Chapter Text
He’ll never get used to this, he thinks.
To be fair, it’s only been two years, but so far it hasn’t gotten easier. Having a stylist dress him and do his hair. The limos and the screaming fans and the flashing lights.
Luckily, after two years, no one really cares about him anymore. Well, her diehard fans do, but the general public doesn’t care about Sansa Stark’s civilian boyfriend.
That’s proven when he’s asked to step aside as they reach the press area of the red carpet. No one wants his picture, they want Sansa. He squeezes her arm; she squeezes back. That means she’s alright, and so he moves through the press area to wait for her. At least this is easier than his first red carpet, he thinks as he watches Sansa pose and smile.
He’s to make his official debut as Sansa’s boyfriend at the Grammys.
Of course it’s the Grammys, he thinks as his heart tries to break through his ribcage. The biggest music awards, and she’s nominated for a slew of them.
There are so many other celebrities here and people yelling and cameras flashing in his face. He doesn’t smile - Sansa’s new manager, Brienne, and their PR team told him it would be best if he didn’t smile. Sansa had found that hilarious, he remembers her giggling through the entire conversation as Brienne tried to say, as gently as possible, that his forced smile made it look like he was being physically tortured.
So he’s supposed to go for brooding and mysterious.
He somehow makes it past the red carpet and relaxes ever so slightly when they finally take their seats. Sansa keeps her hand on his knee under the table the entire time, until she has to go up to accept her award for Best Album.
He’s heard her speech a thousand times, because she was so nervous, she practiced it that many times. It thanks Iron Music Group, of course, as well as Oberyn and everyone who produced the record. It thanks the former members of Dream Sweet, and Benjen. It notably does not thank Mockingbird Management. In fact, the only reference to them at all is Sansa thanking the public and everyone who supported her through difficult times.
The only new part comes at the end - something she hadn’t practiced. A thank you to him, specifically.
Later, he finds about a dozen texts on his phone from friends and even his mom - a photo of their TV screens with his face on it, when they’d cut to him for a reaction shot.
The next day, articles are written about how proud he looked of her. They aren't wrong.
Sansa told him he didn’t have to come to the Grammys, and she’s said it every time since, including before this one. He knows she means it, she’s been doing red carpets since she was fifteen years old. She would be fine alone, but he never takes her up on that offer, because-
When she’s finally free of the press, she reaches his side and takes his arm again. and he can feel her relax against him, the serene mask she wears slipping for just a moment.
“Alright?” he murmurs into her ear.
She turns and smiles up at him and says, “I’m alright.”
He’ll never forget the first time she says it.
Sansa gets an apartment in Winterfell, and Jon ends up spending more time there than his own apartment - so much so, that they move the cats to her place fairly quickly. Her place has better security, and it doesn’t have a Theon. Plus, with him gone, Theon and Jeyne will have an easier time hooking up while pretending they aren’t.
Jon’s making dinner, chopping vegetables for the salad and talking about the newest project at work. He’s found he needs to talk things out sometimes, and Sansa’s a good listener. Does she know anything about the structural integrity of the Long Lake dam? No, but she listens with rapt attention as he rambles on. She always listens, always adds little hums and nods along whenever she thinks it’s appropriate. It helps him sort his head.
At some point, though, he notices she isn’t making her supportive noises anymore, and he turns to her with a wince, realizing he must have been talking for longer than usual. It’s just the first big project he’s been put on, and he’s nervous about it. “Sorry.”
She’s just staring at him; it’s the same sort of stare that used to unnerve him, the quiet way she would watch him.
“I love you,” she says. It’s so simple, so casual, he almost doesn’t register it. But then she steps forward and she takes the knife from his hand and she says, “I love you. I’m sorry I never said it before.”
He knew. She may not have said the words, but it’s been in all the little things she’s done and said. He already knew.
“I love you, too.”
Jon doesn’t mind this red carpet as much, because it’s for a movie premiere and not an awards show, where he’d have to worry about a camera being turned on Sansa, and therefore him.
When the movie is done, they go to the after party, hosted by the debut actress herself.
Margaery kisses Sansa on both cheeks, then does the same with Jon. He’s only met her a few times, and he likes her well enough. Mostly because she supported Sansa.
“You were incredible!” Sansa gushes, and Jon knows she isn’t lying. It turns out, Margaery is a hell of an actress.
“I know,” Margaery preens.
Once they - well, Sansa - have made their rounds at the party, they slip out just after midnight.
In the car, Sansa lets out a whine, kicking off her heels. King’s Landing looks dark through the tinted windows, but Jon doesn’t pay too much attention to the unfamiliar streets.
“You alright?” he laughs, as she lets out another pathetic whine. She turns to look at him and sticks out her bottom lip in an exaggerated pout. It makes him grin. “Want a McFlurry?”
“Yes, please.”
Jon leans forward and slides the partition up. “Hey Pod, mind if we stop by McDonalds?”
“McFlurry?” Pod asks, looking at Sansa through the rearview mirror. She nods enthusiastically at him. “Jon, anything?”
“Large fries.” Then, turning to Sansa, “you sure you don’t want anything else?”
When she shakes her head, Jon lets it go, even though - as he predicted - she steals some of his fries once they’re out of the drive thru. She doesn’t even pretend to be sorry.
“I can’t wait to go home,” she sighs.
When Jon’s lease was up, it just made sense for him to move in with Sansa. The cats where there, most of his stuff was there, he practically lived there anyway.
Once he moves in, though, he starts to feel a bit weird. Sansa pays the majority of the rent, because there’s no way he could afford it on his salary. He tries to make up for it by cooking and cleaning, though she tries to insist that she’s currently not working, while he’s putting in overtime on the dam project.
