Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Kissed by fire, eh?”

Jon choked when the arm swung out of nowhere to wrap around his neck, reeling his struggling body back against someone’s solid chest.

"Didn’t know you were into me that way, pretty crow,” Tormund purred in his ear, sweat-soaked football uniform plastered uncomfortably against Jon’s fresh clothes. He’d just gotten off practice judging by the strong smell of dirt and artificial turf. Then Tormund pulled out a horrifyingly familiar-looking envelope from the general vicinity of his crotch and Jon’s stomach dropped into his balls.

Oh no. It couldn’t be—

“You wrote it in green crayon,” The massive ginger snickered behind him, whole body radiating heat like a furnace, “how fucking cute is that, Snow?”

Jon’s body reacted before his brain could catch on. He elbowed Tormund hard in the face and bolted out of the empty locker room. It was only later, safe and alone in his bedroom, that Jon realized the box containing the five letters he’d written to his various childhood crushes was missing.

The first letter he wrote to Ser Arthur Dayne.

He was a ‘ser’ because Jon’s father was royalty and most if not all of his dad’s bodyguards were knighted. Arthur always had an endless supply of candy for him, producing them from various suit pockets like a street magician, and always with that dazzling smile. He had been the one to take little eight-year-old Jon to his uncle Ned’s house when his parents finally decided to elope off to somewhere in South America. He could still remember that day, the way the corners of Arthur’s blue eyes crinkled as he smiled, his voice when he swore to Jon that his parents weren’t just abandoning him, that they loved him more than life itself. His parents wrote to him every year after that, and Jon had copied the address from the first postcard to arrive in the mailbox onto his letter to Arthur. Surely that one would go unread if somehow sent off.

Jon breathed a small sigh of relief and crossed Ser Arthur Dayne’s name from his list.

Next was Sam, his best friend and quite possibly the nicest person on Earth. It wasn’t exactly romantic in nature, but he loved Sam anyway, the little pudgy boy who had lent Jon all his toys and comic books during his first summer with the Starks. They’d become inseparable after that. Sam would understand, Jon thought.

Then came Daenerys with her bright green eyes, infectious laugh, and even more expressive eyebrows. They’d met during camp when he was nine and at the end of the summer, Jon had secretly written her the letter. Looking back, he was glad he kept quiet about it. Dany, as it turned out, was actually related to him by way of his father. She’d also recently hooked up with a glowering senior even taller than Tormund who hovered over her shoulder all the time, scaring away any potential suiters.

His heart skipped a beat when he saw the last two names. Maybe he really did have a thing for gingers, Jon thought forlornly. Ygritte was a year younger than Jon, but that didn’t stop her from running him over with her tricycle the second day he arrived at Uncle Ned’s house. She lived next door with her older brother Tormund and a man named Mance. He was in law enforcement and was pretty close friends with Jon’s uncle who was assistant DA. Jon had dated Ygritte for a better part of middle school, but they’d parted amicably when he’d gone off to high school.

And then, there was Tormund, the bright orange enigma in Jon’s life.

Jon used to refer to their shared fence as ‘The Wall’ that kept the wildlings away. It didn’t, not really. Growing up, Ygritte still found ways to sneak across and beat him up or steal his candy. Back then, Jon had been a tiny child, all pale skin, chubby cheeks, and sad brown eyes. One Sunday morning, a much taller boy had dragged a struggling Ygritte over to their house by the ear.

“We don’t steal shit from pretty little girls. Apologize, sister,” The boy had growled, shaking her like a misbehaving puppy while Jon stood cautiously in the doorway.

“I’m a boy,” He remembered saying solemnly.

Tormund had laughed, if Jon’s memories served him right, loud and deep bellowing laughter that had brought color to Jon’s face. Framed in the doorway with his hair a fiery red halo atop his head, Tormund had looked almost godly in all of his ten-year-old glory, and little Jon Snow had somehow fallen in love that afternoon standing on his uncle’s porch.

He shuddered at the thought and crumpled the piece of notebook paper with the five names into a tiny ball. Something was definitely wrong with him. Jon’s phone pinged. He glanced down at the text message from Arya.

did it work???

did what work He typed back, confused.

your love letters stupid. did any of them write back???

He stared at the phone for a very long time. Then, Jon calmly got off his bed, grabbed the hockey stick leaning against his closet door, and stalked out into the hallway.

“I’M GOING TO MURDER YOU, ARYA STARK!!!!”

“Tormund, really?” Sam asked the moment he spotted Jon and Bran the next morning on their walk to school.

“How did you—”

“Bran told me,” Sam waved Jon’s sputter of “how did Bran find out?!” aside, “oh and before I forget, you still haven’t returned all the Batman comics I lent you eight years ago.”

Jon stared. Sam shrugged.

“It was in the letter you wrote me,” He explained, falling into step next to Jon. “Seriously though, Tormund?”

“And Tormund's sister, Daenarys, and Arthur Dayne,” Bran piped up, counting off the list of names in his wheelchair as Jon pushed him across an intersection.

He groaned, “both of you, just shut up.”

“That new girl,” Gendry said at lunch, “the one that looks like a man. Guess how much she benches, Jon.”

