someone like her?
“Not really. I got dumped by someone older back then too…” she said nervously. She couldn’t, she couldn’t bring herself to admit that it had been a girl.
Just as his fingers were about to brush the fabric, Sansa’s phone buzzed hard, and he froze.
“Sorry, it’s Margaery...” the girl said bitterly, answering it. The glow of the screen washed over her face, making her look even paler. “My best friend and sister-in-law; she’s dating Robb. There’s a Halloween party at their place.”
“Sorry you’re missing it.”
“Don’t be...” Sansa said, locking the phone. Margaery had sent her a flood of messages, apologizing, begging her to call back; way too pushy. There was still no word from Robb, and that worried her. “That idiot Theon will be there too. Theon Greyjoy, my brother’s friend.”
“Your ex.”
“No way!” she snapped. “Ex-situationship, he doesn’t have the balls to ask me out. He was all over me practically since I started college, but I only had eyes for that asshole Joffrey, the journalist…” she clarified. “When I was a junior, things got serious. The dude was keeping me on the back burner, or something. You know how guys are. Something was about to happen one summer, but…” she remembered how Arya had interrupted them late one night by the lake when the whole family went camping and brought Theon along. Robb really wanted them to date. “Nothing. When I had already finished collage, at a party my brother threw back when they still lived together, he puked all over me when we were about to… well. And everyone saw it…”
“You’re kidding!” Jon said, grinning despite himself. “You’ve got the worst luck, Sansa.”
“Tell me about it.” She unlocked her phone again and opened the messages, pulling up Margaery’s profile picture and showed it to him. “My brother and my sister-in-law. Remember him?”
“My god…!” Jon frowned, squinting like he needed to focus. “He looks exactly the same.”
“He’s a professional basketball coach now.” Sansa said proudly. “And that’s Margaery," she added, pointing her out again. "we’ve been friends since freshman year”
Jon just nodded and kept asking about her siblings, especially Robb. He was genuinely curious, he still vividly remembered that last summer they’d spent together, how fun and easy Robb had been to be around. He remembered, unless his mind was playing tricks on him, that Robb had a weird laugh and had been insanely excited to start high school.
Sansa felt strangely unsettled by Jon’s reaction, or lack of one, to Margaery in the photo. He didn’t say a single word about her. Not one. He was the first man who’d ever ignored her presence entirely.
Of course Jon had thought she was kinda attractive —green eyes, pretty smile— but that was it. He didn’t know her at all, and most likely never would. He’d rather hear about her through Sansa, as her friend, if she wanted to talk about thar. And he was so caught up asking about the rest of her siblings that he completely forgot the face of Robb’s girlfriend he’d looked at for all of five seconds.
“Yeah, we’re all redheads, except Arya,” Sansa said. “She’s the one who looks most like my dad, see?” She zoomed in on her phone; her sister appeared sprawled on a couch. “The rest of us look a lot like my mom… you remember her, right?”
“Yeah. How could I not…” Jon muttered, rubbing his forehead.
“I’m really sorry about how my mother treated you.”
“It’s not that she treated me badly, exactly. She just didn’t want anything to do with me. And she didn’t want me anywhere near you or Arya either. She always looked at me like… like I was some kind of criminal. Like I’d killed someone.”
“It’s just… it was really hard for her” Sansa tried to explain.
“Oh yeah?” Jon snapped, clearly irritated. “Hard to deal with a 11-year-old kid?”
“With what you represented...” she shot back, unable to look him in the eye.
“Right. Not my fault Catelyn was so old-school she couldn’t handle a single mom.”
“You have no idea.” Sansa said sharply. “My mother moved here right after getting married, and she had to live with her sister-in-law, four months pregnant, while the whole neighborhood whispered behind their backs. A month later, my mom got pregnant—”
“What the hell are you talking about, Sansa?”
“What?” she said, completely stunned. “You don’t know you were born in Winterfell?”
“I was not born in Winterfell!”
Sansa froze. She felt the mug slipping from her hands, it was already cold, and she set it down on the table, furious.
“Of course you were. Don’t mess with me, Jon! You were born in the same hospital as Robb amd were raised together. In my house." she said, pointing at herself, "yYu lived there until Grandpa died, you were what, three years old?”
Jon set his mug down too, hands shaking as he let out a long breath. His throat felt tight, like a knot he couldn’t undo. He didn’t even know where to start.
“I... I don’t know what you’re talking about. My mom never told me any of this.”
“I can’t believe it…” Sansa whispered, clearing her throat and slowly shaking her head.
She couldn’t stop the look of pure sadness that crossed her face. She looked at Jon, the man he was now, and suddenly all she could see was a grown-up child. It felt like she’d stumbled back onto that 11-year-old boy she barely remembered.
“And then, what?” Jon asked, jaw tight.
“Well… um…” Sansa sat up as straight as she could, forcing herself to meet his eyes. “After that, you moved to Castle Black... not the summer house.”
“I know that part.”
