Sansa PoV on her growing feelings for Jon. Follows canon. Bonus scene of Sansa seeing Jons scars for the first time. Xxxxxx💐
It didn’t take long after their reunion for Sansa’s feelings
toward Jon to begin changing from the juvenile affection and hero worship she’d
tried so hard to smother behind a mask of disinterest once she was old enough
to recognize how differently her mother treated Jon.
She was grateful for Theon’s part in her escape from Ramsay,
felt a modicum of safety under Brienne’s watchful eye, but it wasn’t until the
moment she had Jon’s arms around her, felt him warm and solid and real against
her, that she finally felt a small rekindling of relief and hope.
Even as fatalism and doubt clung to her like a shroud, she
almost let herself believe him when he swore to protect her (not that she
didn’t believe he would try until his last breath, just that it was impossible
for anybody to protect anyone). Then Jon nearly beat Ramsay Snow to death, only
holding himself back to make sure she had a say in the fate of her abuser.
Sansa Stark had never loved anyone more than she did Jon
Snow in that moment.
Despite his initial reluctance to accompany her to retake
Winterfell, despite everything her septa had ever taught her about bastards,
Jon had proven himself to be just as strong and brave and good as Father had
been. So when he told her they needed to trust one another, the undertone to
his words imploring her to please, please trust him if she could, Sansa
realized she did trust him. And when
he pressed a tender kiss to her forehead, his hand cupping her neck with a
gentleness she hadn’t known since her parents’ last touch, she felt the warmth
of that trust spread through her from head to toe.
She understood why he had to go South, but that didn’t mean
his absence didn’t feel like she was missing some essential part of herself. The
reassurance of Brienne’s presence meant she was physically safe, but her mind
was still vulnerable to the ghosts of her nightmares, no longer able to be
soothed by strong arms and the bristly tickle of beard scruff against her skin
with every kiss pressed to brow and temple.
The afternoon she returned from a routine trip to Wintertown
and the steward met her with news of Jon’s return, Sansa found herself
abandoning all decorum to race toward his room and burst into the bedchamber, throwing
herself into his arms. It was only when he embraced her in return that she
realized her hands resting on his back were touching bare skin, and the damp
curl that brushed against her cheek gave ample clue that she must have
interrupted him dressing after bathing.
Propriety demanded that she should have backed away
immediately, but Sansa found herself lingering instead, savoring his warmth and
scent before she reluctantly withdrew. She went to take a step back and create
some distance, but stilled when she took in her first real view of his bare
torso. Tears pricked eyes she couldn’t tear away from the scars littering his
pale skin. “Oh, Jon.”
“Sansa…” He drew her back into his arms, hushing her gently as
he swayed them back and forth, rocking their bodies in a subconscious urge to
soothe. “All’s well, sweet girl. Please don’t cry.”
She sniffled. “I’m so sorry they did this to you, Jon.”
“Oh, sweetling, it’s done and over. There’s no need for
She drew back once more. “But it’s not over, is it? Not
entirely.” She met his eyes, reading the dark shadows lurking behind his gaze.
Moving slowly and holding his eyes to watch for discomfort,
she ran her fingers slowly down the furrowed scar lines starting from his chest
and downward. “They nearly took you away before I found you again. I don’t
think I could have ever forgiven that.”
He could feel a sadness creeping up in her and he raised his
hand to brush his thumb against her cheek, chasing away the negative emotion
with his touch. Her hands were splayed back across his back, stroking against
the tense muscles until he slowly relaxed beneath her touch. He leaned down to
press a kiss to the corner of her mouth. A shiver ran down her spine and she
nestled closer, tucking her head against his shoulder as strong arms wrapped
back around her. “I couldn’t bring myself to forgive their betrayal of me
alone, but if they had kept me from you, Sansa…death couldn’t have saved them.”
It made for strange family dynamics when a father wanted his
children to marry each other, and his children wanted anything but.
Father had always been distant, lost in his prophecies and
dreams, preferring the company of his dusty old scrolls to the company of his
children. Sansa (Visenya formally, but she had never been fond of the name) and
her siblings had known for most of their lives that Father thought Aegon to be
the prince that was promised, the next incarnation of The Conqueror, Rhaenys
and Sansa meant to be his sister-wives reborn. They had even been given dragon
eggs as children, something that hadn’t been practiced by the Targaryens for at
least a generation.
