msmorningstaarr on ao3

ACT I - Enchantment

Lights, camera, acción

If he likes me, takes me home[...]

Jaime had been a constant presence throughout Sansa’s life, always in the background yet somehow unforgettable. He had met her family through his brother-in-law, Robert, who’d been a close friend of her father’s for as long as she could remember. The bond between the three men had formed easily, and soon, Jaime became a familiar face during her childhood summers and holidays.

Sansa always felt a curious warmth rise to her cheeks whenever Jaime was near. A rush of color that matched the auburn in her hair. There was something about his easy charm and confidence that made him stand out, even in a room full of her father’s friends. While she was still learning the world, Jaime already seemed to command it. His blonde hair shone as it contrasted with the sun, his green eyes could fit a whole universe within. For her, it was nothing more than a foolish crush, something unreachable. He was a charming man, made her smile even as he kept his distance, Sansa’s mother cherished him as a beloved friend of the family, her brothers held him in high regard as a role play of a ‘cool uncle’ and so did she. Sansa admired Jaime from afar.

Her admiration had turned into something heavier, something she couldn’t shake. Jaime was no longer just the enticing figure of her childhood memories; he had become the standard against which she unconsciously measured everyone else. 

“Uncle Jaime,” she greeted him at her youngest brother's birthday. His smile was warm, calm and made her heart flutter, drowning Sansa's attention like a moth to a flame. That day, she was no older than thirteen and just took off her braces, flaunting her smile with no ceremony.

Her dress had been a pale blue chiffon, bought specially for the occasion, and her mother had twisted her hair into soft curls. She remembered how Jaime’s eyes lingered on her for a beat longer than politeness demanded, and how he ruffled her brother’s hair before turning back to her with a look she couldn’t quite name. Fondness, perhaps, or mild surprise.

"You’ve grown up since I last saw you, little bird," he said then, voice rich with amusement, a touch of something else beneath it. The nickname, little bird, wasn’t cruel the way it was when Joffrey used it to taunt Sansa. Jaime made it sound like a compliment, a secret between the two of them.

She blushed, heavily. “Thank you.” Sansa nodded, feeling a slight flinch of validation and secretly thriving inside. Like the little girl that she is, she trusted Jaime enough to hug him as a way to show her affection, maybe to kill the crave she felt in her chest, no matter how distant and dysfunctional it felt like.

“No need to thank me,” he commented, parting the embrace to sit while she remained standing up, twirling her dress ever so slightly, a silly manner to contain the fireworks imploding within. “are you getting good grades in school?”

Sansa nodded, aiming to please. Jaime, in the meantime, lit up a cigarette in front of the girl. He wasn't exactly known to be a guy too keen on sparing the youngest to booze, smoke and bad mouthing. Being politically correct wasn't a strength in his family, being earnest. Maybe that's what made him so close to Robb and Bran, even Arya. Sansa was a good kid, easy to deal with. Her mother never struggled with her sleep as a baby, nor sending her to the shower. She always knew what was expected of her, to be a role model. Perfect behaviour, always brushed her teeth, did her hair on her own. 

Maybe that is why she felt the most lonely, invisible even. Her parents were always tending to see the problems of the children, but when Sansa seemed so perfect, why bother to cater to her needs of attention? That is where Jaime thrived. He saw her, he bonded with such subtle affection that made them connect almost in a fatherly way. Jaime gave what she needed, in the small moments they would share. She wrinkled her nose at the smoke but said nothing. He noticed, of course, Jaime noticed everything, but he didn’t stub it out. Just tilted his head slightly, watching her like he was trying to remember something and wasn’t sure he wanted to.

“That’s good,” he said, finally, voice trailing out like the smoke from his lips. “Your mother still goes mad over your grades?”

Sansa hesitated, her fiddling motions slowing until the hem of her dress settled around her knees. “She’s busy now. Mostly with Rickon.” The name dropped like a stone between them, heavier than it should have been.

Jaime chuckled, a low, gravelly sound. “Ah, the wild one. He leaned back, eyes narrowing with thought. “But I guess it runs in the blood.”