“More than you?” He half-assed absently, trying not to flinch every time he saw a redhead walk into the cafeteria. Jon hadn’t seen Tormund since yesterday afternoon (thank the gods), but they had the same lunch period so he was getting more and more antsy as time passed.

“Same as freaking Khal Drogo,” Gendry hissed, leaning forward, “Coach Bronn asked me yesterday if we could maybe disguise her as a dude and draft her onto the team. Honestly, I reckon it’d work if she was actually interested. Poor girl’s got her eyes set on Jaime Lannister though, so the lacross team's probably going to get her.”

“Cersei won’t be pleased,” Edd mused, “She’s already pissed about the stunt Tyrion pulled with Sansa.”

“What about Sansa?” Jon blinked, reluctantly drawn back into the conversation by the sound of his cousin’s name. Sam shot him a look, “she and Tyrion fake dated to get back at Cersei. Do you even live in the same house as her, Jon? Come on.”

Jon stabbed a plastic fork into his salad, “No one can keep track of Sansa’s love life.”

“I can, she’s been low-key with Sandor Clegane the whole time,” A voice chirped and Jon glanced up to see Arya draped over Gendry’s shoulder, smirking down at them.

“What are you doing here?” Jon asked. She should still be in class. Their current lunch period was reserved for high school juniors only and Arya was still a freshman.

“Tywin lost our latest bet, so he let me pick when to have lunch this semester,” She explained smugly and slid into the empty seat next to Jon. Arya was probably the only student in the entire school that Tywin allowed to address him that way. Not even his own children got away with calling him anything other than Principal Lannister at school.

“Sorry you didn’t like the surprise. I hoped maybe at least one of them would reciprocate,” Arya said, solemn for once.

“I thought it was sweet,” Her boyfriend tried to say.

“No one cares what you think, Gendry, you masochist,” Jon groaned as Arya stole one of his curly fries. She pilfered Sam’s fruit cup from his tray and grabbed the slice of pizza straight out of Grenn’s hand. Arya turned to Pyp who silently handed over his carton of chocolate milk with a resigned expression.

Jon sighed.

“I saw Tormund this morning,” Arya said in between bites, “ballsy of you to punch him in the face.”

“I didn’t punch him in the—” Jon began, but Tormund and three other burly football players chose that moment to push their way into the cafeteria and the words died in Jon's throat when he saw the massive shiner Tormund was sporting on the left side of his face.

“Oh god, he’s going to kill me,” Jon said faintly when Tormund’s eyes fell on him.

Tormund didn’t end up killing him in the cafeteria that day. He just sat down at the adjacent table with his buddies and slowly ate an entire chicken sandwich while maintaining full eye contact with Jon the whole time.

It was actually more terrifying than any verbal threat.

“Who else did you write a letter to, little crow?”

Jon jumped at the sudden words. For such a large person, Tormund was weirdly stealthy when he wanted to be. He finished tying his shoelaces and stood to face the other boy. Jon had to tilt his head back a little to look into Tormund’s face and that stung.

“How did you know there were others?” He asked weakly, shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun.

“Ygritte showed me hers,” Tormund rumbled, and then to Jon’s surprise, he added, “it was shitty of me to sneak up on you like that yesterday, Snow. Sorry if I scared you.”

“Sorry I elbowed you in the face,” Jon returned, biting his lip. He sighed, “just, forget about the letters, ok? I wrote those stupid things when I was just a kid and they were supposed to be private. I was never going to actually send— oh no.”

“What?” Tormund turned to follow his gaze. Their football captain, Daenarys’ current boyfriend, was staring at Jon from across the field like he wanted to disembowel Jon with his bare hands.

“You wrote him a letter too?” Tormund demanded as Drogo took a menacing step in their direction. Then another.

Jon gulped and turned to face Tormund. “Do you trust me?”

“Why?” The redhead asked suspiciously, but Drogo was getting closer and closer, and Jon was running out of time—

He fisted a hand in Tormund’s uniform and tugged him down into a kiss. Their teeth clacked together painfully and Jon could taste the strawberry flavored protein shake he’d no doubt chugged before practice, and—

“You could have warned me, crow,” Tormund glared at Jon. They were alone in the locker room and there was now a split lip added to the growing list of injuries Jon had inflicted to Tormund's face.

“Sorry, I owe you one,” He winced.

“Seriously though, who else did you write letters to?” Tormund insisted. God, he was like a dog with a bone.

“Will you let it go if I tell you?” Jon asked, exasperated.

“Maybe. No promises.”

“Fine. If you must know. I wrote one to you, your sister, Dany, Sam and one of my dad’s friends.”

“Drogo’s girl, eh?” Tormund whistled, rubbing at the orange stubble on his jaw. “You got big balls for such a pretty face, Snow.”

“We’re related,” He explained and rolled his eyes, “Dany’s kind of my aunt. It’s complicated, and I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I'll bet,” Tormund smirked. He shuffled closer to Jon and fixed him with that weirdly intense stare from the cafeteria again. Jon felt goosebumps break out all over the back of his neck and arms.

“So, you owe me a favor, hmm?”

“How are you this creepy?” Jon asked before he could stop himself. Tormund pouted like the words genuinely hurt him. Jon didn’t believe it for a second.

“Pretend to date me, little crow,” Tormund murmured, caging Jon against the lockers with his massive arms.

