#jonsa fanfic | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

welldonebeca · 1 year

Text

The Afternoon Visit

Summary: When Sansa and her daughter fall sick with the stomach flu, her not-boyfriend surprises her with a special kind of visit. WC: 2.5k words Warnings: Modern AU. Stomach flu. So much fluff, you have no idea. Kids - cause those are a warning.

Sansa hated living in King’s Landing.

She hated it pretty much a couple of days after moving into it, and continued to hate it now, years later.

And, specially, she hated it since she became a mother.

Look, Sansa wanted to have a baby.

She always wanted to be a mother and always cared for her little siblings and hoped she could have her own kid some day. So, when she turned 25 and had the idea of freezing her eggs because her doctor said it was the best time, and she realised that she was stable enough to have a baby… she made a decision.

Sansa couldn’t wait until she found a man with whom she felt comfortable enough and trusted to have a life-long bond. After two and a half failed relationships - the half being Joffrey’s uncle, who she had attempted to go out with the month after breaking up with Harry, but didn’t let it become a relationship once she realised that older single men with PhDs were single for a reason - a lot of therapy and realising that she couldn’t both have a baby, her job and a partner, without one of those being compromised, she decided to have her baby on her own.

Three and a half months after freezing her eggs, she was in a doctors office and had semen she had purchased inserted into her womb. Her sister was right by her side - because she had heard of some doctor using his own semen to impregnate patients and wanted to make sure they were using the donor sample, which Arya didn’t tear her eyes from until it was inside of Sansa, making things very awkward - and once it was over, she went out to eat sushi, because, hopefully, it would be her last time eating it in at least a year.

Two weeks later, she had a positive pregnancy test, and a happy baby in her belly.

Serena Stark was born in King’s Landing.

Sansa wanted her to be born in Winterfell, but the idea of travelling up North while 9 months pregnant and then coming back with a newborn wasn’t very nice. So, her parents and Arya packed up and flew in, leaving Bran and Rickon with Robb in his home, and came to be present at the birth.

Serena was a big baby, with a big head. Sansa would know, her poor vagina took months to start feeling normal again - Arya still made fun of her for sitting on ice packs for the first month of post-partum.

But it was all worth it.

The nights of not sleeping, the faling asleep with a tit out while breastfeeding, the explosive diapers… everything made sense now that she had her daughter with her.

Having Serena, though, only made her hate King’s Landing more and long to go back to Winterfell. She wanted to show her daughter the snow, the castles, and how it felt to grow up around a loving family.

But the days she undoubtly hated King’s Landing the most was when one of them got sick.

When her baby was born, Sansa’s parents spent the first two months of her post-partum with them, helping her adapt to the new routine with a baby and with holsehold chores, but they had eventually left and she was all alone.

Now, her baby was a growing girl - three and a half - and Sansa was growing with her.

She was also ill after catching whatever stomach bug Serena had caught in her pre-school, and caring for a sick kid while also being sick wasn’t fun at all.

“Come on, baby,” she rubbed her back, trying to get her to eat the canned chicken noodle soup. “It’s good for you.”

Serena just whined into her neck, all fussy.

They had both barely eaten today, and Sansa really didn’t want her kid to be even more sick. Canned soup sucked, but what else could she even do?

A knock on the door made Sansa raised her head to look at it and frown in confusion. Who could it even be?

She adjusted Serena in her lap, and her daughter wrapped her legs around her waist as she dragged herself to check the security cameras outside.

“What?” she mumbled, confused.

It was Jon.

Jon Snow was Sansa’s… not-boyfriend. For the last three months they’d been going out and spending time together, and while she liked him very much, they had both agreed with taking things slow.

He had once passed her house to pick her up for an afternoon date, but had never met Serena because she didn’t want to introduce her baby to meet a man just for him to leave.

But he was right there at the door, carrying a big bag on his shoulder and waiting.

Sansa opened the door unsurely, trying to brush her hair back with her fingers after she undid all the locks she had put there so many years ago, to protect herself, still holding Serena.

He smiled brightly when she opened the door and then looked at the girl thrown all over her.

“Good afternoon,” he greeted her. “I hope this is not a bad time?”

Sansa hesitated a little.

“Well, it’s as not-bad as it can be,” she chuckled. “What are you doing here? I wasn’t expecting you.”

Jon quickly raised his bag.

“You told me you two were sick, so I bought some stuff that usually helps with stomach bugs,” he explained. “I thought you’d need it.”