“In all of us?” she asked, a quiet challenge under her breath.

“In most of you,” he answered, smiling without warmth. “except maybe you. You were always the porcelain one.”

Sansa flinched at that, not visibly, but he could see it, something in her shoulders, tensing and defensive, even when she knew she had no need of it with Jaime. With him, she had a space free of judgement. “Porcelain cracks,” she said.

Jaime looked at her then, really looked. He tapped the ash from his cigarette. “And cuts.” Touchè.

There was silence again, this time gentler. The kind that grew in the spaces between people who'd known each other too long and not well enough.

Then, mercifully, the sound of Rickon yelling from the garden outside broke the spell. A dog barked. A door slammed. The house was alive again.

Sansa rose slowly. “I should go help with the cake.”

Jaime gave her a nod, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Go. Before your brothers burn the place down.”

But even as she tried to laugh it off, just a harmless crush, just a nonsensical thing, she couldn't deny it anymore. The weight of it had shaped too much of her. She didn't want any boys, they were silly, stupid, obnoxious. Sansa believed she wanted Jaime.

Years progressing, she bloomed into a lively teenager of fifteen years old, boys surrounded her and still, Jaime was the constant that made her cling to a feral wish for him to be her first kiss and everything further. And driven by this sense of legacy, at family gatherings, both families pressured - her mother and aunt Cersei, to be precise - Joffrey, Jaime’s nephew, to pursue Sansa and encouraged them to date, but it was of no effect on her. 

In a joyful day at her family's lake house to a relaxing holiday weekend for the Maiden’s Day, Joffrey followed her all day like a puppy, nagging and giving her mixed declarations that transbord his entitlement over things he considered his. Sansa didn't flinch, she thought of him less of a man, his beauty not nearly compared to his uncle’s. But as cats reign though the day, rats owned the night. Furtively, discreetly and sacredly, Jaime found Sansa that night smoking a cig she stole from his pack in a moment of distraction. He crossed his arms, like a mother finding her child doing something naughty, raised his eyebrows and said. “Put it away. Now.” Stern, simple and clear.

Sansa widened her eyes like a deer in headlights, stood still in embarrassment with nothing to fend for herself. “You do it too, so can I.” She murmured, biting her lower lip.

“If your father sees you with this…-” 

“He won't if you don't tell him.” Sansa interrupted him and looked into his eyes, hesitant, scared of him for the first time as he started smoking the cigarette she stole from him.

However, his expression softened as his lungs released the smoke and he sat by her side, thinking about something to say. “Have you done this before?”

She shook her head, silently watching him put the cigar between his lips, who seemed so soft and enticing, at least for the viewers. “Good girl. Keep this away from your mouth. Won't do you any good.” 

Sansa complied, once she wanted, or better, craved for his approval. “I promise it if you promise to keep it a secret.” 

“A secret it is.” He said, before burning the last traces of the cigarette. “Why were you doing it?”

“I was tense. And annoyed with Joffrey around me all day.”

Jaime chuckled, scratching his beard and shaking his head in a bittersweet amusement. “He was staring at you all day.”

“If he only stared it wouldn't be a problem, I guess,” the young girl replied, humourless. “He is always trying to decide whether he wants to insult or marry me.”

He kept cackling and threw the cigar away, disdaining Sansa's distress regarding his nephew. “It’s a bit of both, I suppose. Part of our family's charm. But wildly misplaced.”

Sansa frowned, cupping her face with her own hands in frustration. “Everyone kind of expects for it to happen, him and I.”

“I've been aware of that.” 

“He's unpleasant, I know he's your nephew but… I can't fucking stand him. Even when he thinks he's being nice.” The auburn haired girl stared at the green on the ground, her feet fiddling with the recent trimmed grass. 

“He is his parent's son, after all.” Jaime chuckled, his face denying any sign of humour on his beam, self aware and drifting his mind somewhere distant, maybe he saw something of him in Joffrey, thinking deeply.

