Hands to Yourself
Jon x Sansa fic for @ricewithfries. Thank you for your donation to fight Nazis!
Request: spies (playing off this drabble)
“How about you keep your hands to yourself?” Jon says, giving Baelish a shake. He’s light, easy to manhandle. That’s why the guys call him Littlefinger.
Staring back at him with her arched brow and pursed red mouth, it doesn’t look like Sister Stone will thank Jon for the intrusion—what he thought was a rescue, when he rounded the corner and found Baelish pressing her into the White Stag’s clammy stone wall. His blood is up, but even he can see she’s unimpressed. Annoyed even. Somehow he’s ended up the jerk.