Sansa relaxed, though surprised with the meaning of his visit as she gave him space to come in.

“Jon,” she sighed. “You didn’t have to.”

He scoffed, walking inside.

“As if I could ignore how you needed help right now,” he shook his head. “Where’s your kitchen?”

Sansa pointed the way, following him along, and Serena raised her head from her shoulder, finally outran by her curiosity as Jon set his bag on the counter.

“I mentioned to my neighbour that you were sick and she made you soup,” he told her, taking the container from inside. “It’s still warm, it’s why I didn’t show up earlier.”

Her daughter rubbed her eye with a pout.

“Who are you?” she mumbled.

Jon stopped, and they exchanged a couple of looks. He knew about Serena - and how she was Sansa’s child and Sansa’s only, no other man, woman or non-binary partner involved in her production or raising - from the get go, and was very respectful of her need of taking things slow because of Serena.

“Honey, this is Jon Snow,” she spoke after a minute of being stunned. “He’s my friend. Jon, this is Serena, my daughter.”

Her baby girl just waved at him before hiding her face in her neck again.

“Hello, Serena,” he spoke softly, anyway. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Her daughter just hugged Sansa closer, and she sighed, rubbing her back gently.

“I’m sorry, she is a little fussy,” she apologised. “We are both not feeling like our best selves.”

Jon smiled softly, and she watched as he pulled more things from his bags.

“Tell me, Serena, do you like pedialyte?” he asked.

Jon took four - four - bottles of pedialyte from inside his bag, and a couple of boxes of icepop pedialyte along with other light snacks.

Serena moved, curious again.

“I like blue raspberry,” she told him, and he showed her the blue bottle.

“I got it for you,” he told her. “And some fruits too. Your mother told me you like berries.”

She just nodded, and Sansa watched them, surprised.

“Do you want to have a little bit now?” he offered. “I can cut them up for you.”

Sansa looked down at Serena, and she nodded slowly.

“Okay. And you, Sansa?”

She looked back at him, and Jon was raising his eyebrows at her.

“Me?”

“I’ll put the soup in a bowl for you,” he told her. “You need to eat too.”

She looked down, a little embarrassed. With needing to care for Serena, she didn’t even remember to eat.

“Thank you,” she spoke softly.

He just nodded along.

“Sit a little,” he instructed her. “You two need to let your body rest. I can take care of this bit.”

She did, turning the TV on and put Bluey on and cuddling your girl as she sucked on her finger, watching the Australian show. They made it through a whole episode before Jon arrived in the living room with two bowls and a sippy cup, setting them down on the low table in front of the TV.

“Here you go,” he spoke gently. “And I got your blue rasberry punch, too.”

Serena eyed him with hesitance, and Sansa rubbed her back a little bit.

“Why don’t you drink a little sip?” she offered. “It’s in your favourite cup.”

Jon took the cup, and showed it to her with a little friendly smile, waiting quietly.

“You don’t have to drink it all,” he assured her.

Serena reached for him slowly, taking the sippy cup, and drank from it slowly as they watched her and the show played on the TV, still half attached to Sansa.

She put the cup down, and Jon picked it up before giving her the bowl, and she could see it had strawberries, blueberries, rasberries and grapes inside, all cut in a half for practical reasons and looking very yummy, and - to Sansa’s relief - her daughter also seemed interested in it, grabbing little pieces and eating slowly while still in her arms.

“Well done, honey,” she kissed her sweaty temple, quickly spitting out some of her hair.

Jon, now seated on the floor, looked up at her face.

“She looks like a little copy of you,” he chuckled.

Sansa smiled a little. Everyone always told her that. Serena had all her Tully features, with her red wavy hair and sky-blue eyes, just like all of her uncles did. Her mother’s genes were very strong.

Jon picked up the soup bowl, and Sansa grimaced a bit.

“I don’t think think I have enough free hands for that.”

He looked down at the bowl and grimaced, and she chuckled, but he quickly stood up with it.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” he told her.

Jon left for the the kichen and came back a couple of minutes later with a coffee mug and the bowl half empty.

“There you go,” he gave it to her. “One hand soup.”

Sansa giggled a little, feeling a bit more relaxed now.

“Let me know when you need the refil,” he told her, standing up. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to go wash the dishes now.”

Her eyes widened.

He was going to do what?

“What?” she asked, holding Serena close and putting the mug down. “Jon, no!”