“Why?” He must have misheard. Tormund let out a rumbling laugh, “the big girl. I want to make her jealous. And it’ll explain why you tried to bite my face off during practice today. Two birds with one stone.”

Big girl?

Jon wracked his brain. “Brienne, you want to make Brienne jealous?”

“That little fancy toothpick Jaime Lannister calls a cock can’t satisfy her,” Tormund leered, “and I see the way she looks at me when she thinks I’m not paying attention. She wants me, Snow.”

“I think I’m going to barf,” Jon said in the silence. Tormund growled at him.

“Fine, if you promise to forget about the letter and keep Drogo off my back,” Jon relented, “but we need rules.”

“Rules?” Tormund frowned.

“Yes, rules, so things don’t get out of control, and I can still have my peace if you and Brienne get together.”

“When.”

“What?” Jon blinked.

“When me and Brienne get together,” Tormund corrected.

“Right,” He nodded and tried to ignore the strange disappointment when Tormund held out a ginormous hand for him to shake. Jon slid his fingers into Tormund’s calloused palm and gripped tight.

“It’s a deal then.”

Chapter Text

Despite the different schedules in the house, it was something of a Stark family tradition to eat breakfast together every morning. The morning after signing his soul away to the redheaded devil next door was no different that any other. Except for the part where Jon’s aunt Catelyn got up during the meal to answer the pounding at their front door. Jon didn’t think much of it, and he was still sleepily masticating his way through a particularly chewy piece of toast when Tormund walked into the kitchen, backpack haphazardly slung over one broad shoulder.

Jon choked on his soggy toast, flushing when Arya hid her snort of laughter into her milk glass. Ned set his tablet down on the table and lifted an eyebrow at the redheaded boy.

“I promised Jon I’d help drive Bran and Rickon to school,” He said in the silence that followed. Everyone’s gaze went to Jon who stared stupidly back, slack-jawed and still clutching a piece of cold toast. Sansa watched curiously as her father stood and clapped Tormund on the shoulder on his way out. Rickon took the chance to steal an entire bar of butter off the table. What the youngest Stark boy planned to do with it Jon hadn’t the faintest clue, but he was fiercely glad Robb was off to college with Theon and not gaping at him like the rest of his family.

“Breakfast, Tormund?” Cat asked lightly, gesturing at the items on the table and breaking them out of the awkward stalemate.

“Sure,” He shrugged, flashing her a blinding grin. Then, to Jon’s abject horror, the other boy rounded the table and came to a stop next to him. Tormund grabbed his wrist and took a bite right out of the piece of toast in Jon’s hand.

Across the breakfast table, Sansa slowly smirked. It was insane how much she resembled a shark latching onto the scent of blood.

He shot to his feet, the sound of his chair legs dragging across the floorboards painfully loud. Jon grabbed his backpack from the floor, fisted a hand in Tormund’s letterman jacket, and dragged him out of the kitchen.

“The Jeep’s outside,” Tormund yelled over his shoulder at the two youngest Stark boys, “bye, Mrs. Stark and the rest of your offsprings whose names I definitely remember.”

Jon saw his aunt cover her amused smile with a hand as the front door slammed shut after them.

“Ow,” Tormund said when Jon punched him in the arm and stormed down the steps. “What was that for?”

“I thought we agreed to keep things a secret,” Jon hissed once they were safely tucked away inside Tormund’s red SUV.

“No, we agreed to keep the fact that we’re faking it a secret,” Tormund corrected, fiddling with the radio. Jon slapped his hand away and turned it off again, “this is serious, Tormund. I still have a year left before college and I would like to finish high school without losing all of my dignity, thank you very much.”

“Your dignity’s safe with me, Snow,” Tormund promised. Then, he frowned and said, “why does your aunt’s toast taste like kevlar?”

“She decided to try Aunt Lysa’s new recipe today,” Jon sighed, fighting his amused smile when Tormund put a hand over his and said gravely, “I can’t think of a better way to say this, little crow, but I’m afraid your Aunt Lysa might be trying to poison your whole family.”

Someone tapped on Tormund’s window a heartbeat later. The other boy sighed and rolled down the glass to reveal Mance’s stern face.

“Morning, Jon,” He nodded at Jon who smiled awkwardly. Just when he thought his day couldn’t get any worse, Ygritte’s head popped out from behind their legal guardian.

“Pay up, little sister. Told you I wasn’t lying,” Tormund yelled at her, thumping the side of the car with a fist. Jon winced and drew his hand out from under Tormund’s when Mance’s eyes flickered between the two of them. Ygritte cheerfully forked over twenty bucks before flipping Tormund the bird and dancing out of harm’s way when he swatted at her.

“Don’t believe everything he says, Jon,” Mance advised with a small smile, “tell your uncle I said hello.”

“That went well,” Tormund commented airily as they watched Mance get into his squad car and drive off. Ygritte’s motorcycle roared out of their driveway a few second later.

“Like a fart in a wetsuit,” Jon said, rolling his eyes at Tormund's loud cackle. They both jumped when a greasy hand landed with a wet thwack on Jon's side of the windshield. Outside, Rickon was busy sucking on the half-melted stick of butter.

“Ok, I have to say it,” Tormund said after a pause, “that one is just fucking weird.”