There were problems with Father’s ambitions. Sansa certainly
held no desire for Aegon, nor Aegon and Rhaenys for one another. Viserys and
Daenerys certainly had no carnal feelings in common, either. All five of them
had grown up in close quarters, and they knew one another’s wants and desires
much more clearly than Rhaegar ever could. Viserys and Rhaenys wanted each
other, they always had- Viserys had always cherished Rhaenys and Rhaenys was
the only one that could calm Viserys’ bursts of temper.
Aegon’s wants had always been a bit more fickle, his fancies
quick and fleeting as hot-blooded young men were wont to do. But then his heart
seemed to settle on Lady Allyria Dayne, a romance born and kindled with his
frequent trips to visit his mother’s kin.
The three of them circled around one another, leery of their
father as one by one they came of age. As Sansa neared her sixteenth year,
whispers came around court that had gotten his Dornish mistress (paramour, Aegon would have corrected with
a flash of that temper that brought up comparisons to his viper uncle) with
child. Rhaenys drew her aside for a walk through the gardens and in the safe
company of her Dornish and Reach ladies, revealed that Aegon’s lady love
carried not his bastard but his heir, for he had wed Lady Allyria not a month
passed. Watching as Sansa overcame her shock, Rhaenys then asked asked whether her
little sister would like to accompany her on a trip to visit Viserys. Sansa’s
breath caught and her heart leapt, for Viserys’ seat of Summerhall was so
achingly close to Storm’s End.
For if Sansa knew her siblings’ wants, they knew hers in
return. There was only one man so beloved that Sansa Targaryen would defy all
tradition and protocol, to move past bittersweet longing to something real and
Oh, what were her siblings planning?
The day Rhaenys and Sansa set out for Summerhall, a raven carried
a message bearing Prince Aegon’s seal to Storm’s End, and Jon Baratheon rode
out the next morning with all the fire and haste his great black stallion could
Jon gently tossed her back against the bed (belonging to guest
chambers at Summerhall) and pounced down after her. Sansa laughed as they
landed, the sound joyous to his ears. He grinned down at her and wrapped his
arms around her, pecking his lips playfully as they fell into one another.
Sansa responded by burying his fingers through his hair, angling his mouth down
Jon groaned into his kiss, shifting until their bodies
pressed close, Sansa’s legs locking around his hips. She slid her hands beneath
his tunic, urging him to lift up as together, they pulled the garment over his
head. He fell back over her, kissing her once more with a throaty sound of satisfaction
as Sansa began to explore his bared torso. She ran her fingers over the planes and
angles of his body, delighting in warm, smooth skin over sleek muscles.
Their kisses slowed, their caresses gentled, and when they
drew apart with baited breath, Jon sighed contently and nuzzled against his
cheek. “Could this truly be real? I feel as if I should still be dreaming in my
own bed. Are you truly here with me?”
Sansa kissed him softly, placing her hand over his and entwining
their fingers. “If you are dreaming, Jon, we are dreaming together. I might
dare to believe this to be real and true, but if it is not, then stay with me,
“I’ll stay with you, wife, and we’ll keep dreaming together.”
1. “Oh my God. You’re in love with her.” With Sansa and Jon? Please?
“Oh my gods, you’re in love with her!”
Jon wasn’t sure how it was possible for a person’s face to display that much sheer disgust, but somehow Arya pulled it off. He found himself bouncing between irritated and ashamed, the presence of the shame only making his irritation grow. Arya was his little sister in everything but blood, and he hated little more than to disappoint her, but it rankled him that someone who claimed to care for him the same way would look so disdainful of something that made him so happy.
“I caught you doing the walk of shame last week…I congratulated you on getting over Ygritte!”
“Wha…?” His irritation and hurt faded into bewilderment, and then a mix of embarrassment and amusement as understanding began to ever so slowly set in, along with the memory of Arya catching him coming back to his own apartment just after dawn.
“Ugh, you even smelled like sex!! Gross.” She began making gagging sounds.
Jon barely supressed the urge to roll his eyes. “Arya…”
Arya held up her hand, continuing to pantomine gagging with a cacophony of other disgusted noises.