He was quick to raise his hand, shaking it and he shook his head.

“Hey, I”m here to help,” he told her. “You two need to rest and hydrate and I can do a few chores while you do.”

She stared at him, not knowing what to say.

Aside from her family, no one had ever offered to help her like this.

“You don’t have to,” she told him. “You’ve already done a lot.”

He just gave her a smile.

“I want to do it,” he told her simply. “Don’t worry.”

He left back to the kichen, and Sansa could only stare on his way out before Serena poked her.

“Bluey, mummy,” she requested.

She sat back and pressed play on the TV show, reaching for her soup and drinking it. It was very nice, almost like her mother’s soup.

Her daughter watched the show as she ate, but Sansa couldn’t quite focused on the show, seeing Jon as he cleaned up her kichen, not seeming bothered at the least with the work.

Serena finished eating, and drank her pedialyte quietly before curling against Sansa, all sleepy, and she just held her close, grateful that she was finally resting. Their morning had been exhausting, to say the least.

She didn’t even notice she had dozed off herself until she felt something over her, and opened ther eyes, startled, to find Jon covering the two of them with a blanket.

“It’s alright,” he assured her. “Just me.”

Sansa smiled a little, yawning, and Jon pushed her hair back.

“I took the liberty of doing the laundry,” he whispered. “And it’s drying now.”

She flushed, a little embarrassed, but feeling something else too.

Jon was the sweetest man she had ever gone out with, and probably the sweetest man she had ever met.

She didn’t know a single man who would go out of his way like this just to get food and medicine to her, and even less do her dishes and her laundry.

“I’m making dinner for you,” he told her. “Some smash potatoes and turkey, nothing big.”

Sansa moved a hand to her face. God, she probably looked like such a mess right now.

“Jon, you didn’t have to,” she repeated. “I don’t even know what to say!”

He smiled, and pressed a kiss to her temple.

“Just focus on getting better,” he said simply. “Eat, and make sure this pretty lady eats too. If she’s anything like me, she is going to love the icepops so much she’ll eat three or four of them at once if you let her, but I’m sure you know when to give them.”

She nodded a little. Yes, her doctor had given her some instructions about that.

“Have some too,” he instructed. “And rest. I can have lunch delivered tomorrow if you want to, or…”

He hesitated, and she looked into his eyes, a little eager now.

“Or?”

Jon flushed a bit.

“I could come too?” he asked.

Sansa’s cheeks felt hot.

“I’m sick,” she reminded him. “I don’t want you to catch it.”

His lips curled in a little smile.

“It’s alright,” he assured her. “Don’t worry about that.”

Sansa watched his eyes for a moment and bit her lower lip.

“You could come,” she agreed. “If you want to, of course. I’m sure Serena will be a little nicer to talk to too.”

Jon grined, looking a little happy, and scratched the back of his neck.

“Would you mind if I brought her some you?” he asked. “I saw this wolf plush, I didn’t know if you would be okay if I did.”

Her eyes widened a bit.

“You can,” she agreed quickly. “I’m sure she will love it. She loves plushies.”

Jon nodded, and stood a little straighter.

“Okay,” he nodded. “I’ll go check the potatoes now. You go rest.”

He walked back with a little smile on his lips, and she watched him go, surprised, and looked down at Serena.

She had been worried about introducing him to her daughter for so long because she was afraid he would be just like all of the other men she had tried to date in her life, but Jon was different.

He was… special. In the best of ways.

. . .

"The Afternoon Visit" was posted on my Patreon back in October 2022! To read have early access to my stories, consider subscribing to my page! It's just $2 a month, and it helps a lot!

. . .

Forever Tags: @emoryhemsworth @amythyststorm33 @shaelyn102 @yknott81 @maximofftrash @kgbrenner @thefridgeismybestie @magpiegirl80 @mogaruke @shadowhunter7 @musicalcoffeebean @megasimpleplan4ever @deemoriarty @05spn18 @malindacath @kdcollinsauthor @random-fandom-fangirl2112 @widowsfics @frozenhuntress67 @averyrogers83 @notyourtypicalrose @nerdypinupcrystal @giruvega

30 notes · View notes

queen-of-songs · 8 months

Text

My new story The Wolf Princess! Chapter 1 is out now.🐺👑👩🏻‍🦰🧔🏻‍♂️❤️‍🔥

#jonsa #jon x sansa #actuallyjonsa #sansa x jon #jonsa fandom #jonxsansa #sansaxjon #jonsa fic #jonsa fanfic

12 notes · View notes

mkstrigidae · 1 year

Link

Unwillingly thrust into a realm full of beauty and danger, filled with beings who aren't supposed to exist, Sansa is exhausted, terrified, and desperate to return home. But with the secret of her heritage- heritage she hadn't even known about- revealed, these immortals aren't about to let her leave. Not when she holds something they want. Something valuable. Something in her very blood.