“But you never encouraged it, though. Why?” She asked, softly on the outside, but bursting with anxiety within, her mind hopeful with an ill wish that he would admit he felt something for her. Even if it meant for him to put it all to lose. Her hopeless romantic side rooted for him to burn all the bridges, as a matter of fact.

Jaime paused for a long time and his eyes lowered, fixed on his own hands as he gathered his thoughts to give Sansa an answer. “You only deserve someone that's yours. Not someone who others chose for you.”

Her gaze lingered a little longer, now fiddling with her hands in a way to suppress her impulsive thoughts, but all in vain once her tongue ran faster than her mouth. “Even if who I want is…” and she trails off. It’s not shyness. It’s the realization of a line being approached, crossed. 

Jaime turns to her now, really looking, and his voice is quiet, serious. “Careful, little girl. Some wants don’t fly in straight lines.” 

“I’m not a little girl anymore,” Sansa said, her voice steady, showing hoje stubborn she could be. but beneath it was the undeniable beat of a heart beating too fast for something it shouldn’t want.

Jaime didn’t answer right away. His eyes, sharp and unreadable, lingered on her face. “No,” he said at last, quietly. “But I remember when you were.”

They stare at each other, and for a moment, the world tilts. It would be so easy to lean in, to fall into that memory, or rewrite it. The words settled between them like dust, weightless yet impossible to ignore. Sansa didn’t look away. Neither did Jaime. The air stretched tight, rarefied with the things they felt, but wouldn’t dare to say: history, affection, temptation, restraint. A single breath and it would have tipped, spilled into something irreversible. She saw it in the way his gaze softened, how the corner of his mouth twitched with something that might have been sorrow, or longing, or maybe just the knowledge of all the ways this could go wrong. 

It would have been so easy to fall into it. To close the distance. To pretend that age was actually, nothing but a number.

But Jaime moved first, and not toward her.

He stood with a fluid grace that betrayed nothing, brushing a hand through his hair like the tension hadn’t touched him. The spell broke.

“Go to sleep. Your parents are leaving early tomorrow.” He said, his tone lighter now, carefully casual. And then he was gone, leaving Sansa in the hush of the moment he left behind; still and burning, her body buzzing with the nearness of almost. And though she tells herself again and again it was just a crush, just a childish dream, her heart does not listen.

Jaime was everything she thought a man should be: self-assured, captivating, and radiating the kind of ease she only read about in stories or any cheeky romance she watched on the TV. Her feelings lingered, creeping into her daydreams and following her into her sleep, each thought of him impossible to ignore, drawing closer to obsession. And as another year came along, Sansa still bloomed as a flower in a long spring. She grew taller, sharper. Her braces had long since vanished, and the baby fat had melted from her cheeks. Still, the standard never changed.

On her sixteenth birthday, Jaime finally first kissed her, a sunny Saturday afternoon and she would never forget it. The house was filled with friends and family, a beautiful gathering in the quiet, flower-lined suburb where she lived. Blossoms hung from trellises in soft pinks and whites, mirroring the colors of her dress as she moved from guest to guest, caught between the simple happiness of the moment and the quiet anticipation she felt knowing he was there. Jaime watched Sansa from across the room, his gaze lingering a moment longer than he intended as she flitted from guest to guest, her smile bright against the soft pinks and whites that adorned the house. 

She was no longer the little girl he remembered but was instead growing into a fine young woman, more graceful and poised than ever. He could feel something complicated, something he couldn’t quite name every time she’d lean in to kiss his cheek or exchange glances with him with a quiet warmth in her eyes. As a matter of fact, he knew exactly what he felt, he just didn’t want to accept it.

So on, the day waned, turning day into night. The house grew quieter without the laughs of her friends and family. Her father, Ned, and her uncle Robert were well into their cups, laughing raucously before nodding off in their chairs. Her mother and aunt Cersei tried in vain to calm them, laughter and frustration echoing softly through the house as they struggled to manage the two men.