“Tell me about it,” Jon groaned and got out of the car to help Bran with the wheelchair.

They picked up Sam along the way and Jon spent the short ride to Bran’s school trying his best to avoid all the inquiring looks his best friend was sending him from the backseat.

“We’re not actually dating, Sam. Tormund’s doing this to get to Brienne,” Jon said the moment they dropped Bran and Rickon off with their friend Hodor. He yelped when Tormund smacked him on the arm.

“What happened to keeping it a secret between the two of us, crow?” He demanded.

“Sam’s my best friend,” Jon protested, angling his body away from Tormund when his eyes narrowed. “We can trust him, I swear.”

“You can,” Sam shrugged nonchalantly, “but Brienne? Seriously?”

“We’re not doing this again,” Jon cut in before his fake boyfriend could come up with a reply, “drive.”

It wasn’t that Jon was unpopular or anything. It was just that he had found his comfortable niche being the overlooked child in a family of Starks. Sansa turned heads when she stalked down the hall with her long fiery red hair and Arya baffled the mind with her ability to win over boys twice as tall as her. Bran stood out in his own way, with his genius level IQ and endless math awards. Rickon was...well, Rickon was weird.

So when Jon walked into the cafeteria that afternoon and everyone paused to stare at him, he kind of forgot how to breath.

“Easy, Snow,” Tormund rumbled in his ear, a warm hand settling at the nape of his neck and chasing away some of the panic clawing at Jon’s throat, “I’ve got you.”

And he did, expertly steering Jon past his usual table of friends, who were all gawking at him along with the rest of the junior class, and toward the table where the football players usually sat. It was way past the seniors’ lunch period, but Sandor Clegane and Beric Dondarrion were still sitting there along with their stony-faced captain who thankfully didn’t bat an eye at the sight of Jon Snow.

“Emergency meeting,” Oberyn Martell explained and patted the empty spot next to him. Gendry smiled encouraging at Jon from across the table.

“For fuck’s sake, Giantsbane,” Clegane groaned when Jon gingerly sat down, “you see any of us cuddling with our girlfriends?”

“What are you going to do about it, dog?” Tormund bared his teeth and reeled Jon into him with a possessive arm around the neck. He ignored Jon’s elbow to the gut and tightened his grip until Jon stopped struggling and reluctantly accepted the uncomfortable chokehold.

“We need to talk about Clegane’s brother,” Drogo said evenly, “turns out he won’t be suspended from football for the whole semester, so we will most likely be going up against the Mountain again in the home game next month.”

“Thanks to my fucking parents,” Clegane muttered sullenly into his burger. “And probably Cersei Lannister. God knows she’s been trying to get back at the little bird since the whole Tyrion incident.”

“Why was he suspended?” Jon couldn’t help but ask.

Sansa’s secret boyfriend shot a baleful glance at him, “because the ugly cunt broke our best quarterback's leg after Martell scored a touchdown.”

“Like a twig,” Oberyn snapped one of his baby carrots cleanly in two and patted his left leg which was still encased in a thick white cast. Jon winced sympathetically.

“Maybe I can outrun him this time?” Gendry said hopefully.

“Are you faster than me?” Oberyn countered drily.

“The Hound and I can delay him, but not for long,” Beric mused, grabbing a piece of lettuce from Drogo’s tray and breaking two pieces off. Oberyn tossed in a misshapen chicken nugget to represent the Mountain. Beric smeared a dollop of ketchup behind the lettuce, “if we put Tormund here, that’ll add another layer of defense. Maybe buy Gendry enough time to run his routes. What do you think, Raggedy Ann?”

The question fell on deaf ears because Tormund was too busy ogling the massive girl that had just walked past carrying her lunch. Brienne, who easily stood at six feet, towered at least a head over the rest of their fellow 11th graders.

“Here, Brienne,” A male voice drawled and Jon turned to see Jaime Lannister wave at her from across the room. The crowd parted like the Red Sea as she hurried over to him and sat down. Tormund’s mouth flapped a few times, but no sound came out.

“Quit gawking at Big Bird and pay attention, damn you,” Sandor Clegane reached over and slapped him upside the head. Oberyn snickered.

“What?” Tormund rasped, blinking like he’d just come out of a trance. Jon repeated Dondarrion’s question for him.

“Was that a fucking stroke or are you just that slow?” Clegane sneered, “we’d replace you with Snow if he weren’t the size of a twelve-year-old girl and weighed about half as much soaking wet.”

How Sansa could stand that mouth of his was lost to Jon. Or perhaps she secretly found him hilarious. Jon was starting to see that there was a lot more to his cousin than meets the eye.

“Enough,” Drogo interrupted before things could escalate, “we’ll talk more strategy this afternoon. Come on, Clegane.”

“Gendry?” Beric prompted.

“Coming,” The other boy gulped down the rest of his orange juice and climbed to his feet.

Tormund threw his arm around Jon’s neck again, “Meet me after practice, little crow?”

“We'll have to swing by the middle school and pick up Bran from chess club,” Jon reminded.

“Roger that,” Tormund smirked and leaned in for a kiss only to remember at the last possible second that Jon had specifically prohibited mouth-on-mouth action in their contract. It was too late to stop, so he ended up awkwardly brushing his lips against Jon’s cheek like they were French or something.