“Can’t we get the police involved?” Bran pleaded. “Get someone else to help find her?” “I wish we could.” She told him, reaching out to squeeze his brother’s hand. “Well why the hell can’t we?” Rickon snarled, his fists clenched so tight around his mug that Robb was amazed the cheap ceramic hadn’t shattered yet. “Because, right now, Sansa isn’t in this world.” Brienne wearily admitted.

Chapter 2: Salt and Steam

Sansa wakes up, alone, horribly injured, and stranded in a strange environment, desperately trying to figure out where she is, amidst the slick, black stone. While she tries to find her way out, someone- or something- else finds her first.

21 notes · View notes

hisqueeninthenorth · 2 years

Text

I want some really good really long canon Jonsa stories. Post some good ones for me please.

#jonsa #jonsacentric #jonsa au #jonsa fanfic #jonsa fanfiction #jonsa fandom

117 notes · View notes

zalrb · 2 years

Text

Agony

All right, I wrote a continuation of my Jonsa fic. Kept it short because I didn’t know if people were still interested but HotD is airing so I decided to write a next part (completely disregarding what the customs would be etc. I just feel the need to mention that so people understand this is just a fun thing).

Link to part 1: http://zalrb.tumblr.com/post/164720175550/trust-jonsa-one-shot Link to part 2: http://zalrb.tumblr.com/post/181817838525/an-entirely-different-way-pt-2

Link to part 3: http://zalrb.tumblr.com/post/182562584780/passion

Link to part 4:https://zalrb.tumblr.com/post/184333793460/survival

Link to part 5: https://zalrb.tumblr.com/post/184637430325/the-happening

Link to part 6: https://zalrb.tumblr.com/post/627229549053214720/nothing-has-changed-everything-has-changed

Jon was nervous. He'd been standing outside of Daenerys' room, hand poised to knock on her door, for a few minutes, struggling with whether or not he should enter, whether or not he should ask what he was about to ask. His body was still ignited with the time he'd spent with Sansa, his heart still aching with the exquisite agony of it and he wondered if she'd be able to see it or sense it. He wondered if he could somehow appear unchanged, untransformed by the developments that had happened in the past few days.

This could go terribly. But, he reasoned, he had to ask. He had to at least try. He knocked on the door.

"Come in," a voice called.

He entered and Daenerys turned to look at him from the other side of the room.

"My Queen," he said, closing the door behind him.

Daenerys smiled at him. "I suppose I can call you 'future husband'."

Jon did something that was in between a smile and a grimace. He didn't know how to act around her, the guilt and confusion made him jittery, and he stayed by the door.

"Not too long now," he said.

She shook her head. "I didn't think I'd ever get married again."

"I didn't think I'd get married at all," he said with a slight chuckle. He paused. "It was kind of you to offer a Northern wedding. I know you don't pray to the old gods--"

"But you do." She walked up to him and clasped his hands in hers. "And I can make compromises," she said. Her expression darkened a little. "Contrary to what some people believe."

Jon swallowed hard, hearing the unuttered name, and he put his hand on Daenerys' wrist.

She looked up at him coyly. "What is it?"

"I need to ask you something."

"Yes?"

He separated himself from her slightly. "A favour."

She nodded.

He cleared his throat. "Sansa ..." His breath caught in his throat when he whispered her name and his skin flushed -- a physical reaction he couldn't control.

"I think it would be best if she didn't attend."

Daenerys' eyes hardened and she moved away from him. "Because she doesn't approve?"

"Because I'm worried it might bring it all back and I don't want her thinking about that. I don't want her thinking--" Anger had made him unable to speak, the brutalities she'd suffered at Ramsay's hands provoked a fury that made Jon wish him alive only so he could pummel him, break him apart, smash his face in once more. He took a deep but quiet breath to calm down. "She's been through enough."

Daenerys regarded him, the change in his posture, his expression, his tone. Jorah's words were in her head, she couldn't shake the sick feeling that this wasn't about Sansa, that Jon was speaking more to save himself from the pain of having her there. And yet she'd felt it on the boat, she was sure she did, they'd connected, they'd fallen in love.