Sansa drifted toward the garden, stepping out into the night to steal a moment of calm. Jaime followed her, the murmur of the evening fading as he approached her, watching the soft curve of her face in the moonlight. It was a quiet moment, seemingly suspended in time as he reached out, letting his fingers brush her arm.

“Uncle Jaime.” Her head spinned to look back at him, her cheeks flushed with both the warmth of the evening and the thrill of his presence, as per usual. Her heart beat in quick, fluttering rhythms, and she could barely meet his gaze without feeling her face grow hotter.

“Sansa.” He murmured her name quietly, his voice steady and low, as if savoring the sound. For a moment, he wetted his lips, his eyes intent, searching hers. “Happy birthday,” he said, his voice gentler than usual, almost fond.

“Thank you,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. Her gaze dropped, and she hesitated, caught between wanting to hold his gaze and feeling shy under its weight. The world around them seemed to disappear, the distant sounds of laughter and music from the party fading into the background. He smelled good, a wooden, exquisite scent that filled her nostrils with a fervor that her age and innocence didn’t allow her to experience ever before.

Jaime reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face, his fingers lingering a moment longer than necessary. The air felt thick with something both refused to name, something that made their pulses quicken and her thoughts blur. Jaime felt too close to the sun, following his impulse to see Sansa in an opportunity that no one would see them. He didn’t really care about it, though. As deranged as it sounded, Jaime desired Sansa, yearning for her youth.

“Sixteen years,” he murmured, a faint smile on his lips. “How does it feel?”

“Not very different from yesterday, when I was still fifteen.” Sansa chuckled quietly, leaving some flowers over the table as Jaime approached. She could feel his eyes roaming her figure, practically preying on Sansa. Her stomach coiled as the tension grew thick in the air, the heat of his body mixing on hers. “How did you feel when you were sixteen?”

He paused, his expression thoughtful as he looked past her for a moment, his gaze softening slightly. “I don’t really remember much,” Jaime teased Sansa, taking a chuckle from the younger girl. 

“Yeah, it’s been a while ever since.” Sansa teased him back.

“Watch your mouth, little dove,” Jaime warned her in a joking tone, running a hand through his hair, the motion bringing attention to the few strands of silver that had begun to claim his once untarnished gold. Yet, his voice remained calm and subtle, his gaze remained fixed on Sansa and her delicate features.

“I’ve spent a long time trying to forget what I was at sixteen,” Jaime continued, almost as if he hadn't meant to say the words aloud. Silence stirred in the back of the garden, disturbed only by the background sounds of aunt Cersei yelling at uncle Robert for his excessive drinking. Both laughed faintly hearing her overreaction and Jaime took out of her pocket a medium blue velvet box. “I wanted to give you my present right in your hands.” 

Sansa looked delighted at her gift. It was exquisite, a golden necklace made of pure gold, a little bird shaped pendant. Her fingers grazed delicately at the piece of jewelry, admiring the care that Jaime had choosing her a gift. Her cheeks were burning red, her heart thumping in her chest when she felt the unshakable feeling of being drawn to Jaime once more. It was torturing for Sansa wanting a man this much, knowing the wrongs of it and the complications it could bring. But her fingers lingered on the smooth gold, tracing the curves of the delicate bird pendant, feeling its weight in her palm. The necklace seemed to shimmer even in the moonlight or the led lights from her garden as Jaime took it from her hand and came over behind Sansa, his scent occupying her nostrils while his large palm revolved her neck.

“You didn’t have to,” Sansa said, her voice barely above a whisper. Jaime leaned closer, his nose rubbing on her hair as he fetched the necklace on Sansa, Jaime’s nose smelling the sweet scent of her perfume, fuelling his imagination and lack of self control. Sansa knew better than to accept gifts in hidden places, especially from someone like Jaime, but there was something about the way he was looking at her, something that made her want to forget all the rules, all the consequences. 

Jaime smiled, his gaze intense as he watched her fingers on the necklace once they went back on being face to face again. “I wanted to,” he said softly. “You deserve it.”

“Thank you. It’s beautiful.” Sansa replied, holding the golden bird as she admired it in between her fingers.