Oberyn, who was actually French, snorted and said, “I kiss my grandmother hotter than that.”

“Don’t make me break your other leg, Martell,” Tormund warned.

Jon cleared his throat. “Ok, we’re done here.”

Chapter Text

“These are actually not bad, Jon,” Sansa said around a mouthful of cupcake. She smacked Rickon’s hand away from the half-empty tub of cream cheese without even looking and licked her fingers clean. Sansa eyed his apron and flour-covered face critically before reaching for another cupcake, “Modern day boy Cinderella who cooks. How is there not a Lifetime movie about you?”

“I thought you were cutting down on carbs,” Jon muttered, pulling out a fresh tray of cupcake bottoms from the oven as Sansa bit down, “I’m going to be here all night if you keep at it like that, Sansa.”

“You shouldn’t have volunteered,” She pointed out, chewing daintily behind a manicured hand. Only Sansa could make eating a lumpy cupcake look like fine dining. “Mom said she’d finish the rest when she got back.”

“It’s your parents’ twentieth anniversary today,” Jon sighed, wiping at his brow with his forearm, “Aunt Cat shouldn’t have to worry about making cupcakes for Rickon when she gets back from dinner.”

“Yeah well, remember to wear earplugs tonight,” Sansa said bluntly, wrinkling her nose as she leaned over her Siamese cat Lady to snatch another unfortunate cake. Their eyes met. Jon lifted a disapproving eyebrow.

“It’s been so long since I had any junk food, Jon,” She whined, rolling her eyes and bouncing restlessly on her toes, “you’re my favorite brother, so pretty please?”

“Here,” Jon handed over the one in his hand, “this one has extra frosting, and I’m your cousin, not your brother.”

Sansa snorted in a very unladylike manner. “Oh come on, you totally are my brother.”

“Fine, I kind of am,” He relented. They had this pointless little back and forth almost on a weekly basis.

She beamed at him and Jon couldn’t help returning the smile. Sansa had been the last Stark to warm up to him when Jon first arrived at his uncle’s house. Growing up, he’d always been closer to Robb, Bran, and Arya, but he and Sansa had come to appreciate each other over the years; and while they were not the best of friends, Jon knew she had his back if he ever needed it and vise versa.

He was pipping cream cheese frosting onto the remaining cupcakes when something smacked into the kitchen window loud enough to make both of them jump. Jon squeezed too hard and the frosting went spraying across the counter as Sansa shrieked and Lady hissed. The cat scrambled for the stairs with her tail held high. The two Starks whirled around to find Tormund standing in their yard, grinning like a lunatic and Ghost panting happily in his arms, both of them close enough to the window glass to fog up the surface with their collective breaths.

Cupcakes forgotten, Jon stared openmouthed at the sunburnt ginger and his white husky.

“Blink twice if you need me to call the cops,” Sansa said.

“Your dog dug a foot-deep hole under our shared fence and destroyed Mance’s pansies,” Tormund explained past a mouthful of cupcake. He’d grabbed two straight out of the tray that Jon had just finished piping and crammed both into his beard where Jon assumed the general vicinity of his mouth was.

“His what?” Sansa asked, giggling.

“Pansies, Sansa, not the other gross thing you obviously misheard,” Jon said quickly before Tormund could speak. The redhead cackled and reached over to give Sansa a high-five.

Jon sighed. “Why are you here, Tormund?”

“What, I need an actual reason to come visit my little boyfriend?” He asked, pretending to scowl. Sansa lifted her eyebrows at Jon. And here he was, thinking that she had his back, the traitor.

“Just boyfriend is fine,” Jon groaned. He knew they were just pretending, but the word still sounded so weird coming out of Tormund’s mouth. The guy was painfully straight in every way possible. There was no one at school who was more comfortable in their masculinity than Tormund. Jon slapped his hand away from the cakes, “and yes, you do need a reason. This isn’t a homeless shelter. Why are you here?”

“Oberyn’s throwing a party tonight and I was thinking you could come with,” He said, apparently completely cool with Ghost cleaning the cream cheese frosting off his beard with his tongue. Jon’s dog was the only animal in the Stark house that absolutely adored Tormund. The rest’s attitudes ranged from tolerant to downright fear. Jon didn’t know whether to feel sorry for Ghost or his fake boyfriend.

“How’s he going to party with a broken leg?”

“His penis isn’t broken—” Tormund began, but Jon stuffed a cupcake bottom into his mouth before he could finish the sentence.

“You guys are adorable,” Sansa smirked.

Jon scowled when Tormund tried to kiss him with Ghost’s wet saliva still glistening on his face. He slapped a gloved hand over the taller boy’s face and gritted out, “Don’t you have somewhere to be right now, Sansa?”

“Actually I do,” She stole two more cupcakes from the table, chocolate this time, and bolted for the stairs before Jon could stop her. He sighed and counted the finished cupcakes again. How had he been left with less than he’d started with?

Then Jon saw Ghost and the small pile of paper wrappers at his feet.

“Sit, boy!” He snapped, “no, not you, Tormund, I was talking to my dog. And no, I can’t go with you to the party. I have to finish these cupcakes for Rickon’s school thing tomorrow.”