“Right, well…” Jon kept avoiding her gaze. Sansa didn’t know how to sit, how to look at him, how to keep talking. Why did she have to be the one explaining all of this? “You have to understand that back then, being a single mother was… not okay. At all.” She crossed her arms; her whole body was trembling. “People turned on my mom for taking in Ly— your mother. They gossiped about who your dad was, said she was some nobody, accused my mom of getting married while pregnant. Back then, that was one of the worst scandals imaginable. And they said even worse things.”
“Like what…?”
“Stupid crap.”
“Sansa, I want to know.”
“Tsk. Fine…” She swallowed hard; her throat hurt. She’d been talking too much, in every sense. “Someone spray-painted the garage door, calling them whores... the next day there was more. And the shop owners wouldn’t serve my parents. That’s why you left. No one knew you at the Wall, and your mom needed a job…”
Jon shot up from the couch, releasing a harsh breath, his hand still pressed hard against his forehead. His fingers were shaking when he pulled his glasses off and dropped them onto the table beside his mug. He scrubbed his eyes, rough and frantic.
No, he wasn’t going to cry, he told himself that over and over. But there was too much crashing inside him layered so deep he couldn’t tell where one ended and the next began. His chest felt tight, like the air had suddenly gone thin.
Night had fallen without either of them noticing. Outside, a sea of black clouds had rolled over Castle Black, heavy and low. Thunder cracked so violently it felt like the ground itself had split open. Then came the rain relentless and pounding, hail rattling against the windows like thrown stones. Sansa grabbed the edge of the couch, startled by the noise. Frozen by nerves, she watched Jon pace in front of her, hands moving erratically as he tried to process everything she’d just told him. Ghost’s howl cut through the air, raw and mournful; it’d felt it too, whatever had just shaken the earth.
Her first thought was sharp and panicked: my dad is going to kill me if he ever finds out about this conversation. If Jon hadn’t known, there had to be a reason, but, how was it possible no one had ever told him? Not even Lyanna?
“That explains a lot…” Jon muttered. His voice was barely above a whisper as he moved along the edge of the table, restless, like he couldn’t stand still. “She never told me Ned and Benjen were her brothers. To me, they were just… my mom’s friends.”
“That can’t be—”
“I guess she was trying to protect me,” he said bitterly, cutting her. “It was always just the two of us. Alone. No family. That last summer we were all here together… when my mom died, that’s when I found out. When she was dying in the hospital and Ned was allowed into the room.”
Sansa took a slow, shaky breath, her eyes fixed on the mugs they’d been drinking from not long ago. She pictured him then, little Jon, forced to grow up in a hospital hallway. Standing next to her father, not knowing the man beside him was really his uncle. Realizing the truth only when the family members were allowed in.
It had been Ned who rode in the ambulance with Jon when Lyanna suddenly fell ill during their vacation at the summer house. That was the story Sansa had always been told. Her aunt had died of the same heart condition as Brandon, the eldest Stark. Jon had never known who Brandon was and of course he’d never understood why one of his brothers carried that name.
Lyanna died two days later. Untreated, undiagnosed at 28 years old.
So Jon hadn’t known until now that she... That they, in fact... They’d spent two summer fortnights under the same roof, believing all those people were simply friends of his mother’s. Believing he had no one else in the world. And because of Catelyn’s resentment, they had never truly seen him as one of their own either. They were and always had been complete strangers.
“I’ve got a big mouth” Sansa said, getting to her feet.
“This isn’t on you.” Jon replied. “You did the right thing.”
“I do nothing but screw things up every time I open my mouth!”
Only the width of the low coffee table separated them, but to Sansa it felt like miles. With every passing day, he seemed farther away, slipping back toward Essos, step by step, as if every word she spoke pushed him farther from her reach. That chill crept over her again, sharp and familiar, followed by a heavy ache in her chest when she looked at him like this.
But it wasn’t just empathy. It was fear. Fear that Jon would shut her out completely for telling him the truth. Fear that he’d pull away - that tomorrow, or the next day, or even this weekend, she’d be gone. And that was inevitable, she must come back.
Without thinking, her feet started moving on their own. She circled the table slowly, restlessly, like a nervous animal afraid its prey might bolt.
“Look,” Jon said softly, trying to sound lighter than she felt, “you might not be getting much done on your thesis, but don’t tell me this trip hasn’t been… productive. At least for me.” He hesitated. “Is there anything else you think I should know?”
“Bran is named after Uncle Brandon, the eldest,” she went on, voice quieter now as she moved closer. “he died of the same condition your mother had.” and rounded the table fully, “Grandma had heart problems too... You should’ve been getting checked at the hospital for years…”
Jon let out a sharp, almost hysterical laugh. “Oh, great! Fantastic. Do you have any idea how different everything could’ve been, Sansa?!” His voice cracked, anger and grief tangling together. “How different it would’ve been for me?” His face twisted, jaw clenched hard, mouth pulling tight like he was barely holding himself together. “I—”
The rain was coming down in sheets now, drumming harder and harder against the glass. The trees thrashed violently outside, whistling that low, restless song that sent shivers down Sansa’s spine; the same path of sensation that always made her tremble, that made her heart race whenever he was close. The kind that moved her before thought could catch up.