Jaime smiled warmly as he took his time to admire Sansa. “It fits your beauty.”

Sansa felt a race of thoughts in her mind, the weight of his gaze settle on her like a heavy cloak. His compliment, though flattering, sent a shiver down her spine. But she chose not to run away from his eyes as he got closer. His tall figure towered over her, despite Sansa being long heighted for her age.

“You're too kind,” she said, her voice soft and almost hypnotized by Jaime, adding the smile on her lips.

Jaime leaned in slightly, his presence pressing against her in the stillness of the garden. He kissed the top of her head, making Sansa sigh under his tender gesture. “Not at all,” he replied quietly, his voice smooth, as if he were savoring each word.

Sansa’s heart skipped a beat, her breath catching at the intensity in his words. She could feel the inevitable arousal between them stretch like a taut wire, threatening to snap. And yet, she couldn’t move, couldn’t pull away. She didn’t really wanted, being fully honest. There was something magnetic in the way he spoke, in the way he looked at her. 

Jaime reached out then, his fingers brushing the back of her hand lightly, a soft, almost tentative touch that sent a rush of warmth through her. His eyes were searching hers, and in that moment, she could feel the shift in the air, like the calm before a storm. “Happy birthday, little bird.”

Sansa gazed at Jaime, decreasing the distance between them once the world fell silent, even though it was filled with yelling behind them. She just couldn’t hear anything else and solely focused on the man in front of her, the one she unhealthily wanted all the time and seemingly, wanted her back. “Thank you.” She whispered, undressing of her innocence.

Led by impulse, Sansa stretched her body, reaching his cheek and kissing him. This time, a longer and deeper kiss, her soft lips tested the waters as she felt Jaime’s breathing heavily in response to her actions. They looked at each other with eyes glistening and screaming a latent and forbidden desire. Sansa kissed Jaime on his other cheek, lingering her nose there as she smelled him once more. She led his hands to the small of her back, placing it there. Jaime, given over to his wrong wills, pressed her body against him, feeling the softness of her skin and the delicacy of her actions on his rough edges. 

“Do you trust me?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Sansa nodded, her heart almost ripping off her chest, her body close to combust under his overwhelming touch. “I want you.”

Sansa could feel the heat of his body through the fabric of their clothes, the steady thrum of his heart syncing with hers. She could feel his hand, rough and firm, sliding up her back, just enough to make her shiver.

Jaime’s lips parted, his gaze dark and conflicted, but his body was no longer asking permission, it was speaking louder than anything he could put into words. His thumb traced the curve of her waist, the touch gentle but insistent, as if he were trying to convince himself that this moment was real.

“We shouldn’t be doing this.” he muttered, though the words lacked conviction, his voice thick with desire.

Sansa’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment, her breath coming in short gasps as she leaned into him, feeling every inch of their proximity like it was an electric charge. “I don't care,” she whispered.

The honesty in her words was a blessing and a curse all at once. Jaime had always known the way she carried herself, a little girl who always came to him as a role model, someone to see herself into, even transparenting her childlike crush at times. None of it was real anymore. To him, she was now a woman, each time closer to making him commit the biggest mistake of his life, possibly. He could see the way she trembled, the way she was testing her own limits, her innocence slipping away, piece by piece, in his presence. His hands moved, sliding up her spine with a tenderness that contrasted the fire building between them. He cupped her face gently, tipping her head back, his look falling to her lips. The thought of pulling away, of stopping this before they went too far, was there. 

“Take what you want, Sansa. I won't stop you.” He said, his voice hoarse, barely audible against the rapid beating of his heart. Her fingers tangled in the front of his shirt, ending the gap between them until their lips met, with a ferocity that left them both breathless. The kiss deepened, urgent and hungry, as though they were both trying to consume each other, to forget the world outside and the consequences waiting just beyond this fragile bubble they had just created. No boy has ever kissed her. And certainly, none of them would do it with such urgence, want, need. His hands squeezed her hips, roamed her slender curves. His recent hair scratched her face as his tongue battled with hers.