"You're very protective of her, I understand," said Daenerys. "But she needs to be there. If she's not, it will send a message."

"I don't think--"

"It would be an act of rebellion. That would undo everything this union stands for. The people listen to her. They look to her. They look to you. They love you. What would it say if she isn't there?"

Jon had nothing to say and only lowered his head. He heard her footsteps come toward him and felt her hands on either side of his face, bringing it up to hers.

"She must be there," she said.

Her eyes were earnest with the desire for him to understand the implications of his request, and beneath her keen expression, Jon could see the implicit threat, the threat that shadowed every conversation the two of them had about Sansa. He nodded.

Sansa made her way to the dinner Tyrion insisted they all had, her body heavy with dread. Whether by her design or his, or by pure chance, she hadn't seen Jon since the night before, when they'd made their entire predicament harder on themselves by melding together but not losing themselves in each other entirely. They'd stayed in their embrace for quite some time, his lips on her forehead, their breathing ragged, their hearts pounding, their desires inflamed and pressing but not entirely fulfilled, and then he'd left.

and then earlier today, Daenerys had found her on the battlements.

"Jon came to see me," she'd said.

Sansa had raised her eyebrows but said nothing. Daenerys' light tone had made it clear that she was observing her reactions.

"He requested that you not attend the wedding ceremony."

Sansa hadn't known if he'd requested that for her benefit or for his. "I don't--"

"You have suffered a brutal marriage, he doesn't want you to be reminded of it. He doesn't realize that you don't need a reminder. You carry that with you everyday."

Sansa had looked at her then. "I don't think Jon is a stranger to brutality."

"He underestimates you. Your strength."

Sansa became steely. "I think he just regrets the reasons for my strength. He wishes I never had to experience any of it."

"So easily you speak for him."

"I know him." Sansa's tone had been matter-of-fact and she'd held Daenerys' gaze. After a few seconds she'd spoken again. "You don't have to worry, I won't miss the ceremony."

Now, Sansa walked toward the dining hall, the same steeliness in her gut --- it would be necessary for her to endure. Endure the next several hours, endure seeing him, seeing her, seeing them together, endure memories of the night before, it was her armour.

When she reached the table, she didn't take her usual seat on one side of Jon while Daenerys sat on the other, and instead sat on the other side of the table, Arya next to her.

Sansa's choice did not surprise Jon and yet that did nothing to ease how wounded he felt to not have her at his side, though perhaps, it would have been worse to be in such close proximity to her. She hadn't looked at him since entering the hall, which too was unsurprising, he understood it; after they'd kissed for the first time he couldn't look at her because he knew he wouldn't have been able to help himself if he did.

The conversation of the dinner table was muffled to his ears, he could only concentrate on appearing as if he weren't concentrating on Sansa. It wasn't until Daenerys spoke that his focus snapped back to the present.

"I have no kin to give me away. I would perhaps ask Ser Jorah if he were ..." She cleared her throat. "Lady Sansa," she said. "I was hoping it would be you."

Sansa looked at her sharply. Everyone stopped eating. With those few words, the armour that Sansa had hardened herself with shattered and

how could she even suggest it, think of it, dream of it; she would not hand her the North and she would not give him away, not to her, not to anyone. He's mine. Sansa thought it before she could stop herself.

Jon tried not to show on his face the panic that was scrambling him from within. If Sansa gave him away, he wouldn't be able to bear it. "That's not quite the way things are done."

"Doesn't mean it can't be done. Who better?" said Daenerys, picking up a fork and knife.

Tyrion put on a diplomatic smile. "Maybe we could discuss---"

"We have traditions, your Grace," said Sansa.

"Mmm," said Daenerys, nodding. "I have a bit of a reputation for starting new ones."

"If you believe in starting new traditions then why have anyone give you away at all?" said Sansa. "You're Daenerys Stormborn, the Dragon Queen, Breaker of Chains."

Jon coughed -- a nonverbal warning. If he could hear her derision so could everyone else at the table.

"Give yourself away," she continued.

"Or perhaps I could do the honour," said Tyrion. "Or Grey Worm. Missandei perhaps---"

"Lord Tyrion," said Daenerys. "Would Sansa at my side not send a strong message of unity to the North, to anyone who hears of it?"