It’s something Jon needs to face, though he doesn’t want to. When it comes down to it, Sansa will always be the one with more money. He can’t contribute equally to the household funds. He knows in the future she wants a house in the country, if they ever have children. He knows she’d be the one to buy it.
“It’s just,” he starts, embarrassment sitting hot in his chest, “I know you say you don’t care about money, but… growing up without it, it’s hard for me to not think about it, or feel like I’m sponging off you… I’m not explaining this right.” With a frustrated sigh, he tries again. “I just… I wonder if, in a few years, you’ll resent me for not making as much as you.”
Sansa seems to think that over, but she’s holding his hand, and he takes that as a good sign.
“Did you know, back at the share house, Petyr had frozen my accounts? I was given a weekly allowance on a prepaid card, but that was it. You never once asked me to pay for anything. All those times we went to the diner, all those times you cooked for me. The trip to the cabin. You knew I was a pop star, you knew I had money, but you never once asked for it.” She turns his hand over, palm up, and traces her finger along the lines there. “It seems to me, when it’s the other way around, you don’t think about that stuff at all. Not when it comes to the people you love.” Then, with a smile, “what good is all this money if I don’t have you in my life?”
“Well,” Jon says, after he clears his throat. “I guess I see what you mean. But if it ever starts bothering you…”
She rolls her eyes, but says, “I’ll tell you.”
At the hotel, she does the same thing she did in the car and kicks off her heels with a whine the moment they’re in the door. Then she flops down on the bed, rolls onto her back, and sticks her foot in the air.
Jon pretends to sigh, removes his suit jacket, tie, and button-down, then takes her foot in his hand. He presses his thumb to the arch of her foot and watches her eyes flutter shut, a contented sigh leaving her.
“Just wear flats,” he suggests, not for the first time. She doesn’t bother to argue with him, they both know she’ll never switch.
His thumb slides up to the ball of her foot, and she lets out another hum, a bit louder. She keeps letting out little noises that cut through his exhaustion, getting louder and louder, until she finally lets out a full moan. Loud enough he swears the next suite can probably hear.
“Sans-” he starts, but then he notices the strain to her mouth, the way she’s trying to hold back a smile, and he lets her foot drop. Her eyes pop open as he sits on the bed and starts removing his own shoes.
“Jon,” she whines, elongating his name. A foot appears in his vision, but he pushes it aside, ignoring when she starts to laugh.
“No, you lost foot massage privileges,” he deadpans, which only makes her giggle harder. The sugar from the McFlurry is getting to her, he can tell, combined with the exhaustion of the day.
“It just felt so good,” she teases, but when he moves to stand up, she catches his arm and pulls him down to lay on the bed with her. When they’re face to face, she says, “thank you for coming today.” She leans forward and presses a kiss to the tip of his nose.
They lay there for a bit, until Jon feels his eyelids drooping.
“We’ve got an early flight tomorrow,” he reminds her with a sigh. “If I lay here any longer, I’ll fall asleep. I’m gonna take a shower. Do you want to go first?”
“No,” she sighs. “You’ll be quicker.”
He lets out a groan as he pushes himself up out of the bed, all his limbs protesting. The jet lag and the southern sun and all those people he was forced to interact with are suddenly weighing on him, and all he wants is to shower the day off, then crawl into bed with Sansa and fall asleep.
He pulls the rest of his clothes off before heading into the bathroom, feeling her eyes on him the whole way.
She watches Jon disappear into the bathroom, and seconds later the shower starting.
Her feet ache, and she wishes she’d let him continue the foot massage, but he’s so much fun to tease, she couldn’t help herself.
She can’t wait to get home tomorrow. If it weren’t Margaery, she would’ve turned this premiere down, like she’s turned so many events down lately.
It’s strange. The person she was before she met Jon feels like a distant memory. It feels like another person entirely. That Sansa would have stayed at Margie’s after party until the sun rose - or worse, would have gone home with a stranger and woken up feeling terrible about herself. That Sansa would never live in Winterfell, would never be aching to see her cats, to lay on the couch in pajamas with her boyfriend and watch reality TV, or one of Jon’s documentaries.
That Sansa was lonely.
But that’s not who she is anymore. Now she has a place that feels like home, an uncle that loves her, friends that love her, two cats, and a Jon. A Jon that she loves so, so much.
Her future husband.
The thought makes little butterflies swirl in her belly.
She hasn’t told Jon she found the ring. It was an accident, she was bored while he was at work and she decided to do the laundry for him. That had included, she’d decided, whatever was in his gross, smelly gym bag.
There, in a plastic bag wrapped in a pair of clean socks, was a small black box. Because she couldn’t help herself, she had peeked inside - just a quick look. She’s imagined that ring on her finger ever since.
It wasn't a total surprise, they've talked about marriage and kids, but still. Seeing that ring, thinking about it, gives her butterflies every time.
Her attention comes back to the present, and she focuses on the sound of the shower. She can tell when he moves, the spray of the water hitting his body in different ways. Then she’s thinking about his wet, naked body, and she rolls onto her side and presses her thighs together.
After a valiant fight - about three seconds total - she gives up and gets up, stripping her dress and underthings off. She was exhausted, but then Jon had to go and be so tempting. It’s all his fault, really.
She opens the bathroom door to see the large standing shower, Jon’s silhouette through the frosted glass.
When she cracks open the shower door, Jon turns around and raises a brow at her.
“You were taking too long,” she lies.
“I’ve barely been in here five minutes,” he says, but his eyes are already wandering down her body, his hands already reaching out for her, and he doesn’t seem that upset about it.
“Is that all?” she breathes, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him properly.
Her future husband.