Ned Stark’s daughter wrapped her arms around him, tight, clinging to his neck. She’d finally caught him, and was shaking like a startled deer. She pulled him in, and Jon let her, instinctively leaning into her shoulder.
“The past can’t be changed,” she said softly, fingers threading through his curls. “All we can do is live with the consequences… and take care of what comes next.”
She hadn’t planned to say any of it. The words surprised even her And so did the fact that she was finally this close. She held on as if he might slip through her fingers, as if he could vanish if she loosened her grip; but Jon had no intention of pulling away.
He could feel his own heartbeat pounding inside his chest, louder and louder, syncing with the howl of the trees outside. He couldn’t hide it anymore, couldn’t hold it back. None of this had been accidental, and he didn’t want it to be.
Jon’s hands slid slowly down Sansa’s back, from her shoulder blades to her waist. He held her there and eased back just enough to look at her. Her eyes were red-rimmed, dark circles framing those wide blue eyes. Her lips were parted, breath uneven, shallow.
“So, we can live with the consequences of these days,” Jon said quietly, meeting her gaze head-on, “if that’s what you want.”
She stiffened, her hands tightening unconsciously at the back of his neck. That was the result of everything. Of growing up apart, of living in different worlds. Of Lyanna being rejected. And her death. Of chance placing her under Dr. Targaryen’s guidance, of a thesis on Northern medieval churches bringing her back there, where he had returned years before. In the end, these were all the consequences of a girl wandering into the woods of the Black Church.
“There’s no point of pretending anymore.” Jon went on. “I know exactly that book you were reading on the train is about, so I doubt you disagree…” He heard her breath hitch, saw her eyes widen in startled silence. “Besides,” he added, softer now, “we’ve never been anything.”
When Lyanna’s son laid his lips on, she didn't pull back. She went with it and let herself be kissed.
Sansa held onto him even tighter because she felt life was slipping away and she was about to black out. That heavy feeling on her heart intensified, and she felt a terrible burning in her gut, which didn't stop her in her tracks at all. She felt Jon’s tongue on her, letting him have his way, and how he was violently groping her, moving her backward toward the couch.
He couldn't hear anything but the whistling of the trees and the heavy rain, as it enveloped him and pushed him over the edge to commit the act. He kissed Ned Stark’s daughter abruptly —with an eagerness that was not like him— touching every part of her body all over. He felt her body soft and hot under the sweater fabric until he started to go for it under the cloth, devouring her neck like crazy.
That’s when Sansa stumbled against the couch, shoved by him, and feeling like she was going to pass out, she fell onto it with her eyes closed. She sat up, leaning on one elbow, with one foot still on the floor. Her head was spinning, she was deafened by the rain, and captivated by the music of the trees. She watched how his chest was heaving as he quickly shucked off the dark sweatshirt he was wearing.
“You still have time to head back to Winterfell” he told her.
“Who said anything about going home?” she shot back.
Jon bent down to where she was, resting only his right knee in the space formed by her legs. His thighs were encased in those damned jeans, forming a V, as if she was ready to bolt at any moment.
“You asked for it.” he told her, pressing hard his knee against her.
Sansa let out a muffled moan. He was rubbing up on her way too hard, but she couldn't ask him to stop. Under the fabric, she already had the same amount of moisture going on as that morning, or maybe even more. When she looked directly at Jon, she thought it wasn't him; that he was out of it, more serious than usual. He felt the same way when he looked at her; he thought Sansa was going to melt away any second. They both thought the other looked totally possessed, as if that forest curse was for real.
Jon shoved his hands under the young woman’s navy sweater, furiously yanking it up to her chest. He uncovered a white bra; a wool-like, sporty one. Sansa couldn’t help but feel super embarrassed when Jon saw it, but he couldn't care less, because in a matter of seconds, he used his fingers to pull it up by the elastic band, exposing her breasts. Jon kissed its like a savage, licking the areola and roughly brushing them with his teeth, even giving them little nips. He couldn't hold back anymore; the sounds Sansa was making were hyping him up more and more. He caught himself doing that, almost like a starved wild animal. What if he was the one who was truly possessed? Was that what he’d turned into after so many months of being alone? A man who couldn't hold his horses, even with the girl he'd been entrusted to look after?
He looked up and held Sansa’s face in his hands. Those blue eyes and that red hair, typical Tully features that this Northern family had now claimed as their own. Ned’s eldest daughter was struggling to breathe because of the cold and was waiting for him with her mouth open, hoping for more. It freaked her out when Jon suddenly paused. She wanted more. She needed more, or she felt like she was gonna drop dead.
Her's phone had hit the deck without either of them even noticing, and it had been vibrating on the floor for a whole minute. Now it was doing it again, ringing off the hook because it was a call, and Jon couldn't tear his eyes away from the gadget.
"It's your brother."