Tyrion looked between Daenerys and Sansa, "I suppose---"

"And if I refuse?" Sansa didn't shout but her tone was loud and hard and a departure from the usual composure she donned when speaking publicly.

Daenerys looked at her steadily. "You would refuse your Queen?"

Arya sat up straight. She, too, picked up her cutlery and began slicing her mutton

Tyrion shifted in his seat. "Sansa," he said. "The key to peace in Westeros has always been a good relationship between the North and the Iron Throne. Daenerys' proposal could ensure that relationship."

"I thought that was what the marriage was for," said Sansa.

"And this gesture could solidify the unity their marriage represents," said Tyrion.

Daenerys looked at Jon. "Wouldn't you agree?"

He opened his mouth but didn't say anything for a while, his lips trembling with the weight of one word, one word he could barely utter. "Yes."

Sansa closed her eyes to keep tears from betraying the intimacy of her indignation, the raw outrage embedded in her refusal, and when she opened them, she finally chanced a glance at Jon, who was already looking at her, his expression pained. They gazed at each other from across the table, transfixed in anguish, sharing in a misery deeply and more urgently felt because of the fiery affection they'd indulged in for the final time only hours before, and looked away before anyone could discern their agony.

#jonsa #jon snow #sansa stark #GoT #game of thrones #jonsa fanfiction #sophie turner #kit harington #jon x sansa #sansa x jon #jonsa fanfic #GoT fanfiction #game of thrones fanfiction #angst #jonsa angst

48 notes · View notes

estherruth-jonsatrash · 3 months

Text

New Chapter: Protect Each Other

Chapter 18 of Protect Each Other is on ao3 now!

Preview:

Jon headed to the crypts, a mix of duty and love in his chest which soon turned to love completely as he found Sansa before his mother’s statue. She looked caught when she spotted him, a blush stained her cheeks so they matched her rosy lips.

“Jon,” she spoke softly, looking between him and the likeness of Lyanna Stark, as if searching for the words to explain herself.

Jon’s throat suddenly felt very thick. “You’ve lit a candle for her?” he asked, and he could hear the rawness in his voice.

“Yes,” Sansa said nervously. “I—I have since before we knew…” she finished uncertainly, eventually her eyes coming back to meet his own. ---

Jon has two important conversations that push him to reckon with his parentage.

Set in an alternate season 7 and a sequel to Your Protector!

Or read Protect Each Other from the beginning.

#jonsa #jonsa fanfiction #jonsa fic #jonsa fanfic #jonsaff #jonsa au #my fic writing

30 notes · View notes

winterwakesthewolf · 2 months

Text

Wolves They Both Must Be

Jon Snow x Sansa Stark

Summary: “Did you bend the knee to save the North, or because you love her?”

Jon snaps his head up at Sansa’s question. Her eyes are brimming and hot and he can suddenly see this is not the argument he thought they were having. This is something else. Something deeper and much more intimate.

The missing scene we deserved in 8x01

Author's Note: Part Two! I wrote this second part a few years ago and I really think I've grown as a writer since then. Since this part has never been published, I had the opportunity to edit it, but I read through it and honestly I'm too tired to do that so if there are any glaring issues, please let me know.

I first published the first part of this as a one shot on AO3 in 2019 and then a few years later I wrote a sequel that just sat in my google docs collecting digital dust. This is that second part. I may turn it into a series if there's enough interest so please let me know by liking, commenting, and reblogging if you want more.

Disclaimer: 18+, smut, (I'm serious, if you're not over 18 then scram), cousin incest, presumed half-sibling incest. Please let me know if I missed anything.

Word Count: 2K

part one - part two

Sansa wakes in his arms, bare skin against skin. It is still night. Or perhaps early morning. The fire has nearly extinguished, leaving them mostly in the dark but for a faint flickering of illumination that casts the room in a soft, warm glow. She glances up at him, sound asleep and looking more peaceful than she has ever seen him look. His arm strewn lazily across her back. And his heart, that he had said was only hers, steadily beating beneath her ear.

She lifts her head to peek at the scar there and she runs her fingers along the ridges of the severed flesh - a long, vertical line, curved at the top and still red in the center. Similarly to the scars that marr his abdomen, they look to not be fully healed. Sansa wonders if they may never be. Her heart aches at the thought that his own had once stopped beating.

Gazing at his resting face in awe and bewilderment at the magic it took to bring him back to life, and to her, she sheds a tear for all that could have been lost, and all that will.