“Why can’t someone else do it?” Tormund whined.

“Because everyone else has stuff to do,” He explained patiently as he strained more flour into the mixing bowl. “My aunt and uncle are celebrating their twentieth anniversary today.”

“Twenty years, huh?” Tormund whistled, “that’s something.”

“Can you imagine loving someone that much?” Jon wondered aloud. He cracked two eggs into the bowl and grabbed the whisk.

“If it’s the right person, then yeah I can,” the redhead shrugged.

“Let me guess, Brienne?” Jon asked. He motioned for Tormund hold the whisk in place for him while he changed Sansa’s heavy metal soundtrack to something less aggressive. “What do you like about her anyway?”

“She’s big and blond,” He admitted with a smirk.

“So basically the exact opposite of the guy you are pretending to date?” Jon deadpanned. “Remind me again how this plan of yours is going to end up with you and Brienne together?”

“You let me worry about that, pretty crow,” Tormund grabbed him around the hip and dragged Jon close just as Sansa came bounding down the stairs in a tiny red dress and white pumps.

“You’re going out with Sandor Clegane wearing that?” Jon asked before his brain caught up. She scowled, “I’m not going out with him.”

“Sure you aren’t,” Tormund winked, “I wouldn’t admit it either if my boyfriend was the Dog.”

Sansa bristled, “for your information, Tormund, he was the one who wanted to keep it a secret.”

“Why would you say something like that? I thought you guys were friends,” Jon hissed the moment the front door slammed shut behind Sansa. Tormund shrugged, “Clegane’s the most self-loathing, insecure bastard I know, Snow. He doesn’t want to chance hurting her reputation at school.”

“So you make fun of him in front of his secret girlfriend?”

“Trust me, I’m helping.”

“Coming from the guy trying to win over a girl by pretending to be gay,” Jon snorted, “sure you are.”

“Do you want me to keep whisking your eggs or not?” Tormund growled.

“Thought you were going to Oberyn's party,” Jon reminded him.

“How can I? I’m busy pretending to be gay, remember?” The redhead shot back sarcastically and lifted the bowl of batter for Jon to inspect.

“Cut a small hole in the corner and pipe them into the tray,” He instructed, “I’ll get the oven ready.”

“We should do this Ghost-style, crow,” Tormund said, carefully ladling the cupcake batter into the ziplock bag Jon handed him.

“What does my dog have to do with anything?”

“No, not this Ghost. The movie. You know, me behind you, guiding your hands while sensual music plays in the background?” Tormund wiggled his eyebrows at Jon. They looked like two pieces of Flaming Hot Cheetos on his face, but he kept that comment to himself. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“No way. You’ve never seen Ghost? The one with Demi Moore and Patrick Swayze? Sexy pottery ringing any bells?” He exhaled loudly at Jon’s puzzled silence. “Oh my God, Ygritte was right, you really do know nothing, Jon Snow. It’s settled then. We’ll watch it when we finish making Rickon’s cupcakes.”

“Dude, this is so cheesy.”

They were sprawled out on the living room couch, shoulders touching and sharing a bowl of popcorn between them while Patrick Swayze and Demi Moore fondled a piece of wet clay together on screen. Jon covered his laugh with a strategic cough and Tormund scowled, tossing a handful of popcorn at him.

“It’s a classic, Snow,” He insisted, gesturing wildly, “Demi fucking Moore and Patrick Swayze, what else could you ask for?”

“I thought you were into blonds,” Jon retorted, shoving halfheartedly back in protest when Tormund rolled over and decided to use his much larger bulk to pin Jon against the sofa.

“Bet I can pick you up like that with one hand, pretty crow,” Tormund leered down at him.

“And I bet I can give you another black eye,” Jon muttered, face flushing at their close proximity. In the background, Patrick Swayze and Demi Moore were doing their weird little kissing and fondling ritual to each other now, complete with the stupid sexy soundtrack that Tormund had mentioned.

That poor clay pot, he thought a little hysterically as he stared up at the redheaded boy.

“How come we never do this?” Tormund asked suddenly. Jon blinked, startled. “What?”

“You know, hang out together.”

“Umm, because you hate me, remember?” Jon said, his nerves starting to subside a little. “You said, and I quote here, that you’d ‘fuck me up real bad’ if you ever saw me with Ygritte again.”

“Did I?”

“Yes!” Jon exclaimed, “and you didn’t believe me when I told you she was the one who broke up with me!”

“Oh,” He said awkwardly after a pause. Jon glared back, a little out of breath from his outburst. Tormund leaned down so that their faces were inches apart and whispered, “sorry?”

Then he kissed Jon on the forehead like a father would a daughter.

What the literal fuck was going on with Jon’s life?

They sprang apart when the front clicked open and Jon heard his aunt laugh as he hurriedly smoothed his hair down and scooted to the other side of the couch.

“Nice choice, Tormund,” Jon’s uncle commented, jerking his tie loose with one hand and taking his wife’s coat in the other.

“How did you know I picked the movie, Mr. Stark?” Jon’s fake boyfriend asked.

Eddard shrugged, “My nephew is more of an art documentary kid.”

“Seriously?” Tormund turned to look at Jon like he was a piece of old gum he’d found glued to the bottom of a favorite sneaker, “what have I gotten myself into?”

