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anonymous asked:

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 tears.”

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.”

anonymous asked:

Targaryen!Sansa/Baratheon!Jon- Forbidden love. ^^

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 true.

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 muster.


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 to hers.

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, husband.”

“I’ll stay with you, wife, and we’ll keep dreaming together.”

anonymous asked:

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.

“Very mature.”