His raven curls, unbound and tangled, lay atop her pillow. Her belly coils with heat at the memory of her hands pulling at the leather strap that tied them back, at the image she conjures of him raised above her, glowing from the light of the roaring fire, and the look in his eyes as he buried himself inside of her, their flesh fusing in forbidden, long-awaited bliss. Her cheeks bloom with both shame and pleasure at the thought of their union. At her insistence that he spill inside of her and stay there long after both of their pleasures were drawn out, knowing in the morning she would brew a cup of moon tea that she had hidden away from the time before.

The gods had been cruel to make her love her half-brother. They had been kind enough to make him love her back.

In her solar he had confessed that he loved her, and only her. And how loathed he was to leave her for Dragonstone. That when he declared, in the presence of their bannermen, that the North was a part of him and that he’d never stop fighting for it, what he had meant in his heart was that she was his North. He admitted that every moment they were apart, she never once left his thoughts. And that everything he had done in the effort to return home truly was to save the North. To save her. His whispered words had sent shivers through her. Both the declaration of his love, and the thought of what kinds of things he had to do to return home to her.

She doesn’t want to think of what all that had entailed. Or what had transpired in the dark between him and the dragon to make her believe he truly bent the knee, and that he loved her. But Sansa wants to trust him and believe the words he told her in the quiet of her bed as he entwined his hand in hers. As he gently stroked his calloused fingers over her bare skin, leaving gooseprickles in their wake.

“I had to make her believe in the ruse, Sansa. I’m not proud of it,” he had rasped, eyes averted from Sansa’s gaze until she reached for him, turning his face so that she could look upon him. He released a shaky breath and croaked, “I’d beg for your forgiveness if you’re willing to give it. But I understand if it’s too much to ask. I wouldn’t blame ye. But I must confess, I thought of you. Every second.”

Jon had fought battles for Sansa, had fought Ramsey knowing the odds were against him. He fought the Others, and survived to come back to her. He had lied, manipulated, and kept the secret hidden away so convincingly, so deep, that even Sansa had not seen it.

(Her feelings for Jon surely clouded her judgment, causing her to doubt his loyalty).

She doesn’t want to think of what he may have to continue to do to keep up the ruse, or what they both may need to sacrifice. But Sansa knows that whatever it may be, she will do whatever she can to protect him, as he has done for her.

“There’s nothing to forgive,” she whispered. And she had meant it.

Lying in the dark beside him she knows she will always mean it, no matter how much the thought of it stings. No matter the ache that blooms at the unbidden image of Jon with her. He had not truly been Sansa’s to lose then, but now… what were they to each other now? Now that they had crossed the point of no return.

Their love could never be known to any other. This secret they will always have to hide. If they were discovered it could lead to ruin and damnation. Northerners do not accept a union between siblings, no matter that they don’t share a mother. They were no Lannisters, nor Targaryens, and yet their illicit love seemed to prove otherwise. After all that she had learned, had worked so hard to not become, had she turned into Cersei after all? The thought makes her shiver and recoil.

Perhaps she need not fret over any of it, for the Others are marching upon them. The threat looming, heavier with each passing moment. They may very well take this secret to a grave that lies just beyond the horizon. Lost to each other forever. And yet the thought of that terrifies her more than any possibility of their secret love being sussed out.

Jon stirs beneath her and flutters his eyes open, blinking to adjust to the dim light, and then he lowers his chin toward Sansa. His eyes soften as they land on her and he gives her a smile, sweet and tender, reaching his hand to gently tuck her tangled hair behind her ear.

“We fell asleep,” he says with a voice gruff and tender as he absentmindedly traces patterns on the small of her back.

“We did.”

“I’d better sneak off to my chambers before anyone realizes where I am.”

Sansa didn’t want this night to end. What had been their first union could very well be their last.

As he moves to get up, Sansa gently pushes him back down to press her body and her lips as close to his as possible. The kiss, at first soft and slow, builds with passion, and desperation to stop time. Before long Jon has rolled Sansa onto her back and hovers over her just as before, looking down on her in wonderment and adoration. The look behind his eyes like an arrow of fire in her belly, and a need coils itself deep inside, begging to be met.

“Jon,” she pleads wantonly, reaching up to grasp his face in her hands, digging her fingers into his beard, weaving them in his hair. A frantic, desperate plea. He obliges, first by trailing kisses down her neck and to her breasts, spending time filling his mouth with them and driving that coil deeper and hotter inside of her, making her ache with need. And then he abruptly stops, pushes the furs farther off of the bed, until he is sitting at her feet, smiling with hooded eyes. The look she gives him of confused anticipation makes him chuckle.