Chapter Text

“Ladies, we are gathered here for this year’s gift week meeting,” Sansa said to the room once the last cheerleader settled in her seat, “You should all know which football player put your names in. Margaery and I will pass the list around in a minute just in case you want to double check.”

Jon cleared his throat.

“We’re playing against the Gold Cloaks in a week’s time. It is the first game of the season, so it is imperative that we win,” She continued without so much as a glance in his direction. Jon lifted a meek hand, “uh, Sansa.”

It was mind-blowing how much Sansa resembled her mother when she turned to Jon and lifted an eyebrow, “yes, Jon?”

All the cheerleaders turned as one to stare at Jon. He swallowed thickly, “What exactly am I doing here?”

“Someone on the team put your name down as their date, Jon,” Margaery said sweetly. She was co-captain of the cheer team with Sansa.

“Who?” The word came bursting out of his mouth before Jon could swallow it down. His cousin rolled her eyes and made a show of scanning the list in her hand, “let’s see. Oh, the football captain himself asked for you.” She paused just long enough for Jon to feel sweat break out along his brow before snorting and saying, “it’s Tormund, Jon. Who else could it be?”

“Oh,” Jon said, now sweating for a whole different reason, “can I refuse?”

A scandalized gasp swept through the room.

“What do you think, Snow?” Ellaria Sand asked once the chittering girls quieted.

“Judging by the reaction just now, I’m guessing no,” Jon sighed, deflating in his seat. His stomach gargled in the silence. Jon had only gotten in one bite of his tuna sandwich before Sansa had shown up and dragged him off.

“Here, we can share,” Shireen, the youngest member of the cheer squad, said kindly, passing him her food. He took a carrot stick and bit down, wincing when the loud crunch echoed through the room. The nameless blonde sitting across the table narrowed her eyes at him. Jon swallowed the rest of his carrot whole and scrunched down as low as he could for the rest of the meeting.

“Why the hell did you put my name down for your stupid date, Tormund?” Jon hissed the moment they were finally alone together in the other boy’s Jeep. Tormund had the audacity to look confused behind all that facial hair.

“You’re my boyfriend, who else am I supposed to write?”

“Brienne!” Jon groaned, fisting his hair in sheer frustration, “you could have literally written down anyone’s name and they’re bound by school tradition to give you seven gifts for each day of the week before the first game. Literally anyone!”

“So you didn’t want me to pick you?” He asked.

“We’re fake dating, remember? All this is just to get to Brienne, don’t forget your end goal here,” Jon snapped, turning to glare at Tormund. For a split second, he thought he saw a flash of hurt cross the other boy’s face, but before Jon could speak, Rickon and Bran were crawling onto the backseat and leaning in to high-five Tormund. Jon sat there in the passenger seat while his fake boyfriend chatted animatedly with his two younger cousins, the three of them laughing all the way home. By the time they pulled into Mance’s driveway, Jon had mostly calmed down.

“I’m sorry for what I said back there,” He said when Tormund helped Bran back into his wheelchair in the driveway.

“No worries,” The redhead paused to grin at Jon. He ruffled Bran’s hair good-naturedly and helped him up the ramp leading to the Starks’ front door before wandering back to where Jon was standing by the Jeep. “You don’t have to participate if you don’t want to, Snow. No one else needs to know.”

Another secret between the two of them.

Jon was really starting to hate secrets.

“I’ll do it,” He said, feeling a little smug at the pleasant surprise on Tormund’s face.

“Really?” He asked, starting to smile. Jon’s heart skipped a beat but he soldiered on, “Really. Text me what you want by Sunday.”

“Just kiss already,” a voice said out of the blue. They both turned to find Rickon perched on the hood of Tormund’s Jeep, his left cheek smeared with dirt and hair covered in dry leaves.

“How’d you get up there, little man?” Tormund asked, opening his arms to Rickon who leapt without an ounce of fear.

“See you Monday, pretty crow,” He said, handing the little boy over to Jon. Their eyes met and Jon found himself standing on tiptoes to press a timid kiss to the side of Tormund’s face. His beard was surprisingly soft to the touch.

“See you Monday,” Jon replied.

“Why aren’t you doing this?” Jon demanded Monday morning after putting the last finishing touches on the special lunch he’d put together as the ‘first gift.’ Arya swiped the apple next to Jon’s elbow and hoisted herself onto the counter. “Can you imagine me making Gendry food like a proper little housewife?”

“No,” Jon sighed, leaning down to write a sloppy card for the whole package.

“Have a great lunch,” Arya read over his shoulder. She snorted, “come on Jon. That’s the lamest thing I’ve ever seen. You sound like his mom. Or grandmother. Write something sexy, like ‘I wanna lick the sweat off your—‘”

“Arya, Gendry’s here,” Catelyn called from the dining room just in time. Jon almost sobbed in relief when his menace of a cousin/sister hopped off the counter, kissed him sweetly on the cheek, and said “see you at lunch, Jon” before running out the front door with her books spilling over her shoulder.

“Hi Tormund,” He heard her say on her way out and Tormund’s answering “hey squirt, where’s our Jonny Boy?”