Time seemed to stretch, to warp, as they lost themselves in the quiet chaos of their own. Sansa could feel the heat of his chest against hers, the roughness of his touch contrasting with the softness of her own skin, every moment heightening her senses until it felt like she could no longer distinguish where he ended and she began. But just as quickly as it had begun, the weight of the moment pressed down on her again, the fleeting pleasure of being close to him replaced by the dawning reality that this was not a simple thing. This was not just a kiss.

And yet, as Jaime’s lips trailed from her mouth to her jaw, leaving a trail of fire behind, she didn’t want to stop him. She needed to make it last forever. Sansa closed her eyes, her pulse erratic, the weight of his words sinking deep into her soul. She wanted to say something, to pull away and remind herself of all the reasons this was wrong, but she couldn’t find the words.

“We shouldn’t be doing this.” Jaime repeated, whispering in her ear. Instead, she simply nodded, pressing her forehead against his, her heart racing with the knowledge that, for better or worse, she was already too far gone. Her heart had already declared her as his girl. “I know.” She murmured.

“Sixteen years,” he murmured, a faint smile on his lips. “How does it feel?”

“Not very different from yesterday, when I was still fifteen.” Sansa chuckled quietly, leaving some flowers over the table as Jaime approached. She could feel his eyes roaming her figure, practically preying on Sansa. Her stomach coiled as the tension grew thick in the air, the heat of his body mixing on hers. “How did you feel when you were sixteen?”

He paused, his expression thoughtful as he looked past her for a moment, his gaze softening slightly. “I don’t really remember much,” Jaime teased Sansa, taking a chuckle from the younger girl. 

“Yeah, it’s been a while ever since.” Sansa teased him back, staring at his blonde hair that now, with his age hitting his figure, appeared a few strands of discreet white hairs decorating his head.

“Watch your mouth, little dove,” Jaime warned her in a joking tone, running a hand through his hair, the motion bringing attention to the few strands of silver that had begun to claim his once untarnished gold. Yet, his voice remained calm and subtle, his gaze remained fixed on Sansa and her delicate features.

“I’ve spent a long time trying to forget what I was at sixteen,” Jaime continued, almost as if he hadn't meant to say the words aloud. Silence stirred in the back of the garden, disturbed only by the background sounds of aunt Cersei yelling at uncle Robert for his excessive drinking. Both laughed faintly hearing her overreaction and Jaime took out of her pocket a medium blue velvet box. “I wanted to give you my present right in your hands.” 

Sansa looked delighted at her gift. It was exquisite, a golden necklace made of pure gold, fitting, for a man who came from a family immersed in mining, a little bird shaped pendant adorning it. Her fingers grazed delicately at the piece of jewelry, admiring the care that Jaime had choosing her a gift. Her cheeks felt that familiar warm she felt around him, her heart thumping in her chest when the unshakable feeling of being drawn to Jaime hit once more. It was torturing for Sansa wanting a man this much, knowing the wrongs of it and the complications it would bring. But her fingers lingered on the smooth gold, tracing the curves of the delicate bird pendant, feeling its weight in her palm. The necklace seemed to shimmer even in the moonlight or the led lights from her garden as Jaime took it from her hand and came over behind Sansa, his scent occupying her nostrils while his large palm revolved her neck.

“You didn’t have to,” Sansa said, her voice barely above a whisper. Jaime leaned closer, his nose rubbing on her hair as he fetched the necklace on Sansa, Jaime’s nose smelling the sweet scent of her perfume, fuelling his imagination and lack of self control as he closed the pendant around her neck. Sansa knew better than to accept gifts in hidden places, especially from someone this distant in age, but there was something about the way he was looking at her, something that made her want to forget all the rules, all the consequences. Could be the fervour of the age, a lust for curiosity.

Jaime smiled, his gaze intense as he watched her fingers on the necklace once they went back on being face to face again. “I wanted to,” he said softly. “You deserve it.”

“Thank you. It’s beautiful.” Sansa replied, holding the golden bird as she admired it in between her fingers.