“Why are you laughing?” Sansa sounds a bit wounded, but smiles all the same.

“I’m not laughin’ at ye, Sansa. I swear,” he raises his palms as if in surrender. “But I want to try something if you let me.” Jon tenderly places his hands upon her knees, “Do you trust me?”

Sansa nods apprehensively, curiously, and watches as he spreads her legs apart and lowers his head, all while keeping his eyes locked onto hers. Kissing her knees and thighs in turn, he slowly travels higher and higher until his hands are gripping the flesh of her hips and his mouth is on her, licking the wetness between her thighs. It takes everything in Sansa not to cry out. Her heavy sighs alone are nearly loud enough for anyone outside of her door to hear. Jon’s tongue swirls and flicks at the most sensitive part and she has never felt a pleasure so intense. It rivals the pleasure she felt just hours ago when he touched her there as he spent inside of her. This was different and new and thrilling. She climbs higher and higher as his tongue works its magic, pushing her to the brink. And just as she is about to fall off the edge, Jon reaches up to take her breast in hand, his thumb grazing and teasing until she plunges off of the precipice and buries her face in the furs to muffle her cries.

When the throbbing and the panting subsides, she glances at Jon, a very smug look upon his face, “Did ye like that?”

Sansa smiles and nods lazily, still catching her breath, and she reaches for him with arms outstretched. He climbs up and kisses her deep and long, the taste of her still on his lips, and she can feel his need for her lined up at the spot his tongue had just deliciously ravaged. And suddenly she can feel the need inside her return in earnest. Those glorious flutters assault her belly as she wraps her legs around his waist and backside, pulling him close, inviting him in again.

When he buries himself inside her once more, he keeps his eyes focused on hers, whispers a thousand I love yous that she returns in earnest, savoring the feeling of him so close to her as they find a slow and deliberate rhythm.

Both of them know this might be their last and neither of them are quick to chase the pleasure out, but are intent on committing these precious few moments to memory. Tears stream down Sansa’s temples, sprung from somewhere deep and buried. Jon gently kisses them away.

“I am yours, Sansa. Only yours.” He touches his forehead to hers, “And you are mine.” It is half a question, half a command.

“Always,” she whispers and repeats again and again as she falls from the edge and he spills inside of her once more.

The dawn arrives, creeping in through the window, as Jon dresses as quietly as he can. And once he has pulled his boots on he crosses back to the bed where Sansa is sitting, holding her knees and the furs close. She is cold without his warmth. He must sense it because he leans over to pull her close, bringing the furs with her, to the edge of the bed. He gently takes her face in his hands as she memorizes the look in his eyes. Kissing her sweetly, with such care and reverence, then envelops her in his arms for a long embrace.

Sansa buries her face in his neck, breathing in the scent of him, heavy with leather and steel and woodsmoke. She curls herself into his chest. And as she listens to the beating of his heart beneath her ear once again, she doesn’t even attempt to hold back the tears anymore. Releasing the ache of the joy, and the tragedy, of it all.

“Never forget, Sansa. Whatever happens, know that I love you,” he whispers in her ear, holding her close, running his fingers through her copper waves.

And before dawn can unearth their secret, he moves to kiss her forehead with a desperation and reverence that burns long after he reluctantly pulls away. He stalks toward the door, and then looks back at her with a smile full of hope and fear before slipping into the cover of darkness.

Alone and cold without him, Sansa weeps upon the furs that warmed them through the winter night. Tears that she has denied for so long finally tumble free and flow without ceasing. They pour out uncontrollably, as though Jon had unlocked a deeply buried chest within her, filled to the brim with love she had for so long confined to the darkest parts of her, and fear of losing what has only briefly been hers.

She finds that once unlocked she may never again find the key.

Taglist: @thaisthedreamer @bluedaffodil21 @ilargizuri

#jonsa #jon x sansa #jonsa fanfic #jonsa fanfiction #jonsa fic #jonsa ff #jon x sansa fic #mine #my edit #my writing #wolves they both must be #wtbmb #jonsaff #jonxsansaff #jonxsansa #jon x sansa fanfic #jon x sansa fanfiction #jon x sansa ff #jonxsansa ff

20 notes · View notes