“Waiting for you in the kitchen like the good little housewife he is,” Arya said. Gendry honked in the driveway, startling Ghost and Nymeria into a barking frenzy. Jon buried his face in his hands and took a deep breath.

“Ready to go, wife?” Tormund teased from the doorway.

“I will gut you with a knife,” Jon replied, walking over to the redhead. Tormund’s blue eyes lit up at the sight of the big tupperware container in his arms. “Is that for me?”

“Yes,” Jon said, slapping his inquisitive fingers away, “your first gift.”

“Can I eat it now?”

“No, you just had breakfast!”

“So?”

“It’s for later, we’re gonna be late for school if we don’t leave now.”

“Whatever you say, wife.”

“Tormund!”

“Oooh, there’s a paintball match against the lacrosse team tomorrow afternoon,” Tormund said on Wednesday. They were hanging out in Jon’s bedroom, Tormund lying flat on his back on the bed with an ice pack pressed against the bump on his forehead where he’d accidentally slammed it into Sandor Clegane’s shoulder during football practice earlier. Jon was busy scribbling through his French homework. The first exam was on Friday.

“Please tell me you’re not making me go with you,” he muttered, flipping through the pages of his textbook.

“Come on, crow, it’ll be fun,” His fake boyfriend whined, flipping onto his front and wiggling those red eyebrows at Jon.

“I have a test on Friday,” Jon said patiently.

“I’ll personally tutor you Thursday night,” Tormund promised.

“Just go yourself,” He said, “you just want the chance to shoot Jaime Lannister in the crotch with a paintball gun.”

“You know me so well, Snow,” Tormund murmured in his ear and making Jon flinch at their sudden close proximity. He saw a blinding row of teeth as Tormund smiled and batted his lashes, “pretty please? It won’t be as much fun if you’re not there.”

Jon bit his lip, “Tormund…”

“It’ll count as the fourth gift. How about that?”

Jon thought about it for a bit longer before finally caving in. “Fine, but you have to help me with the French exam.”

“Deal,” Tormund laughed, pressing a kiss to the top of Jon’s head. There was the faint smell of artificial turf and Axe body spray on Tormund’s old shirt, but Jon found himself flushing at the gesture anyway.

“You can start by helping me with homework,” He ordered instead.

“Sure,” Tormund agreed easily and took a seat on the edge of Jon’s desk. His aunt Cat came in once to hand Tormund a fresh ice pack, but other than that, their afternoon went uninterrupted. Tormund, as it turned out, was a surprisingly good tutor.

They took the bus to the paintball arena after school on Thursday. When Jon trudged reluctantly onto the bus, Arya and Gendry were already neck-deep in strategies. She even had a legal pad balanced in her lap, illegible scribbles dominating the top half of the page. Gendry occasionally offered comments but was mostly just content to stare at his girlfriend with the half-terrified, half-reverent kind of look that had become the norm for all of Arya’s past boyfriends. Jon flicked her in the ear on his way over to Tormund’s seat in the back and she retaliated by attempting to trip him, but ended up kicking a passing Oberyn instead. The poor quarterback overbalanced and elbowed Sandor Clegane in the neck and Clegane dropped his opened water bottle in Thoros' lap.

“Wow,” Tormund whistled as the series of domino effects unfolded before their eyes. Kharl Drogo and Coach Bronn quickly put an end to things before it could escalate. Jon gulped when the massive football captain turned to him, dark eyes unreadable.

“Is he going to come over here and rip my head off?” Jon hissed at Tormund under his breath.

“Nope,” His fake boyfriend squeezed his knee with a comforting hand, “Drogo thought it was hilarious.”

Jon blinked, “how can you tell?”

“I just can,” Tormund replied with a shrug.

They spent the rest of the trip alternating between chatting with Beric about his history of religion essay and throwing paper airplanes at the back of Gendry’s head with Oberyn Martell. Jon had to admit, he was starting to enjoy himself. Then the bus ground to a stop and everyone filed outside after Coach Bronn.

Tormund made a strangled noise in the back of his throat and Jon looked up just in time to see Brienne come stepping out of the adjacent bus after Jaime Lannister and Margaery’s brother. Jon couldn’t recall his name, but Sansa had told him that the blond boy was rumored to be dating one of their male teachers. Jon hadn’t really been paying much attention back then.

“It’s her,” He elbowed Jon frantically. Across the road, Brienne shot them a contemptuous glance.

“She'll like you better if you keep a level head,” Jon advised quietly as they approached. Tormund surprised him by linking their hands, but he squeezed gently when he saw how worked up the redhead was.

“We’re kicking your asses today, King Slayer,” Arya called out to the lacrosse captain. Jon hadn’t the faintest clue how Jaime’s golden hair was able to catch the light of the afternoon sun perfectly when he turned and smirked at Arya, but judging by the look on Brienne’s face, she’d been momentarily stunned as well. Jon glanced over at his fake boyfriend. Under the light of the same sun, Tormund’s head looked like it somebody had doused him in gasoline and lit it with a match. He winced a little in sympathy. Life just wasn’t fair sometimes.

“We’ll see about that, Stark,” Jaime drawled and all of a sudden Jon couldn’t wait to fuck him up in the field. Him and his perfect hair.

He walked over to his favorite cousin and asked, “What’s the plan, Arya?”